Sigismund was trudging through waist-deep blood.

This is truly a boundless sea of blood, in which stumps and broken arms rise and fall. He waved his hand away a few floating heads, but his foot hit a heavy object, judging by the weight, it should be a fragment of armor.

Astarte was killed here.

Sigismund lowered his head, bent down and reached for a moment, grabbing a bright yellow shard. He glanced at it, let it go, let it fall, and began to move on. Careful care was taken at every step to ensure that he did not suddenly fall into it.

The chains collided against each other on his wrists, making a dull sound. He slowly reached a door. The door was very tall, so it wasn't much obscured by the sea of blood, only the lower half was shrouded, and that's it.

Sigismund could still clearly see the huge reliefs depicting the emperor swinging his sword and beheading off his enemies, along with the heavy sword and shield decorations.

From this point of view, the traditions of the ancient Terra continue to this day, and every corner of the palace must be majestic, magnificent, and sacred.

In the past, secular kings took great pains to do this, just to add a little extraordinaryness to themselves, and to make the hearts of those who met them tremble in advance.

The emperor doesn't need this, he is not shaped by gold to be an invincible king, he is the lord of mankind himself, and gold only depends on him. Architects probably only design this way out of their own perception.

In the eyes of the public, the emperor should be honored, surrounded by gold, silver, and agate, and his face sparkle like a god.

Is that really the case? Sigismund didn't answer, only remembered the calm voice in the speech.

He began to observe the still majestic door, a part of it tainted with blood, like the entire royal palace.

This vast miracle has now become a battlefield completely covered in blood, and in some places it has unfortunately been completely overwhelmed with blood, and has become a forbidden area that cannot be set foot on.

Sigismund slowly moved his gaze to the top of the gate, and unsurprisingly saw a panic button - it wasn't a good design, of course, but the architect did.

He, or she, placed the start button of a backup means that could go wrong in the energy transmission pipeline, and the gate needed to be opened urgently, on top of a twelve-meter-high gate.

Who are you going to get to press this button? Titans? Sigismund sneered.

If he could, it wouldn't be fine, but he didn't have a Titan by his side right now.

The Titans are fighting on the other side of the palace.

The machine of the gods poured out of its nest and was battling the demons that came in waves like a tsunami. Their numbers seemed endless, but the Titans apparently didn't care about it, just poured out their destruction, guarding the glory of the Ten Thousand Machine Gods.

But that was three hours ago, and Sigismund was long since he was away from the Titans.

He was ordered by Roger Dorn to come to the aid of the Palace, and was accompanied by a five-hundred-man Imperial Fist. The forces on the frontal battlefield have long been stretched thin - no, maybe not that way.

At the moment, the whole of Terra is a frontal battleground.

The support of 500 people is not the number that a support soldier should have in normal times, but now it has become a hard-won and valuable resource.

In a hoarse and spoignant communication, Roger Dorn told Sigismund that he was heading to the Hall of the Torch in the palace to support the defenders there.

The brilliance of the torch must not be extinguished, not even the slightest wavering.

Sigismund understood this, so he rushed to the rendezvous point as soon as he received the order, and ran with the party to a desperate fortress in the Himalayas—so it stands to reason that he shouldn't be alone now.

The reason? Why?

If Sigismund could answer, he would bring a map and draw a simple, straight line on the map of the Desperate Fortress that was so intriguing that it was almost impossible to understand.

He would ask the person asking the question to follow the line they had come from, and then the answer would come out on its own.

He was the only one left with reinforcements.

The Imperial Fist warriors who died along the way can attest to this, as evidenced by the bullet-depleted blasters, the broken chainsaw swords, and the mountains of corpses and blood that flooded the corridors and corridors.

However, if Sigismund had not spoken out himself, no one would have believed that a team of five hundred men could fight from the bottom to the top of the Desperate Fortress, but it was true, and they did it—at a clear cost.

Just by looking at Sigismund at this moment, it is easy to understand what the price is.

Vanishing helmets, sunken cuirassa, pierced holes in the left shoulder armor, empty belts. and the bloodstained greatsword he held in his hand.

Without a doubt, this is a feat and a miracle. However, that's all there is to it, and any person of normal intelligence can understand that reinforcements alone will not help any battlefield.

However, it doesn't matter. If you can't get to the support site, you can at least die on the way.

Sigismund bent down and began to grope in the sea of blood. He searched for a moment, and finally found a shard of sufficient weight. He scooped it up, revealing a severed hand still wrapped in steel armor, with a blaster in his hand.

Sigismund removed his blaster and checked the magazine. Seventeen rounds remaining, which is good. Expressionlessly, he slung the blaster to the belt around his waist, and began to flick his stiff fingers little by little.

The whole process is slow and extremely patient. It wasn't until the bloodstained bright yellow severed hand became a veritable fist that he slowly lifted it.

A whizzing shadow slammed into the panic button at the top of the gate in the next second.

The buttons that had been deliberately placed on the Aquila's chest were dented, and the heavy sound of hinges and mechanical gears began to be heard inside the door, accompanied by red-hot steam coming out of the sides of the door.

The sea of blood began to boil, but Sigismund remained indifferent. He wiped the blood-stained hair from his forehead, looked at the fist that happened to be stuck in the button, and smiled rarely.

Two minutes later, the door opened, and it was dark. The sea of blood naturally slid inward, revealing the fragments of corpses, armor and weapons hidden within, piling up on the ground, glistening in the darkness.

Sigismund didn't look at any of this, but picked up his sword and walked inside.

He didn't choose to hold the gun in his hand, first, because there were not many bullets, and second, because the war had already begun for fourteen hours, during which countless experiences of fighting demons had already passed on to the ears of the warriors.

In a blood-soaked summary, they came to the conclusion that swords are better than guns - weird, counterintuitive, but that's what it is.

The bomb might be able to knock the demons to a stagger, and the weaker of them to die instantly. But if you're going to actually do a kill, and if you want to have a possible impact on the battlefield, you'll have to use a sword, an axe, or any melee weapon.

Chainsaws can smoothly tear through the flesh of those things, and the decomposition force field can easily cut off their thick skin along with the bones underneath

It is ironic that strength and barbarism can kill these ugly things more than the progress of civilization brings.

However, this is not always the case, such as the bombardment of the gunboats, the artillery of the Titans, and the various tanks and cannons carefully built by the Mechists.

When a stream of radiation more than three meters in diameter hits a demon together with a plasma mass, it can no longer be called a demon, it can only be called a cloud of ashes, or minced meat.

But Sigismund now only had a sword, and himself. So he chose to use the sword first, and he began to walk alone in the dark. As it turned out, he was right in his vigilance and preparation.

The first attacker arrived quickly, at least three meters tall, with bulging muscles, two horns on the top of his head, and could even spit out -

"Blood sacrifice to the blood god!"

It roared and rushed over, its eyes glowing bloodshot in the darkness. Instead of choosing to sneak attack, he chose to let him know about its arrival with a roar before attacking.

It wasn't the first time Sigismund had fought these demons who called out the name of the Blood God, and he didn't know what the damn Blood God was in their mouths, but he knew how to kill them.

A vicious wind struck, and a great axe slashed down at Sigismund. Without blinking, the company took two steps back, dodging the ferocious swing of the blow. It's impossible for him to wrestle with this thing, and his agile style of play is clearly more capable of winning.

The demon roared and began to pursue, the blood-stained armor clanging between flesh movements. It unleashed three slashes in a row, one slash, one slash, and the last one a sinister surprise attack from diagonally below.

Sigismund dodged them all, not even colliding with the thing's axe with the blade in his hand.

He fought very cunningly, and this is not his own work.

The demon stopped, axe in both hands, and glared at Sigismund in the darkness.

"Coward!" It spat out a disdainful disdain. "Run, dodge, live like a mouse!"

Sigismund was completely indifferent to its insult, but suddenly took a step forward, and with a twist of his wrist, the greatsword stabbed out. The demon expected the blow, and it laughed excitedly.

Judging by that posture, he should have intended to take Sigismund's stab and exchange his life for his life. The great axe in its hand was already raised high, and at that moment, the blade of the Imperial Fist was suddenly retracted.

The great axe fell, and the demon's eyes were filled with blood—it knew it was a trap, but it was too late.

The old force is gone, and the new force is not born. No matter how strong it is, it is still a humanoid creature, and there is naturally a gap between each attack to steal.

Sigismund looked at it coldly, the greatsword rounded and slashed down fiercely, and a head flew high. Blood gushed out, splattering Sigismund's body.

And that was just the beginning, as more things began to notice his presence in the darkness, or rather, to the smell of blood on him.

Implicit in each gaze was greed, and they longed for his flesh and soul. Sigismund was calm about it - if you wanted, then take it.

He raised his sword in both hands and gently pulled a sword flower against the darkness. The demons immediately rushed out and surrounded him. Most of them are muscular and strong. Strangely, they didn't rush up and kill him.

Sigismund felt a sense of absurdity, and he saw some clues in their encirclement, and in the act of hammering the breastplate with weapons or fists, and a suspicion was born in his mind that they wanted to fight him one-on-one.

This. Does it make sense? Is it really possible for these demons to do such a thing?

The doubt flashed, but Sigismund quickly put it behind him, and he had no time to think about it, for his enemies were already standing before him.

The first demon to emerge from the crowd of demons, like Sigismund, also wields a greatsword. It looked excited, apparently because it had been honored for the opening battle.

It was about four meters tall, dressed in studded soft armor, with cascading metal cascading down its left shoulder, glowing with silver. Its face was hideous, but what it did next did not seem rude.

It roared, raising its sword slightly, covering half of its face. Sigismund narrowed his eyes and responded to the demon with the same etiquette.

He still felt absurd in his heart, but he would not run away from the etiquette of this battle. He was all too familiar with this kind of fighting, and with a slight pride to say that there was no second Aastarte in the galaxy that could match his experience in the matter.

The demon chuckled lowly, a fiery mist of blood between his breaths. There was no longer darkness all around, and the bloody light in the eyes of these demons illuminated the arena of battle.

They shouted, urging the two sides to fight with curses or encouragement. It's the same environment as in a cage or a duel pit, the same frenetic atmosphere, the same one-on-one combat, the same thing

Sigismund woke up with a slam - what was he thinking?

This is not a fair fight by Astarte against his cousin, intent on separating the superior in skill, strength and courage. This is a real battle of life and death, and besides, his enemies are demons.

Vigilantly, he raised his sword and took the lead in attacking.

The stabbing hand was raised, and the slash followed, and the demon swung its blade approvingly, and the blood-stained, jagged and brutal weapon ignored the effect of the disintegrating force field, and with the demonic power easily sabotaged Sigismund's first attack.

Not only that, but it even forced him to lose his balance a little. Naturally, the demon did not let go of this opportunity, and the giant sword was immediately raised, and then it was fiercely slashed, aiming at Sigismund's head.

The commander of a company of the Imperial Fist had long been wary of this, and it was natural for him to attack the enemy's weakness in battle, so he withdrew his sword and raised his sword to defend it.

Two blocks, one dodge. As the footsteps swirled, the demons' cries began to grow more and more frenzied, almost into a giddy noise of great frenzy.

"Kill it, Imperial Fist!" A demon roared behind him. "Go get the honor! Warriors deserve to be tempered and sublimated in blood! Your sword will be sharpened by its blood! ”

It didn't lie.

In the sixth turn, Sigismund slashed the demon's sword-wielding right hand, and blood pulsed around the arc-wrapped sword, and the sound continued like a war drum.

His enemies were furious at this, and rushed forward with a roar, their hands raised in the air, intent on forcefully exchanging wounds for wounds, and life for lives. Sigismund naturally couldn't exchange words with it like this, and he handed his blade from the bottom up with his backhand, and at the same time immediately retreated.

He countered and dodged in the same second, a superhuman skill that would never have been possible without a battle-hardened person - blood splattered out again, and the demon's studded soft armor was instantly sliced by this cautious slash that shouldn't have had much power.

Sigismund was briefly puzzled by his own victory.

How so? Their armor is hard and terrifying, and it doesn't look good, but it's far more useful than pottery steel. How could it be cut by him so easily?

However, this is not the end. The demon took two steps back and reached out to cover his abdomen, unable to see that the organs were sliding down the gap between his claws. It glanced down at them, and there was a flash of annoyance on its hideous face.

In the next second, it forcibly pulled out all its internal organs and threw them on the ground.

The demons chanted as the smell of blood began to intensify, the ground boiled, and the blood turned into glittering magma.

The demon smiled lowly, it was dying, but the will to fight was still in the eyes. Sigismund wordlessly raised the blade in his hand, and instead of dodging, he charged at it.

The blades intertwined, and the first blow ended with the weapons colliding with each other. Sigismund spun around quickly, the blade slicing through the demon's back in a graceful arc.

It slowed down due to its injuries and couldn't dodge, so it lost its life. The huge body slammed to the ground, blood pouring out, and the aether of flesh hissed, quickly turning into flesh and dry bones.

The demons chanted again, began to praise him in a frenzied manner, and began to savagely fight each other as a way to choose the next person to fight him. During this time, there were even quite a few demons chanting Sigismund's name all the time

Where did they get my name?

The first company commander clenched his sword vigilantly, completely unaware of what was going on - he wanted to think about it, but the onlookers didn't give him this chance, and the second demon immediately stepped forward.

This one uses a sword and shield. The shield was huge, with a metal bulge in the center, and a skeleton at the edge as a point to pull, and the center of gravity of the one-handed sword was a heavy slashing weapon at a glance.

It seems like it is deliberately so, deliberately not allowing me to think.

Such a thought vaguely flashed through his mind, but he was powerless to grasp it, the battle had begun, and Sigismund instantly entered the state of battle, without distraction, and only the presence of the enemy was left in his eyes.

He fought the demon for more than four minutes, eventually ending its life with a leg steal and the jab that followed.

Sigismund stood in place with his sword in hand, gasping softly, calming the heat in his chest as he prepared for the next battle.

He was ready for a hard fight, he was going to win—he didn't realize that the smell of blood was getting stronger all around him

It was even more terrifying than the mountain of corpses and sea of blood he was in not long ago.

The roars of the demons were so violent at this moment that they seemed to come from an eternal time, restless, fanatical, obscuring everything that Sigismund could perceive. All he could hear was their roars and cheers now, so he couldn't notice the slightest sound coming from the far end of the darkness.

The demons noticed, but they didn't care, as long as the fight could continue. However, the people on the dark side who are rushing here clearly don't think so, they are here to wipe out the demons.

This wasn't the first time they'd burst out of the Hall of the Torch and launched a counter-offensive charge towards the outlying fortresses. There weren't many of them left, but that was the result of the support.

Luckily, it wasn't just ammunition supplies and more loyal cathars that came with support, but also a small torrent of steel from a dozen Predator tanks and assault armored vehicles, mingling and sprinting towards the area behind the assault boats.

The cannon that had not yet fully cooled quickly fired, and the machine gun, large enough to break Astarte's waist, spewed tongues of fire, tearing at the flesh of the demons with ferocity, and they turned in anger and began to collide head-on with the army.

Sigismund, who was in the middle of the battle, knew nothing about it.

He still wields his sword, moving faster and more powerful—he came here on a mission, and now he has forgotten it, mired in war.

The blood that had been spilled on the ground began to accumulate infinitely due to death, forming a stream in the roar of the demons and the shouts of the loyalists. Countless morbidly-looking fanatics were mingling with demons, waving their blades and silently shouting the name of the Blood God.

They are in a land of endless bones, and it is not the Holy Celestial Army that is colliding head-on with this army - in fact, the opposite is true.

Most of them were incomplete even in their limbs, and the boiling flames took the place of their missing bodies, driving them to pounce on their enemies with endless vendettas. Their general was a large, scarlet, vague soul with a hideous face that seemed to be devoured by a man.

Sigismund knew nothing about these things, of course, but he didn't need to know either, because the flame had been pushed back into reality.

It rose from the sea of blood, accompanied by a bone-chilling temperature, and a thunderbolt slashed, and a pitch-black lightning leaped out of the sea of blood, scorching one of the demons that Sigismund was facing at the moment. Unabated, it pounced in front of Sigismund in an instant.

The Fist of the Empire's eyes widened, instinctively trying to raise its sword to block and dodge at the same time, but the lightning bolt ignored it and instantly swept past him, stabbing into the chest of a golden-armored giant.

"For unity!" The man roared and swung his greatsword and began to slay the remaining demons with absolute cruelty.

The cathars and priests followed closely behind, and the auxiliaries sat on the assault boats, helping them in the battle with point shots, some of them were very rusty, and they knew that they had been civilians not so long ago.

Sigismund was stunned.

What was I just doing? He asked himself. Why should I fight them, no, why should I sink into that battle? I'm here for—

"—Commander of a company in Sigismund." A voice said. "Nice to meet you."

The Fist of the Empire looked up wordlessly but in shame and saw an acquaintance.

"Saul Tavitz." He whispered, stretched out his right hand, and held the Aquila on the other's arm. "I'm glad to meet you, too."

Updated complete, this chapter is 6.3k.

Maybe another chapter? Not sure, not recommended, etc. Tomorrow's 15,000 is considered a gift for the Emperor's Ascension Day.

(End of chapter)