"God, did you see that? He can still eat!"
"He swallowed it, he swallowed it—the hot dog went right down his throat!"
Cries of astonishment rang through the crowd. Everyone was looking towards the restaurant—or, more precisely, at the two giants who were eating like maniacs.
And the unquestionable stars of everyone's attention were Roboute Guilliman and Mordred, those two bottomless pits.
Basin after basin of hunter's stew was poured into their stomachs, chunk after chunk of flatbread chewed to pieces. Even by Dog-men standards, this was an enormous breakfast, yet before these two Primarchs, it could not hold out for even a second.
It all started after the Wolf King recovered from his injuries. Fenris was such a godforsaken place that, aside from watching wild wolves bare their fangs in blizzards, there was basically nothing to enjoy.
Having finally arrived in Serenity, Russ figured he had to have some real fun. He had fought wars for half his life—surely he deserved to enjoy himself for once!
As a truly gifted sort, Russ was both cunning and savage. The Wolf King was savage and cunning, a perfect example of forgetting the pain as soon as the wound healed.
Mordred insisted that he call him Second Brother, which always made the Wolf King feel like he was being held beneath him. But even if he melted half of Mordred's body with lightning, the bastard could regenerate at frightening speed. In the end, Russ could only be dragged down and worn out.
To prove himself—and to screw Mordred over while he was at it—Russ decided on a contest of wits. Just like the three contests he had once held with the Emperor, he would beat Mordred in appetite. Whoever lost would pay the bill.
But Russ never imagined that Mordred could eat