Emperor's Bane

Chapter 667

"Honestly, I hate this kind of venue."

“There are so many people around us: I always feel like someone is staring at my ass.”

"That could be the Emperor's Children coming."

Shen smiled and won back Sevatar's complaint with a rare witty remark: Conrad's attendant was wearing ceremonial armor, and the specially made lizard-scale cloak contrasted with the blazing fire not far away, allowing most of his face to be hidden in the shadows.

But despite this, whether it is the bat wings on the death mask, or the jaw decoration and neck guard that look like a mouth full of sharp teeth, they can all warn the nearby villains that Shen is a typical Night Lord: his glory is always accompanied by disturbing rumors, and the bloody smell on the edge of his iron boots can never be washed away.

Even at this seemingly joyful party where even the Astartes and mortals can hang out like brothers, any settlement belonging to the Eighth Legion will turn into a vortex of silence at the right time: Konrad's descendants and their close mortal servants stand in the shadows where the bonfire cannot reach, silently chewing their share, or indulging in duels in the crowd, or whispering to each other in voices that others cannot hear, and the discussions behind their backs are creepy.

Almost all mortals and most Astartes would deliberately avoid them, especially those Nightborn who took off their helmets and walked in no-man's land, because their exposed faces would allow onlookers to clearly recall their names and the number of massacres surrounding these names: Sevatar, who was walking side by side with Shen, was one of the best among them.

Even the Dark Angels would do their best to avoid a head-on collision with him.

The Prince of Crows, who had already made a name for himself even among the top warrior circles in the entire galaxy, did not mind revealing his once handsome but now disfigured face. His pale cheeks were as disturbing as a mad moon, and wherever his dark gaze looked, that place would quickly become a dead silent empty space.

Sevastata seemed very pleased with the treatment he received.

With Sight as the pioneer, Sevatar and Shen moved forward quickly in the crowd to respond to the Primarch's expectations and ensure that they could catch up with the first round of the duel later: when they passed by a bonfire closest to the Spider Queen's Camelot Palace, a heart-wrenching sound of breaking through the air temporarily grabbed their attention.

In the deep night, Conrad's descendants could see clearly.

"Primarch above."

Shen panted excitedly.

"It's Ahriman and Amit!"

"The duel between them is simply a clash of two arts of war."

Prince Crow snorted softly, tentatively agreeing with his fighting brother's words. Neither of them stopped in their tracks, but greedily snatched a few seconds of viewing time: the fight between the two men on the field was at its fiercest, and their competition between every breath was a priceless treasure, especially for a warrior.

The first thing Sevatar noticed was Ahriman, who was burning like a bright ball. He was still wearing the bright red armor, and his helmet was decorated with traces of an owl, symbolizing his close relationship with the Second Legion: Although [The Scarlet Duke] has long been the most common name for Ahriman by outsiders, only by witnessing Ahriman's fighting posture with his own eyes could Sevatar truly understand the beauty of it.

The former chief captain of the Thousand Sons Legion was so agile in battle that even Sevatar could barely keep up with him: at the moment when Ahriman stopped to attack, the Prince of Crows could see his movements in the previous second, but other than that, there was only a blurry, terrifying, crimson shadow reflected in Sevatar's pupils. When he imagined the scene of himself fighting against this shadow, nervous sweat broke out along with an excited smile.

At this moment he even envied Amit for being able to face such an attack: but the Flesh Tearer might think differently.

The Fifth Captain of the Blood Angels Legion seemed to be created by the Emperor himself, to serve as a mirror image of Ahriman: Ahriman held two slender single blades, close to the bright campfire, and launched countless swift attacks in silence, all of which were simple stabs.

Amit raised his Flesh Tearer Chainsword, which was almost as tall as him, and his power fists roared, covering the mixed sounds of the campfire and the crowd, but the deafening roar was soon drowned out by the bloodthirsty roar of Amit's violent soul: The Flesh Tearer was obviously half a beat slower than Ahriman, but he made up for it with his strength that was enough to split mountains and valleys.

Just as Shen said: This is completely a clash of two arts.

So, they clashed with each other, the clanging sound of weapons and the grinding of the Flesh Tearers' teeth in thirst for blood all reached Sevatar's ears: every staggered posture was so fast that it was astonishing, and every change of action would leave the crowd's previous cheers far behind.

Ahriman looked for an opportunity. He circled around Amit like a lark, playing with the Blood Angel's bulky sight. His rapier was always aimed at the connection between the steel plate and the cable, where the joint was. If he succeeded once, the Flesh Tearer would be knocked to the ground without a doubt: but every time Ahriman marched towards victory, Amit's roaring chainsaw sword would always come down with a biting breath.

He had no defense at all: the frantic attack was the defense of the Blood Angels.

Ahriman can win if he is willing to die with Amit:

Faced with the choice given by the Flesh Tearer, the Crimson Duke would always instinctively retreat and patiently wait for this opportunity: they fought three times in a row in Sevatar's pupils, and Ahriman was still unharmed, but he only left a shallow sword mark on Amit's breastplate and three hideous pits at his feet.

The confrontation between the two sides continued until the Prince of Crows left: Shen reluctantly turned away from the fourth confrontation between the two, and then he barely kept up with Sevatar's unstoppable pace amid the sluggish cheers.

"Don't you want to see it again?"

"What's there to see?"

There was a breeze under Sevatar's feet.

“The match was indeed exciting: but you only need to watch it for three seconds to know the final result.”

"How to say?"

Shen became interested.

"Can you guess now who will be the winner between Ahriman and Amit?"

"of course."

Sevatar glanced at him.

"The winner will be Ahriman: he and Amit are not even on the same level, but if it's a life-and-death duel, there's a chance that Amit will chop off Ahriman's head. Fighting is never absolute, not even for me."

"Can you beat Amit?"

"Before you get bored, my power halberd will chop off the Flesh Tearer's head, but Amit will also leave me with something: the most deadly thing he lacks to become a true master of combat."

"What is it?"

"A numb heart."

"A numb...heart?"

Shen blinked.

“Is this what I’m missing?”

"No, you are different from him."

Faced with the confusion of his battle brothers, Sevatar answered without even thinking.

"You simply don't have the strength to do that: stop daydreaming."

"..."

"What about Ahriman? Can you defeat him?"

This question made the Prince of Crows pause, and he thought for a moment: Shen could see that Sevatar was thinking seriously, and countless possible life-and-death duels flashed through his mind. Only after a moment did he shake his head in suspicion.

"I'm not sure. After all, Ahriman has not yet unleashed his true power."

"You mean psychic powers? Don't you have them, too?"

"There is a gap in psychic power between Ahriman and me, just like there is a gap in brains between Ms. Morgan and our Gene Father. But if he doesn't have time to use his psychic power, I have a 50% chance of chopping off his head, and a 30% chance of escaping in time."

"A 20% chance of losing?"

“Just my opinion.”

OK: He admitted that there was definitely some self-aggrandizement involved.

Sevatar raised his head, his gaze piercing through the evening curtain mottled by the bonfire and moonlight, and fell accurately on the broad staircase of Camelot Palace that was large enough to accommodate a Warlord Titan. On the top floor, several powerful auras that intimidated him gathered together and talked happily with each other. They were the Primarchs standing under a unified flag.

His genetic father was among them, and it was unknown why he summoned them: perhaps to find him a good opponent?
Sevatar's senses swept over the auras that were as strong as his own, and the heat of battle was stirring his heart: he located Sigismund and Akudona, the former being the opponent he most wanted to challenge tonight, especially when he heard that Dorn's favorite son had talked about the Eighth Legion's fear tactics more than once.

Obviously: he doesn't understand the value of fear.

He felt it his duty to make up for this lack of knowledge in Sigismund.

Sevatar had to curb his urge to fly up immediately, because several wary gazes stopped him: on the stairs of Camelot Palace stood golden figures, they were the dedicated guards of the Imperial Guard, who were also responsible for supervising and protecting the Primarch. More than six pairs of eyes were staring at Sevatar, and the sense of oppression they brought made the Prince of Crows tremble with excitement.

He was certain that at least two of them could threaten him with death.

Prince Crow slowed down his pace and slowly left the Imperial Guard's cordon area. Just when they passed the last line of defense, Shen, who had been following his steps in a daze as if thinking about something, suddenly looked up and looked in the direction of the Primarch.

"Sevatar, are you 80% sure you can defeat Ahriman's psychic power?"

Prince Crow was silent. He didn't understand how Shen came to this conclusion, but he just nodded and was too lazy to explain.

"That's it."

Shen seemed a little excited.

"Then, also with psychic powers: what are the chances that you can hold your own against Ms. Morgan?"

"Even one move?"

"..."

Sevatar's eyes widened. He turned his head and stared at Shen as if he was staring at a murderer. He forgot to move forward and forgot to breathe. He stared straight at Shen's hopeful gaze returning to him. It was obvious that he was quite confident in the Prince of Crows. Just when Sevatar didn't know how to answer...

"whispering sound!"

A disdainful snort, or perhaps a laugh that could not be suppressed? The voice was not from Sevatar himself, but from the guards standing beside him: the voice came from the mouths of two guards at the same time, and was followed by a look of ridicule that made Sevatar grit his teeth.

He looked at Shen again.

＃Even these imperial guards couldn't hold back after hearing what you said. ＃
Through gnashing teeth, the Prince of Crows smiled and answered his brother.

"You mean Ms. Morgan..."

------

"He could kill me in a split second."

Sigismund murmured to himself,
Then he looked at the next Primarch.

Well, this one also looked like he could kill him in a heartbeat.

Sigismund frowned as he gripped Dorn's Stormfang tightly: the chainsword was too big even for the greatest Astartes warriors, and few of them were strong enough to lift it, but Sigismund was able to do it with some effort.

So, it became the weapon of the Imperial Fist champion tonight, using it to win honor for the entire Seventh Legion: Sigismund had enough self-confidence, and when he had to use both hands to lift the Storm's Fang, the Black Knight felt that even the Ullanor world under his feet could be split in half.

Naturally, Sigismund's eyes turned to the Primarchs. More than ten descendants of the Emperor stood in front of him, talking in groups of three or four, waiting for their brothers who had not yet arrived: even the champions of the legions rarely had such an opportunity to see the gap between themselves and the Primarchs. Not to mention, some of them even responded to Sigismund's gaze.

Among them, Horus was admirable, but also a little annoying: this Primarch, who naturally stood in the center of everyone, just nodded at him dotingly after noticing Sigismund's gaze, and then smiled, as if he was dealing with a child.

Abaddon was standing next to his genetic father at this time. He seemed to have become the core topic of conversation among the Primarchs at some point, and he puffed out his chest with great pride. This arrogance, coupled with the shiny Terminator armor on Abaddon's body, successfully attracted Sigismund: the Luna Wolf must be on his challenge list tonight.

He hoped he wouldn't be too far back.

Compared with the wolf shepherd, Jonson is much more terrifying: Sigismund's sight was only in mid-air, and he accidentally collided with the Caliban people, which brought disaster. The son of Dorne had to lower his head, and Jonson's expressionless gaze made him feel cold.

Beside the lion stood three world-renowned champion swordsmen, but to be honest, none of them could put too much pressure on the Imperial Fists: compared with their Primarch, the pressure of these three champions was as small as a firefly.

Especially Astelan: he was pretty sure he could chop this guy's head off.

On the contrary, it is Coswayen's restraint that makes it worth his challenge tonight.

Perhaps it was because the two of them were standing too close, but Morgan, standing next to Jonson, actually gave Sigismund the same feeling as a lion: even vaguely more dangerous?
Just like...

It's like a hungry spider sitting in the middle of its web: in a jungle-like battlefield where the strong prey on the weak, it's hard to tell which is more deadly, the sharp teeth of a lion or the venom of a spider.
The Imperial Fists wiped away the cold sweat, and his eyes began to follow the Night Haunter who was now closest to them: Conrad left the formation of his brothers, dragged two trays filled with wine glasses that were almost overflowing, and swaggered into the Dawnbreaker team.

There was a brief burst of cheers and complaints from the company commanders and Terra veterans. After it died down, many of them reluctantly took a few wine glasses and walked towards the champions of various legions who were also waiting on the podium: including Sigismund.

The person who handed him the wine glass was a well-known figure: Sigismund had heard of the martial reputation of the Perfect Knight Bayar as early as the Terra Unification War. At that time, he was an object worthy of everyone's admiration, and he is still the same now.

But the smile was gone.

"Take it."

Bayar handed him the wine, and the Imperial Fist thanked him quietly but did not drink it immediately.

Instead, he was curious about one thing.

"You and Akudona: Will the two of you continue your duel tonight?"

"You care about this?"

"I hope you can save a special seat at the front for me."

"It depends on the time."

Bayar took a sip of the wine, as if he was tasting the finest wine in the galaxy.

"Akudona and I have fought hundreds of sword duels, which is almost longer than our lives. There is no need to be obsessed with it now. We decided to choose a deserted place to duel tomorrow morning, just to express our ancient friendship."

"Do inform me."

"You can tell me if you live till then."

Hearing this, Sigismund smiled and accepted the blessing.

Then, he also took a sip of wine.

"Cough...cough cough cough!"

Damn: Did someone just put a sun in his mouth?

Immediately afterwards, Sigismund began to choke, coughing painfully and almost vomiting them all out: this scene made Bayar frown and sigh repeatedly.

"What a waste, you bastard."

"You're the bastard!"

The Imperial Fist gritted his teeth and wanted to throw the rest of the wine away, but Bayar quickly caught it.

"What exactly is this?"

"It is something you are not worthy of."

Dawnbreaker's expression was serious.

"Even for us, it's rare for us to drink the wine brewed by the Mother of Genes. If she hadn't said so beforehand, you outsiders wouldn't have been able to enjoy such a treat, not to mention the current waste of natural resources."

"Thank you so much."

The Imperial Fists grinned, noting that his performance was not the most inappropriate among all those present: even among the Primarchs standing further away, there were a few who frowned because of the strength of the wine in their glasses, Guilliman being one of them.

"I forgot to tell you, Bayar."

The Imperial Fists stuffed the drink back.

"We have never had the habit of drinking before a real sword duel."

"Not to mention this...wine?"

Sigismund lowered his head and felt the cramps in his stomach.

"It seems that even the internal circulation system in my armor can't digest it."

"There is a bathroom in the palace: you should remember how to use a flush toilet, right?"

"That was not what I meant!"

Sigismund took a deep breath and then firmly put the glass back.

"I'm afraid I can't handle this: how can you drink it?"

"Think of it as a test."

Bayar took it, and under the admiring gaze of the Imperial Fist, he leisurely tasted his own cup: Following the Perfect Knight's wandering gaze while tasting the wine, Sigismund caught something that interested him, a dark shadow was gradually approaching.

"Is that Sevatar?"

The Black Knight's pupils lit up.

"Yes, the young man with the most potential."

Bayar nodded, and their eyes followed Sevatar's footsteps silently until the Prince of Crows stood in front of Midnight Haunter: Conrad patted the wine barrel beside him generously and took out a larger cup, seemingly leaving a lot for his beloved sons.

"What? Is he also on your challenge list tonight?"

"I'm not sure: after all, the fighting style of the Night Lords determines..."

"It is determined that he is very strong."

Bayar interrupted him.

"Don't question that."

"maybe."

The Imperial Fists did not reply, for he found that the Primarchs had already started to move: with Lorgar as the last participant, walking slowly up the stairs, first Horus, then the others, all the Primarchs went forward to greet their brothers, and walked shoulder to shoulder towards the heart of the party.

Ahead of them, from far away in the crowd, came the cheers of the victors: Sigismund dimly heard, beside the bonfire nearest to them, shouts about Ahriman piercing the sinking night and blending with the cheers of victory.

"The first winner emerges."

The Imperial Fists licked his lips and excitedly followed the Primarchs, but Bayar did not: because he noticed that the Spider Queen actually stayed where she was and did not walk down the stairs with her blood brothers.

Bayar was about to step forward to ask, but found that the Primarch made a gesture to them, indicating that they should let her stay where she was: Despite their confusion and worries, all the Dawnbreakers did not disobey the Primarch's orders. Even Lana remained silent and quickly disappeared in the bright lights at the bottom of the stairs.

Only after everyone had gone away did Morgan take a few steps forward, walking to the place where he could best look out over the endless bustle of the stage. He then gently raised the corners of his mouth and let out a sigh mixed with white mist into the air.

[I never thought that you would be the first one among my brothers who wanted to talk to me. ]

[Are you so impatient? This is totally different from my impression of you.]

The Spider Queen's sigh and smile dissipated in the fishy breeze, and after a few seconds, gusts of thick fog stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The sound of her steady breathing was almost unique among the Primarchs, and Morgan didn't even need to turn his head to confirm it.

Because her pupils hurt a little.

So, what do you want to talk about?

【Will it take a long time? 】

"Will not."

"I just have something important to talk to you about alone."

"It won't be long."

In the moonlight, by the campfire.

Mortarion's hoarse voice tried its best to conceal his true thoughts.

[Ah, I see.]

Morgan nodded.

【What do you want to talk about? 】

"Let's talk about your future."