Khârn watched Lucius go flying and crash ignominiously to the ground, then let out a wild laugh from the twisted face beneath his helmet. The sound cut through the din of battle, as unnerving as metal scraping against metal.
Khârn sprang up slightly and took the head off the Ork who had kicked Lucius away with a single stroke.
Every step he took shook the ground. The Blood Slaughterer Chainsword in his hand still buzzed, Ork blood dripping steadily from its blade.
"Look at you, you pathetic wreck! Lucius, weren't you always boasting that no one could match your swordsmanship? Weren't you searching the whole universe for opponents, trying to prove you were the strongest? What happened? In front of these Orks, your precious swordsmanship turned into a child's tricks?"
Khârn looked down at Lucius, his eyes full of contempt and mockery.
"You call yourself a master swordsman, but in the face of real power, you're just a weakling who can't take a single blow!"
He stamped hard on the floor beside Lucius, denting the ship's metal decking.
"I heard you even had the gall to say you'd challenge Sigismund if you got the chance. Looking at you now, you aren't even fit to carry his shoes! You think perfecting your swordsmanship will make you invincible? What a joke! You've never faced an opponent truly worthy of respect!"
Khârn bent down and leaned close to Lucius, the scarred face beneath his helmet twisting into an even more hideous expression of excitement and derision.
"You know what? Every defeat is another slap in your own face, another demonstration of how stupid your so-called pursuit really is. But I, Khârn, spread the Blood God's renown with every battle. Every kill brings me one step closer to the pinnacle of power. And you?