Emperor's Bane

Chapter 669 Brother Dun!!!

Decades later, as he paused to recall with a hint of nostalgia the first night he had spent on Ullanor during one of the few rest moments the miserly war had granted him, the Prince of Crows regretted only one thing.

That is: he drank too much.

As a warrior, an eager swordsman, and a damned Midnight Lord, Sevatar really couldn't control his mouth that night: the wine danced on his gradually numb lips and tongue, making him feel intoxicated, and the honor and restraint of the Astartes were casually kicked to the ground amid the cries and fell into the world.

It was just a brief lapse of consciousness due to his subjective initiative, which caused far more wine than he had expected to flow down his esophagus: indeed, everyone around him was tasting wine, and out of face or intimidation by authority, they were tasting the hundred barrels of fine wine that the Spider Queen had rarely been so generous as to specially transport from her own treasure house.

God knows where she gets so much time to do other things.

However, when the future Warmaster, the proudest Phoenix Lord, and even the Gene-Father of the Eighth Legion, all raised their glasses, walked among these Astartes, undressed, ate, and toasted each other, what could he, a mere second-in-command of the Eighth Legion, say?

Originally, Sevatar just wanted to imitate those cunning guys beside him and take a couple of sips to deal with it, or simply pretend to fail and spill it on the ground: after all, the wine brewed by the Primarch himself was still too [advanced] for the Astartes.

The champion swordsmen representing their respective legions might have debated about their respective martial arts skills and honors, but regarding the Spider Queen's elixir, everyone reached a consensus in the shortest possible time.

Very spicy, like the sun in the sky.

Very bitter, like the bile of an orc warlord.

But if you taste it carefully, you will find that this bitterness is the result of increasing the sweetness of the drink to the extreme, which leads to the opposite effect, that is, it is so sweet that it tastes bitter. As for the alcohol content that even the Astartes warriors cannot stand, after private communication with Sevatar and others, they felt that it might be that Ms. Morgan's senses were a little dull.

Well, Ms. Morgan probably can’t hear the bad things said behind her back.

Although this was somewhat in conflict with her outwardly sharp mind, considering that even some Dawnbreakers had inadvertently revealed to him during conversations: when they had dinner with the Primarch, they discovered that their Genetic Mother's orientation towards "light taste" was completely different from the outside world's conventional perception. This phenomenon had become increasingly obvious over the years, and even Virgo had complained about it privately.

Sevatar did not understand the suspense in this transformation, he simply regarded it as another eccentric quirk of a Primarch: as the Great Crusade progressed and the Astartes became more familiar with their Primarchs, many of the Emperor's children revealed some things in their daily lives that were incomprehensible to outsiders.

For example, Fulgrim's picky attitude towards art and success has become increasingly obvious, even to the point of nitpicking; Perturabo increasingly likes to hide himself behind steel, trusting machines more than his offspring; Jaghatai Khan's cold-blooded and even brutal methods in certain matters are shocking, but the White Scars turn a blind eye to it; and as for Lorgar's bloody pilgrimage, it is a topic that has been told thousands of times, and the "purification" he always mentions would make even the most brutal Night Lords shiver.

Nowadays, no one would laugh at the courage of the Word Bearers behind their backs: but they all chose to walk around the Seventeenth Legion. Even Horus, the Wolf God, was no longer willing to approach Lorgar frequently, because the topics between them would make the Wolf God tremble with fear.

Compared to these people, Horus's sudden enthusiasm for studying and exploring the war arts and military styles of the various legions; Angron's frequent ferocious expressions when interacting with people have greatly increased; the strange aura surrounding Magnus has become increasingly strong, even capable of stunning mortal psykers; and Sanguinius's sudden obsession with various ancient medical texts and minor changes such as transformation surgery seem particularly insignificant.

Prince Crow lowered his eyes and slowly swallowed the last mouthful of bitter wine, trying hard to control the looseness of his steps. The Primarch's voice still echoed in his ears: Conrad could be said to be the culprit of all this. When he enthusiastically patted the wine barrel, told of the hard work of secretly leaving good things for his heirs, and filled their glasses personally, whether it was Sevatar or Shen, who could not drink a few more glasses in front of their father's smile?
The mistake was made. Sevatar was even the calmer one: he only needed to slightly shift his perspective to see Shen, who was growing mushrooms in the shadows. The attendant's alcohol tolerance was less than half of that of a company commander. The last decency Shen left for himself was that after getting drunk, he barely found a decent sleeping position. His snoring was drowned out by the noise of the crowd around him, so it didn't seem too embarrassing.

Good: he wouldn't have to drag this guy into the dueling pit when he got back.

Sevatar smiled self-deprecatingly, trying hard to suppress the burps that were coming up. He glanced at Conrad, who was holding the wine barrel, leaving reluctantly and looking for the next person to persuade him to drink. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, and then his gaze turned back to the campfire.

The most unique real sword duel in the entire galaxy was unfolding right in front of him.

Sevatar didn't know which genius came up with the idea of ​​practicing right next to a bonfire that was dozens of meters high. He suspected it was a green-skinned agent lurking in the human empire: but he had to say, this idea was very good, at least in terms of creating an atmosphere.

The gray sky mixed with a hint of iron gray is the dome of the greatest arena. Even the famous duel pit on the Liberator cannot compare with it. The fighting brothers from 19 legions and hundreds of mortal auxiliary forces use their bodies, eyes and cheers to form a circle of walls. There is no need to worry about accidental injuries or falling out of the venue. Those who can set foot on this land are outstanding elites.

The giant bonfire spawned by promethium may not be used for barbecue, after all, any food will be burnt the moment it comes into contact with it, but it does add a bit of fun to the duel: the blazing flames burn the faces of every soldier, they stare at each other, loudly announce their names and the titles of their legions. Being able to stand here is a symbol of honor, and they are not worried that failure will bring shame to their king and father.

The rules are simple. They are only allowed to use weapons to attack until one side retreats. There is no definition of the boundaries of cheating. The only things that constrain them are their own hearts and the eyes of bystanders: the primarchs are standing not far away, and no one would have any dirty thoughts in such an environment.

Similarly, no one would drag out the battle for too long under such circumstances: perhaps it was because the cheers around were too loud, perhaps it was because the burning of the promethium torch was ultimately unbearable, or simply because the combatants were all highly skilled masters and any flaws would be quickly seized upon by the opponent and turned into a good opportunity to win.

Anyway...

"boom--"

Quickly won, quick lost.

The sharp sound of breaking swords made the Prince of Crows raise his head. Seeing a streak of bright silver flying across the sky in front of him, Sevatar followed the track and saw that another duel by the campfire had been decided. Amid the cheers of the Dawnbreakers, it was Ahriman who remained in place.

This was already the ninth victory won by the Thousand Sons Blademaster tonight. Ahriman's opponents were all well-known people, including the Fifth Captain of the Blood Angels Legion, Nasir Amit, and the First Captain of the Ultramarines Legion, Marius Gage. He won all the battles cleanly, forcing his opponents to retreat willingly.

The target of the ninth victory, although not a famous figure in the galaxy, was a respected Terran captain in the Devourer Legion and advisor to the Primarch Angron: Ahriman took only eighteen rounds to knock away the blade of the World Eater.

Originally, the scion of Angron would have bound his hand to the hilt with a chain, demonstrating his determination to fight to the death, but Ahriman's blade, in a feint to the east and west, broke the sturdy chain without even damaging the World Eater's hand: from that moment on, even the World Eater himself knew that defeat was inevitable.

The opponent was convinced and turned back to his fighting brothers. Angron, the genetic father of the XII Legion and Lord of Red Sand, was standing on a high platform not far away and witnessed the entire duel. He nodded to the winner and the loser respectively. The Primarch's approval quickly made the atmosphere around the campfire become lively again.

The cheering applause and the glory of the winner challenged Sevatar's confidence. He had heard of the Crimson Swordmaster's martial reputation for a long time, but he never had the time to challenge him. In the vast camp of the Dawnbreaker Legion, hundreds of giant bonfires and countless small bonfires were burning, and thousands of similar competitions were going on. They all welcomed the Prince of Crows to join, but Ahriman was one of the people he most wanted to challenge.

As for Sigismund and Abaddon?

Their appointments were too numerous: the Prince of Crows had to wait until late at night.

Sevatar took out his power halberd and wiped it carefully, while making sure Ahriman was still in his best condition. He didn't want to be labeled as an unfair winner. When the fanged skull lit up his goggles under the gaze of the crimson feather crest, the message from other campfires, passed on by word of mouth by thousands of people, echoed in Sevatar's ears.

He listened very carefully.

Every swordsman who walks this land is famous, and their battles and victories attract Sevatar's attention: some battles have lasted for hours, and some winners surprise everyone, even the Prince of Crows.

He listened with great interest to how Bayar of the Dawnbreaker defeated Alajos of the Dark Angels. It was said that the two enemies had fought several times on Terra, and Alajos's defeat was just a repetition of history: Sevatar had seen the paladin, and he knew very well that Alajos was not an easy guy to deal with.

He needed at least one helper to be sure of killing Alachios.

In comparison, it was surprising that Kahn of the World Eaters and Orfeo of the Ultramarines were defeated by one move after fighting for almost two hours: after all, Kahn had defeated Angertai and Keselon quite easily before that.

Another focus battle was between Sigismund and Abaddon. The duel was not far from Sevatar. Prince Crow could even hear the sound of Dorn's Stormfang colliding with the Terminator Armor of the Moon Wolves. The duel only started in two or three minutes. Sevatar was wondering whether he should rush over. At this moment, the crimson light attracted Sevatar's attention.

"Ahriman?"

He looked up, confused.

Why did Ahriman leave the ring? He was in great form.

The Midnight Lord stepped forward quickly, waiting for Ahriman to finish greeting the others, and just before he and the Thousand Sons hurriedly walked into the night, Konrad's heir stopped him in time: the two of them had met many times on Morgan's flagship, and Ahriman was not a stranger in his presence.

"Sevita?"

Qianzi smiled.

"Why? You want to come too?"

"Otherwise I wouldn't be standing here."

Sevatar grinned.

"When you were in Avalon, you either had an appointment or were teaching at the Psychic Academy. I also want to see the Psychic Swordsmanship they praised so much. It is said that you can predict every attack of your opponent and always keep the rhythm in your hands."

"It's just a rumor."

Ahriman spread his hands.

"However, I am not so keen on competing in the arena these years. I should give more opportunities to young people. Also, I gradually realized that it is best not to expose my true strength and trump card at a moment that does not involve life and death."

"Grandmaster style?"

Sevatar smiled.

"Not really, not really."

Ahriman shook his head repeatedly.

"It's just that when I think about the fact that everyone knows the characteristics of my psychic swordsmanship, and all I get is a little bit of false reputation, I always feel that it's not worth it. But if you want to spar with me, it's not impossible. I have always wanted to compete with the famous Prince of Crows."

"It's better to be lucky than to be early."

Sevatar nodded in satisfaction.

"Where do you fight?"

Ahriman thought for a moment: a smile crept slowly up his cheeks.

"Sevatar."

Qianzi pointed into the distance, towards a dark corner where no one would disturb them and the light from the campfire could not reach them.

"As the Lord of Midnight: You wouldn't mind a duel in the night, right?"

"Just to my liking."

The Prince of Crows showed his mouth full of fangs.

"Don't say I bullied you."

"I should be the one who said this: after all, I remember that you are also a psychic?"

“…I only have a basic understanding.”

"Then I'll try not to use it."

Ahriman laughed.

"Well, it's better to be quick than sorry, let's just..."

Before he finished speaking, a deafening sound came from not far behind the two of them: cheers, doubts, roars, disbelief and madness mixed in, even attracting the attention of all the Primarchs.

"What happened?"

Sevatar raised his head and looked in the direction of the sound in confusion: he remembered that it was the bonfire of Sigismund and Abaddon?
Didn’t they just fight for two minutes?
"What could happen?"

The Prince of Crows muttered to himself, while Ahriman, who was standing next to him, just narrowed his eyes and glanced at him casually. Then, his calm expression suddenly changed: an uncontrollable curse word fell out of his mouth so quickly that Ahriman didn't even notice it.

"Grass……"

The Thousand Sons was stunned and looked at Sevatar with a trace of confusion.

"Abaddon lost!"

(End of this chapter)