Scholar

The scholar fell silent.

He suddenly felt that he might live in the shadows for the rest of his life.

But so what?

At least, he witnessed a real celebration.

A celebration that allowed the warriors of the three legions to become human again.

That's more important than being first or second.

In the distance, the palace lights still shone brightly.

The afterglow of the banquet still lingered in the air.

The wine, the laughter, the tears—it was all real.

These are all proof of human nature.

In the depths of that lit city, Guilliman stood by the window, gazing at the gradually quieting Terra, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Only humans can love other humans."

He muttered to himself.

Then he turned around and walked toward the mountain of official business.

The smile at the corners of his mouth deepened.

Because he knew that his brothers had finally found the feeling of coming home.

Azrael had no idea how many cups he had drunk.

All he knew was that the cup in front of him emptied and filled again, filled and emptied again, the amber liquid sliding down his throat time and time again, turning into flames time and time again, burning his soul.

"Again!"

He raised his cup and shouted loudly.

The Ultramarines next to him paused for a moment, then burst into laughter:

"Great! That felt good!"

Another glass was filled to the brim.

Azrael downed the drink in one gulp, and the moment the liquid entered his throat, he felt as if he were floating.

It wasn't that kind of drunken, floating feeling, but rather a kind of --

Drifting freely.

He suddenly remembered the White Scars.

Those men from the grasslands sped across the battlefield on their motorcycles, shouting grassland war songs that were incomprehensible to them.

They drank heavily and ate large chunks of meat. After they finished drinking, they engaged in martial arts duels in the camp, with flashing swords and visceral punches.

What exhilaration that was!

What freedom that is!

Azrael didn't understand before.

He thought it was too wild, too unruly, and too unlike a proper Space Marines.

But at that moment, he understood.

As he drank the eighteenth cup of wine, as the flames burned in his veins, as his nerves, taut for centuries, finally relaxed completely—

He understood.

The feeling of freedom is wonderful.

"Brother," he said, putting his arm around the Ultramarines beside him in an unusually intimate manner, "I used to think you Ultramarines were too rigid."

"Every day we follow that code of law, everything has to be done according to the rules."

The Ultramarines wasn't angry; he just smiled and asked:

"And now?"

Azrael thought for a moment:

"Now I realize that being rigid has its advantages."

At least you won't let the secret slip out.

The Ultramarines laughed heartily:

"You're still clinging to your secret!"

Azrael laughed too:

"That's the Dark Angels, the number one keeper of secrets!"

The two clinked glasses.

He downed it in one gulp again.

Just then--

Suddenly, a deafening cheer erupted outside.

The cheers were so loud that the entire banquet hall trembled.

Azrael put down his glass and squinted as he looked out the window:

What's going on?

The Ultramarines next to him also stood up, walked to the window, looked out, and then smiled:

"Fighting arena."

"Someone is having a martial arts contest."

Azrael's eyes lit up.

Martial arts competition?

He loves martial arts competitions the most.

He stood up and strode towards the door.

Although his steps were somewhat unsteady, they remained steady and powerful.

As the door opened, the cheers became even clearer.

Azrael looked in the direction of the sound—

It was a huge fighting arena.

It is located next to the palace, and is built entirely of white stone, with a simple and majestic design.

The arena's dome is open, offering a view of Terra's deep purple night sky and countless twinkling stars.

At this moment, within the fighting arena, the glint of swords flashed incessantly.

Countless spectators sat in the stands, their cheers rising higher and higher, so loud that the entire fighting arena trembled.

Azrael went inside.

His gaze immediately fell on the two people in the room.

In the arena, two figures were engaged in a fierce battle.

The blue side represents the Ultramarines.

His twin swords danced in his hands like two silver snakes come to life.

Every swing of the sword was precise and deadly, every movement was perfectly timed, and every action was filled with absolute confidence.

He stood there, like an unshakeable mountain.

The gray side represents the War Hounds warriors.

His double axes moved with sweeping, powerful strokes, each swing carrying the force to split the heavens and the earth.

His fighting style was wild and unrestrained, unlike that of a well-trained Space Marines; he was more like a beast from ancient times.

His eyes burned with pure madness—but not Chaos madness, but the most primal desire for battle.

Azrael recognized the Ultramarines at a glance.

Cato Sicarius.

The swordsman of the Ultramarines, one of the Four Heroes, a legendary warrior personally appointed by Guilliman.

And that War Hounds warrior—

Azrael had never seen it before, but he could sense its presence.

That was the aura of the Twelfth Legion, the aura of the Angron descendants, the aura of the Emperor War Hounds.

The two had already exchanged blows countless times.

The cheers from the stands were deafening, but the two players in the stadium seemed completely deaf to them.

Their eyes were only on each other, on each other's swords and axes, and on that eternal battle.

"Beat!"

"Beat!"

"Beat!"

The audience's shouts were like a tidal wave.

Azrael was also caught up in the atmosphere.

He clenched his fists, his eyes fixed intently on the field.

On the field, Cato launched the first attack.

His figure flashed, as fast as a blue lightning bolt.

The two swords were thrust out simultaneously, one aimed for the throat, the other for the heart. The two swords were so fast that they were impossible for the eyes to follow.

Xiang Bang did not back down.

He swung his double axes fiercely, meeting the two sword lights head-on.

The sound of metal clashing exploded, Mars flying everywhere.

The first sword strike was parried by the left axe.

The second sword strike was blocked by the right axe.

But Cato's offensive did not stop.

His twin swords rained down like a storm, each strike faster and more ruthless than the last.

Every swing of the sword was aimed at Xiang Bang's vital points, and every attack made the air whistle piercely.

Xiang Bang's double axes acted like two giant shields, blocking all the storm-like attacks.

But he didn't just play defense.

He was waiting for an opportunity.

When Cato thrust out his seventh sword, Xiang Bang moved.

He swung his left axe out suddenly, not to block, but to counterattack!

The axe, accompanied by a whistling sound, cleaved straight for Cato's neck!

The force of this axe strike was so great that the surrounding air trembled.

Cato's expression changed slightly.

He had no choice but to sheathe his sword and return to defense.

The two swords were crossed, forcefully blocking the axe blow.

But the force of that axe blow carved two deep furrows in the ground beneath his feet, and he stumbled back five steps before finally coming to a stop.

A deafening roar erupted from the stands.