Here's the revised version of Chapter 29 – The Last Wish, edited for grammar, clarity, and flow, while keeping within approximately 1500 words:
The air in the hall crackled with tension. Guilliman's fury was palpable, and the temperature seemed to rise with every moment he remained silent.
The gathered representatives shifted uneasily, dread thick in their throats.
"My lord, my Kalima family has served the Imperium for over three thousand years. We have never betrayed our oath. You cannot strip us of our rights so callously. Is this cruelty the Empire's reward for loyalty?" the planetary governor of Sara said, trembling.
"Loyalty?" Guilliman's voice rose sharply as he stared down the man. "Tens of billions died on your planet. Hundreds of millions turned to the worship of the Ruinous Powers. I did not execute you only because you did not rebel. That was your reward."
"We were appointed by your father," another noblewoman interjected. "He granted us hereditary titles. You cannot dismiss us like this. It violates—"
"Your authority stems from the High Lords of Terra, not the Emperor himself," Guilliman interrupted coldly. "And the first generation of the Senate was formed by me. I hold supreme authority now."
(After the Horus Heresy, the original Council of Terra was disbanded. Upon Guilliman's return, he was appointed Lord Commander and reformed the council under his guidance.)
"My lord, we only—"
"Silence."
Others began to rise, voices rising like a blizzard of protest against the Primarch. In the face of losing their power, respect and caution evaporated.
Sicarius, standing beside Guilliman, observed them grimly.
Power is corrupting, he thought. It erodes reason. It fosters greed. It turns loyalists into liars and weaklings.
The Primarch was here to save the Imperium from ruin, yet these people only mourned the loss of privilege.
If the power of a single planet could drive people mad, what would the power of a sector, or an entire Segmentum, do?
Could they go so far as to plot against a Primarch?
The thought struck Sicarius like a thunderbolt. Could they attempt to kill Guilliman to protect their rule?
He shivered at the implication. One day, perhaps he too would have to choose—between Guilliman's vision for the Imperium and the old, rotting systems of Terra.
Guilliman would not compromise. From the moment he awakened, he had made his disdain for the Imperium's decay clear. He would drag humanity from ignorance and stagnation, whether the ruling class liked it or not.
Those who had ruled for millennia would not give up easily. They would cling to their power with bloodied nails.
Finally, Guilliman could take no more. With a wave of his hand, he ordered the chamber cleared. The representatives, still muttering in protest, were driven out by the Honor Guard.
When the hall fell silent, Sicarius returned. He knelt respectfully before speaking.
"My lord, there is someone who may meet your requirements. But he is grievously ill and cannot come to you. If you are willing, would you visit him at the hospital?"
Guilliman was silent for a moment. Then he stood. "Let us go."
The news of the Primarch's visit spread like wildfire.
The people of Sara poured into the streets, crowding around the makeshift hospital, chanting Guilliman's name and that of the Emperor.
Some wept openly. Others kissed the very ground where he walked, offering prayers of gratitude. The nightmare had ended, and their savior now walked among them.
"They're mad with devotion," Guilliman muttered.
"They are just overwhelmed, my lord," Sicarius replied.
"If my father were here, I wonder how disappointed he would be. He never cared for worship. If he erred, it was in believing humanity didn't need belief at all," Guilliman said, his voice heavy with regret.
Sicarius said nothing. He had never known the Emperor. The stories of the Great Crusade were legends, not memories.
As they entered the hospital, a hush fell over the wounded. Soldiers and civilians alike turned to see the towering figure of the Primarch. Their suffering momentarily forgotten, they straightened in their beds and stared in awe.
"You are exceptional," Guilliman said to them, his voice resonant and warm. "You defended this world and humbled the servants of Chaos. Without your sacrifice, this war would not have been won."
Faces lit up with pride. To be recognized by a Primarch was a rare and sacred honor.
One soldier, his leg amputated at the knee, reached out to Guilliman. The Primarch extended a finger clad in ceramite, allowing the man to grip it. The hospital erupted into cheers, and the soldier burst into tears.
Inspired anew, many pledged in their hearts to continue serving the Imperium until death, for Guilliman, for the Emperor.
At last, the Primarch reached the innermost ward.
Inside lay a man wrapped in disease and suffering. Medical equipment beeped weakly around him, keeping him alive for now.
"His name is Jie'an," a doctor explained. "Colonel of the Third Security Regiment. When the planetary command fled, he took charge of Sara's defenses. Without him, we'd never have held out. But the battle took its toll—his organs are rotting from within. There's nothing we can do."
Guilliman entered the room, ducking under the doorway. A rancid stench—like rot and decay—clung to the air.
He steadied his breath. As a Primarch, he had no fear of disease. His gene-enhanced immune system could resist even the vilest warp plague.
"Colonel Jie'an," he said softly.
The man stirred. His swollen face twisted into a pained grin. "Is it… really you? My lord Primarch?"
"It is. You are a hero of the Imperium, Jie'an. Your name will be remembered, your deeds sung for generations."
"No, my lord. I failed. So many died. I couldn't protect them. I tried… but without you, it would all have been for nothing."
Tears streamed from the man's eyes.
"If not for your resistance, Sara would have fallen completely to Chaos before we arrived," Guilliman said firmly. "You delayed the enemy long enough for us to strike. That victory is yours."
He reached into a satchel and produced a medal—the Imperial Medal of Honor. "In the name of the Regent of the Imperium, I grant you this."
Jie'an wept, holding the medal tightly against his chest. "Thank you… thank you…"
Guilliman leaned closer. "Is there anything else you wish to say?"
"Yes…" Jie'an's voice trembled. "Please… grant me the Emperor's Mercy. The pain… it's unbearable. I feel my body decaying… trying to pull me into corruption. I don't want to fall. Please…"
His infected eyes locked onto Guilliman's flawless face, pleading.
His life had meaning now. He had been seen. Acknowledged. He could die in peace.
Guilliman was quiet for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "If this is your final wish, I shall grant it."
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