During Dukel's tenure on Terra, Doom assumed responsibility for promoting the Second Legion.
As the empire's transformation continued to expand, Dukel's scientific research team also began to grow. What began as a small team of just four people now numbered 222. Among them were some of the most renowned scientists in the galaxy, as well as esteemed Magos from the radical Mechanicus. United under Dukel's leadership, they dedicated their talents to the Empire's advancement.
A new bureaucratic system, which prioritized merit over birthright, had begun to take shape. Contrary to the expectations of the Primarchs, the implementation of this system faced minimal resistance. Many of the empire's millions of worlds were already accustomed to this system, and the nobles had shown through their actions that they were not mere relics of their ancestors' glory.
Ten thousand years ago, during humanity's first great expedition, the Emperor had relinquished direct control over the various worlds in order to accelerate the construction of the Webway and free humanity from the corrupting influence of the Warp.
Dukel's second great expedition, however, would not face this same dilemma. Under his urging, the Supreme Council had enacted new planetary management regulations, requiring world leaders to regularly report back to Terra. This shift not only brought the Empire closer together but also allowed the Primarchs to focus on matters of greater importance, sparing them from being bogged down by endless bureaucratic entanglements.
The virtual communication system had established major nodes across the galaxy, and the workload of the Military Affairs Department had once again intensified. They were continually handling rescue and suppression missions for various worlds.
Thanks to the rise of the radical faction on Mars, led by Cawl, the technology for planet transformation was made public. A multitude of dead worlds began to regain life, with some even able to support the cultivation of edible crops. The Administration Department estimated that, within the next century, the Empire would acquire at least 100,000 new agricultural worlds.
With a bountiful supply of food and Dukel's careful regulation of the Empire's merchant trade, the citizens of countless hives were finally freed from the torment of corpse starch and could enjoy real meals.
This positive feedback loop set the stage for an explosive growth in the Empire's efficiency. The people of the Empire saw hope, and their sense of identity and loyalty to the human race surged.
In the past, although the Empire's citizens worshipped the Emperor and chanted "For the Emperor," loyalty was often driven by the necessity of survival. Whether it was the cultists or the Genestealer Order, the people's allegiance depended largely on whoever could provide them with food.
This had been a key factor in the frequent rebellions within the Empire. But now, with food no longer a luxury, the people's faith in the Emperor was far more resolute.
Alongside these reforms, Dukel also promoted new educational, agricultural, and industrial policies. Slowly but surely, things were getting better.
However, not all was smooth sailing. The Regent, despite the positive changes, was deeply troubled. Every reform required more than just rhetoric; the promotion of each new policy came with a heavy financial cost. The burden had doubled the Regent's workload.
Sadly, the Empire's finances were in a precarious state. Guilliman, in his frustration, had even considered embezzling from his modest treasury in Macragge—but there was nothing to take.
Before returning to Terra, Guilliman and Cawl had transformed hundreds of thousands of Primaris Space Marines in one go. Even if the Five Hundred Worlds were prosperous, their food stores were running low.
Dukel, however, remained unfazed. His wealth had reached extraordinary levels. His expeditionary force was supported by three primary sources of income:
First, there were the taxes paid by the worlds under Dukel's rule, with Ophelia VII serving as the capital. Dukel had conquered the political and military factions there, bringing these worlds into his fold.
Ophelia VII, the second holiest world after Terra, was among the wealthiest in the Empire. However, after funding Dukel's massive expeditionary force, much of its wealth had been drained, leaving little to contribute.
Second, there were the supplies taken by the expeditionary force during their mission to the dark side of the galaxy. Despite returning much of the spoils to aid severely damaged worlds, the wealth gained from this venture remained significant.
Finally, there was Dukel's personal income. His "revenue generation" tactics were simple: he took from whoever had the wealth to spare. His primary targets were the Infinite One, Trazyn, and the heretical nobles of Terra.
The treasures seized from Trazyn's collection alone had made Dukel staggeringly wealthy. Yet, the wealth of the noble families far exceeded even that of the Endless One. Dukel had dispatched millions of agents across the galaxy to confiscate the riches of heretical families, and after two years, less than 50% of the task had been completed.
Some families, like the former Grand Marshal of the Ministry of Justice, had been entrenched in the Empire for millennia. The riches accumulated by such families were enough to fund the Empire for centuries.
Dukel had killed dozens of these powerful families, seizing their wealth. Though this money nominally belonged to the Empire, no one had yet demanded that Dukel share it.
In Dukel's eyes, these families were like vast treasure troves, ready to be looted whenever he needed resources.
Among his many reforms, Dukel's financial strength not only supported the Regent's initiatives but also enabled the continued expansion of his Argentum Energy Factory. Even Dukel's offspring, Doom, had used his vast fortune to construct a massive Argentum Factory while fulfilling a rescue mission—without hesitation or regret.
The Empire's prosperity, it seemed, was largely thanks to the selfless contributions of these noble families.
Dukel, ever the strategist, even planned to erect a "pillar of shame" to honor the noble families' unintended contributions to the Empire's success.
Meanwhile, Dukel's sprawling factory complexes, vast as steel cities, had sparked the Regent's curiosity. The factories, consuming millions of Chaos Demons daily, had become a subject of fascination, and the Regent had been left wondering just how far Dukel's ambitions would reach.
Although demons had become a common sight across the Empire's vast territory, their existence remained a sensitive subject. These heretical beings, regardless of their prevalence, were a topic few dared approach openly.
Thus, Dukel decided to step away from the complexities of government affairs and personally visit the Argentum Energy Plant on Terra. His status as regent granted him unfettered access, and no one made any attempt to bar his entry.
Upon his arrival, he was greeted by Xi'rus, a mechanical priest and a student of Gris, who was also a prominent figure within the radical faction of the Mechanicus. Xi'rus believed that humanity should not just be content to study machines but should embrace them as tools for the defense and advancement of the human race. It was this philosophy that had earned him Dukel's favor, and Dukel had sent him to the Argentum Energy Plant as a technical consultant.
Xi'rus proudly led Guilliman through the vast industrial complex, eager to showcase the factory's operations.
Batches of alien prisoners and heretics were extracted from containment pods and cast onto the assembly lines. Here, they endured brutal processes, tortured and crushed into scrap, as part of the factory's unrelenting production cycle. The operators on the assembly line were none other than the Primaris Space Marines of the Second Legion, whose cold efficiency ensured the factory's grim function.
Guilliman's expression soured as he watched the scene unfold. While he had no personal sympathy for aliens or heretics, his mind, preoccupied with the Empire's recent financial struggles, was drawn to something else—the sound of machinery relentlessly churning, and the unmistakable scent of burning wealth.
A wave of unease washed over him. How much is all of this costing? His first instinct was to calculate the monumental expense this factory represented.
"Why do you go to such lengths?" Guilliman asked, his tone mixed with confusion and concern. "A boltgun can achieve the same results."
Dukel, who had recently made significant financial transfers from his personal treasury to the Empire's coffers, had explained that these funds were voluntary donations to the Empire and would not require repayment. Despite this, Guilliman had opted for a more cautious approach, negotiating a deal similar to a "low-interest loan."
This decision only solidified Dukel's reputation as someone seemingly indifferent to finances in the eyes of the regent.
While Guilliman knew that Dukel had recently seized vast fortunes from powerful noble families, he remained skeptical. In his estimation, no amount of wealth, however vast, could rival the resources of the Five Hundred Worlds or the Empire. To him, it appeared that Dukel was spending far more than he was earning, yet the factories continued to expand.
A dangerous glint flickered in Guilliman's eyes as suspicion crept into his thoughts. Could corruption be at play within the Mechanicus? Had Dukel been manipulated into funding these extravagant ventures?
"It's all for the survival of our people, Your Excellency," Xi'rus answered respectfully, seemingly unaware of Guilliman's doubts.
"For the survival of our people?" Guilliman repeated, his tone sharp. "Aside from providing a means to vent your hatred for aliens and heretics, I fail to see any substantial benefits here."
Xi'rus hesitated before responding, "Sir, I can show you some of the factory's other accomplishments. You are permitted to visit, though..." His voice faltered slightly, revealing some discomfort. "There is a distinguished guest present right now, and I'm unsure if our presence would disturb him."
"A distinguished guest?" Guilliman asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Who is it? Where are Leon and Sanguinius?"
Xi'rus shook his head.
Guilliman's curiosity deepened. "Then I must wonder about this guest's identity," he mused aloud, a smile curving his lips as though he had suddenly guessed the answer.
"Take me to them," Guilliman commanded.
"All right."
Xi'rus led Guilliman through the labyrinthine corridors of the factory, eventually arriving at a vast warehouse constructed from special alloys. This massive facility, spanning several kilometers, was filled with every type of weapon imaginable—both cold and hot, each one exuding a sense of terrifying power.
Guilliman could keenly feel the oppressive energy radiating from the weapons. They were imbued with such strength that even a Primarch like him could sense the danger they presented.
Xi'rus, the Mechanical Priest, proudly demonstrated the weapons' capabilities.
"These are weapons prepared for the enemies of the Empire," Xi'rus explained, his tone brimming with zeal. "Each piece was personally developed by the Second Legion's scientific research team, and their design incorporates the combined efforts of hundreds of great mechanical Magos. It is foretold that when these weapons are deployed on the battlefield, they will bring ruin to our enemies, spilling their blood and making them howl in agony. This will be the greatest hymn to the Lord of Destruction."
As Xi'rus spoke, his enthusiasm was unmistakable. In the eyes of radical scholars, Dukel was almost revered as the incarnation of Omnissiah—a figure to be worshipped. These ultimate instruments of destruction could only be created by the power of the Lord of Destruction.
Guilliman watched in near awe as Xi'rus showcased the destructive potential of the weapons.
Had Xi'rus not detailed the parameters and mechanics of the devices, Guilliman might have believed these were relics from a long-forgotten civilization.
"So, you're telling me that such potent weapons can be produced continuously by a factory like this, using only the souls of heretics and aliens? And these thermal weapons don't consume any energy to use—just kill demons, and the magazines charge themselves?" Guilliman asked, astonished.
"Sir, technically, a little additional 'torture' is required to fuel the souls that serve as material," Xi'rus corrected.
Guilliman's eyes narrowed. "This is madness," he murmured, taking a deep breath.
"Brother, do you think this is madness too?" came a voice, clear and confident.
Neither Xi'rus nor Guilliman had noticed the newcomer before. The voice had come from the shadows, and as it did, a figure emerged—tall and regal, with the same noble aura as Guilliman.
It was Corvus, Lord of the Ravens.
"Guilliman, it's been a long time," Corvus said, his voice carrying a note of fondness. "This is the new weapon I've chosen. What do you think?"
The Raven Lord raised his clawed hand, and the sharp claws glowed with a red force field, carving a destructive trajectory through the air.
Guilliman blinked in surprise but didn't focus on the weapon. Instead, he stepped forward and embraced Corvus. "It's good to see you again, brother," he said warmly.
"Long time no see."
The bond between Guilliman and Corvus ran deep—ten thousand years ago, the two Primarchs had shared moments of camaraderie, playing the Legion Battle game, their rare moments of warmth in an otherwise war-torn existence.
After the embrace, Corvus held out the weapon once more. "Brother, do you think this weapon is too radical? I feel the same, but I have to admit, in these times, perhaps only madness can stand against the tide."
Corvus had been isolated in the Warp for millennia, and his reunion with Guilliman was not one he'd sought. Their relationship had never soured, but Corvus didn't know how to face his brother after so much time apart. Hearing Guilliman's sigh, he mistakenly assumed his brother still clung to conservative views, so he emerged from the shadows to offer counsel.
However, Guilliman's response caught him off guard.
"No, brother, I believe it's too conservative," Guilliman said, shaking his head. "With such technology, we should push the full might of the Empire into building factories on every planet, using every demon to fuel the assembly line. Every warrior should wield such a weapon in their hands."
Corvus's expression faltered, a brief moment of confusion flickering across his features. "So the conservatives think the radicals are too conservative?" He laughed softly. "I never imagined you'd be the one to suggest such a thing."
"Dukel is the Imperial Warmaster now," Guilliman remarked, as though answering an unspoken question, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
"No wonder," Corvus murmured with understanding.
The two Primarchs shared a look, both smiling as they acknowledged the shift in their perspectives.