Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 421: The Emperor's Children: Feast of Blades

Cooper knew that he was not cut out to be a memoirist - even though his father, his mother, and the camera servant they carried with them were all talented writers, and they were conscientiously fulfilling the glorious task of narrating the story of the Great Crusade for the Emperor of Mankind, it seemed that his family's writing genes were not bad.

But to be honest, he felt dizzy at the sight of a quill and his tongue turned bitter at the smell of ink.

Perhaps in a sense, this was the normal state that a Necromunda should be in. You didn't have to know how to read, but you had to know how to fight.

From the top of the nest that protrudes into the sky like a termite nest, to the edge of the heat dissipation duct that is almost rooted deep into the planet countless kilometers below, all children are advised to learn to join gangs of the corresponding level - unless their families suddenly get lucky, then they can join gangs in higher residential areas.

Then, you get a tattoo of the gang's insignia, swear a few more oaths, pay a sum of money or get a few heads, and you can spend a period of time in peace and quiet under the humiliation and protection of this second family. Maybe five years, maybe fifty years, until you die or the gang is destroyed.

If the latter is the case, you'd be better off finding a whole new extended family on your own level and hoping their initiation ritual doesn't cost you too many parts.

In Necromunda, life has been like this for thousands of years. Even if a few nobles fall from the upper class, it is best not to dream of being able to climb up - think about it, the thing is, if there is one less surname above, wouldn't it just make room for some illegitimate child who lacks a surname?
This cycle of personnel work is the crystallization of human wisdom after going through the dark ages. Unless there is external light to illuminate this dark eggshell, the iron law of our ancestors cannot be changed.

"There is no external light," Cooper's father said, mumbling as he studied the latte art on his coffee, wondering whether he should urge his robot servant to take the top barista certificate from the Coffee Association. "There is no external light in Necromunda, only external fists - bang, the Seventh Legion, the iron fist of the Empire, slapped a hole in our zenith with one slap."

"That's a good thing," his mother floated over, holding the datapad, and leaned out the window to look out over the infinite scenery of the top nest. The chaos of steel below was like a thick layer of dirt, piled up on the ash wasteland and filled the living quarters of Necromunda.

"It's a good thing for our family. The Emperor's errand has promoted us from the middle level to the King's Nest." My father finally drank his coffee, "so that it will be more convenient for the ship from Terra to pick us up."

Hanging above them was Necromunda's only spaceport, the Eye of the Luna station, and it was the only one capable of accommodating transport ships in orbit.

All transportation and trade are closely related to it. As for whether Necromunda first had the most prosperous royal nest on the entire planet, and then had the Eye of the Moon on the top, or the other way around - no one can tell.

They have such a close relationship, which is as eternal as the classification of middle and lower hives on the hive planet.

"I'm not talking about that," the mother rolled her eyes and smoothed the remaining half of her blonde hair after the mechanical transformation. "I mean, ever since the human empire provided us with an official path to promotion, the number of people who intend to get promoted by making trouble has suddenly decreased."

"You're right, although the number of recruits for the Planetary Defense Force and the Imperial Fists each year is very small." My father nodded in a pretentious manner.

Cooper didn't want to hear this, and he wasn't sure why. He didn't like the tone his parents used when they talked about the relationship between the upper and lower nests of Necromunda, but he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong.

Parents are always right, he thought uncertainly, and maybe - maybe, one day in the future, he would hear them talk like this and inherit their will.

But not today.

He jumped off the high stool beside the dining table, intending to go out and fight to relieve his inexplicably uncomfortable mood.

He wasn't one to get along with the kiddie gangs that the other little hooligans had formed. He just didn't want to drink the fun water with them, and he didn't think it was fun to pick on the little hooligans.

No, he would do what he wanted and fight hard with anyone who was equal to him in status, no matter who he was or how many sawed-off guns he had.

He was fearless, loved fighting, and loved to tear off the fragrant silk robes of his opponent single-handedly and throw them into the lower nest with the wind. In a sense, he felt that this was his honor - although he was still not sure what honor was.

In a nutshell, Cooper is a loner.

After going out, Cooper found that the outside was surprisingly empty today. There were no hooligans running around on flying skateboards on the street, nor were there any teams of two-wheeled vehicles riding far away.

He thought for a moment, squinted his eyes and looked up. Sure enough, there was a circle of suspended aircraft floating in the sky, a bunch of bright yellow dots. The Imperial Fists returned from space and sent a fleet back to one of their major recruiting grounds.

Ever since the Seventh Legion saved Necromunda from the Ork threat, the great Emperor of Mankind granted them special permission to recruit troops here.

Whenever their expeditionary fleet was in the air, the entire Necromunda - the part that could see them, not counting the residents who huddled in the middle and lower levels without seeing the sun - would come out in droves and gather outside the Imperial Fists' fortress, praying that their luck would turn around on any level.

Cooper boarded the rail car, and out of curiosity he decided to go and find out what was going on. He circled the periphery a few times, but was unable to break through the crowd in front of him, and his height was not enough for him to see where this unexpected congestion came from.

He went with the flow, followed the crowd, and gradually mixed into a group of boys of his age. He relied on their tattoos to identify the small gang of middle-class kids with whom he had some old grudges.

Last time he ran into them grabbing a boy they had brought up from the lower floors and trying to push him off the top of the tower in order to measure the gravity constant of Necromunda. Their excessive complacency had provided Cooper with a perfect opportunity for a surprise attack.

He didn't see the young masters from the top families, and didn't know why they were not there.

The bastards obviously saw him, and Cooper waited for them to make a move.

But the strange thing was that those bastards wrapped in gorgeous silk were exceptionally quiet today. They just all cast contemptuous glances at him, or put their thumbs on the tip of their noses and flapped the remaining four fingers without any aggression.

Cooper bared his teeth at them and cursed them in Gothic. This was the benefit of having a pair of educated parents, and his vocabulary of cursing was far better than that of the average Nirvana thug.

"Just wait," the man on the other side sneered at him, "your good days will come to an end sooner or later!"

Cooper shrugged. "You're the ones who are doomed! One day, you bastards!"

He continued to walk forward along the line, looking for an opportunity to drag the bastards out of the line and beat them up in the fork of the street. But he didn't find an opportunity until the bastards entered the small tent that looked like a makeshift tent in front of him.

Soon after, the gang members came out one by one, covered in dust and dirt - this is not an absolute metaphor. Half of them were limping and sweating, as if they had just been whipped from head to toe. Cooper was delighted to see this.

He laughed at them before it was Cooper's turn to enter the tent.

Then, he was grabbed by the shoulders and turned to the front by a non-commissioned officer wearing a brown lining and a clenched fist embedded in a chain with a golden triangle embroidered on his shoulder, and was examined mercilessly from head to toe.

"Good conditions." The sergeant said, as if Cooper had passed some kind of preliminary screening without knowing it. When he boldly glared at the sergeant, he received a second comment: "Good eyesight."

Then, the guy put his arm around his shoulders irresistibly and led him inside the tent, which was separated from the room by a curtain.

There wasn't much in the tent: a desk with application forms on it, a clerk copying them, a one-way silver mirror, and something that was obviously a modified electric shock chair, standing in the middle of the tent with a bunch of instruments full of needles and cables installed on it, and the belt buckles were loose one by one, obviously waiting for the next child to sit on it.

"No, sir!" Cooper hissed. He was not afraid, but he was really surprised. "What is this?"

"It's used to test your physical condition." The sergeant said, motioning the clerk to take a registration form from the table, "Age."

"Fourteen...wait, why do I need to test my physical condition?"

"For preliminary screening of eligible candidates. Height."

"Five point seven feet. What kind of qualified person? Planetary Defense Force?"

The sergeant gave him a strange look: "Any history of substance abuse?"

"I don't take it, not at all - God, it's not a Space Marine, is it?" "Of course. Mental illness level?"

“Not tested!”

"It's okay. We'll test you. Last name. You have one, right?"

"Helm'ayr! I don't want to test—"

The clerk stopped recording, and the sergeant looked at the boy in bewilderment. "Necromunda's Memoirist Hermar? So young? I've heard that you guys did everything you could to infiltrate the legion and get first-hand information..."

Cooper Helmar's mind raced. It seemed too late to admit that he had mistakenly entered the Imperial Fist recruitment tent, and it was a matter of his dignity. He coughed and vaguely acknowledged his father's identity, praying that the sergeant would enforce the law impartially and kick him out of the recruitment tent.

"And I heard that the great Seventh Legion will soon begin activities in the fortress of Necromunda. I hope to observe this event from a more realistic perspective, which will help deepen my understanding of the Imperial Fists..." he said randomly.

The next moment, a low, thunderous voice sounded from behind the one-way mirror. A giant pushed open a door hidden in the wall and had to bend down slightly because of his height when entering the room. This made his shadow even more shrouded Cooper.

Cooper looked at the giant, almost fascinated.

His parents' pretentious and flowery words could not describe the extraordinary features of the giant in front of him - whether it was the muscles tightly wrapped in bright yellow clothes that symbolized infinite power, or the face with deep contours as firm as a rock, they all made him yearn for it in an instant. That kind of infinite glory... real honor that he had never heard of...

In a sense, he began to regret that he had not just reported an unknown last name, then sat in that chair, waiting to become a qualified person. Yes, he had the confidence to pass the test.

One day, he would be as great as the Space Marines. He would be happy to climb the ladder.

"You are well-informed, Memoirist Hermar," the Space Marine said. "I will consult the Primarch. Until then, do not move."

-

"Initially, it was just a friendly match, which originated from the large-scale sports meeting held by the Fourth Legion in Olympia fifty years ago."

The Space Marine introduced him, flipping through his datapad, and Cooper guessed immediately that the Imperial Fists probably had written down everything they could and couldn't say.

"At that time, the name 'Blade Feast' was first proposed by the Eighth Primarch during their discussion... But the true origin of this duel began with the dispute between the Eighth Legion and us in Chelot.

"In order to confirm the final plan for launching the attack, our chief Templar Sigismund once again volunteered to engage in a sword fight with the leader of the Eighth Legion."

"Again?" Cooper said, trying to remain calm, so as to make himself more like the Emperor's Memoirist.

He was not afraid of being exposed, he was indeed Helmar, just not the old one.

He just didn't want to miss this valuable information and go home to be beaten by old Helmar.

"It is our custom to decide a stalemate through duels. And Sigismund is almost invincible. But on that day, he tied with Jago Sevitarion."

"Who is this Sevitarion?" Cooper asked. "Is this something I have a right to know?"

"The newly promoted captain of the First Company of the Night Demon Court in recent years is highly regarded by the Lord of the Eighth Legion. His martial arts were personally taught by his Primarch." The warrior of the Imperial Fists said, "This is not a secret."

"So, our Sigismund is tied with him..." Cooper thought.

“This does not damage the honor of the Imperial Fists, but Lord Sigismund has reflected deeply on this.

"After the battle of Cherawot, he invited Akurduna of the Emperor's Children, Kharn of the World Eaters, Korswain of the Dark Angels, and Ezekiel Abaddon of the Luna Wolves to enter the Iron Warriors' Court of Narni to train with them for several days."

Cooper kept these names in mind. Even though he knew nothing about them, the mere existence of these names and the infinite space for imagination behind them were enough to make his heart surge.

This is true honor... the highest praise a man can receive, he thought vaguely.

"After that, the Templars held their first internal tournament. Every warrior had to participate in this competition to test their martial arts skills in actual combat. After hearing about this, Lord Rogal Dorn and Lord Perturabo agreed to officially name the tournament the Feast of Blades and standardize the event."

"Each round of the Feast of Blades begins with a regular competition of varying duration, depending on the war situation of the Great Crusade. During the competition, the contestants will receive points for their victories. Each fleet will be ranked by points until the year of the feast... Do you need to keep a record, Helmar?"

Cooper nodded his head confidently: "I can remember it, sir."

The Space Marine continued, "In the year of the feast, all contestants will be eliminated after a defeat. The top two to seven fighters in the fleet will fight again in pairs, and the winner and the first place will be qualified to go to the host base for the second round of fighting.

"In this round, the Haskar Guards will simultaneously conduct a team screening. In addition, warriors from other legions can also participate in the competition. Fighting with them will not count towards the victory or defeat, but the honor of the winner is obvious to all.

"Finally, under the gaze of the Primarch, the eight warriors will duel until the winner is born - he will be the Templar recruit of the year."

Cooper nodded, trotted a few steps, and followed the Space Marines. They were following a road that Cooper had never walked before. Cooper guessed that this must be the road leading to the venue of the Blade Feast mentioned by the Space Marines - at least the venue of the partition.

Just imagining the grand scene of the duel made Cooper excited. The fights in his past life were nothing more than meaningless petty fights, stupid disputes without a goal. Fighting for glory, if only he could one day participate in the great battle of the Space Marines...

"So... where are we this round?"

"This is the year of the feast," said the Space Marine, proving that even these giants can rise to higher tones. "We are holding the first round of trials, after which the victor will ascend the mountain to see the Primarch himself, and even receive the approval of Lord Dorne..."

"Can I..." Cooper swallowed a few words. It was obvious that he couldn't play in person. "Can I record all this?"

"If you know how to write," the Space Marine said, "you have special permission from Lord Dorn. Good luck, little Hermar."

Cooper was surprised, his face flushed with excitement. He clenched his fists and said, "I will always remember this day, Sir Space Marine. I... I swear to the Emperor that I will join the Imperial Fists!"

The Space Marine nodded. "For Rogal Dorn, and the Master of Mankind. The Imperial Fists welcome true warriors."

"For Rogal Dorn, and the Lord of Mankind!"

-

"Today, Imperial scholars often believe that the Helmawr family, the ruling family of Necromunda under the Imperial Fists, is the guardian of all living things, the master of the hive tower, and the Helmawr family. It is led by successive family leaders. While governing the entire hive city Necromunda and maintaining the internal operation of the planet, it also provides an endless supply of troops for the Imperial Fists. The glorious history of eternal loyalty to the Seventh Legion began on the day when Cooper Helmawr was specially approved to watch the Feast of Blades.

"Even if Cooper Helmar never joined the glorious Seventh Legion in his lifetime, his family's great and selfless contribution to the human empire will still be remembered forever." - "Lord of Necromunda: Loyal Helmar"

(End of this chapter)