Rename Yourselves Imperial Fists!

Before the first ray of sunshine in the morning shines into Webway, Iron Warriors's camp has already exploded.

Perturabo stood on a pile of freshly built Psionic Energy bricks, with the veins on his bald head popping out one by one. His gray eyes scanned the Iron Warriors soldiers below who were still eating breakfast.

His voice was not loud, but every word seemed to be pressed out of a hydraulic press.

"If you fall behind in dusting today - give them all yellow paint!"

The whole place was silent.

Iron Warriors's faces turned into the same color at the same moment - it was not the color of yellow paint, it was the color of "It's over, Primarch is crazy".

Paint the body with yellow paint, that is the color of Imperial Fists.

Let Iron Warriors paint Imperial Fists's yellow paint instead of letting them jump directly into Nurgle's Garden's cesspool and swim twice.

At least the stuff in the manure pit can be used as fertilizer, and the yellow paint will only disgust you for the rest of your life.

But no one dared to refute.

Because the look in Perturabo's eyes told them - he was not joking.

In the distance, Imperial Fists's camp also exploded.

Roge·Dorn stood on the top of a Psionic Energy tower that had just completed its foundation, the yellow Power Armour shining in the morning light.

There was no expression on his face, and his lips were pursed into a straight line, but his amber eyes burned with a light that made people dare not look into them.

His voice was not loud, but every word seemed to be carved on a stone tablet that could not be blown away by the wind or knocked away by the rain.

"If you fall behind today - everyone will change their name to Iron Warriors."

The Imperial Fists soldiers took a deep breath.

Iron Warriors, that is their sworn enemy, the enemy they have fought for ten thousand years, the sworn enemy they wish they could carve "This side faces the enemy" on every brick.

Change your name? Change your name to Iron Warriors?

It would be better to let them take the emblem of Imperial Fists off the shoulder armor and throw it into a blender and grind it into powder.

The two groups of people, separated by half a Webway ruins, made the same sound at the same time - the sound of teeth clenching, fists clenching, and adrenaline rushing through the blood vessels.

Then, they started to dust.

This is not an ordinary dusting, it is the kind of fighting to the death, where you are sworn in, and you want to snatch the bricks from the other party's hand and smash them on your own feet.

The Iron Warriors warriors each carried three Psionic Energy bricks and ran wildly through the ruins.

Their speed was a full 30% faster than usual, and their helmets were almost blown away by the wind.

Each of Imperial Fists's soldiers pushed a cart of Psionic Energy mortar, running from one end of Webway to the other without even having time to drink.

Their wall-building speed was ridiculously fast, and every brick fell exactly where it should be, with an error of no more than tenths of a millimeter.

Perturabo stood at a high place, staring at the progress of Imperial Fists, and two more veins bulged on his forehead.

Dorn stood on the tower, staring at the progress of Iron Warriors. There was no expression on the corners of his mouth, but his fingers had already made five fingerprints on the railings of the tower.

The progress on both sides is very tight, like two snakes entwining each other. You are an inch faster, I am an inch faster, and no one is willing to give in to the other.

Iron Warriors laid one thousand two hundred bricks today, and Imperial Fists laid one thousand two hundred and fifty bricks.

Imperial Fists applied 300 meters of mortar, and Iron Warriors applied 310 meters.

The eyes of both parties are red, not from staying up late, but from anger.

But Iron Warriors won.

Just one centimeter.

After a whole day of dusting and a thousand-meter project, Iron Warriors only built one centimeter more than Imperial Fists.

Perturabo stood in front of the one centimeter leader, with his hands on his hips, and the curvature of the corner of his mouth was big enough to hang a bucket.

His bald head reflected the light of victory in the light.

"One centimeter!"

"A whole centimeter!"

Dorn has no expression.

He just looked at the one centimeter lead in silence, at Perturabo's sleazy smiling face, and at the Imperial Fists soldiers behind him who were so tired that they collapsed on the ground and didn't even have the strength to take off Power Armour.

He lost.

The stone lost.

Lost by one centimeter.

The next day, Dorn stood on the same tower. His voice was deeper and harder than yesterday, more like magma squeezed out from deep within the earth's crust.

"If I fall behind in dusting today - everyone will paint me with silver paint!"

Imperial Fists's soldiers breathed in cold air that was even colder than yesterday.

Apply silver paint? Apply it to Primarch?

No joke, right?

But Dorn's expression told them that he was crazier than Perturabo.

Perturabo just asked his subordinates to paint yellow paint, and he directly used himself as a bet.

Once the stone goes crazy, it is ten thousand times more terrifying than the hammer.

When Perturabo in the distance heard this, his eyes lit up.

He stood on the ruins, with his hands on his hips, his bald head shining in the light, and the curvature of the corners of his mouth wider than yesterday, looking meaner and more in need of a beating.

"If you fall behind today - everyone will change their name to Imperial Fists!"

There was an arrogance in his voice that said, "I will definitely win today."

The soldiers of Iron Warriors gasped no less cold air than those of Imperial Fists.

Change your name? Call it Imperial Fists?

That was their sworn enemy that they had been fighting for ten thousand years, the enemy that they wished they could carve "This side is insurmountable" on every brick.

Change the name? Call the enemy by his name?

It's better to let them kick Perturabo's bald head like a ball.

But no one dared to say it.

Because Perturabo's eyes told them that he was not joking or bargaining, but giving an order.

The two groups of people started to fight again.

This time, it's crazier than yesterday.

The Iron Warriors soldiers carried four Psionic Energy bricks each and ran wildly through the ruins.

Imperial Fists's soldiers each pushed two carts of Psionic Energy mortar and sprinted from one end of Webway to the other.

Their speed was faster than yesterday, so fast that their hands were shaking, so fast that their breathing could not keep up with their heartbeat, and so fast that even Smart Atoms issued an overload warning in the body.

But halfway through the fight, something happened.

A Iron Warriors soldier finished laying a brick, patted the ashes on his hands, and muttered casually, "Yesterday I only won by one centimeter. It was so easy to win. But that's right, after all, Imperial Fists's group of people can only do that with ashes."

Another Iron Warriors next to him answered, "That's right. One centimeter, tsk tsk tsk, the gap is too big. I think they will lose by two centimeters today."

Imperial Fists's warriors heard it.

Yellow paint, silver paint, name change, it doesn't matter.

But you can't say that Imperial Fists can't be dusted.

That is their fate, their roots, and their pride that is engraved deep in their genes and is stronger than their faith.

A Imperial Fists soldier put down the brick in his hand, turned around, and stared at Iron Warriors who was speaking.

"What did you say?"

His voice was calm, but as calm as the sea before a storm.

Iron Warriors's soldier raised his head and smiled, "I said, you just hit ashes, that's all."