Emperor's Bane

Chapter 670 Sigismund

"Abaddon...lost?"

"Abaddon lost."

Two sentences with the same content, but two completely opposite voices, symbolizing two different attitudes and two fighting brothers with their own ideas: within the aura of the most magnificent torch in the entire Dawnbreaker camp, Bayar and Hector, as enthusiastic hosts, as referees, spectators and potential players of this real sword duel, naturally have the best viewing position next to the fire circle.

They were with strong men like Juba Khan, Koswein and Radolon, watching countless champion swordsmen shed their sweat and blood: and the duel between Sigismund and Abaddon was definitely the most anticipated of all the performances, attracting the most attention. Hector even left the Primarch's side just to watch this legendary decisive battle.

He thought it would be legendary.

You know, more than ten years ago, the legendary duel between Dantioch and Sigismund was still vivid in people's minds, and Abaddon was also an old friend of the Dawnbreaker Legion. Morgan's descendants were well aware of the huge gap in strength between Abaddon and Dantioch: then his duel with Sigismund would only be more exciting.

“That’s what I thought.”

Hector muttered to himself, with a trace of shock still in the corners of his eyes: Everything stems from the current situation around the campfire.

Abaddon and Sigismund were facing each other, standing very close to each other, their shadows leaving a twisted and hideous trail on the sand in the flickering light of the torches: the Luna Wolf's body leaned back, his iconic pigtail drooping in fear like wheat, and the Fist of the Empire lunged forward like a vicious beast, its blade stuck firmly below Abaddon's neck.

A little further ahead, there will be a corpse of a Moon Wolf lying here.

This is the one hundred and twenty-fourth second of the duel: but the winner has been decided.

Incredibly Fast : Hector is particularly incredible.

Since he was standing at a relatively backward position (he really didn't want to block the view of any unlucky guy), Hector could see the surrounding situation clearly and see the reactions of most of the audience to such a scene.

The vast majority of the audience behaved in the same way as he did: stunned, surprised, suspicious, or whispering. Many people were just like Abaddon on the sand, their expressions lingering on the ease of the previous second, not having enough time to show the shock on their faces.

Only a very small number of people, namely those veterans of the same qualifications as Bayar, still maintained their composure. These people looked at this victory silently but easily, and were not surprised at Sigismund's victory.

"How can this be?"

"How is this impossible?"

Bayar laughed.

"If you think about it, Abaddon doesn't actually have any advantages."

"Recall carefully, Hector: how did Sigismund win?"

"he……"

Hector blinked. He certainly knew what happened in those two minutes.

He remembered how Abaddon and Sigismund had begun their duel in silence, neither of them announcing their names or the legions they belonged to, because there was no need: they were both famous throughout the Great Crusade, and when they drew their swords, all the onlookers held their breath.

Sigismund was wearing a gorgeous power armor. The Stormfang in his hand attracted most people's attention. After all, it was a weapon belonging to a Primarch. Standing opposite the Imperial Fists, Abaddon wrapped himself in his destructive Terminator armor as usual. The countless repaired battle scars and glorious victory medals on it told that this armor was as old as the history of the Luna Wolves.

Abaddon's weapons are a long sword and his power armor: but they all know that the real weapon of the Moon Wolves is his heavy Terminator Armor and his unlimited brute force.

In such a comparison, people would instinctively think that Abaddon, who looked three times older than Sigismund, was the one with better equipment and better preparation, and thus had the advantage from the beginning: Hector thought so too.

However, now that I have calmed down and thought about it carefully, the situation does not seem to be like this: the choice of their respective armor by the two legion champions has determined that Sigismund's advantage lies in his agility, while Abaddon's advantage lies in his defense. At the same time, the attack range of the giant sword Storm's Fang is far wider than Abaddon's sword and power claws, which greatly increases Sigismund's chance of winning.

But the real fatal problem is that although Abaddon seems to have a stronger defense, Sigismund is holding the Primarch's sword: in front of the Storm's Fang, the defense of the Terminator Armor seems to be a joke. As long as Sigismund can wield this giant sword, Abaddon's proud defensive counterattack will be invalidated in an instant and become a fatal flaw.

And the reality is clear: Sigismund can indeed wield this greatsword.

Not only that, he used it quite skillfully.

The only thing he lacked was probably a little bit of touch: this was shown at the beginning of the duel. At the beginning, Abaddon was the active attacker with the upper hand.

When Captain Horus launched his attack like a whirlwind, even the giant torches that were tens of meters high had to twist their bodies reluctantly in front of his sharp claws to show their submission. The sparks from the friction of the weapons raised white mist on the ground, as bright as day.

Even Sigismund would not fight hard in the face of such a fierce attack: the champion of Dorn escaped from the deadly attack of the Moon Wolf like an agile shadow, and his originally graceful rhythm was not achieved because of the heavy Stormfang.

But only this time:

When Abaddon attacked again and Sigismund resisted once more and took the opportunity to escape, the movements of the Imperial Fists had become graceful, leaving only the sound of black wind for Abaddon. When the Luna Wolf turned around a little awkwardly, Sigismund did not take the opportunity to attack. Instead, he spun the greatsword that required both hands to lift, adapting to its weight for the last time.

The next time they fought, the Moon Wolf didn't even catch a glimpse of its shadow.

The Imperial Fists used refined deflection, fighting and skills to protect themselves. Their control over the giant sword in their hands was visible to the naked eye, and even the dullest warrior among the bystanders could see it: when the battle had lasted for a minute, Sigismund still did not take the initiative to launch an offensive, but Abaddon had gradually become the passive one. Although he still rushed forward again and again, it was the only thing he could do.

The rhythm reversed unconsciously, and the sign of rebellion was that when they clashed again, the Imperial Fists did not retreat: the huge sword that ordinary warriors could not even lift, in Sigismund's hand, drew a snake-like arc, blocking the Shadow Moon Wolf's long sword and power claws, clamping it tightly, and even though the veins on Abaddon's face bulged, he could not move.

The stalemate lasted for three or four seconds. The coldness of the Imperial Fists and the fury of the Luna Wolves were now fully manifested. They each took a step back. Sigismund's figure was as stubborn as the character of his infamous genetic father, as still as a stone. On the contrary, Abaddon's Terminator Armor shook slightly before he stood firm.

There was silence for a second, and then the next confrontation was a head-on duel that attracted countless cheers. It kept interweaving in the cold moonlight, stinging the eyes of the onlookers: the warriors who formed the wall either stood indifferent like rocks, or were as nervous and expectant as children, witnessing these two most powerful warriors, two of the three heroes of the Great Expedition, now charging at each other without stopping, like knights who would not stop until their death.

Once, again, and again.

The frequent clashes were even faster than the ticking of a second. In the blink of an eye, there were three or four exchanges of blows. Abaddon seemed to have the upper hand, but he left real marks on the Terminator armor. On the chest and the shoulder armor near the neck, the Storm Fang had only made the slightest contact, but it left several hideous scars, revealing the connection between the steel plate and the cable under the paint.

Sigismund looked at that place, with a cold light flashing in his ruthless eyes.

There were no visible wounds on the Son of Dorne's body, but that did not change the fact that he was retreating step by step in the battle, from the blazing torches to the edge of the darkness, only a few meters away from his brothers. The power claws of the Luna Wolf passed by his unprotected head again and again. With twenty or thirty seconds of fierce battle, Abaddon's patience was rapidly consumed.

Patience has never been the Luna Wolves' strong suit.

But it belongs to the Imperial Fists.

When the battle reached the 115th second, Sigismund's last block had turned into a work of art in the eyes of others. He was no longer simply attacking or defending, but perfectly combining the two into one. His defense could make Abaddon reveal a fatal flaw, and his offense could deflect Abbado's attack.

Most importantly, he was swinging the Primarch's greatsword almost casually as he made this series of slight movements: Stormfang's disintegrating field and Abaddon's power claws splashed with sparks, posing a threat to both warriors.

Just as Shadow Moon Wolf frowned, instinctively took a step back, and rashly wanted to end this round of confrontation.

Sigismund, move!

The tense face was illuminated by sparks: Abaddon's pupils widened instantly.

He breathed heavily, wanting to defend, resist, or simply roar a few times, but the Imperial Fist did not give him this opportunity: Sigismund's footsteps were so fast that others could not see clearly, so fast that they could surpass the heartbeat. Even Bayar and Koswain could only squint their eyes and keep up with Sigismund's movements when he was concentrating.

The sword was still four or five meters away the previous moment, but in the blink of an eye, the tip of the sword was pointing directly at Shadow Moon Wolf's chest.

Those scars, and those that seemed to be caused unintentionally in the previous duel, each one was a breakthrough for the Imperial Fist: decades of hard training forged this miracle. Although Sigismund had never worn Terminator armor, now even with his eyes closed, relying only on his breathing and instincts, he could accurately point out all the features, every joint and every weakness of every style of Terminator armor in the empire.

Abaddon's, especially.

The Black Knight's sword pierced out from the night, faster than the moonlight in the sky. Before anyone could scream in surprise, Storm's Fang had already bitten the scar that had been pierced: the wound that was closest to the core, the most vulnerable wound between the internal metal joints and the soft armor.

It was pierced. The indestructible strength that had protected the Luna Wolves for hundreds of years was now as weak as a piece of butter in front of a hot knife. Before Abaddon could even exhale his next breath, Sigismund's sword had already penetrated deeply into his Terminator Armor.

Ruined.

Everybody knows.

The Imperial Fists did not pause, did not say any irrelevant nonsense, and did not even breathe. His wrist turned white due to excessive force, and the sword blade advanced all the way with a harsh metallic friction sound, breaking through the metal frame structure and ceramic steel plating. The Shadow Moon Wolf's symbol was shattered, and the layers of cables were bitten through. The additional shield generator collapsed in the face of the Primarch's weapon and the will of the Imperial Fists: the entire chest part of the Terminator armor was torn open from the inside out.

Up to its neck, and heart.

Abaddon stopped breathing, as the gleaming blade was against his neck, just a slight force away from the fatal artery. His lips were wide open, and he forgot all his physiological instincts until his tightened lungs made his dazed mind fall into a blank caused by slight suffocation. Only then did the Luna Wolf roll his eyes and look at the Imperial Fist, which was already sure of victory, in disbelief.

Sigismund stood there, his face as firm as rock.

No sadness, no joy.

He should at least be happy.

At this moment, such a strange thought popped into Abaddon's mind: failure did not make him feel angry, but Sigismund's terrifying calmness, and the lack of enjoyment for battle and victory at all, made the Luna Wolf shudder for no reason.

He always felt that some things had left Sigismund forever, but they should not have left all of them: because the next moment, a simple smile appeared on the face of the Imperial Fist, and only then did Abaddon breathe deeply as if he had been pardoned.

"You almost scared me, bro."

He complained softly and calmly accepted his failure: he himself did not expect that he would be so calm, perhaps because he witnessed the moment when Sigismund swung the sword, and that moment conquered him.

"How long have you been training for this?"

"All the time."

The Imperial Fists answered like this, and they stood facing each other in silence. They could hear the sparse applause and cheers from the onlookers, which quickly became as enthusiastic as a tsunami: Abaddon grinned, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore, turned around and stroked his Terminator Armor with heartache, and his figure quickly disappeared not far away.

Sigismund did not stop either. He left the cheers behind him and carefully retracted the Storm Fang lent to him by the Primarch. As he walked towards the Imperial Fists behind him, his steps passed through the Dawnbreakers' position and immediately noticed the figure of Dantioch.

He paused for a moment and nodded to the Legion Champion, with whom he had once been in conflict.

"Dantioch."

"Sigismund."

"..."

The Imperial Fists were silent for a moment.

"Want to find time for another fight?"

The Iron Warrior raised his eyebrows, spread his hands, and replied rather calmly.

"I can't beat you anymore."

"I know."

The Imperial Fists nodded and did not argue with Dantioch.

After he left for a while, Dantioch sighed and left silently.

"What do you think he's sighing about?"

Not far away, the two Dawnbreakers saw Dantioch's performance: Bayar quietly watched their Grand Duke Salamas leave, then turned around and saw Hector, and asked with a hint of testing nature.

"Is this..."

Hector thought for a moment.

"I think it's: helplessness? It's the helplessness of finding out that one's strength has been left behind."

"Is it?"

Bayar looked in the direction where Dantioch and Sigismund disappeared.

“Why do I feel like this is a relief?”

"Even thankful?"

"Lucky?"

Hector was curious.

"What is he celebrating?"

"Be glad that he did not choose to go too far down the path of swordsmanship: be glad that he will never become like Sigismund."

"Sigismund looks like this..."