Ms. Elsa was disarmed.
More precisely, she had voluntarily let go of the dangerous weapon in her hand. The moment she released her mechanical halberd, everyone present breathed a sigh of relief. The Primarch Sentinel, however, thought nothing of it.
These mortals were strange.
Was this their first time seeing a combat Sentinel? Did they really think she couldn't handle them just because she no longer had the weapon—which was more a symbol of rank than anything else?
She could open any one of the twenty-one weapon bays in her body and wipe out these little rookies. If she activated overclocking, she wouldn't even need to use weapons. Three punches and a couple of kicks would be enough to deal with them.
Of course, the proud Primarch wasn't completely ignorant of the ways of the world.
She understood that setting down one's weapon was, above all, a gesture of peace between both sides. But that did nothing to change her contempt for the combat abilities of these mortals who had boarded her ship.
Forgive her.
After all, ever since she'd come off the production line, Ms. Elsa had fought on the warp battlefield. She had virtually no experience dealing with other races, and she wasn't a Librarian Sentinel who needed to master those cumbersome social niceties.
Besides, knowing those things wouldn't make her any more powerful against the forces of Chaos.
Each department of the Sentinel Legion had its own duties. To mechanical beings who saw themselves as tools, fulfilling their roles and becoming exceptional in their respective fields was the highest expression of their mission. It was also one of the Sentinels' virtues.
"This woman's gaze is begging to get her punched!"
Triss muttered under her breath:
"When she looks at us, she sees right past our skin. Every