Triumph Cord

"Now, let's carve the Triumph Cord!"

Kleist turned and shouted to the gladiators.

All the gladiators immediately rose from the ground and searched for something sharp enough to cut with.

Stones, shards, bones left behind by the dead.

"What's the Triumph Cord?" Angron asked curiously.

Kleist was too caught up in his excitement to notice Angron's question.

So it was Oeno who answered Angron instead.

"The Triumph Cord is a ritual." Oeno turned around, lifted his tunic, and showed Angron his back.

Angron noticed a vertical line running along Oeno's spine, marked with red and black, like some kind of scale.

"Gladiatorial combat is a tradition on Nuceria, dating back a long time," Oeno explained. "Ages ago, there was a custom in the arena: the victor would carve a line along their spine, from the base of the neck down to the waist. Each win meant a small cut, and over time, it became a single line."

Angron was puzzled. "We hate the arena. So why are we imposing its rules and traditions on ourselves?"

"Because this tradition is older than even the oldest High-Rider family. It started as a way for soldiers to record their honor and shame." Oeno handed a sharpened stone to a nearby gladiator.

Qin Xa watched the scene. He was familiar with this ritual called the Triumph Cord.

As far as he knew, if things followed their original course, Angron would bring this tradition into the World Eaters Legion after becoming its Primarch.

If the World Eaters couldn't conquer a world within thirty-one solar hours, they'd mark a black line on the Triumph Cord as a symbol of shame.

The intermittent red and black lines on Oeno's spine were the Triumph Cord—red for glory and victory, black for shame and defeat.

Making a red line was easy: just a small cut, like dotting a straight line with a drop of blood.

For a black line, you'd cut the wound and then pack dirt into it. When it healed, it would turn black.

"Hold on, lads." Kleist suddenly had an idea. "We won today because of that medium-sized fellow. He shared honor and victory with us. So how about he carves our blood lines?"

Kleist's idea got an immediate response from the group.

The gladiators gathered in a row, presenting their backs to Qin Xa.

Letting a comrade stand behind you with a sharp tool to carve a blood line—that was also a way for gladiators to show trust and friendship.

"Me?" Qin Xa stood up, taking a sharp bone shard handed to him by a gladiator. "Alright, but this is my first time. Don't blame me if I end up carving into your left butt cheek."

With that, Qin Xa moved behind each person.

His movements were swift, his strikes precise.

On every gladiator's back, he left a small bloody wound on the Triumph Cord formed by their blood lines.

After adding a mark to every gladiator's Triumph Cord, he stopped and looked at Angron, silently asking if he wanted to take part in this tradition.

To Angron, who had yet to be educated, all traditions seemed meaningless.

But the sense of honor brimming in everyone's hearts infected Angron. He nodded and bared his broad, imposing back.

The Primarch wasn't yet fully grown, but his size already dwarfed any modified Astartes with ease.

"Angron." Qin Xa extended a finger, gathering heat at its tip, and left a small bloody wound on Angron's back. "This is the beginning of your glory."

Angron let out a grunt. The psychic energy caused him more pain and damage than any physical tool could, but beyond the pain, he felt joy.

Because almost everyone here was happy.

"Now, carve one for me." Qin Xa handed the bone shard to Angron.

Angron took it, hesitating noticeably—not because of himself, but because he sensed confusion from everyone around him.

They seemed surprised that Qin Xa would ask for the Triumph Cord ritual.

"No offense," Oeno spoke up, "but on Nuceria, the Triumph Cord is considered a tradition for barbaric warriors and fighters. Educated or respectable people despise it."

"We're supposed to trust each other with our backs." Qin Xa turned around, showing his own back, and joked, "I don't want someone to see a back without a Triumph Cord, take a swing at it, and then realize it's mine."

"That wouldn't happen. Your back's pretty recognizable," Kleist laughed.

Angron picked up the bone shard and gently cut into Qin Xa's back, but found it couldn't pierce the skin. So he tossed it aside and used his fingernail to leave a small wound, marking the start of the Triumph Cord.

If Qin Xa hadn't used psychic power to leave a wound on Angron earlier, Angron would have used his own nails to carve the beginning of the Triumph Cord into his own flesh.

A blood-red beginning.

Late at night.

The gladiators crowded by the window, watching the bodies being dragged away by slaves outside.

Nobles from the Tark Family, knights clad in golden armor—their bodies lay face-down on the ground, their heads staring at the stars.

Slaves piled the corpses of these so-called progeny of the gods together with those of the Servant Knights, loaded them onto carts, and hauled them out of the arena's combat zone.

"Five nobles dead, and they're just letting it go?" Angron worried that the arena or the nobles might retaliate against Qin Xa next.

"If scions of other families die in the arena, the gladiators are put to death too. But not the Tark Family," Oeno answered Angron's doubt. "The head of the Tark Family is fair. He won't make the victorious gladiator pay with his life just because his own kin came to the arena seeking death and got what they wanted."

"That is fair," Angron nodded in agreement.

Oeno withdrew his gaze from the arena and turned to look at Qin Xa. "Speaking of which, I feel like those Slaughterers today didn't act as if they knew they were about to face a sorcerer. Could it really be that no one had discovered you were a sorcerer before this?"

Hearing this, Qin Xa, who had been sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes closed, twitched his ears slightly. He opened his eyes and shot Oeno a puzzled look. "I do get that feeling too, but even now, I find it far too unlikely that no one outside knows I'm a sorcerer."

Oeno nodded thoughtfully.

He also understood why Qin Xa thought it was impossible.

The people of Nuceria weren't unfamiliar with sorcerers. Qin Xa's body, being different from ordinary people, would naturally be taken as a sign of sorcery.

But since things had come this far, there was no point dwelling on it.

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