34. Training Day

Richter Nair gripped his sword, then collapsed to the ground.

A sharp, intense pain shot through his left neck, spreading and affecting his entire brain, rendering him unable to stand and causing him to feel dizzy. He tried to maintain his balance, but it was impossible.

His opponent seized an opening in his swordsmanship and then revealed it to him with lightning speed. It brought excruciating pain. After a few seconds of struggle, Richter of the Eighth Company collapsed to the ground of the dueling cage.

The composite material floor provided excellent support for his weight. His brothers stared silently in the darkness below the stage, while he looked up at the light source on the ceiling in silence.

It spilled down, cut into irregular pieces by the cage's horrific shape and other things, like shattered gems. Richter didn't get up for more than ten seconds, still feeling dizzy.

"How is it?" the instructor from the Eighth Legion asked in his characteristically gentle tone.

Richter knew what he was asking.

"I've got a clue," he replied, rubbing his neck. "But I still don't understand how you managed to find that one and only weakness I hid among my thirty feints."

"Because you've tried so many things to mislead me, so many that I can completely ignore them all."

Karyl shook his head as he spoke.

"You always like to wiggle your wrist before launching a real attack. I've remembered that habit, so I no longer need to observe the trajectory of your blade or the movement of your shoulder. I only need to watch your wrist."

Richter suddenly realized. "I see."

"But, as I said, Richter, I am not very proficient in swordsmanship itself. I did not defeat you in swordsmanship."

He heard his instructor speak tactfully. "So, why don't you try looking for someone else? I think Talaf from the Fourth Company should be able to fight you to a draw in swordsmanship."

"He's no good," Richter replied ruthlessly. "He's certainly good at swordsmanship, but he always overthinks. I take a step, and he tries to analyze what's hidden behind it, then I can take a second step and smash his head in with my sword."

Laughter and a hoarse shout came from the darkness below the dueling cage, "You bastard!"

"Sorry, I didn't notice you were down there too," Richter said without turning around.

"You bastard, you came with me!" Talaf from the Fourth Company shouted. "You're deliberately mocking me in front of the instructors!"

"I can mock you anytime, why in front of the instructors?" Richter replied, then gripped his sword again and charged towards their instructors.

Karyl stood quietly, a hint of helplessness in his expression. Richter was a persistent and earnest person, which was why his swordsmanship had improved so quickly—but Karyl genuinely didn't understand swordsmanship very well.

As he said, he did not surpass Richter in swordsmanship, but rather in his keen observation and sharp understanding of combat.

"What do you want to learn from me, Richter?" Karyl asked as he parried a fierce and powerful attack. "I can't teach you anything, at least not in swordsmanship."

"You just need to stand there and let me attack you," Richter said, then he heard someone in the audience muttering curses at him for his lack of manners.

"Go ahead and curse, the instructors don't care," Richter thought.

He's right. Their instructors really don't care about that kind of thing.

Karyl laughed, "Do you want me to be a wooden stake?"

My goal today is to at least bump into you once—or twice.

"You're making this your goal for victory?"

"That's certainly not the ultimate goal."

Richter took a step back, inhaled a deep breath of cold air, and then suddenly raised his sword high, setting the stage for his next thrust with a diagonal slash.

After his slash was blocked, he immediately rotated his wrist, used his waist to generate power, and thrust out a terrifying stab with utmost concentration.

This time, it was not blocked.

Karyl looked down at his chest. A training sword was pressed heavily against it; its weight and Richter's strength had pierced the skin, and blood was dripping down the blade.

"Instructor--"

"--Well done." Karyl smiled slightly. "Xianni will be very jealous of your rapid progress."

Richter secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly sheathed his sword, turned around, took a clean, sterilized towel from his corner, and handed it to his instructor. "He'll have to get back to do this too."

Karyl chuckled and began wiping away the blood. "Their return journey is almost over, Richter. In a few days, you'll see Xianni shouting his name from a corner in the audience."

"."

Richter fell silent, a voice beginning to play on repeat in his mind—"I, Xianni of Terra, will become the next challenger!"

He couldn't help but sigh, "I didn't expect I would actually miss him a little."

Karyl responded with a muffled laugh from his throat. He returned to the edge of the dueling cage and reached out to open it. Richter nodded to him, then grabbed his training sword and jumped off the ring.

His training for the day was over. If there had been more time, Richter would have loved to spar a few more times with his instructor, but not now. He needed to get back to his company commander and head to the ground for duty together.

Karyl remembered each of their names, faces, and shifts. That's why he opened the cage to let Richter leave.

Only a few people get to practice with the instructors each day, making these opportunities extremely valuable. Therefore, their instructors dedicate time and effort to ensuring that everyone's training time is not reduced.

On his way out, his brothers cheered for him in a somber way, unique to the Eighth Legion. Unlike the other legions, they offered no praise, no loud compliments, only quiet eye contact, gentle nods, and a few pats on the shoulders and back.

However, many people challenged him—such as Talaf of the Fourth Company, who angrily pointed at Richter from a corner, without saying a word, but made a very serious throat-slitting gesture.

Richter didn't know how to respond, so he simply decided to pretend he hadn't seen it.

He walked through the door on the second floor, rushed back to the Eighth Company's base, and after a quick wash, changed into his Power Armour and went to the hangar fully armed.

His company commander and 198 other comrades had been waiting here for a long time. Ground duty is relatively simpler than other jobs, but there is a limit to the number of people in each company, which cannot exceed 200.

This restriction was added by Konrad Curze Curze, and believe me, you don't want to know what happened during that massive melee involving three companies two weeks ago.

"You're already late, ten minutes to go," Anric Barbatos said sternly.

But I didn't.

"Don't give me that—I heard you made the instructor bleed in the cage today?"

Richter looked at his company commander in surprise. "How did you know?"

Anric raised his hand and tapped the side of his helmet. "You know, Richter, our intelligence network is always excellent—I even know that Talaf from the Fourth Company is going to duel you."

He can't beat me.

"That's hard to say. The majority of your matches have ended in a draw."

"It won't happen again after today."

Anric chuckled softly, "You'd better beat him dozens of times, that way I can really give that bastard from the Fourth Company a good dressing down."

Richter didn't answer that question. The "bastards of the Fourth Company" that Anric Barbatos used usually only referred to one person, namely the company commander of the Fourth Company —and he didn't want to get involved in this matter.

"So, when do we set off, Company Commander?"

Where are we headed?

"On duty?" Richter asked hesitantly.

Anric Barbatos shook his head. His face was obscured by his helmet, so Richter couldn't see his expression, but he could hear the laughter in his voice, which hadn't yet been altered by the breathing grille.

"Today's duty was cancelled five minutes before your arrival, an order personally given by the Primarch. The First Company will fill our vacancy, and we will be moving with four scattered squads to board the ship."

"Boarding?"

"Yes, boarding," Anric Barbatos chuckled dangerously. "More men are approaching Nostramo in their dilapidated transport ships. I'm sure the Nightfall won't mind a few more prisoners."

Richter frowned. "So fast? The prisoners said it took them four months to get to Nostramo, but they've only been imprisoned for two weeks. Why has the world behind them sent another group so quickly?"

"I believe they don't really know what their people encountered on Nostramo," Anric Barbatos said. "But this is the outskirts of the Imperium, Richter; in other words, it probably has everything, including another world that wants to trade with Nostramo."

"It'd be best if there were no Xenos," one of the Eighth Company said quipped over the comms. His lame joke elicited a burst of laughter, even Richter smiled slightly, put on his helmet, and prepared to board the enemy with his brothers.

But right now, he doesn't know one thing.

Sometimes, pre-battle jokes and sarcastic remarks become reality. This isn't superstition, but rather a kind of terrifying probability.

Also, I'll get back from dinner and continue writing.