30. Visit of the Raven Guard (V)

Sevatar had almost lost count of how many times he had slashed at Alastor Rorschach's training sword with his chainsaw; its edges had become jagged, resembling the menacing fangs of a wild beast.

It was forced to increase its lethality, transforming from a simple, blunt sword into a blade truly capable of tearing flesh. However, every gain has its price. It gained those serrated fangs, but lost its original sturdiness.

Alastor clearly understood this as well, so he increased the number of times he dodged.

Sevatar was fed up with the whole thing, so he laughed sarcastically, "Cousin, is all you can do is hide?"

"Shut up, Night Lords. I can smell the stench from your breath. What did you eat last time? Some kind of sticky energy bars that someone threw in the trash?"

A smile also appeared on the pale face of the Raven Guard.

"I'm going to knock all your teeth out, so you'll only be able to drink nutritious porridge with your tongue from now on."

"Then why don't you give it a try?" Sevatar replied with a chuckle. "What's the point of just talking without doing anything? Fine, I'll help you then."

As soon as he finished speaking, he gripped his chainsaw tightly, suddenly took a large step forward, tensed his muscles, and used his waist and back to power his arm. The chainsaw roared and tore through the air as it slashed down fiercely towards Alastor Rorschach.

No, perhaps it should be called a crash.

Sevatar's right hand, which he used to control the front of the chainsaw, had already slid to the tail as it cleaved through the air. With power and speed combined, he used the chainsaw rather unconventionally, as if it were a stick.

Nevertheless, Xianni, who was watching from the waiting room, let out a rather low chuckle and turned to look at his adjutant. The adjutant, having anticipated this, tossed him a short knife with a warning in his voice.

"You'd better shut up, Xianni. I don't want to hear you brag about anything right now."

"What is it?" the Terra asked gently.

What's up?

Well, whatever it was, Alastor Rorschach of the Raven Guard clearly hadn't anticipated it. A flicker of gloom crossed his pale face as he watched the chainsaw halberd hurtling towards him, but it was too late for him to dodge.

The next second, the serrated teeth of the chainsaw sank deep into his breastplate.

Metal fragments flew out, sparks flew everywhere, Sevatar laughed excitedly, using Deceit to stir up Alastor's emotions.

"You're going to lose, cousin," Sevatar said teasingly in a soft voice. "By the way, what position do you want to land in the sandpit?"

The Raven Guard remained silent, a surge of anger stealing away all the words he should have uttered, leaving only a roar.

A genuine look of surprise flashed across Sevatar's face. He immediately released his grip and tried to back away, but it was too late. The tip of the Raven Guard's blade had already sliced across his neck, and blood gushed out, splashing wetly onto Alastor Rorschach's face.

He grinned maliciously and immediately pressed his advantage, not even bothering to remove the chainsaw halberd still stuck in his breastplate. Sevatar's eyes narrowed; the pain in his neck was nothing serious, just a little blood, nothing to worry about.

The training sword his opponent had chosen was a blunt one; its inherent sharpness was insufficient to inflict a fatal wound. Sevatar clenched his fists, watching the approaching flash of light and swung his left hand.

A muffled thud, followed by a creaking sound of breaking flesh, echoed dully across the sandpit. The Raven Guard's attack had worked; he had shattered Sevatar's left elbow with his training sword, but his sword had broken as well.

The saw teeth and metal shattered together, scattering in the air, the harsh white light illuminating them and reflecting off each other, making them look like a different kind of blood.

So, what about Sevatar? Did the pain stop him from continuing?

The answer is no.

A smile involuntarily crept onto Jago Sevatarion's face, a smile he himself didn't even realize he had. Excitement flowed through every detail, genuine and without a trace of pretense.

His right hand shot out like lightning, seizing the chainsaw halberd stuck in Alastor Rorschach's breastplate. A flash of cold light, and the Raven Guard let out a painful roar and fell to the ground.

Hot blood splattered around the sandpit, staining a small portion of it crimson. Sevatar looked down at his opponent, seeing no sign of surrender in his eyes.

He grinned maliciously, dragged the chainsaw halberd with one hand, turned off the engine, and swung it around, smashing it hard against the Raven Guard's tattered breastplate. The training armor made a crisp sound and immediately dented.

Alastor coughed up a mouthful of blood, but his eyes still seemed to burn. He reached out with both hands and gripped the front of the chainsaw handle tightly, lying on the ground and wrestling with Sevatar, who was holding one hand.

"You think you can win? Dream on!" Raven Guard roared incoherently, his strength continuing to increase.

His hands were intact, unlike Sevatar's left hand, Sevatar was now limp and hanging down from the elbow, with flesh hanging pitifully on the bone, and bone fragments showing through the huge open wound created by the saw teeth, a truly horrifying sight.

"How would I know if I could win?" Sevatar chuckled softly, then suddenly released his right hand.

The recoil combined with Alastor's own strength, causing the chainsaw to suddenly fly out of his hand and into the air. A look of astonishment flashed across Raven Guard's face, and although he reacted quickly, it was too late. Sevatar had already pounced on him.

He pressed his knee against the Raven Guard's upper jaw and his thigh against his neck. His right hand was clenched, and his back was arched high.

"--Bang!"

Raven Guard let out a muffled groan, indistinct and sounding almost like a cough. His hands began to dance in the air, his right hand grabbing Sevatar's injured left hand and twisting it with his fingers until it was almost completely broken.

If it weren't for the muscles still maintaining their connection, the arm would probably have already left Sevatar's body. Despite the excruciating pain and the horror, Sevatar's face remained indifferent.

He looked at the blood-stained Raven Guard and punched him twice more.

With his first punch, he shattered Alastor Rorschach's left cheekbone and eye socket. With his second punch, he smashed his nose and several teeth. With his third and final punch, he plunged Raven Guard into a deep and painless coma.

The right hand finally released Sevatar's left hand little by little, and he collapsed helplessly onto the sandpit.

Sevatar, expressionless, slowly tilted his head back, trying to get a better look at the platform. Unfortunately, his vision was blurred. Blood had clouded his eyes, causing a slight problem with his eyesight. He sniffed, moved his knees, and stood up from his opponent.

His black hair was disheveled and blood dripped continuously from his body. As a victor, he looked no better than the loser.

Cheers and applause erupted from all around, not just from the Night Lords, but also from the Raven Guard. Some of them were hostile to him, but others applauded the spectacular battle he and Alastor Rorschach had put on.

Sevatar ignored them and staggered out of the sandpit. Everyone in his eyes was almost a blurry dot of light; he couldn't see anything very clearly. His hearing was fine, but he just wanted quiet now.

In this state, Sevatar limped back to the waiting room. The servants and Apothecary who had been waiting immediately swarmed him and pinned him to the ground.

Van Cleef inquired about his health from the Apothecary, while Xianni laughed and praised him. The adjutant, Mollez, remained silent, constantly handing tools to the Apothecary.

The First Reserve Officer observed all of this with a detached and indifferent perspective, and slowly raised his head. He saw the pale white light in the room, and a huge shadow that was gradually rising.

"How is he?" Sevatar asked softly. His sudden question silenced the room for a moment, but the man who had suddenly arrived raised his hand, gesturing for them to continue and not to pay attention to him.

"Alastor Rorschach is receiving treatment; he'll be fine," Karyl replied. "You went a bit too far, Sai."

"I know, I want to apologize for it," Sevatar said, pursing her lips. "But I can't bring myself to say it."

Karyl shook his head, saying nothing more, only staring. Sevatar felt uneasy under that gaze, and sighed, "Well, what are the consequences of my actions, Instructor?"

"We still need to observe. At least, many of the Raven Guard applauded for you, didn't they?"

I'd rather they didn't applaud me.

Karyl chuckled, turned, and walked out of the waiting room, no longer letting the darkness envelop him. "Get some rest, Sai. I'll have someone save some dried sand eel for you. Remember to chew it thoroughly before eating, don't be like Keg from the Sixth Company."

As Sevatar watched him leave, his impulse to use violence gradually gave way to a contemplative calm.

--

"I apologize to you for Jago Sevatarion's behavior, brother," Konrad Curze Curze said from the high platform.

The Primarch's voice was somewhere between a whisper and silence, his eyes conveying a clear apology. If it were anyone else here, they wouldn't accept it, and might even berate Curze for his actions.

But Kolus Corax was different. The Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion calmly nodded and accepted the apology—he was a normal man, perfectly normal, so he wouldn't take the apology as an insult to his offspring.

He's normal, but others might not be.

"Lord Konrad Curze, you don't need to apologize for such a thing," the man said in a deep voice. "Alastor Rorschach and all the chosen Raven Guard understand what they will experience in the sandpit, and even if they die there, it's just part of the celebration. They are prepared."

The Night Lords's brow furrowed deeper and deeper. He turned to look at the speaker and recognized him— Al Phall, the former legion commander of the Corax Legion, the Lord of Shadows.

He glanced quickly at his brother, whose face was expressionless, with only a hint of helplessness in his eyes.

"Prepared?" Curze continued. "You mean prepared to face death and kill?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't recall ever requesting such a thing. The sandpit is just another type of dueling cage. Which legion's dueling cage rules state that deathmatches are allowed?"

"No, sir."

"Then why do you say that, Company Commander Al?" Konrad Curze Curze asked, his brow furrowed. "Or is this what Corax requested? Have you ever asked for something like this, brother?"

"No," the Lord of the Ravens said calmly. "I would not ask anyone to give their life for such a thing."

Al Phall lowered his head and whispered the explanation in his Primarch's ear.

"Forgive me for not explaining this to you beforehand, Primarch. However, there are some unwritten rules at such Legion gatherings or similar celebrations. It is common for duelists to bleed each other, and even sacrifice themselves."

"Do unwritten rules even count as rules?" Corax turned and glanced at his company commander. "Besides, why did you speak up for me when my brother apologized to me? Did you think I wouldn't speak up for myself?"

"I have overstepped my bounds, Primarch."

"What?"

"I have overstepped my bounds, Primarch, I am sorry," Al Phall said stiffly, bowing his head.

"I don't like that word," Corax said.

Al Phall's stiffness transformed into a near-complete shock and helplessness.

"You're bewildered, interesting. Why be bewildered, Al?" The Primarch of the Raven Guard calmly stared at his company commander.

"I'm not saying I dislike the word 'sorry'—everyone makes mistakes. I just dislike the word 'overstepping.' The way you use it is too natural, filled with the awe of a subordinate for the authority of a superior. But you can also so naturally decide my breakfast and speak up for my brother at this time. Don't you think these two things are contradictory?"

"I— the Primarch, I."

Corax ignored Al's temporary impaired speech; he simply stood up from his chair, maintaining a fixed gaze throughout.

"Let me ask you a few questions, Al. Are my preferences important to you?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Al Phall immediately answered Corax's question, "Very important, Primarch."

"Why?" Corax asked. "Would you care about Alastor Rorschach's preferences? Do you know what kind of weapons he likes and what kind of people he dislikes?"

"I don't know, Primarch."

"You don't know, and you don't care. You care about my preferences, but you don't really care that much. You choose what I eat for breakfast, you select a list for me to enter the sandpit, you keep that unwritten rule from me, you answer my brother's questions for me—what does all this mean, Al?"

The atmosphere gradually became tense. Corax's tone was flat and monotone, sounding more like he was reading a thesis than questioning someone.

Konrad Curze Curze squinted, observing the scene before him, and remained silent.

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