Christmas Special: Emperor's Ascension Day on the Battlefield

379.M39, during the infamous Rebellion Tide.

To row against the current was to fall back if one did not advance.

Fulgrim reached out and gripped his sword—but wait a moment.

Before it truly severed the head of something or someone, look at it first. Look at its rough blade, its unpolished edge, its tip as blunt as that of a training sword. Was such a crude weapon worthy of being held in the hands of Fulgrim of the Emperor's Children?

Many had sought the answer, but Fulgrim almost never replied.

The blade came down—or rather, smashed down.

Though it was a "sword" more like an iron bar, Fulgrim still wielded it with a peculiar precision and strength. It smashed a head clean off its body, sending it flying backward dozens of meters.

In truth, the instant it touched that blunt sword, it had already been smashed into a warm, wet mist of blood. Yet that did not stop the shattered bones within from tearing through more flesh like bullets.

Expressionless, the Phoenix raised his sword and smashed it down again, then down again, again, and again.

A few minutes later, there was no living thing left around him, only a vast sea of blood. Severed limbs floated in the blood flowing over his ankles. It should have been a scene of cruelty and horror, yet his presence lent it a touch of uncanny beauty.

Yes, who could deny his beauty? That flashing silver hair, those handsome features, those well-proportioned muscles...

If that were all, it would hardly matter—at most, he would be a beautiful shell. But he was not merely outwardly beautiful. His inner self was as beautiful as his exterior, and had long since surpassed it.

Still, it was rather interesting. Everyone who had never seen him lavished