True Intentions

It is specifically designed to deal with enemies who lose their balance after blocking.

Cato's pupils contracted slightly.

But his reaction was surprisingly fast.

He suddenly raised his right sword, the blade held upright, barely blocking the incoming slash.

The two swords clashed again, Mars flew once more.

The first round ended in the blink of an eye.

The two men simultaneously took half a step back, facing each other again.

The first wave of gasps erupted from the stands.

Xiang Bang watched from the sidelines, his blood boiling with excitement, his fists clenched tightly.

"What a fine sword!"

Azrael's lips curled into a slight smile.

That's the excitement of encountering a worthy opponent.

"Good response."

He said.

Cato laughed too:

"You're not bad either."

Azrael raised his sword once more.

This time, it wasn't a simple straight thrust.

With a flick of his wrist, the sword drew a strange arc in the air, slicing towards Cato's neck from the side.

That was the Dark Angels's secret sword technique— Lion's Tail Sweep.

Taking an unconventional approach, catching the opponent off guard.

Cato moved his left sword sideways, attempting to block.

But the arc suddenly changed direction in the air!

The sword, which was originally aimed at his neck, suddenly slashed downwards at the last moment before being blocked, striking directly at Cato's left shoulder!

Change tactics!

Cato's expression changed slightly.

But his body had already reacted.

He leaned back, the blade of the sword grazing his shoulder armor and leaving a deep scratch on the metal.

At the same instant, his right sword thrust out, aiming straight for Azrael's abdomen.

Counterattack!

Azrael spun around abruptly, barely dodging the sword strike.

The sword's edge grazed his waist armor, leaving a scratch as well.

The two separated again.

This time, both of them were breathing slightly more rapidly.

It's not that I'm tired.

It's excitement.

"Good!"

Azrael roared.

His sword thrust out again.

This time, he didn't test the waters.

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

Every sword strike was aimed at Cato's vitals; every sword strike carried the determination to kill.

The Dark Angels's swordsmanship emphasizes nothing more than this unstoppable momentum.

Even a lion uses its full strength to hunt a rabbit.

Cato swung his twin swords wildly, barely managing to block the storm of attacks.

The sound of swords clashing against swords, like a dense drumbeat, resounded throughout the fighting arena.

Mars flew, illuminating their faces.

Azrael's brows were furrowed, his gaze piercing.

Cato had a slight smile on his lips, but that smile was full of seriousness.

Both players were attacking relentlessly, and both were defending fiercely.

Not a single person backed down.

No one showed weakness.

This is a duel between top swordsmen.

Whoever backs down loses.

Whoever is afraid will die.

The Seventh Sword.

Azrael's sword pierced Cato's heart.

Cato parried with his left sword and counter-attacked with his right.

The eighth sword strike.

Azrael's sword changed direction mid-air, slashing towards Cato's wrist.

Cato retracted both swords simultaneously, barely managing to block the attack.

The Ninth Sword.

Azrael's sword pierced Cato's face.

Cato jerked his head to the side, the blade grazing his ear and shaving off a lock of hair.

The tenth sword strike.

The eleventh sword strike.

The twelfth sword.

The sword light intertwined to form an impenetrable net, enveloping the two of them.

The spectators in the stands were completely stunned.

They had never seen a battle like this before.

That was no longer a Space Marines battle.

That is--

Art.

It is the art of the sword.

It is the art of killing.

yes--

Timeless art.

The thirteenth sword.

Azrael thrust his sword out once more.

But this time, his sword carried a strange power.

That power did not come from his muscles, nor from his bones, but from his soul.

That is the power of Law of Eternity.

It was Guilliman who gave him the power.

It is the most fundamental force in the Material Universe.

The moment the sword was thrust out, the air trembled and space itself seemed to distort.

Cato's expression finally changed.

He felt that power.

That was an irresistible force.

An irresistible force.

A sort of--

A deadly force.

But he did not back down.

He crossed his two swords, holding them in front of his chest.

He was going to use all his strength to take that sword strike.

The swords clashed.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still.

Then--

Boom!!!

The deafening roar sent the entire fighting arena trembling.

The spectators in the stands felt a ringing in their ears and their vision went black.

Some people were even thrown from their seats by the shockwave.

In the arena, two figures retreated simultaneously.

Azrael took five steps back.

Cato took five steps back.

They both steadied themselves at the same time, raised their heads at the same time, and looked at each other simultaneously.

Azrael's sword was still trembling slightly.

Two tiny cracks appeared on Cato's twin swords.

The two looked at each other.

There was a full three seconds of silence.

Then--

They laughed at the same time.

The laughter grew louder and louder, echoing throughout the entire fighting arena.

"What a fine sword!"

Azrael laughed loudly:

"Excellent swordsmanship!"

Cato also smiled:

"You are stronger!"

Azrael shook his head:

There is no stronger one.

only--"

He glanced at Cato's twin swords; the two cracks were clearly visible in the moonlight.

"Your sword can't hold on any longer."

Cato glanced down at his sword, then shrugged.

"It doesn't matter.

Lord Guilliman will get me a new one."

Azrael laughed heartily:

"That's good."

He sheathed his sword and extended his hand to Cato:

A draw?

Cato grasped his hand:

A draw.

In Terra, the morning sun shines through the clouds, illuminating the golden dome of the palace.

The light was refracted by the dome, turning into countless fine golden threads that wove a flowing net of light across the square.

The Adeptus Custodes stood within the net of light, their golden armor reflecting the sunlight like burning statues.

But today's Adeptus Custodes are somewhat different from those of the past.

Their posture remained ramrod straight, their gazes still sharp, but the corners of their mouths—

It seems to have risen just a tiny bit.

That was a smile.

Although it was only a tiny bit, for the Adeptus Custodes who hadn't laughed in ten thousand years, that tiny bit was enough to shock the world.

In the distance, several Ultramarines are doing running training.

Their steps were perfectly synchronized, each step landing at the same instant, the sound of their footsteps like thunder echoing across the square.

Further away, a group of Dark Angels were sparring with Blood Angels.

Amidst the clash of swords, bursts of laughter occasionally erupted—laughter from the heart, laughter between warriors, laughter between brothers.

"What a big change!"

Malcador stood atop the palace, overlooking the entire scene.

A hint of emotion appeared on his young face.

Guilliman stood beside him, also gazing at the joyful scene.

"Yes."

He said there was a hint of satisfaction in that voice:

"Ten thousand years."

Humanity has finally come back to life.

Malcador turned his head and looked at him:

"You did a great job."