Who won?

Bayard never thinks about such boring questions.

Or, in other words, the moment his blade blocked the death-to-death battle of Sigismund and Dantiok, and with a slight exertion of lightning, he could already guess who would be the winner.

The pressure and touch of the two blades were clear: although Dantiok's slash was powerful and seemingly unstoppable, Bayar only used a little dexterity to remove the brute bravery in it, but instead made the war blacksmith lose his center of gravity and retreat back again and again.

However, the simple stabbing of the Imperial Fist made Morgan's champion swordsman have to temporarily increase his strength before he can barely pick it up: even Bayar himself can't help but shed a cold sweat, and he almost let the blade pierce into Dantioc's flesh.

After the false alarm, [Perfect Knight] glanced meaningfully at Sigismund, who had only taken half a step back and then regained his footing: although he had touted the talent of this [young man] in his heart, it turned out that he was still a little blindsided, and Sigismund was far more terrifying than he expected.

Looking at the tense body at that moment, and the light golden pupils that were extremely tired, but unabated, Bayar had no doubt that if he pointed his sword at the son of Dorne at this time, then Sigismund would not have half a complaint, but would happily fight his old man again.

In fact: this guy looks like he's trying to do just that!

What a man, madman......

The second company commander shook his head slightly, and slowly spit out a sigh in his heart that even he didn't know whether to curse or admire, and then he withdrew the two blades into their sheaths, spread out his hands, set them up into palms, and continued to stand in the middle of the two champion warriors to show the meaning of the truce.

"The will of the three primitives."

That's all he said.

And in the face of this abrupt spoiler, the two champion swordsmen didn't say much, even the more reckless and stubborn Sigismund did not have any reason for the so-called [insult to the honor of the sword fighting competition], and the dispute broke out again, even the vast majority of the audience on the stage remained silent.

Everyone is a smart person, and they all know that the sword fight has reached this point, and it is better to let a powerful third party stop it than to let either side fall and cause a blood feud: not to mention, there is also the will of the three primordials.

While honor is important, neither the Iron Warriors nor the Fist of the Empire are the kind of people who want to splatter blood for the sake of honor or arena rules, rather than blood splattering five steps: in fact, the vast majority of legions are not so crazy, and the vast majority of Astarte warriors are more rational than mortals think.

Of course, only relatively.

In fact, the only two legions in the entire human empire that like to fight and settle disputes in the Legion Arena are the original two legions, the Ghoul and the War Dogs: but since the return of St. Gillis and Angelon, even these two legions, known for their blood, have rarely killed people in the gladiatorial arena.

Needless to say, although St. Giles will not stop his heirs from fighting for their lives in the arena on the surface, the archangels subjectively absolutely resist this, and the holy blood angels who have always been the first to look after him will naturally no longer know the law and break the law, and bastards like Amit are only a minority after all.

As for the War Dog Legion, or now the World Eater Legion, this issue has become more direct and thorough: although the [Lord of the Red Sand] has maintained a cold attitude on most of the legion matters, he is only concerned about the affairs of the arena.

According to the accounts of warriors who had visited the Twelfth Legion, Angelon would often go to the Legion to watch the Legion's athletics, and he would smile very rarely for the best gladiatorial performances, but in the same way, when one side of the sword fight killed the other, the Genogen would show an unprecedented rage.

He absolutely, absolutely, absolutely did not want to see a fighter die in the arena, which seemed to touch the darkest and heaviest part of Anglon's shattered past memory: this attitude of the original directly contributed to the transformation of the dueling pit of the World Eater Legion from the original dueling arena with the highest casualty rate to the [Bloodless Platform] in the mouths of the warriors.

Therefore, this has caused a funny result: that is, the current sword fight between Sigismund and Dantioc is already the bloodiest brotherly fight in the Human Empire, after all, if these two champion swordsmen are allowed to continue fighting, then the final result is most likely to be one death and one serious injury.

If nothing happens, it will be Dantiok who will lie in the grave, and Sigismund will be sent to the emergency room: the War Blacksmith may be able to breathe a sigh of relief if he is lucky, and wait for the Dreadnought that his Genetic Father has built for him, and the Imperial Fist will only need to lie down for a few days before he can be alive again.

As for the probability of Dantiok winning......

"Hmmm......"

Bayar thought for a moment and shook his head.

It can only be said that there is still an overly obvious gap in strength between Dantiok and Sigismund, which cannot be made up by mentality, equipment or any tricks: the Imperial Fist is undoubtedly stronger.

Bayard didn't know if the Sons of Dorne were aware of this, but from the outward appearance, Sigismund's expression was no different from defeat: there was no pride or joy in his resolute features, only extreme authoritarianism and seriousness, and he looked at Dantiok, nodded, and slapped the broken power sword in his hand on the breastplate in respect.

The War Blacksmith made the same gesture towards the Imperial Fist, his iron fist striking on the breastplate even louder, ignoring the blood flowing from his wounds: the two champion swordsmen looked at each other as if this were the last round of the sword fight.

“……”

Bayar was a little helpless.

As the only witness, Bayard saw all this, and perhaps those in the audience would be moved by the sympathy of the two Legionnaires, but he saw the subtle gestures: the two Legion Champions respected each other? Of course, yes, but under the appearance of respect, there are also their own stubbornness and final competitiveness.

Now that the original body has spoken, they are not allowed to use sword fights to cite the winner, so in the period before leaving, let's see who will fall first, sit down, or even take a step back: what method must be used in a game to distinguish who is higher and who is lower, right?

Bayar read the words from Sigismund's pupils, and then he saw the recognition in Dantiok's pupils, which made the second company commander of the Dawnbreaker both helpless and headache, and a little impulsive to cut them off: obviously they both admired each other's abilities and admired each other's tenacity, so why did they have to dwell on this [victory] that was already meaningless, and not even a small profit?

What are you trying to do?

Sigismund forget it, don't you Dantiok usually carry it clearly? When Avalona fought with us with swords, he didn't pay attention to any legion honors, so why did he get more serious in front of the Imperial Fist?

"Alas......"

Bayar sighed.

At this moment, he somewhat experienced the helplessness of his genetic mother in the face of his two hard-working brothers: fortunately, he didn't need to experience it for too long, because the sound of hurried footsteps had already appeared on the edge of the sand.

The first to charge to the field was the Fourth Legion's Kylvaren, who led his men and the Iron Warriors of the Salamas descent with him, while the Imperial Fist rushed up from the other side of the sand a few seconds later: the men caught the champion swordsmen of their respective legions, carried them on their shoulders, and carried them down as if soldiers were carrying their victorious generals.

And in the otherwise quiet audience, with Lana, Yasugai and Aliman leading the way, applause and cheers spread one after another, and when the two champion warriors disappeared into their respective legions, the entire arena was already boiling: at this time, no one cared about victory or honor, and the silent and loud applause was the best answer to this battle and this grudge.

Maybe it's not the best ending for either side involved in the sword fight, but for everyone, it's the most suitable ending: thinking of this, Bayar couldn't help but hook the corners of his lips, he liked this ending from the bottom of his heart, a little regretful, a little unwilling, but for everyone, better.

This is in line with the aesthetics of the Dawnbreaker.

"Meets mine, too."

With a mutter, Morgan's champion swordsman followed the Iron Warriors' tail and quietly left, glancing at the high platform where the three genetic prototypes were entrenched before entering the passage, and this flick made his brow furrow: for he found that the atmosphere on the high platform was not very harmonious.

In fact......

——————

The atmosphere was awkward.

Morgan pinched his glass, feigned a peck, blinked, and it only took a moment for him to realize the most simple fact: she didn't actually need to discover it, because it was already the familiar pattern of getting along between Perturabo and Dorne.

It was none other than Dorne's words that caused Perturabo to speculate for no reason, or Peturabo's words that caused Dorne to fight back in horror, and then, there was endless mutual rebuke and deepening resentment: to be honest, Morgan was even a little tired of this, although it was indeed interesting to watch these two capable guys arguing like children, but it was also very tiring to always give them a round.

Tired.

Morgan sighed silently.

She could already imagine what kind of sharp counterattack Dorn would have next: the Lord of Avalon, who had realized this, had long since lost the impetuous anger he had at the beginning of the expedition, but rather a kind of ash mentality after the wildfire had burned out.

At this moment, she even somewhat understood the Machado in Terra, after all, in a sense, the Palm Seal was to serve a larger Perturabo, plus a larger Dorne, or even a combination of the two.

It's terrible to think about: I don't know if that unlucky little old man will retire in this life, and even if he does, I'm afraid he will be delayed indefinitely because he can't find a suitable successor.

Thinking of this, the Spider Queen couldn't help laughing, she just pinched the wine glass, relaxed herself in place for a second or two, and then, suddenly, something didn't seem right?

【……】

It's so quiet.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

It was too quiet, it had been almost half a minute since Perturabo had asked that question, and even if Dorne's hearing and reflexes were as dull as Killman's political sense, he should have responded to the Iron Lord, right?

Why is it still quiet?

In confusion, the Spider Empress looked in the direction of the Invites, not only her, but also Perturabo: the Iron Lord was already remorseful the moment he said it, and he knew that he was saying this at this time, which was somewhat unprovoked, but it was indeed difficult for him to suppress his true nature at that moment.

Or rather...... Habit?

Therefore, Perturabo could only forcibly hold up the shield in his heart, waiting for Dorne's counterattack, and then having a debate that he actually did not hold up at all: if it was at the beginning of this expedition, then the Lord of Olympia could still deceive himself and force this debate to run, but now, Perturabo knew from the bottom of his heart that his actions were no different from messing around.

But......

That's what he is.

Disadvantages are sometimes hard to control.

The Lord of Steel sighed inwardly, and waited silently for Dorne's ......

Silent?

【……】

“……”

Why don't you speak, Dorne?

The tyrant of Olympia and the queen of Avalon looked at the Lord of Inwitt at the same time, and Dorne was looking at them both, his rocky face as serious as ever, but also a little genuine confusion, as if he was curious about what his blood relatives were wondering about.

And his confusion, in turn, made the two genetic prototypes even more confused.

Dorne, what are you doing? Where is your sharp verbal counterattack?

Morgan opened her mouth, almost spitting out the question, but her strong restraint and absolute rationality for decades succeeded in preventing the Lord of Avalon from losing face, but the Olympians next to her, after being silent and struggling in place for a long time, still couldn't help but say one more word.

"Dorne, did you hear what I just said?"

"Of course."

Dorn nodded quickly, then fell silent again, staring at his two blood relatives as usual, which only allowed the strange emotions to gather in the air.

He was still silent, answering his blood relatives with silence and seriousness.

At this moment, even Morgan didn't know what to say: it didn't seem bad enough to require her to play the round, but it wasn't that ...... Fine?

At the very least, Perturabo's face was anything but good: when the verbal argument he had expected did not take place, and he was greeted only by Dorne's silence, the Lord of Steel only felt his unintentional punch, as if it had hit the soft and crumbling cotton, and although he was relieved that it had not caused more damage, the silence did not make him happy.

It feels ...... It's weird too.

How can Dorne ...... What about not talking?

How could he not fight back against himself?

Peturabo's throat rolled up and down, and he had too many questions and words to pour out, but as he watched the silence of the Invita staring at him, he realized that he had nothing to say.

This awkward situation turned into a cage, and the Olympians were trapped in place for several minutes, until the Iron Lord snorted heavily from his reddening countenance, then turned and strode away, the air dissipated with the treacherous tension of the air.

[So ......]

Is the crisis over?

Morgan's brow jumped, even she was a little uncomfortable with the current scene, but Dorne raised his hand and waved at the Olympian brothers he had left, still pouring out the words of goodbye.

"See you later, brother."

“……”

Hearing this, Peturabo's figure froze visibly, and he carried his two blood relatives on his back, and seemed to be entangled for a few more seconds before he gritted his teeth and turned around, as if he didn't want to lose to Dorne in this regard, nodded at the two of them quite seriously, and waved goodbye.

"Hmm...... Good bye. ”

The words were stiff, as hurried as Perturabo turned around.

The Iron Lord almost fled, his shadow disappearing from the Spider Queen's vision in an instant, and Morgan began to wonder whether to take the opportunity to follow, or to stay and talk to Dorne: she and the two of them were going to talk privately anyway, it was just a matter of priority.

The Lord of Avalon thought for a moment, and she first looked at Perturabo who was leaving: it will take at least an hour or more to talk to this stubborn Olympian, or to reach a consensus?

And Dorne ......

Morgan glanced at her silent brother.

Successes aside: five minutes at most should be done.

Such a stark contrast made the Empress of Genes make up her mind in an instant, and she completely did not notice that in her heart, the gold content of the Invites had unconsciously surpassed that of the Olympians.

So, she took a step forward.

So, Donne, did you really hear Perturabo's inquiry? 】

"Of course."

Dorn lowered his head and repeated the same words in the same tone.

"Peturabo was just asking who won the game."

[Then why didn't you respond to him?] 】

Morgan then asked, and there was already a little joy in her heart, and she couldn't help but look forward to it: Could it be that her Invet brothers, after all these things, finally understood the importance of remaining silent in the necessary moments?

You must know that most of Dorne's bad comments in the original body today are caused by his [bluntness] that does not look at the occasion and atmosphere at all: a brother who can tell the truth and dare to speak the truth is certainly admirable, but a brother who will always tell the truth and will not shut up at any time will definitely be upset, and this annoyance will easily overshadow the original appreciation.

This is Dorne's strength, but it is also Dorne's weakness, and if he can make the right trade-offs on this issue, give up when he should give up, grit his teeth when he shouldn't, and stick to the end, then he is really a figure who tends to be perfect.

Morgan couldn't help but think about it, and then he was poured cold water.

"Because I can't answer."

Dorne was blunt.

"Or: I'm not qualified."

His tone didn't rise or fall in the slightest.

"If I had the qualifications to answer Perturabo's question, I would have answered it, but the truth is that I am not qualified to answer Peturabo's question at all, and naturally I am not qualified to point out the character flaws that he has exposed in this question."

【…… All right. 】

The Lord of Avalon pursed his lips: Fantasy is really just fantasy.

[Then why do you think that you are not qualified to evaluate this issue? 】

Morgan then asked, realizing in hindsight that Dorne's remark was actually very interesting: Not qualified? These weren't like the words of the always proud Dorne.

Had he put down his desperate pride in this expedition?

This is not a great step forward in improving the language arts, but it is a joyful change: the Lord of Avalon is beginning to look forward to it again.

Dorne continued to speak.

"Because I asked myself, before answering Peturabo's question, I asked myself inwardly if I didn't care if I didn't care if I won or lost this sword fight, if I could evaluate the two fighters from an objective point of view, and my heart gave me the answer: I can't."

"I'm also concerned about how this sword fight will be won or lost, and I'm hoping that my son will win this fight, and even look for clues of victory for Sigismund in the obvious draw."

"In this sword fight, I have unfair selfish intentions, so naturally I am not a completely fair evaluator, and I naturally cannot answer the question of [who won] in Peturabo's mouth."

Dorne raised his head, his answer silencing the Spider Queen.

So......

That's what has changed.

Or, hasn't changed?

Morgan was a little unsure, she obviously felt that some of Dorne's personalities, or habits, were different from before, but she couldn't say what was the difference: the Lord of the Emperor Fist still seemed to be outspoken to his brothers about his inner thoughts, and he still had pride in his bones, but the previous Dorne would never maintain the silence just now, although this silence was somewhat accidental.

【Hiss ......】

Or is he just learning to reflect on himself before he speaks?

Not only did he see the shortcomings of others, but he also began to see his own shortcomings, and learned to reflect on himself with his own shortcomings at all times, and gradually make up for these shortcomings: and silence is only when he is faced with the same shortcomings of others, he is unwilling to hide his own shortcomings, and deceives himself to speak out, but because of the same shortcomings, he thinks that he is not qualified to answer?

It seems...... Or is it a pride?

And it is the pride of pride: a kind of self-restraint arrogance that does not even need to be restrained by others, and is entirely created out of one's own too noble character and too clean moral concept.

【……】

That......

Is this a good thing?

Or is it a bad thing?

Morgan licked his lips.

She was a little uncertain.

——————

But he knew he had to make a little change about it.

On the way to the infirmary by his fighting brothers, Sigismund closed his eyes and said nothing, but a storm of thoughts swept through his mind, repeating the sword fight over and over again.

Victory? Honor? Or was it the reckless impulse to provoke this sword fight? And the consolation and triumphant cheers of the fighting brothers in the ears? For Sigismund now, none of this is any longer irrelevant.

When he closed his eyes, he saw only one thing: he saw the opponent who was like a mountain, he saw the nightmare that restrained him throughout the game, and he saw the Terminator armor that he couldn't completely break down no matter what.

Yes, he did succeed at the last moment, but who on the battlefield would give him hours to water and grind tofu? And Dantiok was clearly not used to that armor either.

If he had met a guy who could perfect the Iron Rider Ultimate Armor, how could he completely defeat such an Iron Demon in a short or long battle? How can he stab his opponent in the heart with the sword in his hand?

“……”

What should he do?

Sigismund began to think.

Inside, he longed to meet an opponent like this.

(End of chapter)