Robert Killeman could smell blood.

He walked cautiously through the darkness, without saying a word, his iron boots grinding heavily across the ground. The sound of the building slag being crushed was so palpable that he held his dagger in a gesture that was almost incomprehensible.

The ruined fortress was littered with corpses, and the blue insignia stubbornly lingered on the power armor. The murderer deliberately preserved every emblem, and all the corpses were killed in one hit, and there was no superfluous action beyond that.

He observes the details, taking them in full view, while beginning to sigh silently.

If he still had any ground manpower that he could mobilize, even if it was just a personnel carrier, he wouldn't have walked into the fortress himself.

If he dies, then he loses.

But he didn't have a choice, he had to walk in for himself. Darkness spreads across his retina, and nothing can stop them, just as nothing can stop Carlil Lohals.

His last squad, one hundred and seventy men, entered the bombardment-shattered fortress, heavily armed, and then all died in just four minutes.

The communication channel was always quiet and terrifying, and all he could hear was short, rapid screams, and nothing else.

A ghost. Kiliman couldn't help but let his thoughts spread in this direction for a moment. But he didn't neglect to scout the battlefield environment, and he walked around a corner, and the corpse on the ground stung his eyes.

Killiman forced himself to ignore them, and continued on until he reached the deepest part of the darkness, a broken hall.

The doors and windows collapsed, and only three of the eight long pillars used to support the hall remained. The broken ceiling ushered in the baptism of moonlight, gentle but eerie. A giant stood in the ruins with his back to him, gracefully like a resting bird of prey.

Killiman tensed his muscles, and his armor began to emit an eerie hum.

"One-to-one?"

His rival, the monster in the dark, the giant who had slain three thousand Ultramarines unscathed under six hours of bombardment, asked Carlil Lohals in his calm voice.

So Kiliman replied.

"One-on-one." He said in a deep voice. "There's no other way to win."

"You still have air forces." Carlil said meaningfully. "Why don't you use those gunboats?"

"Because this is already an extremely unfair battle, one against three thousand, I can't let the scales tilt in my favor anymore......

Kiriman said with a wry smile, "But I still don't understand how you did it."

"Fear." Carlil said, turning around, his expression calm and his shirt covered in blood.

This strange contrast sent a chill down Killiman's spine, and he knew the other person's character, but he still inevitably felt a pinprick like a prickly back, which stung him deeply and made him frown.

"Fear?"

"Yes, fear."

"My legion will not be afraid."

"Are they human, Robert?" Carlil asked rhetorically. "If they are, then they will, the difference is just how much they can bear."

"You mean, you defeated my three thousand warriors with fear?"

"Yes." Carlil bowed his head slightly, as calm as if he were really just recounting a fact.

Killiman shook his head, hiding his anger well. He didn't want to say any more, after all, he knew full well that his opponent wouldn't lie.

"Are you ready?" Carlil asked briefly.

"Of course." Kiliman said.

In the next second, the arbiter he held in his left hand opened fire.

The highly modified blaster was no longer what it had been, and the miniature atomically compressed warhead roared and tore through the air, charging furiously towards the moonlit giant.

Kiri

Man's play was accurate, there's no doubt about that. He fired three shots, one in the head, one in the left ribs, and one in the right chest. If he can hit, his opponent will lose all his combat power.

But the bullets didn't hit their targets, they smashed some of the collapsed, once fortress building materials, and that's it. As for his adversary......

Kiriman slammed his right hand, and the dagger slashed through the air in a beautiful arc.

He was superior in swordsmanship, otherwise he wouldn't have used this dagger as his melee weapon, but that wasn't enough compared to his enemies.

Between the blades, sparks burst out, like burning flames, a pale face flashed, and the next second, Robert Killiman lost his balance and fell to the ground.

What's going on?

He couldn't understand it, but his opponent didn't take advantage of the victory, so he got up again, his blade slashing towards the location of the enemy that Retina had captured before it fell—and instead of slicing into the air, he struck a solid palm.

Consternation.

Did I not initiate the decomposition stance?

"Hmm...... Interesting." His opponent looked thoughtfully at his bleeding left hand and nodded. "Some of the details are still imperfect, and if this were a real-life power sword, my hand would no longer exist."

"You ......"

Killiman wanted to say something, but his opponent didn't give him the chance. Karil Lohals calmly grasped the dagger of sincerity and snatched away the weapon that had been with Gilliman for many years.

His hand was bleeding, but Killiman acted more like the wounded man.

"You can choose to surrender." Carlil whispered.

"Never!"

Killiman roared and fired, he didn't aim, he didn't expect the Arbiter to hit Carlil, he just needed the bomb to be fired, and that's it. As long as he can distract Carlil a little, then he will have a chance to win.

An eerie hum began to accompany the movement of his clenched left fist - the Hand of Domination, his power gloves.

Surrender? He still has the strength to fight, and he will not surrender.

"Hmm."

His opponent only nodded thoughtfully in the face of the coming stormy onslaught.

He then vanished into the darkness with an uncatchable speed. Kiriman's eyes widened to understand how he had done it, but in the corner of his eye, he spotted a fleeting black shadow.

He raised his left fist and swung it in that direction—and then, a sharp pain came from behind him.

"See you outside." Said his adversary.

Kiriman fell to the ground, cold and a familiar irritation. He sighed and answered Carlil's words at the last moment of death.

"See you outside." He said dejectedly.

-----------------

There was a buzzing sound of electricity behind his head, and Killiman opened his eyes, almost startled by the sudden light.

He sat up, feeling a sudden drowning panic - every time he used the machine, he did.

He can only get used to it, not change it. It wasn't until some time later, when the contemplative's dreams faded away, that he sighed, removed the magnetic headband that covered his head, and saw a giant standing in front of him.

He smiled at Killiman and handed him a cup of hot water. The primordial bodies of the Ultramarines subconsciously reached out to take it, and the just right temperature made the drowning feel subside more quickly, but he was not happy, only annoyed.

"Why do you wake up so quickly every time?" Kiriman asked, puzzled. "This simulated machine makes me feel stiff every time I use it."

"I don't know." Karil Lohals replied softly, smiling slightly. "But I'm surprised you're still obsessed with letting the Ultramarines attack first."

"I know what you're trying to say." base

Liman shook his head. "Our score is ten to one, I only won you once, if I used that method, I would have won all the time, but what's the point of that?"

"And ......"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'd really like to beat you in melee combat, too."

"You've won once."

"I didn't do it alone, my legion created opportunities for me. If you hadn't been hit directly by a sniper from afar, I wouldn't have won."

Carlil smiled and did not speak, and after a moment of silence he made a suggestion.

"Your mind has fallen into some kind of misunderstanding." He said. "You want to fight me fairly, for which you cut the number of your legions, limit the air power, and even bomb less and less each time......

"It's just a mock battle, but there's no need for glory or fairness in it. Inside, I am your enemy, and you should do your best to win. In fact, if I were you, I would just turn the fortress into a sea of fire."

Pursing his lips, Kiliman nodded. He didn't want to admit that Carlil was right, and he didn't want to admit that he had wasted a lot of time these days searching for glory and fairness in mock battles...... But he must.

Because he knew Carlil was right.

"Why are you always right?" Kiriman complained, and there was a kind of familiarity in his attitude—they had met almost every day for a month and a half since the voyage began, and it was difficult to think about unfamiliarity.

"I don't dare say that." Carlil chuckled. "Even a machine can't always be right, just like this contemplative of yours, if I keep asking it what 1+1 is, it will collapse sooner or later."

Killiman looked at the thing and shook his head slowly.

"Perhaps." He stood up noncommittally. "The machine itself does have a service life...... But I'm not an antique, a contemplative."

He tilted his head, took a sip of the hot water, and beckoned the instructor of the Eighth Regiment out of the room.

"It's almost six o'clock." Robert Killeman said. "Instructor Carlil, we're going to have a routine meeting."

Carlil sighed slowly.

"Tell me, Robert...... Did this tradition of meeting within your Ultramarines to handle paperwork come after I arrived?"

Killiman didn't answer, just pushed open the door and walked away at a fast pace.