40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 745 34. Brothers fight, and the fight is really hot

Holding a long sword upside down, Robert Guilliman walked into a huge duel pit. The lights were dim, and there was no one in front of him.

Apparently, his enemy was still selecting his weapons and had not yet stepped onto the battlefield, so he turned his wrist, changed the sword to a straight grip, and swung it gently a few times to get a feel for it, and then began to warm up seriously.

He had not fought in many days, instead struggling with piles of documents, and while this was by no means a problem for a Primarch, considering the enemy he was about to face, Guilliman thought it best to be cautious.

As his feet spun, the blunt sword used for training seemed to transform into a spirit, dancing around his body. He was very satisfied with it. Although this sword was only used for daily practice and fighting, its balance was still the best among all weapons.
Two minutes later, footsteps were heard from the darkness in front of him. Guilliman immediately stopped, leaned his sword in front of him, and smiled.

The one he welcomed stepped out of the darkness like a god, his wings folded behind his back, his long golden hair tied into a warrior braid and wrapped around his neck, his face calm, but painted with paint as scarlet as the intricate patterns on his naked upper body.

The smile on Guilliman's face disappeared.

"Really?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Of course it's true, Robert."

Sanguinius replied, and raised his hand to move his shoulders. His muscle structure, which was completely different from that of an ordinary person, erupted with a wave of ferocity like a beast. He did not smile, and his tone was cold. These details all showed that he was absolutely serious about this battle.

Therefore, the Thirteenth Son of the Emperor frowned deeply, and the wrinkles caused by aging covered the area around his eye sockets like cracks on a weathered statue, making his head of white hair even more respectable, but also making him instantly become a king standing here.

"Okay." He nodded slowly. "I think I know what you want to do."

"I'm just taking this fight seriously, bro."

Sanguinius answered, raising his right hand. Above them there was a sound of someone throwing a long sword down, plunging it directly into the sand pit at the angel's feet.

Perturabo's voice boomed from above them.

"Finish the fight as soon as possible, don't take up too much time." The Lord of Steel said impatiently. "You abandoned thousands of participants in the middle of a meeting and came here to fight for the name of a so-called pioneer. Are you still children?"

After he finished speaking, he announced his departure with loud footsteps, without any intention of staying to watch the battle.

The angel raised his head to glance at the figure gradually disappearing from the second-floor stands, nodded thoughtfully, took a step forward, and drew out his sword. His face, which had been calm all the time, suddenly changed, and he showed a very bright smile in front of Robert Guilliman.

"He is jealous of us," the angel said, and even shrugged.

He held the sword comfortably and easily, then swung it straight forward. Sand flew everywhere, and a deep sword mark appeared in the sand pit.

Guilliman drew his sword without a word, and raised it in one of the courtly sword-fighting positions he had learned in his youth, a position so perfect that it could have been drawn on the spot and used as a textbook.

The dominant hand is in front, with the index finger placed in front of the hilt and behind the guard, with a loose grip. The pinky, ring and middle fingers are in the back, with the thumb clasped on the side of the first knuckle of the middle finger, and the other hand wraps the weight ball at the end of the hilt in a natural arc.
He paced slowly, with the tip of his sword pointing outward, and approached the angel little by little. But the angel just stood there, holding the sword in one hand, and leaning it on his shoulder like a country bumpkin carrying a hoe, seemingly unconcerned, but in fact his whole body was tense.

The first confrontation between them came a quarter of a second later.

At that moment, Guilliman's right foot brought him to a distance where he could threaten Sanguinius with just a simple thrust of his hands. He did not miss this fleeting opportunity, and immediately drew his sword with his hands tightly together, at an impeccable speed and with such force that one would doubt whether it was just a test.

The angel was well prepared, and his casual stance was a pre-emptive plan for this kind of stab. He, wearing the ancient Baal war makeup, disappeared on the spot like a shadow intertwined with scarlet and white, dodging in an instant, and stabbed out with a long sword with one hand, heading straight for Guilliman's front hand.

The latter's steps forward suddenly paused at this moment. He retracted his wrist slightly, turned the sword slightly to the side, and blocked the angel's simple but vicious stealing technique.

Steel collided with steel, and both retreated at the same time, returning to their respective starting points.

Sanguinius smiled warmly. "How is it? How do you feel about the sword fighting moves designed specifically to suit your academic sword fighting style? Does it bring back your childhood sword training memories?"

Faced with this naked mockery, Robert Guilliman calmly shook his head, and then laughed out loud: "I don't feel anything, but I think you really take this matter very seriously. Is it really that important to you who will serve as the vanguard, brother?"

"It's not important to me, but it's important to my descendants." The angel said, his expression becoming serious and earnest. "They are all still very young, eager to prove themselves and to gain honor. I cannot erase a warrior's desire to make progress."

"That's a good point, but the same is true of the warriors I brought with me."

After saying this, Guilliman raised his sword again and walked towards him.

They are both Primarchs. One of them was always controlled by anger in battle in his early years, but now he has completely overcome this problem and has mastered a new power. The other has been famous as an outstanding warrior for a long time. Although he has been silent for thousands of years, he has returned to the battlefield in recent years and even killed his old enemy with his own hands to prove himself.

Therefore, at this moment, the battle between them seemed to have even surpassed the meaning of the word itself, and it was like two phantoms spinning, chasing, and fighting each other.
It seems to be a poetic scene, but if you only look at the sand flying and shaking around due to the huge reaction force, and listen to the terrible noise made by the air being torn apart, you can fully understand the danger.

Even a scholar who had no idea how to wield a sword and was powerless would probably turn pale and be shocked by this scene - and Cato Sicarius, one of the outstanding battle brothers of the 4th Company of the Ultramarines, his performance at this moment was not much different from that of the scholar who only existed in metaphor.

He was standing beside his Captain Idaeos, looking down at the apocalyptic destruction in the bunker, and it hurt his eyes.

He didn't want to watch any further, fearing that one of the two primarchs would be killed in the next second, but he had to watch. There was a screaming power in his heart that didn't allow him to look away.

His Captain gave the young man a thoughtful look before looking away to another pair of Primarch 'servants' standing not far away. Like him and Cato Sicarius, neither of them wore armour.

The traditional pale white robes from Baal made them look as hard and cold as sculptures. Their faces were vaguely visible in the dim light, and the fangs of one of them were particularly prominent.

Even for the Blood Angels, his genetic traits were probably very unusual. After thinking for a moment, Idaeos finally took a step and walked towards them.

"Master Dante, Brother Mephisto." He bowed slightly to them. "Excuse my abruptness, but should we call a halt to this battle?"

Dante smiled in a friendly manner, which was in stark contrast to the expressionless man behind him. He took a step back and saluted the captain of the fourth company. Then he spoke in a calm and powerful voice.

"I agree with you, but I don't think we can do it."

Idaeos frowned and sighed, "Perhaps we should ask Lord Perturabo and Lord Dorn for advice?"

"It's a good idea, but" Dante shook his head. "I still think that the two warriors below who have pushed the battle to a white-hot level will never agree to stop."

Idaeos expressed his agreement with a worried silence, then turned around, gripped the railing of the stands with both hands, and stared at the huge duel pit without blinking.

Dante was right. The battle had indeed been pushed to its climax. The momentum of the two men's battle became more and more massive. Every collision between swords sounded like warships colliding with each other. If these two swords were not provided by Perturabo, they would probably have broken long ago.

Second-rate craftsmen can add the icing on the cake, first-rate craftsmen can turn waste into treasure, and top-notch craftsmen can temporarily make their creations transcend certain original limitations, allowing them to leap to a whole new level.

Perturabo is undoubtedly one of the best craftsmen in the galaxy, but the man holding them now is also one of the two most fierce, powerful, and violent warriors in the galaxy.
Therefore, these two swords will definitely break and shatter, but they have already struck true fire, and they will not stop even if the swords break.

At that time, they would punch and kick each other without thinking - when flesh and blood collided with each other, bloodshed became inevitable.

Idaeos was very worried about this.

Indeed, he could almost picture the two noble Primarchs wallowing savagely in the sand, trying their best to outwit each other in wrestling, grappling, and joint fighting.

They will never stop unless they are really defeated.

How could this happen when I was the Primarch's personal guard? The fourth captain felt bitter, and felt that he was somewhat unworthy of the meaning of the word personal guard.
Is the Blood Angels Chapter Master standing beside him really as calm and composed as he appears to be? The answer is no. His hands behind his back are already trembling slightly.

This scene completely fell into the eyes of Astarte, whose face was as pale as death and whose pupils were still shining with blood. After a few seconds, he took a step forward silently and uttered his own voice.

"Perhaps we can ask an adult to handle this matter."

He said, meeting the gazes of the Fourth Captain of the Ultramarines and his own Chapter Master who were looking at him instantly, and tentatively said a name.

The two looked at each other, then nodded at the same time.

"Sikarius!" Idaeos turned around and growled. "Come here, I have a task for you!"
-
In a meeting room filled with 1,500 officers, 200 chaplains of the Ecclesiarchy, and 300 representatives of the Mechanicum, Caryl Rohars, the chief representative of the Imperial Law Department, the Inquisition, and the Provisional Council of State, stared expressionlessly up at the huge iron bell hanging above all of their heads, in silence.

His eyes swept over every detail of it aimlessly but meticulously, telling its size, data and manufacturing method one by one in his mind and making guesses. It was a terrifying observation skill, but it also showed how bored he was.

At this moment, he was sitting at a separate conference table. On his left were the senior officials of the Ecclesiarchy, on his right were the generals of the Military Affairs Department, and the representatives of the Mechanicus were showing off their talents, either arriving via remote video or standing on single-person flying vehicles, and some were even carried into the venue.

This gentleman's power system happened to be paralyzed today, and his huge body completely blocked the entrance to the huge conference room. He had to be carried into the venue without any dignity and placed in a more spacious corner.
And now, no matter which forces the representatives were from, they were all silent, waiting for the return of the two important people who were temporarily absent.

How did this embarrassing scene happen? The answer can be traced back to thirty-two minutes ago, to two sentences between the Primarch of the 9th Legion, Sanguinius, and the Primarch of the 13th Legion, Roboute Guilliman.
At that time, the key point of this pre-war meeting happened to be how to deploy tactics against the enemy.

The representatives of the Ministry of Military Affairs were talking to each other in a heated exchange. The believers of the State Church occasionally interrupted, but they did not seem fanatical, but were very organized. The truth seekers of the Mechanicus were the most silent.

They were all from Mars, and when the meeting got there, they basically all stared at a huge, hunched figure as big as a chariot.

But the man didn't care at all, and just continued to make slight grunts and sneers from his throat, and from time to time made crude gestures to his red-robed colleagues one by one.

Frankly speaking, although one party of the participants hardly spoke, the meeting actually went very smoothly, so smoothly that even Khalil was touched: Could this meeting be concluded within sixty hours?

He was wrong.

Just when a naval commander suggested that they should not engage the alien fleet head-on this time, but should find another way, the Primarch of the Blood Angels spoke up.

"We will be the pioneers," he said in a loud voice.

Robert Guilliman, who had become excited by the constant collision of ideas, suddenly added a sentence with his instinct as a tactician and orator.

"reason?"

Only after he had said it did he realize that this sentence sounded somewhat provocative, but the situation at that time was no longer under his control.

Sanguinius seemed to have seized the opportunity and immediately escalated the situation. In just a few words, he turned the matter into a situation where the two Primarchs had to resolve the dispute in some way.
The other two Primarchs, Steel and Stone, did not stop them.

Why didn't I speak up then?

Khalil asked himself this question, but could only sum it all up with a slight sigh.

(End of this chapter)