"Attention! Note! Dear viewers and friends, ”

"Focus your eyes on the very center of the venue: it's a rare event!"

"The two sword fighters, Sigismund and Dantiok, representing their respective legions, are now going to decide the winner: and behind these two fighters are three primordials, including their respective genetic fathers, and battle brothers from more than a dozen legions, who will be watching the whole time."

“…… Seriously, guys. ”

"I'm already a little worried about whether the two of them will get killed later."

"What do you think, Lord Lana?"

The heavy, but light-hearted Bayard turned his head, his vision swept over the crowd of thousands of Astarte warriors, only to see that the wide iron cage had long been divided by large chunks of color, and a thousand whispers or loud discussions had naturally plunged the entire arena into a commotion, and it was maintained at a level that was not harsh.

It was very noisy all around, but it didn't affect the communication between the fighting brothers.

Bayard could see that the iron gray, which symbolized the Iron Warriors, and the yellow-black, which represented the Fist of the Empire, took up most of the parts, forming two distinct blocks, competing with each other, while the silver-white used by the Daybreakers was centered on several Morgan's favorite generals, and a small independent kingdom was divided into a small independent kingdom in the collision of the two legions, with some colors of other legions attached to it.

"It looks like we're on the same page."

The noise soon attracted attention from afar, and more bets and lunches poured in: a few minutes later, when Ranner counted the money in the pool, he almost lost his joy.

The Praetorian Guard was cranky for a moment, but he was quickly pulled back to reality by the noise and impatient urging in his ears, which made him realize that something was not quite right: Dantiok had been in the arena for a few minutes, why hadn't the sword fight started yet?

"Because of the primitives."

And it was Sigismund who swung the first sword first.

The good view allowed Ranner to see what was going on there, and he could see that his genetic mother was talking passionately while her two blood brothers were unresponsive, but something was clearly settled: for Morgan quickly stood up, and when she waved at the Administrator, the alarm that symbolized the beginning of the sword fight followed.

"That's not right, Senior Bayar, if His Excellency Dantioc can really compete with Sigismund, why should we go to great lengths to arm him: I've been watching it here, and you and I both know Sigismund's strength in our hearts, even if we look at the whole galaxy, few can beat him."

But both Sigismund and Dantiok are obviously not very human, they have ignored the interference of the outside world, and devoted themselves to the sword fight in front of them, the alarm bell did not make the sword fight start immediately, only to see that the two champion warriors are lowering their center of gravity, moving slowly, and confronting each other, as if they are looking for possible loopholes and shortcomings in their opponents.

If Sigismund had won the sword fight, he and Bayar's lunch in the coming week would have been divided among more than sixty fighting brothers: if Dantioc had won, or if the two men on the field had ended up in a draw, Rana alone would have to settle more than thirty lunches.

Dantiok moved, he lunged forward like a mythical giant, as if he had adapted to the weight of the Terminator Armor, and the tiger wielding the dark green blade in his palm launched a stormy attack: it turned out that decades of training in the Far Eastern Frontier were not a meaningless move, and the War Blacksmith was sure that he was now more than three or five times stronger than he was a few decades ago, and even with the heavy Terminator Armor, Dantiok was confident that he would maintain a high level of combat for a long time to come.

However, he still believed that there was an organization similar to the Inner Ring within the Second Legion, and that this organization was often summoned by the Mother of Genes for collective meetings: if this was not the case, then why did a large amount of food regularly disappear into the throne hall of the original body?

Could it be that their genetic mother alone can eat a high-calorie meal for fifty people?

When she caught a glimpse of the blow, the Lord of Avalon on the high platform let out a heartfelt sigh of emotion, even ignoring the strange atmosphere around her: but when she looked to the left and right with hindsight, she found nothing worrying.

For example, the Ultramarine's Commander Orfeo and several of his warriors, whose indigo armor breathes some life into the dreary building, and the bright red armor in which Ahriman and he deliberately walked alone. And the other warrior brothers who Bayar can't name, most of them are studying psionic classes on the Aurora, and they come from the think tanks of various legions to join in the fun.

Bayar pointed to the only VIP stand in the arena, a few meters higher than the average auditorium, with a better view, where the three genetic prototypes were entrenched: Originally, Dorne and Perturabo were among their respective heirs, but when the Lord of Avalon spoke to her two blood relatives, the three emperor's children rushed to the VIP table in turn.

Bayar smiled and nodded, but his conversation with Rana quickly attracted several of the fighting brothers behind him, especially those led by Hect and Ariman, who clearly had the opposite idea of Rana and the others.

[Beautiful. 】

The Imperial Fist hesitated in the face of Tarzan's overwhelming opponent, but in the end he did not choose to escape, he took a step back, dodged the initial attack, and then also brandished his Seiko chainsaw sword, unleashed his opponent's giant blade, and looked for an opportunity to attack: Dorne's heir was never willing to defend, and he tossed and turned under the pressure of Dantiok, constantly looking for a gap to launch a counterattack.

As Dantyok drove the hulking Terminator Armor forward, the Imperial Fist moved, and the chainsaw sword in his palm swung out like a midsummer night's thunder, leaving only an afterimage: the blow was so fast that most of the people present didn't even see it, only to hear the blade clattering against the Terminator's belly.

The invisible confrontation lasted for about five or six seconds, until Dantyok shook the Terminator armor from his body, raised the dark green blade with broken hair, and took the first step forward.

"What do you mean, Hector: You want to come and bet with me?"

Both Perturabo, who was standing on Morgan's left, and Dorne on his right, were just staring at the duel in the sand with serious faces: except that the Iron Lord's face remained the same, as if it was not his war blacksmith who had just lost, but the Invitus had a somewhat wrong face, as if they were worried about Sigismund's fate.

Although not every legion of international students is interested in this competition, a rough estimate shows that all the Astartes present are also from twelve or thirteen different legions, plus three genetic protogens, making this originally ordinary sword fight unprecedented.

Second-by-second, round-by-round, time passed slowly in the heat of battle, only the iron boots of both sides carved out layers of hideous annual rings on the sand: Dantioc was steadily advancing, and although he was sometimes pushed back by Sigismund two steps, he would immediately advance three steps, little by little, forcing the Imperial Fist to the edge of the arena, and the heirs of Dorne were always unwilling to back down in the face of his formidable opponents.

"I can't guarantee anything else."

"But one thing I know for sure: in my experience, there is a good chance that Dantiok will win this fight or draw it, and I don't like Sigismund's performance, even though he has won a lot of games before."

——————

"It was a mistake."

Also, the old guys who are breezy and breezy are rarely interested in watching this kind of game.

Bayard asked with a smile, and quickly received an affirmative answer: after the two Morgan sons each offered their share of lunch for the coming week, the rest of the people present followed suit, most of them on Hecht's side, only Lana raised his hand and supported Bayard.

The battle began.

Dantiok could even conceive of Sigismund's plan in his mind, he was going to disrupt the war blacksmith's center of gravity with a heavy blow to the abdomen, and then take advantage of Dantiok's pain instinct to bend over, and jam the chainsaw sword at the junction of his helmet and armor: what a brilliant idea, this guy would disgrace the entire Fourth Legion in five seconds.

Rather, it's the opposite......

Dantiok's voice was hoarse, and he taunted his opponent: The War Blacksmith couldn't dodge the blow, only to see him stagger back two steps before he could stand up, but his confidence grew with [Defeat], just as Sigismund's face also showed a little reluctance and seriousness.

Where is he going to find such a good guy to help him with all this loot?

Is it due to the legendary Inner Ring of the Dawnbreaker that has no function other than consuming a lot of food? Lana had little confidence in this: after all, it was a mysterious organization that even the champion swordsman Bayard didn't know anything about, and although the Praetorian Guard had vaguely groped for the existence of the inner ring, he had never been able to obtain strong evidence.

Hecht's voice quickly drew a crowd of regents, including Ariman and Allir, who did not argue with any objections, but only glanced at them with interest: most of them were newcomers who had served for less than a hundred years, and had been recruited by the Legion after leaving Terra.

The war blacksmith glanced at Sigismund's slightly trembling arm, and the chainsaw sword that had broken a chainsaw tooth: the latter underestimated the Terminator's defenses so much that he had to force his own chainsaw sword out, and although the movement was still too fast for outsiders to see, it only left a white mark on the Terminator's armor.

But it's a pity......

The corners of Morgan's mouth curled up, and she knew what was going on: the Fist of the Empire's blow was indeed beautiful, but it was only [pretty], and there was no real use.

No one knows better than the War Blacksmith what just happened: was the Imperial Fist's attack a temptation? No! This arrogant guy was planning to kill his opponent in one go, and the severe wound in the abdomen was enough to put the dust on most of the sword fights, and that's how at least three war blacksmiths had just lost.

Well, it's his turn.

The Praetorian Guard's gaze took over the second stubble in midair, and Ranner's face had a vague smile on his face, and his gaze swept over the battle brothers in the distance who were waiting for the opening of the battle, perhaps from the Emperor's Son, the White Scar, and the Shadow Moon Wolf.

The original bustling noise disappeared in an instant, and everyone, including the battle-hardened sons of Morgan, held their breath, and thousands of pairs of eyes focused on the two in the center of the arena: if it was an ordinary Astarte warrior, this kind of repression and attention alone was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

The greatsword swept again, making a piercing sound through the air, and Sigismund only dodged slightly, narrowly allowing the greatsword to graze his helmet, and then, without stopping, he moved forward, closing the distance, and the chainsaw sword slashed into the chest of the Terminator in the blink of an eye: it was the seventeenth time he had hit the war blacksmith's chest in two minutes, leaving nothing more than seventeen scratches.

The Imperial Fist gritted his teeth, he felt helpless for the first time in a sword fight, but his opponent didn't give him more time: Dantiok didn't even withdraw his blade, but flipped his wrist, twisted his waist, turned on the spot, and smashed back from the direction he had just been, anyway, whether it was a slash or a smash, Sigismund could not resist.

The Son of Dorne didn't hold it up, he stepped back, avoiding the blow, but he hit the arms of the war blacksmith, only to see Dantiok powerfully control the giant blade in his palm, and in the second half of the slash, he lifted it high, and then seized the gap to relax the center of gravity, and simply threw his body forward, biting the retreating Sigismund, the high blade swooped down, and the hand that held the center of the hilt also slipped to the end of the hilt, greatly increasing the attack distance, giving full play to the advantages of the long-handled weapon, Fell to Sigismund, who had no time to escape.

It was an execution-like act, like a hammerman smashing down his own hammer, and with the Iron Warrior's ingenious calculations, slashing through Sigismund's face: the Templar almost rolled on the ground to avoid the fatal blow.

But he still couldn't dodge perfectly, and the dark green blade sliced through Sigismund's left shoulder armor, instantly cutting off a large piece and splitting the beautiful Imperial Fist emblem in two, leaving only half a broken fist.

Sigismund didn't have time to marvel at the fragility of his armor as the Whisperer's knees in front of the dark green blade, as the noise from the audience had replaced his tongue, and he quickly adjusted his stance and continued to dodge, and the sound of Dantiok's weapon crashing on the ground and the earth and rocks cracking was heard behind him.

Seizing the opportunity, the Son of Dorne quickly launched a counterattack, his blade stabbing one of the only vital points of the Terminator Armor, causing Dantiok, who slowly turned, to feel the pain: before the war blacksmith could react, Sigismund did not hesitate to run backwards, back to the center of the arena, deaf to the boos of the Iron Warriors.

Before he knew it, Sigismund had let go of his initial arrogance and the illusion of winning with one blow: the shaved shoulder armor and the broken chainsaw sword in his palm reminded the Son of Dorne of his predicament.

His opponent turned, easily subduing the pain, the nameless blade in his palm still shining as new, and the only thing on the Terminator's armor was the interface between the steel plate and the cable, revealing a small hole: it was a tricky position, which was enough to show that Sigismund was a skilled swordsman as an attacker.

Unaffected, Danteok set off again, silently pressing towards the Imperial Fist: steady, slow, and bulky, yet rock-solid, unstoppable, breathless.

It's like a wave that swallows the world.

"Like a true Iron Warrior."

His genetic father whispered.

On the high platform, Perturabo finally spoke, a smile on his lips, he was clearly pleased with his son's performance, and looked meaningfully at the brother on the other side: although Morgan was in the middle of the two, the Lord of Avalon's extremely tall height was obviously unable to stop Dorn and Perturabo from looking at each other.

To the Lord's regret, Dorne's countenance did not waver in the slightest, he only calmly witnessed the plight of his heir, observed the details of the battle with great interest, and even nodded at his brother after noticing Perturabo's gaze, and in that hard tone there was still the kind of sincerity that made the Lord of Steel a little annoying.

"Your fighter did a great job, Peturabo, and he played to his strengths in this fight, playing to his strengths and avoiding his weaknesses: that's a skill that every good fighter should know, and he's done it to the extreme."

Dorn's blunt compliment made Perturabo's countenance subtle, and unlike when the expedition had just begun, the Iron Lord was now able to assume that when Dorne spoke like this, he was indeed expressing his opinion from the bottom of his heart: he admired Perturabo's son and praised his abilities, which softened the Olympian's countenance somewhat.

"Like you said, Dorne, it's just the basics of a warrior."

Perturabo snorted softly, pride in his chest, but there was still a hint of seriousness on his face: for the Iron Lord, who had always been a nitpicker, it was indeed gratifying for Dantyok to have the upper hand, but the War Blacksmith had relied on the powerful equipment at his body, not on his solid melee skills to suppress Sigismund.

No one cares about it: Petura does.

So, when Dorn frowned at Perturabo's words and pointed out the problems involved, the Iron Lord's good mood dissipated for the most part: the anxiety of this imperfection erupted with a thud.

"Not really, brother."

The Lord of Invit shook his head.

"In fact, knowing how to play to your strengths and avoid your weaknesses is an important skill for anyone: most people still want to be able to outperform their opponents in every aspect, but almost never do that."

"That's the case with the sons of yours before you, their martial arts, their attitude, and their determination to fight are impeccable, but they're too eager to beat their opponents in areas they're not good at: if they had chosen the same approach as the Iron Warrior now, then a few dozen minutes ago, I think we could have seen this scene now."

“…… What does that mean, Dorne? ”

The Iron Lord was silent for a moment, his voice becoming a little unpleasant.

"Literally."

Dorne nodded.

"Sigismund's strength lies in his swordsmanship and experience, he has been in the arena for a long time, and he knows how to win in this limited space, which is an advantage that your heirs don't have: before that, your other fighters were too eager to beat Sigismund's strengths, and they didn't understand that the trick to victory is to get around their opponents' obstacles and hit their opponents' soft spots."

"And this heir of yours is clearly well versed in this."

“……”

The Iron Lord raised an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to say that my Dantiok is avoiding reality at this time?"

"There's nothing wrong with avoiding reality and fiction."

"For a battle, or a war, it is always better to pay a small price than a big one, it is always better to hit the point than to attack it head-on, and it is better to cut the neck of the enemy with a single sword than to try in vain on a frontal battlefield: Sigismund has been making this mistake since the beginning, and he now understands how to fight this battle."

Dorne turned, and he took a moment to organize the language, as if trying to make his words as gentle as possible, sounding like advice rather than accusations: but they were still too harsh for the Olympians.

He wasn't angry about it, but the resentment still came well.

"So, Dorne, do you think that my Dantyoc will not be able to defeat your Sigismund in a one-on-one sword duel, so he will choose to rely on the advantage of equipment: using cold steel to cover up the lack of flesh and blood?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Dorne also diverted the last of his attention away from the sand, the distant confrontation between the two primordials had already stirred up whispers in the audience below: Morgan reassured the warriors with his gaze, she seemed to be deaf to the noise behind her.

"First of all, Perturabo, Sigismund is indeed blameless in his swordsmanship, he is superior to the vast majority of swordsmen in the galaxy, and his shortcomings lie in arrogance and recklessness, not in his own swordsmanship: this is the truth."

"And it is also true that the warrior under your command, named Dantiok, was able to quickly pick out the tactics that Sigismund was not good at to restrain him, and it is also true: this is the embodiment of wisdom, not relying on brute force and strength, but relying on strengths and weaknesses, which is not ashamed, but we deserve praise, because this is what smart people do."

“……”

Perturabo raised his head, he could sense that Dorne had no ill intentions, but seeing the Invites so calmly place Sigismund's swordsmanship on the entire Fourth Legion made the Iron Lord feel uncomfortable: he stiffened his neck, knowing that it didn't make sense, but he forcibly retorted.

"Dorne, how can you make a presumptuous statement here, and be sure that there are no warriors in my legion who are better than Sigismund in swordsmanship: perhaps, they just happened not to be here, and your swordsman did win the battle, but that doesn't mean much."

"It's true that this lacks arguments."

Dorne nodded calmly.

"So, I'm just making a guess here, Perturabo: based on the different fighting styles of the Imperial Fist and the Iron Warriors, as well as the different legion cultures derived, I have inferred that my legion will put more energy into sword fighting than your legion, so the output will naturally be more lucrative than your legion."

"Simple conservation law: you can understand this as the different specialties of each Astarte legion, and perhaps in other ways, your warriors are better than mine, because they put more effort into it."

“……”

Perturabo's brow furrowed even deeper.

"You ......"

[Alright, two.] 】

Morgan looked up and lightly interrupted Perturabo's half-anger: she was sure that her Olympian brother was not in a real rage at this point, but only a slight sign that he could cut it off at will.

Frankly, the conversation between Dorne and Perturabo is nothing more than the beginning of the expedition: they are at least discussing certain issues normally, rather than igniting powder kegs under each other's butts.

Although it's still sparkling.

This is also the reason why the Lord of Avalon will indulge them in a little debate, after all, this kind of discussion will not rub the real fire, but will enhance the friendship between the brothers: but Morgan still needs to be on his guard at all times, pinching the detonation wire, so as not to rub uncontrollable sparks between these two flammable inorganic objects again.

Just like that.

Morgan laughed, her eyes casually swept over the audience, and she grasped a way to make the two fellows bitter each other: she turned away, and slowly took out her glass and bottle, and muttered words of conciliation, one to Dorne and the other to Perturabo.

[As Peturabo said, it's just a game, it doesn't prove anything.] 】

She looked at Dorne, and the Invites nodded their heads as they had no objections.

And as Dorn said, each of our legions does have its own strengths, just as each of our brothers is different: not so much the specialty, I think, is our characteristic, or specialty. 】

Morgan smiled at the Iron Lord, spitting out a neutral word that he didn't understand, softening Perturabo's countenance: a word that the Olympians could accept, temporarily dragging him out of the vortex of fragile pride.

So, my brothers. 】

Snapping the detonating wire, Morgan slowly walked to the railing, three wine glasses in her hands, and she directed the two brothers' gaze to the audience, to the colorful location: crowded with elites from various legions, many of whom were familiar to both genotypes.

[Look there, brothers, in addition to your respective children, there are also elites from various legions, who can deny their strength in their own realm? But if they do play, how many of them can outmaneuver your men? 】

Morgan's palm holding the glass drew circles in mid-air, pointing at the country.

[Look, that's the representative of the White Scar Legion, one of the most gifted psionic children I've ever met, his character and abilities are beyond reproach, and when he talks to me, his words can even represent the Khan's attitude......]

[And the furious-looking blood-drinking Wild Warrior, his name is Kva, the chief rune priest from the Space Wolf Legion, and unlike his rugged appearance, his psionic attainments are almost unmatched, and it was he who helped me improve and finalize the system of the twenty-six rune alphabet. 】

[And there, Zaroste, Conrad's most gifted child; Next to him was Voliasias, the chief think tank of the World Eater Legion; The warrior in red is called Kull, and the black-skinned one next to him is naturally Yu Mozhen, they are from the Legion of the Whisperers and the Legion of Salamanders, and they are all of course the chief think tank, and they are all disciples who can get my true inheritance; A little further back, standing in the far corner are Israfael and Icares, they are both dark angels, since Johnson can't be sure which of them has the stronger psionic talent, so let me judge, let me determine who the real chief think tank of the First Legion will be? 】

With great pride, the Lord of Avalon pointed out her two blood brothers to her students, who were either the Legion's Chief Think Tank before they came to the Dawnbreaker, or under Morgan's command, they had learned enough to determine their position as Chief Think Tank.

Regardless, their journey is still a few years away, and as they return to their respective legions, Morgan's psionic system will blossom throughout the Great Expedition and imprint the Spider Empress on each Astarte legion.

Behind her, Dorn and Perturabo looked at each other, they didn't understand the purpose of Morgan's explanation, but they listened intently: until Morgan had done all the foreshadowing, he naturally pointed his finger at the indigo, the color that symbolized the macurag.

[Oh, and the two chiefs of the vast delegation sent by Ptolemy and Promos from Maculag, our brother Killman, but it was not the two of them who really negotiated with me: did you see the silent warrior next to them? That's one of the strongest Astartes I've ever seen. 】

[His name is ......]

Morgan's eyes narrowed, she had just forgotten the man's name, drawing the eyes of the two blood relatives, and Dorne and Perturabo frowned, they had never seen the face of one of the so-called strongest Astartes.

"Who's that?"

Perturabo asked, and Morgan [just happened] to come up with it.

[Ah, I remember.] 】

[His name is Orfeo, and he is the champion swordsman of our brother Killiman.] 】

"Really?"

Peturabo snorted coldly.

"How come I've never heard of him?"

Dorne replied to the Iron Lord's words with a silent nod.

[That's normal, brothers.] 】

Morgan smiled, turned his head to look at her two blood relatives, and after many days, she finally picked up the shield named Killiman and helped her block the possible fuse: her dear Robert is so useful!

[After all, whether it is the company commander of Orfeo or the two think tanks next to him, they are very low-key on weekdays: you see that on their breastplates and shoulder armor, there are only symbols of honor that symbolize the five hundred worlds, because they basically will not accept the honor from the empire. 】

“……”

The air was quiet for a moment.

"Humph!"

Then came Perturabo's earth-shattering disdain.

"What's the difference between that and betrayal?"

The Iron Lord gritted his teeth, his voice undivided between anger and jealousy.

"Peturabo is overexaggerating."

Dorne was equally serious.

"But it's true that Killiman shouldn't have done this: he could have rejected certain honors from the Empire out of humility or even his own values, but he shouldn't have spread such ideas into the Legion."

"He couldn't have known it, but he chose to do it anyway."

Perturabo chuckled contemptuously.

"He just did it on purpose."

Dorne nodded.

"Perhaps, but in any case, this is a dereliction of duty as the head of the Legion."

"He's been derelict in his duties for a long time......"

In the midst of the merciless lashing and accusations of an unwitting Otramar, the smell of gunpowder that had been emanating between Dorne and Perturabo had long since vanished, leaving only the smell of the same enemy.

The smiling Lord of Avalon saw all of this, and with an insincere apology to Killiman, she raised her glass: when Dorne and Perturabo glanced at each other and took a glass each, the atmosphere between them reached a level of harmony that had never been felt before.

At the very least, no one wants to quarrel anymore.

[Who do you think will win?] 】

Morgan glanced at the arena below, her words stiffening the faces of both genotypes, but before the question could provoke a new spark, the Lord of Avalon had raised her glass and set a tough tone in a soft tone.

[It doesn't really matter who wins. 】

[After all, my blood relatives, this is not really a competition between the legions, it is just an ingenious celebration: a celebration that we won this expedition, isn't it?] What we get here is the brotherhood that comes from fighting side by side. 】

Morgan glanced at her brothers, and from their still somewhat stiff faces, Morgan knew that they didn't fully agree with their words in their hearts: but it didn't matter anymore, at least, they wouldn't quarrel on the surface anymore, as for the mutual competition and friction in their hearts?

Which two gene protogens will not have this kind of filthiness?

If you want to blame, go and blame that golden old man.

The Spider Empress snorted, she knew that all she had gotten was a temporary peace, but wasn't twenty years of truce also a truce, and who could expect her to do more?

So, she raised her glass.

[Respects to victory, two.] 】

The Lord of Avalon is a pun.

“……”

The two primordials looked at each other, and raised their glasses almost simultaneously, allowing the three precious glassware to collide in mid-air with a cacophony of laughter, perhaps, or just to match the scene.

"To the victory, to the empire." ”

(End of chapter)