Come Have a Fight
"Such immense power!"
Azrael's pupils contracted slightly.
He could sense that the War Hounds Warrior's power had surpassed the limits of an ordinary Space Marines.
That was a pure, savage, and unreasonable force.
Cato steadied himself, looked at Xiang Bang, and a hint of seriousness appeared in his eyes.
"Good ax technique."
He said.
Xiang Bang grinned, a smile brimming with unbridled arrogance:
"It's not over yet!"
He lunged forward.
Xiang Bang's attack was a complete rout.
He swung his double axes wildly, each strike carrying the power to cleave a chariot in two.
His tactics were completely haphazard, yet they contained a certain primal rhythm—the fighting skills passed down through generations of the War Hounds, the killing techniques honed in the arena.
Cato is backing away.
He had no choice but to back down.
Xiang Bang's strength was too great, so great that he simply could not withstand it head-on.
Every time the axe and sword clashed, his arm would go numb from the impact, and his steps would falter slightly.
But while he was retreating, he was also observing.
Observe Xiang Bang's every move, his every habit, and every exertion of his strength.
Then, he found the flaw.
That was just a tiny flaw.
The moment Xiang Bang swings his right axe, his left ribs will rise slightly.
It only takes a split second, less than a tenth of a second, before the gap under the ribs is exposed.
But Cato caught it.
When Xiang Bang swung his right axe again, Cato did not retreat as he had before.
Instead, he took a step forward.
He drew both swords simultaneously, one deflecting the incoming giant axe, the other thrusting straight at Xiang Bang's ribs.
That sword strike was incredibly fast, so fast that no one could react at all.
Xiang Bang's expression changed.
He tried to retract his axe and defend himself, but it was too late.
The tip of the sword stopped three inches in front of his ribs.
No penetration was observed.
It just stayed there.
But everyone knew that, if Cato had wanted to, that sword would have pierced his ribs, his lungs, and his heart.
The arena was completely silent.
Xiang Bang looked down at the sword tip resting in front of his ribs and remained silent for three seconds.
Then he smiled.
That smile contained helplessness, resignation, and a hint of...
Unwilling to accept it.
"I lost."
He sheathed his two axes and nodded slightly to Cato.
"You are very strong."
Cato sheathed his twin swords and returned the salute:
You are very strong too.
only--"
He paused:
You are still too young.
Experience takes time to accumulate.
Xiang Bang nodded:
"I know.
"I'll come back to find you after I've trained for another hundred years."
Cato laughed heartily:
"Okay! I'll be waiting!"
A deafening cheer erupted from the stands.
Azrael's hand was already clenched.
He looked at the two men in the arena, at the lingering fighting spirit, at the sparks remaining after the metal clashed—
His hands were itching to be touched.
It's so itchy.
That itch comes from the bones, boils in the blood, and gushes forth from the depths of the soul.
He wants to leave the field.
He wanted to draw his sword.
He wanted to fight that ultimate swordsman.
Can I leave the field?
He turned around and looked at the Ultramarines beside him.
The Ultramarines paused for a moment, then laughed:
"Of course!"
He shouted into the arena:
"Cato! Someone wants to challenge you!"
In the middle of the field, Cato turned around and looked towards the stands.
His gaze fell on Azrael.
In that instant, his eyes lit up.
It's the light a hunter sees when he spots his prey, the light a swordsman encounters when he meets his foes, the light a warrior finds his kind.
"The Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels!"
His voice held a hint of surprise:
"You're coming?"
Azrael nodded and strode down from the stands.
His steps were steady and powerful, each step firmly planted on the ground.
The alcohol burned within him, transforming into an even more intense fighting spirit.
His hand was already gripping the hilt of the sword, and the Sword of Secrets seemed to sense its master's excitement, trembling slightly in its sheath.
He walked into the fighting arena and stood in front of Cato.
The two stood facing each other.
The stands fell silent instantly.
Everyone held their breath, awaiting the impending battle.
Cato looked at Azrael with undisguised respect in his eyes.
"Supreme Grand Master, it is my honor to fight against you."
Azrael waved his hand:
Don't be so polite.
Just call me Azrael.
Cato laughed:
"Alright, Azrael."
He took a flask from his waist and handed it to Azrael:
"Shall we have a drink before the duel?"
Azrael took the flask, opened the lid, and smelled it.
That's the taste of Ultramar wine.
Rich, full-bodied, with a hint of Macragge's unique fruity aroma.
He smiled, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp.
The wine entered his throat and transformed into flames, burning in his veins.
That wasn't drunkenness, but fighting spirit.
That was a strong liquor personally blended by Guilliman, specially designed to ignite the warriors' passion.
He tossed the flask back to Cato.
Cato also tilted his head back and took a big gulp, then tossed the flask to Xiang Bang on the sidelines:
"Then!"
Xiang Bang caught the wine pot and took a big gulp.
Three warriors, three cups of wine, three kinds of fighting spirit.
In the center of the fighting arena, under the watchful eyes of countless spectators, it burned fiercely.
Azrael draws the Sword of Secrets.
The sword was long and slender, with a sharp blade, and the hilt was inlaid with the emblem of Dark Angels.
Under the moonlight, the sword gleamed with a cold light, like the fangs of a lion.
Cato also drew his twin swords.
The two swords were exactly the same, both representing the pinnacle of craftsmanship for Ultramarines.
The sword is engraved with countless marks of battle, each mark representing a victory.
The two stood facing each other.
Ten steps away.
The stands were completely silent.
Azrael slowly raised his sword, the tip pointing at Cato's brow.
That's the Dark Angels's opening move— the Lion's Gaze.
There was nothing fancy, nothing pretentious.
Only absolute focus, absolute calmness, and absolute killing intent.
Cato crossed his twin swords in front of his chest, his body slightly lowered.
That's the defensive stance of Ultramarines —immovable as a mountain.
But anyone could see that it wasn't pure defense.
Beneath those crossed swords lay a counterattack ready to erupt at any moment.
Time seemed to stand still.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Then--
Azrael moved.
He took a step forward.
That step, though seemingly small, instantly covered a distance of ten steps.
His body left a blurry trail in the air, like a fleeting shadow.
His sword thrust straight forward, without any feints, with only one word—
Quick!
It's almost at its limit!
The sword's edge tore through the air, emitting a piercing shriek, aiming straight for Cato's throat!
This was a probing strike.
It was also a fatal blow.
If Cato had reacted even a fraction of a second slower, the sword would have pierced his throat.
But Cato's reaction was not slow.
He swung his left sword sharply, the blade parrying horizontally, accurately blocking the incoming thrust.
The two swords clashed, Mars flew.
The crisp sound, like a thunderclap, exploded in the fighting arena.
The audience in the stands felt a jolt in their eardrums, and some instinctively covered their ears.
But Azrael's offensive did not stop.
The instant his sword was parried, he flicked his wrist, the blade twisted sharply, and slid down Cato's left sword, slicing towards his fingers!
This is the Dark Angels's secret sword technique— Lion's Disarm.
It is specifically designed to deal with enemies who lose their balance after blocking.