Legion Era Chronicles (15, Two Old Relics

Dong, (A storm is brewing)

Karyl leaned against the wall, watching Skaradrik and Sheher Cold Soul exchange sword blows in the dueling cage. 💝😎 ✋👽

Despite sharing the same blood, they are not alike brothers.

The Supreme Grand Master was never as wild as the Crimson Lord; his swordsmanship was deadly and quiet, with all his killing moves hidden in the inconspicuous rotation of his wrist.

Skaradrik, on the other hand, was proud and wild. When he wielded his sword, it was as if a natural disaster had struck, showing no mercy. Every swing was a killing move, showing no retreat whatsoever. Even a mere flick was aimed at Sheher's throat.

The vast differences between them were making the duel increasingly dangerous, even though they were using blunt training swords and were not wearing armor.

One wrong move and one of the two Chapter Masters would fall in a pool of blood—realizing this horrified Kargio, who was standing nearby. Although the Calth's Sons also engaged in similar duels, they never encouraged bloodshed.

Unlike him, Sevatar simply stood there nonchalantly, casually slinging his sword over his shoulder, appearing carefree and frivolous.

"Once you are injured, or injure your opponent, it means they have lost control of their own bodies and skills. This is different from being injured on the battlefield, where the situation is constantly changing, and no one can say they can remain unscathed."

The Lord of Macragge expressionlessly tossed the pamphlet at their feet.

The swordsman trusts the defender and therefore attacks with all his might. The defender trusts the swordsman and therefore never dodges, but only parries.

"A magnificent battle," Karyl said sincerely. "You must have fought side by side many times before."

Even disregarding that, the pale, Ghost appearance of the Grand Commander and the Grand Lord easily evokes some unpleasant thoughts.

This strike was powerful and heavy, completely breaking free from the restraints of power. If it had hit, the Supreme Commander would probably have had to go to the emergency room today—but he was not flustered. Instead, he confidently raised his sword and perfectly blocked the frontal slash.

Sevatar narrowed his eyes, refraining from a hasty attack. He knew very well that this was just a trap.

Karyl reached out and took it.

Karyl shook his head, slightly disappointed—why wouldn't he even offer a word of advice? As if my words were law.

He strode forward, taking the lead into the dueling cage. Sevatar followed closely behind, each holding a blunt training sword.

At that moment, the blunt sword seemed to truly transform into Warhammer or some other blunt weapon, crashing down on Karyl, who was much shorter than him. The howling wind was so intense that even the Chapter Master outside the arena could hear it clearly.

Sevatar sighed.

At that moment, everyone except the Hunter changed their expression.

He received a trembling nod.

He slowly walked out of the duel cage and began to put on his training clothes.

"It could be made even more realistic," he said casually. "While there were precedents of Apothecary and medics mocking patients during the Legion era, it was just for mutual amusement."

The Great Khan grinned, then viciously unleashed another powerful strike, suddenly delivering a second frontal slash.

His words made Kargio's expression gradually become indescribable, and at that moment, the battle in the Duel Cage gradually entered a state of white-hot intensity.

He swiftly withdrew his longsword, blocking the fatal blow, but Karyl had already charged forward. He was much shorter than him, and while this shortness didn't allow him to outrun Sevatar, it did give him a certain advantage in terms of vision.

Sevatar had to lower his head to observe him more closely.

He only needed to raise his sword to block, then rotate his wrist, step forward, and swing the sword to easily disarm and kill Sevatar.

The air trembled, filled with mournful cries, yet he remained unmoved and calm. The past ten thousand years, the various hardships, the countless deaths—every burden and every difficulty he had borne on his journey to this point was being forged into shape in the furnace within his heart at this moment.

Karyl bent down, picked up the broken swords one by one, and gently tossed them out of the dueling cage. When he looked up again, a sword that was a bit too big for him was blatantly placed in front of him.

Sevatar paused for a moment, then replied in a deep voice, "In my memory, you were much taller than you are now."

This is one of the reasons why Skaradrik swung his sword with all his might; they must have practiced together many times before to have this unspoken understanding.

These grey garments, provided by the Calth's Sons, are not made of cloth, but rather of a genetically edited grass-like plant fiber. They have a delicate feel, possess a degree of self-cleaning ability, but are also easily damaged.

Karyl watched clearly from the sidelines. Although the two hadn't communicated, they had already decided to end the fight at this moment.

"Yes, Chapter Master Kargio. Therefore, they will do everything in their power to avoid this situation; nobody wants to go to the infirmary and meet with the Apothecary. The pain of having a wound stitched up without anesthesia is nothing compared to the Apothecary's ridicule."

"That's all. Just pretend I'm Xianni or Richter."

Karyl asked. He raised the sword with both hands, which just covered half of his face, and the mirror-like blade reflected Sevatar's smiling face precisely.

"Not many times," Skaradrik said.

His face had lost all its frivolity, leaving only absolute rationality. If Karyl showed even the slightest weakness, he would pounce on him without hesitation, bite his throat, and shake his head from side to side.

At this moment, he was no longer Jago Sevatarion, but a genuine enemy who wanted to kill Karyl Lohars.

No one answered, so he threw his short sword. Amidst the splattering blood and screams, the eyes beneath the short, grey hair of the Lord of Macragge began to slowly gleam with a terrifying brilliance.

"Mocking?" he couldn't help but press. "The Apothecary mocked the patient?"

How should I put it?

"Yes." Karyl nodded slightly, still focused on the fight inside the duel cage, but he didn't forget to explain in a low voice.

"However, the Duel Cage is a different story. The Night Lords possess similar skills and equal ferocity, and for experienced players, predicting their opponent's next move is not difficult."

Amid the clash of swords, Karyl turned and gave Kargio a serious conclusion.

Karyl lunged into his arms, held the sword horizontally to Sevatar's abdomen, then gently twisted his wrist, pulling and tugging.

Sevatar took a deep breath, as if he could see himself being disemboweled, and his abdomen and ribs burned with pain.

"Clang--!"

Sheher followed him out of the cage and began to explain.

"I will ask five questions, but I will only ask them once," he said slowly. "I don't like to repeat myself, so you'd better listen carefully to every word I say, understand?"

Karyl, with uncanny foresight, answered his question with remarkable calmness.

Karyl burst into laughter.

It was only then that Kargio belatedly realized what his presence meant. He immediately coughed lightly, made up an excuse, and left, briefly forgetting that this was the residence of the Calth's Sons.

In swordsmanship, striking after the opponent has moved is not a particularly advanced technique. The sword can essentially be simplified as an extension of the arm, another straight line. The length of this straight line is constant. Sevatar can be fast, but Karyl, who anticipates his sword path, will only be faster.

Then they saw Karyl casually deflect Sevatar's sword.

He gave Karyl a forced smile, then said nothing more.

He finished the rest of the "Calth specialties" in one bite, then patted the Hunter and Kaul on the shoulder, and pulled them out of the darkness with a hint of smugness.

"Where are your fists? I won't say I want to see one of you with broken arms and legs, or your brains splattered, but I do want to see some blood."

"Height cannot be a measure of an enemy's strength," Karyl chuckled. "Are you making excuses, Jago?"

He paused, his expression becoming somewhat awkward for some reason. "What I mean is, we're quite spread out. Anyway, we do have a tradition of cooperation."

"One to zero," Karyl said. "Any objections, Jago?"

"Are there any other rules?" the smiling person asked softly.

The longsword's bright blade suddenly dimmed, piercing the air with a cunning and vicious strike towards Sevatar's seemingly unguarded knee.

"Very good," Roboute Guilliman said. "Now tell me, who authorized you to spread this religion?"

He gave a distinctly obvious smile when the topic of blood came up.

In every battle, the Calth's Sons would wear training clothes or training armor; they would never treat each other shirtless like enemies.

Karyl responded to his mockery with a smile, and then surprisingly launched an attack.

No wonder he's a descendant of Roboute Guilliman; his political acumen seems to be ingrained in his genes.

Even if Sheher didn't actually mean it that way, he still misinterpreted that dry smile and applied it to himself.

He sheathed his sword, bent his knees, and positioned it in a very standard starting stance, placing it on Karyl's weak side. He then began to slowly probe.

"No," Sevatar said. "It's just that I'm not used to seeing a short instructor."

Kargio stared at him in astonishment.

"So you still say you can't use a sword, Instructor?" Sevatar asked, his voice laced with mockery. "I think you could make Richter jump out of his coffin right now."

"I'm not surprised that it has changed like this after ten thousand years, but it has deviated from the original intention of setting up the dueling cage. You should be swinging your swords at each other with the intention of killing each other, and does a broken sword mean the battle is over?"

I will limit my power.

Judging from this scene alone, one can't help but feel a little worried for Karyl. To an uninformed person, this scene might be interpreted as Chapter servant being questioned by two Astartes.

Therefore, getting injured is equivalent to not being skilled enough.

Karyl looked at him, gently shook his sword, and then surprisingly lowered his hands. The blunt sword hung low, held by both hands at an angle to his side. His posture was relaxed, his shoulders slumped, showing no intention of attacking.

"Not fast enough," he said sternly. "What? You're afraid to use your full strength against me? I know you can be faster than before, but where's your resolve? Don't force me to laugh at you, Jago. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

Skaradrik and Sheher Cold Soul exchanged a glance and nodded silently.

Jago Sevatarion, who was gnawing on a mushroom in the dark, gave a muffled reply.

Five seconds later, they resumed fighting.

--

Roboute Guilliman pushed open a door, stepped past a dignified knight in an eagle-helmet, and, carrying a heavy short sword and a pale blue pamphlet, entered an interrogation room. In the bright light, several people were staring at him with terrified expressions.

At first, he instinctively tried to use one hand. However, even though he was considered tall among mortals, he still needed to use both hands to balance the sword.

Won't this cause non-combat casualties?

"You were careless. Why? This isn't the first time you've fought me. We've spent more time in the duel cage than anyone else. You should know exactly how I'm going to deal with you, but you were still too slow."

But now, he did not bow his head.

"No."

The blunt swords clashed, iron filings flew, and sweat poured down their faces. The two controlled their strength, slowly pushing their skills to their peak during the sparring session, which also made it more dangerous.

His demeanor was unlike anything the other chapter Chapter Master present had ever seen. In their minds, Jago Sevatarion had always been a somber, serious, and reliable figure, and had never displayed such an attitude before.

Kaul rubbed his temples, swallowing back the comment that he looked like a gangster thug from the bottom rungs of the Hive City.

"We have a tradition of cooperation. Hunting traitors is an innate passion of every loyalist, and the Crimson Claws are among the best at it. And we happen to have members all over the galaxy."

A third of a second later, he was not surprised to see his sword blocked by Sheher, and the recoil carried his sword back into the air even faster.

Sevatar nodded, then suddenly strode forward and swung his right hand out with a fierce motion. This sword strike was completely unpredictable, yet he managed to control its trajectory with his own strength.

Karyl watched him leave, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.

Sevatar grinned at him, twisted his wrist, pointed the sword tip at himself, and handed him the hilt.

The attack was unsurprisingly blocked, but Sevatar's face showed no sign of relief. He let out a low growl and swung his hands upwards with such force that it seemed he wanted to decapitate Karyl with that sword strike.

Karyl withdrew his gaze, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the High Commander of the Blade of Judgement and the High Lord of the Crimson Claws, who were also staring at him, as if waiting for something.

He took a step back and nodded to Karyl.

He successfully used brute force to break through skill, completely disrupting Karyl's subsequent series of sword techniques and forcing him to take a step back. However, this was only the beginning. In a Sevatar, the blunt sword was once again aimed at his eyes.

"Of course, it's really hard to gauge the right balance. So, Jago, come with me into the cage."

Then, Karyl spoke softly.

Skaradrik was parrying Sheher's thrust with his sword just a second ago, but without hesitation, he slashed at Sheikh's neck with his other hand, stepping out with his right foot and bracing his waist, as if preparing for something.

The Grand Master and the High Lord cast cold glances at him, as if threatening him, or perhaps trying to persuade him. Sevatar simply grinned, extended his right index finger, and gently shook it.

He received a barrage of angry glares, even the calmest Hunter frowned. Yet, still no one spoke.

The metal shattered, and they casually tossed aside two broken, blunt swords, signaling the end of the battle.

Roboute Guilliman extended his right hand, grasped his sword from his chest, and slowly drew it out.

"Like I said, I don't like to ask a second time," he said.