Taking a Head Amid Ten Thousand Warriors

The Ork warlord Mistanbol was now caught in a dilemma.

He really did not want to fight. Piloting his enormous Gargant, the great warlord had every confidence that he could wage a spectacular waaaaaaaaaagh against the thousand or so Space Marine humies ahead. But coming inside to duel him was another matter entirely, especially when his fresh wounds had yet to heal.

Sure, yours truly, Mistanbol, is the biggest, strongest, sneakiest, and fightiest Ork around, but being fighty doesn't mean I'm stupid! If one Astartes can get in, so can another. Who could stand a thousand tin cans taking turns fighting him? Never mind their fine tradition of ganging up on people.

What? The Orks had the numbers? Wake up. He was the outnumbered one now.

Retreating instead of fighting was even harder. He was in the Gargant's head, directly beneath the devastating ray weapon, Gork's Gaze. His route to the ejectable escape craft lay...

The great warlord looked at the little door to Evan's left and found himself in a bind.

What if I go around through the fourth floor on the other side, then head straight up to the sixth and escape?

Though they were fighting, a thousand thoughts could flash through their minds in an instant.

A massive two-handed axe as tall as Mistanbol himself swung down at Evan. Unfazed by the danger, Evan's mind kept flashing through... uh, kung fu shorts he had watched before.

There was no helping it. Recruit training did not teach you how to fight an Ork warlord. That was work for the most elite veterans. They had not taught dual-wielding either. Evan was reasonably good with a one-handed sword, but surely he could not throw one sword away now? That would make him a complete idiot.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. Evan drove both swords from left to right, smashing into the great axe. Knocked off course, it chopped into the floor. This move came from an iconic scene in that grand fantasy, historical, time-travel martial arts drama, Guan Gong versus Qin Qiong. Copying Qin Qiong outright, Evan used his swords like twin iron maces to batter aside the powerful swing. His Chainsword slid along the axe haft, frightening the warlord into pulling his hands back. At that instant, the golden Power Sword in Evan's left hand thrust straight toward the Ork warlord's enormous belly.

Thinking fast, Mistanbol kicked the great axe. Its haft snapped upward at terrifying speed, knocking Evan's Power Sword away.

Both pulled back. Evan's hands tingled with numbness. How is this Ork so strong? That was just a casual swing, and all my effort barely knocked it aside. I still had to dodge out of its path.

The great warlord Mistanbol was even more astonished. This enemy is nothing like the ones who trade blows with you to the death. My attacks just sail through nothing, as though they never land, yet he's threatened my hands twice and nearly gutted me once. An expert. An absolute expert at dueling.

Evan tried to analyze the situation using his scant combat experience and the armchair instruction of short videos. His opponent was extraordinarily strong and fast. Combined with that enormous axe, he was impossible to block. Evan's only laughable advantage might be... I have two weapons? I can only try counterattacking the instant after he strikes and look for an opening.

If only his old roommate Yang Song were there. He was an expert at solo fights, a man who could finish Sekiro, and precisely this sort of delicate maneuvering was his specialty.

They exchanged another round of blows, with the Ork warlord again attacking first. This time, the great axe changed its trajectory and chopped diagonally toward him.

Evan braced one sword against the side of the axe, using his enemy's strength to send himself sliding aside. Because the blow came diagonally, its tremendous momentum hurled him up and left, like a tennis ball meeting a racket and getting launched by a full swing. Evan kicked forward to ride that force. From the outside, he seemed to evade the axe with uncanny skill and immediately counterattack. In reality, his opponent had simply sent him flying; he had only adjusted the angle a little.

"Sword dance, twin splendors at night's end!" Whatever. He could shout any move name he liked, as long as it sounded impressive and scared someone. But while airborne, Evan suddenly found more inspiration. There was a kung fu kid dressed in green in Naruto whose basic signature move was to attack high first, then sweep low when the enemy ducked, knocking them off balance and spinning them like a whipped top.

Evan began spinning. The Chainsword in his right hand swung in a full arc toward Mistanbol's head, its roaring motor seemingly announcing an all-out strike.

Mistanbol sensed a flood of killing intent rushing toward his head and quickly ducked beneath the sword. But Evan did not stop spinning, and he was descending too. More precisely, he was dropping through the air in a crouched spin.

The rapidly spinning Chainsword swept over the great warlord's head with a cutting gust. Furious, Mistanbol was about to counterattack when he caught something in the corner of his eye. Oh, zog! That Power Sword is coming straight for my knees with unstoppable force! I've only just crouched down. I'm stuck and can't jump immediately. By Gork's big leather boots, the head strike was a feint! He's really after my legs! Too sneaky!

Mistanbol reacted with incredible speed. If he could not use his legs, he would use his arms. His arm muscles instantly bulged, and tremendous strength hauled him off the ground. Using the haft of the axe embedded firmly in the floor, he performed a little... pole dance?

Evan stared. Good heavens, my eyes! No, wait, a heaven-sent opportunity! He immediately pulled out his Melta Bomb and tossed it beneath the Ork warlord's axe.

That truly scared the soul out of Mistanbol. His pole dance instantly became a pole vault. Every muscle in the Ork warlord's body strained at full power as he leaped far away from the bomb.

The Melta Bomb was powerful, but its blast radius was small. Though it missed the warlord, it swiftly melted a large hole through the floor, turning the upper portion of the axe into molten metal along with it.

The great warlord's axe had originally stood 3.6 meters tall, with 1.6 meters of that occupied by its blade. It was still 3.6 meters long now, but much of its cutting edge had melted away, leaving only 0.9 meters of proper sharp blade.

Cold sweat streamed down Mistanbol. This lad's fighting skills are too good. He cleverly neutralizes my attacks like they're chopping into cotton, but his own mix feints with real strikes, every blow deadly. And now my weapon's damaged too. No, I need to find a way out. Seeing the gaping hole the Melta Bomb had made in the floor, he suddenly had an idea.

In a moment, I'll attack him with everything I've got and throw the axe at him too. All I need is to give him trouble and hold him up. I'll jump straight through this hole to the fourth level, pass beside the Gargant's Power Core, then take the passage on the other side up to the escape pod on level six. So Mistanbol thought. A fine plan from a little genius.

Meanwhile, Evan really was panting for breath. This Ork was far too strong. Receiving that axe one-handed was too much even if he was only borrowing its momentum. His entire arm ached and swelled.

At the same time, Evan also noticed the large hole the melta blast had made.

In a moment, I'll pretend he's knocked me flying, adjust my angle, and land near the hole. Then I'll jump down and run for it. No, wait, regroup with my teammates. Yes, that's right. The Chapter Master said to regroup. Exactly. Carrying out Chapter Master Deika's orders comes first. As he thought this, Evan slowly circled Mistanbol like someone in a martial arts drama, his eyes fixed on the great warlord and his swords crossed, seemingly searching for his prey's weakness like a tiger or leopard.

That stare made the great warlord's fungal flesh crawl. He felt he was about to meet Gork and Mork. Now. Immediately. This instant. Time to execute the plan.

"Waaaaaaaaagh!"

Mistanbol raised his great... medium axe and chopped toward Evan. Evan prepared to repeat his trick, borrowing the force to switch their positions. After all, the hole was currently behind the Ork warlord.

But just as the attack came, the axe did not descend as expected. Instead, Mistanbol lashed out with a kick.

Damn it! A sneak attack! Great warlord, you're not following the script! You have no martial honor!

Evan was kicked squarely. He felt as if all his internal organs had nearly been knocked out of place. His square breastplate had actually cracked. Cracked!!!

Before Evan could catch his breath, the axe chopped straight down.

Now it was Evan's turn to be frightened nearly back to the Emperor's throne.

There was no choice. He had to take it head-on. Evan crossed both swords to block the great axe, but it continued driving downward, cleaving through his right shoulder plate and into his flesh. It stopped only when it struck his thick bone.

If the Melta Bomb had not melted part of the axe away, Evan would have lost his entire shoulder.

Now the axe pinned Evan down, with both swords trapped beneath it. If the Ork warlord continued attacking and pulled out some other weapon, the consequences would be unthinkable... Huh? Where's the warlord?

Evan saw that the Ork warlord had not pressed his advantage. Instead, he limped toward the large hole and jumped down.

Huh??? Evan's head was full of question marks. What's going on?

That was hardly Mistanbol's fault. He had not looked at Evan at all. After swinging with all his strength, he had turned and fled before the axe even struck. Look back? What a joke. Against an expert like this, not a second could be wasted. I've already tried several rounds and nearly got stabbed to death by that Power Sword. What, is one more swing suddenly going to kill him?

Thus, with his objective clear, Mistanbol jumped down and fled without once looking back.

Evan quickly caught on. Limping? An injured foot? He even threw away his axe. Abandoning his weapon—he's trying to escape?

An injured leg! Round that up, and he's seriously wounded! No weapon practically makes him meat on the chopping board!

First over the walls and seizing the banner, the bravest in the army! Ah, no, killing the enemy commander is called... called... right, taking a head amid ten thousand warriors. Holy crap, that's an enormous achievement!

Strength came from somewhere, and Evan instantly stood up. Ignoring the blood spraying everywhere from his right shoulder, he charged toward the hole ahead.

The axe was stuck in him, and he could not get it out quickly on his own. His opponent was about to get away!

All the chemical injectors in his Power Armour activated at once, pumping pain blockers, adrenaline, and everything else into Evan.

Evan's spirits surged. Ignoring his injuries, he charged straight at the hole and jumped down with the axe still lodged in his shoulder plate.

Below, the Ork warlord was hammering open the iron door to the power chamber with his iron fists. Looking back, he thought, By Mork's flying feet! This tin can had a death wish. He had considered all sorts of contingencies for pursuit, but never imagined his opponent would refuse to dodge his attack just to "avoid wasting time." Now the axe was stuck in his shoulder, blood gushed out, and the great swords in his hands gleamed as though their machine spirits had fallen into an extreme frenzy.

By the mushrooms, I'd rather meet Gork and Mork than ever see this space demon again.

Terrified by the fight, Mistanbol smashed open the power chamber door with one mighty punch and raced straight toward the next stairwell, ignoring everything else.

The power chamber was actually quite crowded. Every Astartes except Evan had gathered around the invulnerability field generator on the other side.

The Storm Will Chapter's Techmarine stood on Big Mek Ulutan's corpse, pondering how to overload this bizarre Ork contraption.

Suddenly, the great iron door on the other side of the power chamber burst open, and an enormous, panicked Ork rushed out.

What's that? The Ork warlord? Everyone raised their guns or readied their swords, preparing to fight to the death to buy the chief Techmarine time to destroy the invulnerability field.

Wait, why was the great warlord limping? They noticed something wrong. This huge Ork had no weapon and was not charging toward them with a waaaaaaaaaagh. Instead, he limped toward another door.

The Ork warlord never noticed the crowd. He saw only the great iron door ahead, as though crossing its threshold would mean survival.

While everyone stood bewildered, a hellish roar came from behind the door the great warlord had emerged through.

"Coward! Face me!"

A tall Space Marine in standard Green Templars Power Armour charged through the iron door. In his left hand, he held the dazzling golden Power Sword passed down through generations of Storm Will warriors. In his right roared a dark-gold Chainsword, the symbol of a Shadow Blades Clan Chief or Chapter Champion. A huge crack across his helmet and one eerily blood-red eye made him especially terrifying. His left shoulder plate bore countless blade scars and bullet marks. His breastplate was close to shattering, riddled with cracks. Most horrifying was his right shoulder plate. Besides numerous deep bullet gouges, an enormous, seemingly half-melted axe was lodged in it, with blood slowly seeping out. Yet none of this slowed the Primaris Space Marine's charge. Instead, he looked like an undying asura charging out of hell.

"Holy shit, whose lad is this badass?"

"That's our Fourth Company captain's golden sword, but he isn't our captain."

"I know him," a Shadow Blades Clan Chief said.

"I lent him that dark-gold Chainsword. He's a Green Templars warrior. Evan, I think."

Everyone turned to Deika, Chapter Master of the Green Templars.

Deika himself was stunned. Since when did we have a lad this fierce? He knew Evan. He had actually read his file only twice. The first time had been ten years ago, when the Chief Apothecary reported unusual brain activity in a recruit. The Chief Apothecary had asked the Techmarine to check the monitoring equipment repeatedly, finding nothing wrong. But subsequent tests revealed no problems, so Deika had not taken it to heart.

The second time had been on the recent list of graduating recruits. Evan's results were quite impressive, and Deika had thought him a promising prospect.

He truly had never expected... such ferocity.

"Yes, he's a warrior from our Chapter's Fourth Company. Don't look at me like that. Every one of our warriors is as brave and skilled as he is." Everyone gave Deika a contemptuous look, but had nothing to say. It really was his lad chasing down the Ork warlord, not only beating him into abandoning his equipment but also severely wounding him. At least, that was what they thought.

Deika himself was surprised. How did this lad teleport over with us? Weren't all the participants battle-hardened veterans?

The thought left Deika feeling a little ashamed. This recruit of his was braver than the veterans, or even stronger. After all, few Chapter Masters could claim they could kill an enormous Ork warlord in single combat. Calgar, the legendary Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, could. He had accomplished such glorious feats. But who was Calgar? A legendary Chapter Master, an ancient veteran of the Astartes who had fought for untold years. And who was this? A recruit fighting his very first battle.

This lad has the makings of a Chapter Master.

As the great warlord neared the iron door, Evan swung the glowing sword in his left hand through a full arc and hurled it. Mistanbol heard only a rush of air behind him before a Power Sword pierced his left thigh.

None of the watching Astartes intervened. They knew the outcome was decided. This honor belonged to that warrior alone: killing the Ork warlord single-handedly.

Mistanbol dropped to both knees, blood spurting out. He had no time to turn his head all the way around. He had barely turned left when he saw a bloodthirsty Chainsword sweep through his body.

After throwing the Power Sword, Evan swiftly transferred the Chainsword to his uninjured left hand and slashed without another word.

The enormous head flew up, struck the great iron door ahead—the promise of survival—and rolled back. Evan picked it up, their eyes meeting. The Ork's tremendous vitality meant Mistanbol was not quite dead, though he was at death's door.

"A narrow-minded fool, gazing at the sky from the bottom of a well. You rule one little corner and dare belittle the heroes of the world? Know that I take a general's head amid ten thousand warriors as easily as reaching into my own pouch." Secure the victory first, then run your mouth. Evan did not share those bad habits of television villains, who rambled on and let their opponents snatch victory from defeat.

But showing off like this really did feel amazing.

"Go back and tell your Gork and Mork: where the boundless sea ends, heaven is its shore; at the mountain's highest summit, I am the peak. Behave yourselves, or when the time comes... hmph. Don't say you weren't warned."

Watching from the sidelines, Deika liked him more by the moment. Who were all these spectators? The leaders of three Chapters. Just listen to the lad: so commanding, yet so cultured. If anyone dares call us White Scars, sons of the steppes, barbarians like those lunatics in the World Eaters again, I'll send Evan out to roast them alive.

The Ork warlord's great head mustered every last scrap of strength and roared:

"Space demon!!!" Then he went to meet Gork and Mork.

Evan hung Mistanbol's head at his waist and turned to retrieve the golden Power Sword. Then he noticed his audience.

"G-good morning, everyone?"