This attack was swift in Olwen's eyes, utterly impossible to track in Dimit's, and so slow in Rogal Dorn's that it made him drowsy.
"Let's go, child. There's nothing for us to do here. Perturabo will handle his own problem." Rogal Dorn turned and left, with Helbrecht and the other sword champions close behind him.
Crack! Bang!
Perturabo snapped the halberd-axe in half. The daemon dwelling within it would be left with permanent spinal disc damage. Drau was kicked away by Perturabo, smashing violently into the carriage.
Perturabo knelt on one knee beside the dying Drau and lifted him with one hand. "Are you still conscious?"
Drau struggled to open his eyes. Blood spilled from his mouth as he grinned. "That's the feeling... that hard kick."
Perturabo shook his head. "I never kicked you. None of the sons I kicked could stand whole before me."
"You kicked my captain."
"What for?"
"Because he stirred the quick-setting concrete a little too slowly, lowering its strength by 0.003%. He was watching you at the time and got distracted. You came over and kicked him. My captain flew through the air and knocked all of us to the ground."
"What happened afterward?"
"We had no Dreadnought. He died."
"I... I'm sorry. That kind of thing won't happen again."
Drau, who had been calm just moments ago, suddenly became agitated. He forced himself to move closer to Perturabo. "Don't apologize! There is no apology in the creed of iron!" Then Drau let out a weak gasp and lay powerless in Perturabo's hand, with only intermittent breaths remaining.
Perturabo was silent for a long while. Then he heard Drau's voice again.
"Did I live up to your expectations, Father?"
"You did well." Perturabo softened his voice. Amid the unceasing artillery fire of the battlefield, it