I'm going to lose.

Shen was able to perceive this very clearly, and this was not a self-deprecation extended from the so-called low self-confidence, but an honest statement of the facts.

Before Sigismund had even stepped into the ring, Shen sensed the approaching danger with an instinct he had cultivated over the past two years.

In his perception, Sigismund was not a man, but a walking sword.

He walked with his head held high, but only the tips of his toes really touched the ground. His right hand was higher than his left, and he was placed on his waist, and even the degree of his shoulder rotation was slightly twisted.

Sigismund maintained his walking demeanor, but he still had the habit of fighting at any time and at any time.

Yes, habits.

It's like a beast.

This is also why, Shen Hui rarely chooses to attack at the beginning of the battle.

In the past two years, his preferred tactics have been to use his speed to maneuver his opponents first, and only after he has memorized and understood his opponent's moves and habits will he actually start attacking.

But he can't carry that habit over to Sigismund, otherwise he's going to lose 100 percent.

Shen couldn't accept defeat, but he couldn't accept that he gave up the chance to win with his own hands. And now, the battle has officially entered the white heat.

Sigismund was like an iron tree that stood tall in a storm, and he ate all of Shen's attacks. Without any stabbing or slashing escaping from his impenetrable sword, he used his sword and hands to construct a towering net that firmly bound Shen inside.

Shen took a deep breath, and the voices of everyone in the audience and the sound of swords and blades had disappeared from his hearing, and they disappeared immediately like blood stains washed by raindrops, and he couldn't stay.

His eyes were glued to Sigismund's wrists and shoulders in high-speed combat, his instincts beating and dancing wildly in his mind.

A ferocious anger was revealed on Shen's countenance - yes, I will lose, but I will not let you win so easily.

His opponent replied with his sword—Sigismund raised his hands in the air and slashed down, but his wrists spun sharply, forcing Shen back a few steps with a powerful and terrifying slash that made his hard-earned distance advantage disappear.

"Come on." The Fist of the Empire said solemnly.

He stood still, back to the position of holding the sword in one hand. The arm shook slightly, and the weight ball at the end of the hilt pressed against the wrist, rubbing gently and gently. The calm he had been holding was gone, and he stared into Shen's eyes, and there was nothing else in the world.

"Okay." Shen spat out a monosyllable, and the storm descended again.

Glide – again. It's not fast, but it's so weird that it's like you're witnessing a ghost walking through the steel jungle.

Alcturo, who woke up leisurely in the audience, took a deep breath and finally understood that he had lost unjustly. This kind of stride is almost like nirvana for anyone who has not seen it, or who can't grasp its meaning.

So, which one is Sigismund?

The lights were blinding, and the sound of the crowd disappeared abruptly.

Shen's wrists were crossed and leaned together. In a flash of lightning, he passed Sigismund with his dagger like lightning, and the dull sound of steel and flesh clashing sounded.

The dagger came out of his hand, spun and fell on the wire mesh of the training cage. Sigismund still held his sword in both hands, the blade resting on Shen's neck, gasping softly.

And Shen's weapon was gone, and he lowered his head and glanced at his hands with a serious expression. The fingers were quivering, and a few of them were distorted.

The Fists of the Empire erupted in another wave of overwhelming noise, no less than what the Nightblades had created before.

"It's horrible." Sigismund said from the bottom of his heart. "Even if I was prepared, I couldn't have foreseen from which angle you were going to attack me, what kind of skill is this, Shen? I beg you to tell me its name. ”

He seemed to be out of the fight, the extreme concentration and ruthlessness that left his eyes. There was a palpable kindness in his royal blue eyes, and he even withdrew his sword blade and just stood there, waiting for Shen's answer.

"It doesn't have a name, I'm sorry, Sigismund." The Nostramo man smiled palely. "But it's our instructor's technique, plus, you're really strong."

"Thank you. But I'm not enough. Sigismund said. I'm still far from what we're going to do. ”

"Don't gossip there, if you lose, come down." A person in the audience said with a gloomy face.

He stretched out his hands, rudely and brutally grabbed the spiked iron net, and hissed from between his teeth: "Hey! You, your name is Sigismund, aren't you? I'm going to fight you! ”

Shen sighed.

"That's what he is." He said to Sigismund with a little apologies. "Don't Care"

"I won't."

Shen Mai walked past him, his apology disappeared, and a slightly cold smile appeared on his pale face: "No, Sigismund, I'm not referring to his etiquette issues. ”

He picked up the dagger and walked to the door of the cage, turning back and saying one last word, which made the kindness in Sigismund's eyes disappear in an instant.

"I'm telling you not to worry about the impending failure."

——

Sigismund watched his opponent and felt a sudden heaviness.

Don't get me wrong, it's not because of the weapons his opponents use, and just because the Chainsaw isn't a common weapon doesn't mean it's hard for its user to deal with.

In Sigismund's conception, he was convinced that the sword was the perfect weapon. He was like this because of the dark and deep eyes of his opponent.

In those eyes, there is also a habit of a fierce beast. And unlike him, he acquired this personality and made it one of his future goals.

His opponent looked as if he had been born with a different and more terrifying wildness.

This kind of wild nature that wants to completely disassemble the opponent and knock every bone bit by bit, strip the flesh and bone marrow of all the flesh and marrow, and eat the dry and wiped away.

It's just horrible.

I'm going to have an uphill battle. Sigismund thought so, and not only did he not feel pressure in his thoughts, but he even felt a kind of happiness.

He's happy to be challenged, and every Fist of the Empire is happy to be challenged. People must face high pressure and be tempered to be able to bear the weight of a thousand pounds.

"Your name is Sevita, cousin?" Sigismund, holding his sword in one hand, asked.

"What, do you want to have a relationship with me?" His pale opponent did not seem to appreciate his kindness, and his voice was full of sarcasm.

"You don't think I'm going to introduce myself to you before we fight, do you? Or are you actually very pedantic, and even have to do a full set of etiquette with your opponent before the fight? ”

"I don't want anything like that." Sigismund calmly raised his hand and raised his blunt sword in front of him. "I just want to know who your last name is."

"What the does that have to do with you?" Sevita asked rudely and rudely.

His words caused a wave of opposition from the Imperial Fists in the audience, and some even began to shake the iron net with their hands and let out a disdainful roar at him.

Sevita sneered and looked back, comparing the gang gestures from Nostramo to those who were far older and stronger than him.

Sigismund finally shook his head.

"Does insulting my superiors, seniors, and brothers make you feel better?" He asked solemnly. "Provocation tactics don't work for me, Sevita of Midnight Blade, come and fight."

"Oh-"

Sevita turned her head, grinned, and said softly.

"—I'm sorry, I'm sorry I hurt your fragile heart, cousin. But I think. When the battle starts and when it ends, it should be up to me to decide. ”

The Midnight Blades laughed, and the Emperor Fists glared at them coldly, silently.

In the training cage, the battle quietly began. Sigismund struck first, his blade flashing through the air and meeting a well-prepared chainsaw.

The jagged teeth of ordinary steel swirled, sparks colliding with Sigismund's sword. The longer the weapons were in contact with each other, and the longer the wrestling, the more Sigismund's arms trembled.

The sawtooth itself wasn't just cutting down on the stability of his weapon, it was also draining his strength. Sigismund immediately pulled back vigilantly, his opponent still standing in place, eyes sparkling and a flawless smile.

"You're so weak." He said deliberately. "With so little strength, you still want to win me?"

Sigismund kept his mouth shut, completely ignoring Sevita's words. He flexed his fingers, felt the balance of the blade, and took a deep breath of air. His heartbeat gradually weakened, and his pulse slowed little by little.

The world began to fall silent again, and even gradually became dark. Between the serious and icy gazes, a rain began to fall. This rain first fell when he was a child, on the Innos plateau of Terra.

It's a hot summer, and it's hot. All the people in the slums are screaming and eager to live, they have been persecuted for a long time by some long-dead tyrant. But it wasn't just the tyrant who persecuted them, there were many gangs.

Sigismund thought of them, of the rainstorms, of the shantytowns, of the storms.

Then he turned into a storm.

Sevita's eyes narrowed sharply.

"Bell ——!" The sound of a violent clash of steel resounded between them, and with the birth of this sound, Sigismund's breath that had been holding was slowly released from his lungs through the operation of his muscles.

Time and place no longer mattered, and the light overhead was still bright, but it seemed to turn into a swirling summer sun. Sigismund continued to swing his sword, without stopping.

He swung his sword as if he were about to kill Sevita, and each blow was swift and silent, each heavy as a mountain collapsing. The sawtooth and the blunt sword rubbed against each other, fighting each other with the will of their master, and the metal was neighing and bleeding.

In the midst of the fire, Sevita stared into the emotionless eyes of his opponent and suddenly realized something.

He sneered again.

He swung his halberd and used two traps that came in quick succession to push Sigismund back. Sevita was still smiling, and that smile was so unreal that it shouldn't have been in someone who was caught in a bitter battle. But he just laughed, and he was satisfied.

"I see, cousin." He said with a slight mockery. "It's a shame you're a madman, and so am I."

His opponent didn't answer, just adjusted his stance and stepped forward again. The chainsaw halberd roared endlessly, and the offensive opened and closed widely, and the power was terrifying. The blunt sword is very simple and unchanging.

Its owner ignored Sevita's words, and it ignored the sawtooth cut. Sparks filled the air between them again, making everything visible.

In Sigismund's vision, his opponents are ruthless, fierce and swift, as deadly as a scorpion in the desert. He almost felt that Sevita was the embodiment of lightning, or the messenger of the storm.

He realized that he couldn't make a mistake, absolutely not – just one mistake and he would lose. His opponent will not hesitate to grasp this mistake and expand it into a bleeding scar.

However, in Sevita's vision, Sigismund was not human at all.

Where the fuck is he's still a human being? Why is a person so indifferent, so ruthless, so cold?

He didn't see the slightest emotion in Sigismund's eyes, he swung his sword like the most dangerous servants, and he was always mighty and dangerous, but he also had a quality that servants could never have.

- Extreme acumen.

Sevita growled in a low voice.

"You're crazy." He said contentedly and disgustedly, not noticing the smile on his face at the moment. The smile made him look like a beast that had satisfied his bloodthirsty desires. "You ought to be glad I am, Sigismund."

Sigismund was silent, he couldn't hear what Sevita was saying. His world was filled with the sound of rain and lightning from the past.

The blunt sword constantly collided with the chainsaw halberd, like a monotonous and annoying piece of music, very extreme, very terrifying. In this piece, for the first time in his life, Sigismund finally realized something.

He had long realized his passion and desire to fight, but why on earth would he do it?

Why did he keep exercising violence and wielding this will? Young Sigismund searched for the answer, and finally found it in this moment.

In the audience, Roger Dorn gave a rare smile, turned his head, and said to Carlile, "He can now go to war with me right away." ”

"Oh?" Carlil raised an eyebrow in interest, and Conrad Coetzes cast his gaze as well.

"He finally understood what we were swinging our swords for." Dorn said with a little pride.

On stage, Sigismund laughed for the first time. From the moment he saw Sevita standing across from him with his weapon in hand, he knew that his opponent would not fall easily.

He didn't know Sevita's full name, but he could understand the man. He understands that Sevita is somehow the same as him.

Half a minute ago, they still had a gap between them, as Sevita knew what he was fighting for before he stepped into the cage. Now, that gap has been erased.

Sigismund seemingly slowly raised his blade aloft, and Sevita's eyes narrowed, an unobservable tremor erupting between their breaths.

It's not a feeling, it's a devastating of reason, a contempt for anyone who is not proficient in combat. A third of a second later, the blade slipped. It's not chopping, it's putting down.

It's like an electric shock, it's like a burst of flame. Sevita couldn't help but expose her canine teeth to the air, and waved her hand to block it, not like she was wielding a chainsaw, but like she was lifting something.

A third of a second later, in this brief and eternal moment, their eyes collided.

Thank you very much.

Are you sick?

"Bang ——!"

A puff of black smoke came out of the chainsaw's motor, and a pungent burnt smell began to spread, and the serrated blades fell to the ground.

The blunt training sword cracked through it, and it completed the mission it was made for, and no sparks would ever fall from it again.

Sigismund took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. His fingers were trembling slightly, and blood was dripping from them.

Sevita stared at him with an indifferent expression, a chainsaw halberd in her right hand, and a shallow wound on her chest that was oozing blood.

"Who won?" Someone in the audience shouted.

Richtenor closed his eyes in contentment and exhaled as if he had eaten a plate of delicacies. Siani looked at him with a strange expression and unconsciously took a step back.

"You'd better not go back." Richter said with his eyes closed. "I don't want to say anything right now, so please let me be quiet, Siani."

"Didn't you speak first?!"

At the other end of the crowd, Conrad Coates couldn't hold back his smile, smiling so brightly that it barely looked like his usual restrained smile - he turned to look at Dorne, who knew that Dorne was laughing too.

"It was a great fight." The stubborn stone, who used to be unsmiling, said sincerely. "I never thought I'd see this kind of battle of faith in two recruits, what would they think between the swords and blades, man?"

"Huh?"

"Rogge is asking you, Conrad." Carell reminded him of the dumbfounded Legionnaire without a trace. "He wants to know what you think about the fight."

"I-" The Lord of Midnight blinked. "-Actually, I want to know who won, how should this be judged?"

Dorn pondered for a moment.

"It's not as good as that." He groaned. "Even if they're a draw, right? For the time being, this battle will not be counted in the results of this exchange conference, and when they have all grown up, they will fight again. Wait until that day to count this result. So, how? ”

"I think it's fine." Conrad Coetzes agreed, after a little thought. He was still smiling, and he didn't hide the emotion. Carlil tilted his head, letting the back of his head touch the wall as well, his expression calm and calm.

It's what it's like to forge something with your own hands and let it thrive little by little.

It's wonderful.

I have no past, no memories, but I can still forge new memories.

He lowered his head, looked at the Nightblades, looked at Shen, looked at Sevita, looked at Conrad Coetze—and then, he smiled.

Updated.

(End of chapter)