To be completely honest, the High Lords had long grown accustod to serving a silent god.
For ten thousand years, this singular body composed of twelve n and won had ruled the entire Imperium.
Throughout the ages, the High Lords of Terra had borne the imnse responsibility of forging all of the state's major decisions, guiding the human race through countless trials and challenges. On the administrative level of Terra, no power existed that was greater than this council.
But now, everything had changed.
When rumors of the Primarchs first erged from the Expeditionary Fleet, they were naturally gripped by panic, especially considering these four had entangled themselves with the Black Templars.
No one knew whether this heralded salvation or doom for the Imperium.
However, the subsequent asures taken by the Expeditionary Fleet allowed the Throne World to breathe a massive sigh of relief. When the first reports drifted in through the whispers of Astropaths, the suffocating tension within the Terran courts finally began to ease.
There was no violent march on the capital, nor did they use the crusade as a pretext to conquer a slew of troubleso Planets rely to hoard authority.
These Primarchs were willing to understand the Imperium and sought to change it within reasonable limits. The policies they implented along their path were relatively moderate, completely avoiding any drastic purges that would banish all non-Adeptus Astartes factions from the center of power.
At the sa ti, the council gained a profound understanding of the Primarchs' unmatched intellect.
Reconstructing trade routes, integrating administrative systems, reorganizing planetary defense networks along the way, and promoting religion to unify local ideologies—winning battles had ironically proven to be the easiest of their tasks.
The Imperium had never lacked brilliant strategists; it was simply that its bloated bureaucracy made it utterly incapable of converting their military victories into tangible benefits.
And there was not a single individual mortal within the Imperium capable of executing such complex and ticulous administrative overhauls.
The High Lords desperately wished they possessed such capability, but grim reality constantly reminded them that even with the combined efforts of all twelve, they fell woefully short of a Primarch's majestic, overarching vision.
As the crusade carved its path forward, everyone was more than happy to reap the rich spoils of war left in its wake.
If such a formidable force operated within the Ultima Segntum, the benefits they would bring to the Imperium would be astronomical.
They were even willing to accept the rise of another Ultramar within the Ultima Segntum, tacitly permitting its expansion.
After all, even in an era ten thousand years later, the dozen or so star systems surrounding Macragge remained under the unified jurisdiction of the Ultramarines, and the Imperium continued to reap the dividends of the stability they provided to the neighboring regions.
One had to rember that prior to the Tyranid invasion, Macragge had gone nearly ten thousand years without a single catastrophic event.
However, before all that—
"Half a century ago, Chapter Master Lufgt Huron of the Astral Claws proposed a new founding of the Adeptus Astartes to the Senatorum Imperialis, or at least the deploynt of additional Space Marine forces to permanently conquer the Great Rift."
"The High Lords chose to decline."
At Romulus's gesturing hand, the Administratum representative, Itu Hathalion, imdiately stepped forward. The red-flagged files displayed on his data-slate glared harshly in the dim light of the chamber.
His voice was remarkably calm and restrained, yet it carried an underlying trace of veiled accusation.
"Following that decision, the Sector has not delivered its tithes for forty-one years. The deficits have been entirely subsidized by the neighboring Calyx Sector. Furthermore, Huron has actively denied rchant fleets entry into the Badab Sector."
The expressions of the gathered representatives varied wildly. So frowned in deep thought, others unconsciously stroked the heraldic crests on their staves of office, and several cast scrutinizing glances at Romulus, desperately trying to glean any hint of his inclinations from his features.
They needed to gauge the Primarch's exact stance on the Imperial Tithe, and they also desperately required a guarantee.
Due to the very real and ever-present threat of Astartes supremacy, the total number of Space Marine Chapters had historically been subjected to severe limitations.
Even for the High Lords, mobilizing Adeptus Astartes forces on a whim was an incredibly convoluted affair, involving agonizingly complex strategic deploynts.
Moreover, the Great Rift region held no real value for conquest, which was why they had continually stonewalled Lufgt Huron's persistent proposals.
Now, whenever the bureaucrats of the Adeptus Administratum saw a report stamped with 'Sector Conquered,' their hands literally shook.
If they ignored it, tossing aside docunts directly handed to them ant abandoning the sacred duties entrusted to them by The Emperor—an offense punishable by being turned into an endless, mindless scribing servitor for atonent.
If they managed it, it ant grafting yet another cancerous tumor onto the already bloated bureaucracy of the Imperial Palace of Terra. No one ever knew when these newly conquered Sectors would stop draining the Imperium's lifeblood and finally begin to nourish its increasingly exhausted carcass.
Tacitly allowing Huron to stir up trouble was one thing; the overwhelming majority of the High Lords were not fools. The Great Rift region was undeniably a vital trade artery and a critical resource hub, but giving him free rein to develop completely outside their control?
That was absolutely forbidden.
Turning a blind eye to his embezzlent of tithes was already pushing their absolute limits. The real problem, however, was that Huron had managed the Great Rift region incredibly well, even earning himself the title 'Tyrant of Badab.'
He was nothing more than a local warlord in a single Sector. Who had given him the authority to siphon off imperial taxes? If any random Chapter Master could just do as they pleased, what would happen to the rest of the Sectors?
Truth be told, Romulus utterly despised having such insubordinate elents under his own command. Under what logic, within a unified administrative frawork, could a subordinate entity simply choose to withhold taxes on a whim?
Such a precedent could never be allowed to stand.
"The paynt of the tithe is strictly mandatory."
Romulus voiced his unyielding agreent before incisively pointing out the root cause. "However, based on everything witnessed during the Dawn Crusade, I seriously doubt the Throne World itself can efficiently utilize these tithed resources."
His tone verged on being dangerously sharp.
Instantly, the gathered representatives fell into a dead silence.
Violeta Roskavler, the Departnto Munitorum representative, unconsciously rubbed the edge of her data-slate. The exceptional woman hailing from Inwit, a world of ice and fire, wore an exceptionally grave expression.
As a seasoned official long tasked with overseeing the Munitorum's logistical nightmares, she knew better than anyone just how abysmally low the Imperium's efficiency was when it ca to utilizing its tithes.
On countless depot worlds, mountains of tithed goods gathered from a myriad of Planets piled up infinitely. Crates of unpacked supplies simply rotted and rusted away within gargantuan storage arrays. Due to constantly exceeding storage capacities, they were even forced to systematically incinerate 'unimportant' tithes just to clear space.
Romulus was not just spouting baseless accusations either. He waved over the Ultramarines Invictarus guards responsible for the eting's itinerary, having them distribute compiled ledgers of raw data into the hands of every representative present.
While the exact figures for the Segntum Solar remained opaque, their exhaustive investigations revealed a staggering truth: in the Sectors of the Ultima Segntum alone, it was highly debatable if the Imperium's utilization rate of tithes even breached five percent. The region was perpetually choked by severe overproduction.
Last year alone, a staggering eighty-three percent of the Adeptus Administratum's budget in the Ultima Segntum had failed to be disbursed on ti due to suffocating bureaucratic backlogs.
In practical terms, this ant every single Imperial citizen had been forced to labor twenty tis harder than necessary, all for nothing.
"..."
Fragnted murmurs rippled through the ranks of the representatives. They periodically frowned as they cross-referenced the damning data, exchanging hushed whispers with one another.
It took nearly half an hour before they finally concluded their preliminary review of the docunts.
As if synchronized, every gaze in the room gravitated back to Romulus.
Unlike the Inquisition, the various bureaucratic departnts of the Imperium generally extended a degree of leniency to militant factions like the Space Marines and Imperial Knights. If their tithes arrived late or slightly short, it was quietly swept under the rug. Even minor transgressions were often tolerated.
Now that a Primarch was actually willing to sit down and negotiate, they were more than willing to lend him their ears.
"In the future, I demand that the tax revenues from the Sectors under the jurisdiction of the Wings of Dawn be funneled directly to the Imperial worlds that genuinely need them."
Romulus dragged his finger across the holographic Star Map, using Ultramar as a foundational template before explicitly highlighting several brightly pulsing nodes.
"Such as essential fortress worlds and critical industrial hubs. Terra will retain full rights of oversight and auditing, and your agents are welco to accompany every shipnt."
"My Lord, do you speak strictly of the Wings of Dawn, or does this extend to all Adeptus Astartes?"
Amothalion, the representative of the Adeptus Administratum, respectfully inquired.
"Only Sectors personally vouched for by the Wings of Dawn will be granted this privilege, and it is strictly confined to the Ultima Segntum."
Romulus replied smoothly. He harbored no fear of imitators; if anyone dared to replicate this autonomy without permission, both he and the Imperium would crush them without rcy.
Amothalion's furrowed brow relaxed slightly, though he quickly followed up with a cautious probe.
"And the destination Sectors?"
"They shall be selected from the Segntum Obscurus."
Romulus's answer was crisp and uncompromising.
That response visibly drained the tension from Amothalion's shoulders. He exhaled softly, sharing aningful glances with his fellow representatives as the suffocating atmosphere in the chamber dissolved.
Radiating outward from the Throne World, the Imperium was fundantally divided into five major Segntums.
The Segntum Solar: the core domain centered around the Sol System. It served as the absolute political and military nexus of the Imperium, housing pivotal worlds like holy Terra and Mars.
The Ultima Segntum: sprawling eastward from the Segntum Solar, it was the Imperium's most vast expanse. Encompassing countless colonies and frontline war zones, it constantly faced the brunt of varied Xenos and other external threats.
The Segntum Tempestus: stretching southward from the Segntum Solar, notoriously plagued by endless interstellar strife and border instability. It was infested with traitors, making rebellions a daily occurrence.
The Pacificus Sector: lying to the west of the Segntum Solar. As the na implied, it was relatively peaceful. In reality, it was Terra's most reliable and stable tax base—at least, right up until Macarius presented Terra with a monuntal upheaval.
The Segntum Obscurus: expanding northward from the Segntum Solar. Its most infamous region was the Cadian Sector, ho to the nightmare of the Eye of Terror. It was a hellscape of the most attritional wars, serving as a bottomless abyss that devoured the vast majority of the Imperium's military might.
By choosing not to ddle in the Segntum Solar, Romulus clearly signaled that he had no intention of expanding his political influence within the Throne World. By directly targeting the Segntum Obscurus, he proved that his sheer disgust with Imperial inefficiency was genuine, pushing him to personally rectify the catastrophic supply chain.
As far as the High Lords were concerned, anyone willing to shoulder their agonizing burdens in the Segntum Obscurus was a godsend.
"However, linking Sector logistics is an incredibly monuntal undertaking. I presu your policies will be strictly continuous, My Lord?"
Amothalion asked tentatively.
Implenting this ant an exorbitant increase in their workload, riddled with unpredictable variables, and requiring a colossal expenditure of administrative power.
The Adeptus Administratum desperately needed to weigh this carefully, for the sheer pressure crushing them was already astronomical.
Even though the Tyranid campaigns had essentially concluded, the massive military redeploynt protocols established to construct the anti-Tyranid defensive cordons still demanded years—if not decades—of utterly mindless calculations from legions of Administratum scribes.
Such was the agonizing bloat of the Adeptus Administratum.
Romulus turned his piercing gaze toward Navradaran.
"When The Emperor forged the Custodian Guard, He imbued them with His highest hopes for humanity. Therefore, beyond being unparalleled warriors, every single Custodian is also an exceptional Politician, tactician, and philosopher."
Romulus's profound words caused Navradaran to instinctively puff out his chest with pride.
Indeed. It was precisely for that exact reason that he loathed lingering idly within the palace.
"So, may I entrust the Custodian Guard to oversee this endeavor?"
If the Custodians could directly liaise with the Master of the Administratum—just as Aglaia personally acted as the bridge between the Grand Master of Assassins and the High Inquisitor—the suffocating workload for both sides would plumt. Establishing mutual trust would beco effortlessly simple.
"Absolutely, My Lord,"
Navradaran replied without missing a beat, before imdiately pivoting to the Adeptus Administratum officials.
"The Lucifer Blacks will escort you on your return journey. Upon arriving at holy Terra, the Master of the Administratum may directly contact Shield-Captain Valerian of the Custodian Guard for all official debriefings. The Custodians will personally partake in the supervision and execution of all administrative matters pertaining to the Primarch."
Romulus's exceptional patience and profound respect toward Mortals had earned an imnse amount of goodwill from the Custodian.
This Primarch did not view himself as an unreachable transhuman or a living god, but rather as an integral part of the greater human whole.
"How many n can you commit?"
Romulus couldn't help but ask, genuine curiosity lacing his tone.
"Myself, Valerian, and a mber of the Eyes of the Emperor. Three in total."
'I knew it,' Romulus thought. 'There is no way the Custodians would be that proactive. They have been weeping over a tomb for ten thousand years without doing a single shred of real work.'
A flash of profound disappointnt inevitably surfaced in Romulus's eyes.
If there was one specific faction within the Imperium whose sheer incompetence infuriated him the most—
First, it was not the treacherous Primarchs aligned with Chaos. Those wretches were utterly beyond salvation, and sooner or later, he would personally butcher every last one of them.
Second, it was not the parasitic tech-priests of the Adeptus chanicus. Those arrogant academic tyrants would eventually see their absolute monopoly on knowledge shattered once he gathered enough strength, and then he would forcefully blast each and every one of them into the void.
Third, it was not these Mortal bureaucrats. Bizarre as their thods were, they were ironically the easiest to understand. They were genuinely trying their absolute best; the core of the Imperial system was simply rotten to the marrow. The fact that their desperate ergency protocols had sohow held together for ten thousand years only proved just how terrifyingly robust the Imperium's foundation truly was.
No, it was the Custodian Guard!
Aside from the Shadowkeepers endlessly guarding forbidden horrors in the dark vaults beneath the palace, the retired veterans of the Eyes of the Emperor, and a microscopic minority like Navradaran who had long since ventured out to assist the Imperium...
Every single one of them was a shut-in, rotting away within the palace! If they weren't silently standing guard like glorified statues, they were wasting their ti playing those utterly pointless Blood Gas.
What actual use was a Blood Ga where they role-played as assassins infiltrating the Imperial Palace to murder The Emperor, other than to kill ti? When an Ork Attack Moon literally warped right into Terra's face, were they genuinely going to defend against an Ork assassination attempt?
These beings were living, breathing templates of absolute perfection in human politics, military strategy, and civil administration, yet they spent every waking hour indulging in such aningless nonsense.
If they just spared a single day out of every month to help the Adeptus Administratum untangle its bureaucratic nightmares, the Imperium's situation would be exponentially better than it was now.
Romulus clenched his fists hard. His grievances with the Custodians ran incredibly deep.
Sooner or later, when the Wings of Dawn finally marched on Terra, he was going to strap every last one of those Custodians to a Gloriana-class battleship's ram and forcefully educate them on what a real Blood Ga looked like.
Catching the venomous shift in Romulus's expression, Navradaran couldn't help but look deeply ashad.
He was painfully aware of the idle, stagnant state most of his brothers had fallen into.
However, just as his brothers never interfered with his own chosen path, he held no authority to dictate what the rest of them should do.
"Lord Romulus, could you provide a highly detailed proposal regarding this precise administrative chanism?"
Amothalion continued to press forward. Now bolstered by the concrete guarantee of the Custodians, he possessed far more confidence.
First, they needed to completely hamr out the policies governing Ultramar and the Great Rift region.
The Imperium cared precious little for anything else; it only demanded absolute loyalty and its rightful tithes.
As long as he wasn't pulling so treacherous stunt like redirecting their taxes purely to self-fund his personal empire, they could stomach it. At the very least, they were willing to tolerate such a glaring exception for a Primarch.
The other representatives swiftly threw themselves into the fierce debate to fiercely protect their own factional interests, clearly offering their tacit approval of Romulus—an unprecedented exception not seen in ten thousand years.
The entire reason exceptions were strictly forbidden was simply because no mortal man could bear absolute responsibility forever.
Power evaporated the mont a man drew his final breath. Aside from the unique circumstances surrounding the Officio Assassinorum and the Fabricator-General of Mars, the average tenure of a High Lord lasted a re ten to fifty years.
You could offer ironclad guarantees while you still drew breath, but once you were dead and buried in the cold earth, who would step up to shoulder your promises?
No one—unless, of course, you were The Emperor Himself, or a Primarch.
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