Flowing Colors, Radiant Grace

Swarm Prince was silent for a moment.

It is chewing the words Titus, like a diner tasting a dish that has never been eaten before.

Its processor - if it can be called a processor - is running at high speed, analyzing the information contained in every word, every syllable, every tone of voice.

"Wow." There was a strange sound in its voice, like a student's sudden realization after being awakened by the teacher in class, "It's such a profound gesture.

Is this human technology?

In fact, I can do it too."

It raised the Seven-Colored Sword in its hand, and the biological sword rotated in its palm, smooth and smooth, like a dancer spinning on the stage.

The rotation speed is not fast, but every rotation carries a dazzling and uncaptured rhythm.

That is the essence of Eldar's swordsmanship, the skeleton of human swordsmanship, and the unique swordsmanship that belongs to Swarm Prince, which is a fusion of countless swordsmanship schools it plundered from the devoured civilization.

"Through countless memories engraved in my genes, I learned the swordsmanship of Eldar, the swordsmanship of humans, and the swordsmanship of many, many races.

Their essence is within my body.

Their skills are my nourishment."

The blue-white light in its eyes lit up for a moment.

"Then, let me see if your swordsmanship can match their combined strength."

Take one step forward.

That step was not big, but it disappeared from the spot and appeared in front of Titus in the next second.

The Seven-Colored Sword slashed horizontally, and the sword blade drew a semicircular arc in the air, with a colorful stream of light on the edge of the arc, like a rainbow across the sky when it clears up after the rain.

That rainbow is not static, but flowing, rotating, and swallowing all the light around it.

The air exploded.

It's not a metaphor, it's a literal one - wherever the sword blade passed, the air was torn apart, making a sharp explosion sound like broken glass.

The burning ruins on the ground were blown away by the shock wave, and the sand and gravel turned into powder in the air.

Two swords confront each other.

Titus moved.

Not to block or dodge, but to stop with stillness and overcome rigidity with softness.

His sword did not touch the sharp edge of Seven-Colored Sword, but pressed against it. There was a hair-thin gap between the blades, like two magnets with the same poles repelling each other, or like two snakes intertwining.

His sword rotated with Swarm Prince's sword, not in a hurry nor slowly, but slowly speeding up.

A sword.

Two swords.

Three swords.

Each sword is one point faster than the last sword, each sword is one point heavier than the last sword, and each sword is closer to Swarm Prince's vital point than the last sword.

It was a wave-like swordsmanship, like the tide rushing towards the embankment one after another, each impact more violent than the last.

Not relying on brute force, but relying on rhythm, and the continuous sense of oppression that makes the opponent breathless.

Titus has nothing mortal in his hands.

That sword was the Psionic Energy sword forged by his Gene-Father--Robert·Guilliman himself.

The blade is made of Adamantium and Psionic Energy crystals, and the runes of Law of Eternity are engraved on the blade.

The noble bloodline passed down by Gene-Father flows in his body. It is the purest Gene-seed from the Thirteenth Legion. It is the bloodline of the master of Macragge and the inheritance of Son of War.

His swordsmanship was personally taught by Gene-Father.

It's not the kind of guidance that "teaches you a few moves", but on Macragge's training ground, Guilliman holds a wooden sword and feeds him one move after another.

Every angle of the sword, every timing of turning the wrist, every spacing of steps - Guilliman has personally corrected them countless times.

During this period, Titus inspected the Milky Way border under the order of Gene-Father and removed all obstacles.

He fought with Chaos Daemons in the vacuum, fought with the Orks war boss in the ruins, and chased Aeldari Corsair in the nebula.

Every battle is actual combat, and every swing of the sword is a matter of life and death.

Titus, is no longer what it used to be.

In other words, it is more appropriate to recreate the peak.

His swordsmanship was born out of Sigismund - the founder of Black Templars who stood alone in the gap in the city wall in Siege of Terra, killing until the blade curled, his hands trembled, and the enemy's corpses piled up in mountains.

His swordsmanship was achieved by Cato·Sicarius - the sword master of Ultramarines, one of the Four Heroes, who is famous throughout Imperium for his swordsmanship.

Finally, they were merged into one by Gene-Father Robert·Guilliman.

It is not a simple addition, but a melting process, which is the fusion of two completely different swordsmanship - the violence of Sigismund and the precision of Cato Sicarius - into a brand new fighting art belonging to the Guilliman family.

Now, this set of swordsmanship is performed by Titus.

Sit down like a blue storm.

It's like the roar of the ocean.

Both wind and water are dense, majestic, countless, and everywhere.

The sword after sword was not attacking, but weaving a web.

An airtight and slowly shrinking network composed of sword light, Psionic Energy, and will.

Swarm Prince is shrouded in that net. Every swing of its sword is intercepted by Titus's sword in advance, and every change of its moves is carried away by the rhythm of Titus.

It feels like it is not fighting a person, but a war.

The essence of Son of War is confirmed by Titus.

That belongs to his Gene-Father--Robert·Guilliman essence, the darling of war.

In Swarm Prince's eyes, the blue-white light began to flicker.

Not fear, but excitement.

That kind of primitive, uncontrollable excitement surges in the blood of a creature when it encounters a natural enemy.

"This is really amazing." There was a heartfelt admiration in its voice, "It's like the war is appearing in front of me.

Every move, every move, every step, every turn of the wrist, every slash - is like a projection of war.

Fighting against you is just like fighting a war."

The corners of its mouth, the lipless mouth hidden under the carapace, seemed to be slightly raised.

"Such a will really makes me happy."

It laughed loudly, and the laughter echoed on the battlefield, causing those Tyranids who were still struggling in the distance to shrink back.

It was not a crazy laugh, not an arrogant laugh, but a smile that found an opponent.

It flipped its wrist, and Seven-Colored Sword rotated in its palm for a full circle. The light on the blade was like a stirred palette, with seven colors of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and purple intertwined together, turning into a gorgeous barrier as soft as silk.

That barrier is not a defense, but an attack.

"Since you are the storm of war, the thunder of war, and the rain and dew of war, then I will respond to you with this rainbow after the rain!"

The colorful rays of light are constantly flowing and intertwining, like silk rolled up.

But the silk is a knife, a sword, and countless cutting lines that are so fine that they cannot be distinguished by the naked eye.

They were driven by Swarm Prince's sword, drawing countless graceful arcs in the void, like ink paintings.

Gorgeous and beautiful.