Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 651 Duel
"Which one of them do you think will win?"

Fulgrim Pallas asked this question to Leman Russ, who was completely drunk but appeared to be able to talk and walk, in the multi-purpose lounge of the Apothecary's Laboratory aboard the Steel of the Destiny.

The latter now seemed to be somewhat annoyed by his tangled mane of reddish-blonde hair, so he stood up and began to wander around the laboratory with his huge, swaying and clanking body.

He ignored the strange gaze of the pharmacist, which was gleaming as if he was looking at an organ in a laboratory dish, and found some transparent gel that he thought was suitable, then used it to comb his hair back into a smooth and docile shape.

Oh, by the way, he looked at himself in the mirror several times while walking, using the smooth surface of the culture tank or the steel tank, as if he was very dissatisfied with his current appearance.

“Lack of care. So decadent. No longer thinking,” they heard him mutter under his breath, still in the best possible High Gothic. “I can’t believe it.”

Then, before Leman Russ returned to the table with his eyes open and seemed to be very sober, he decisively removed most of his teeth, bones and other ornaments, as well as his wolfskin cloak that smelled of smoke, fur and straw, in front of his reflection.

He sorted the little things carefully and put them in a pile again, tied them as much as he could with a long leather rope, wrapped them all delicately in the wolf skin, rolled them up, and finally tied the wolf skin with the longest leather rope to make an impeccable bag that a wanderer or marcher would use.

Finally, he looked around for a while and found some clean test tube brushes and some unused soft cloths from the laboratory. He quickly wiped off the coal dust, hair balls, blurred runes and dried blood stains on his armor in the shortest possible time.

Then the Wolf King sat down again.

"I feel much better now. As for your question, Fulgrim." Leman Russ, who seemed to be becoming increasingly cold, poured himself a glass of mead calmly, tasted it carefully, and then answered, "Perturabo will win. There will be no surprises."

"I thought you would speak in favor of your own offspring, Russ."

"Wild Bear is a very good young warrior, with talent and destiny. He will undoubtedly make great achievements in the future, and he will undoubtedly be able to swing his axe for a long time. But rationally and comprehensively analyzing this duel, he is 'not allowed' to win in public and private. It's just that this will make it easier for the sons of Fenris to accept emotionally. My preference is irrelevant to the question you asked here."

Pallas unconsciously straightened his back and sat upright in his seat.

Is this what Leman Russ looks like when he's drunk? It feels like a combination of Dorn, Perturabo, Ferrus, and Guilliman is sitting in front of me...

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Under the sky of Nikea that was illuminated pink by the lava, the two duelists had already stood at the edge of the central venue of the amphitheater.

The exit that the wild bear had walked out of was crowded with many legionnaires. They were all Space Wolves who had requested to go out after hearing the news. Heralds trusted by the wolf lords were also among them. Apparently, they also brought some transfer equipment to broadcast the entire process of the duel to the wolf lords and wild wolves who stayed in the hall - this was also what Ramezane asked the Emperor for.

The strange treatment that the Fourth Primarch received after his previous outrageous behavior has begun to cause whispers and rumors in some places, but it has not yet spread to a wider area. However, it can be seen that Mortarion's dissatisfaction and resentment can almost overflow from his box in the form of black air, while the other two Primarchs who have appeared in public now have the same smile on their faces as when they welcomed Magnus.

In the shadows behind Perturabo BC stood Ramizarn in the body of the Lord of Steel, his two offspring, and a mortal. At this moment, the Fourth Primarch, who had never had much contact with each other before, was whispering to the Sixth Primarch (who had turned into a dog), and it seemed that they had a pretty good relationship.

Magnus himself really wanted to stand beside his fourth brother and talk about the excitement in his heart and more questions that popped up in his mind, but standing here would make him look like he was cheering for Leman Russ who had turned into a dog, so at Ramizane's reminder, he had to regretfully take his followers back to his original box.
-
Malcador raised the Emperor's Scepter in his hand, striking the ground three times with the tip of the staff, and when everything was quiet, his voice echoed back and forth among the seats on the stone steps of the theater, which had become as empty as the wilderness. "...So we are gathered here, to be witnesses, sworn to witness this miracle. Leman Russ's body will be restored later, but now we must witness him demonstrate his mind and strength as a Primarch in this duel, to clear up all false rumors..."

After all the witnesses had submitted their signed oaths, the Imperial Chancellor hastily announced the start of the duel.
-
The Primarch and the wild bear stared at each other, and the tense air between them suddenly burst like broken crystal in the next second.

Wild Bear chose to charge first, swinging the ice-blue power axe in his hand at his opponent.

Although the being in front of him might be his original gene, the wild bear was still merciless - the fact that he could raise his weapon towards the opponent effortlessly proved that Russ might not be in the body of this strange creature, didn't he?

The wild bear could not feel the savagery and fear that penetrated deep into the human soul from the alpha wolf. He could not feel even a trace of the suffocating and naturally uneasy horror that was unique to the winter and the lord of war. This was the reason why the wild bear proposed a duel and obtained the unanimous consent of the wild wolves.

If this was not Russ at all, and was merely a trick of Magnus, and the real Russ had been sent elsewhere, and the one left here was the malicious product of the Red King's witchcraft, who pretended to be their genetic father, then there could be no possibility of it contaminating Fenris or getting involved in the hunting pack.

The decomposition stance of the power axe in the wild bear's hand was also turned on. Every swing was a fatal attack, and every chopped blow was enough to kill any creature of this size on the spot.

When this duel concerned the future of the Sons of Fenris and the authenticity of Leman Russ, Wild Bear had never considered from the beginning whether to leave a survivor if the opponent could not hold on - his logic was very simple. If the opponent was the real Leman Russ, then he would not lose no matter what he looked like; if the opponent was a fake Leman Russ, then it would be completely natural for him to kill the opponent.

-

Gasper Hawser, a bard from the Third Company of the Space Wolves, was standing beside the Lord of Steel. Just now, this Primarch, whose appearance and the degree of favor he enjoyed in the presence of the Emperor were unexpectedly totally inconsistent with the legend, had resolutely demanded his temporary guardianship from the Space Wolves.

This actually made the bard very uncomfortable, as he felt that after completing his mission as bait or witness, he had become an object or slave that could be bought and sold or disposed of at will, but apparently no one here would care about his thoughts or protest.

Fortunately, the Lord of Steel also said to the Rune Priests: "If the wild bear wins this duel, I will immediately return your Ibn Rusta to you."

Because this duel would only take a short time, and everyone was watching, there was no need to worry about the bard being harmed where they couldn't see, so in the end, Ornn, Nayut, and Othrel all agreed, "The wolves of Fenris will not forget the scent of the enemy, but they will also not forget to thank those who helped us."

They had owed the Lord of Steel a favor for the dueling venue and the request for a notary, and now it was time for Hawser, as the bard of the Third Company, to return the favor.

However, the Fourth Primarch's attitude towards mortals was surprisingly gentle, and the bard did not encounter any of the problems he had thought he would encounter. In fact, even when he met Fulgrim, who was known for his sociability, he did not feel such an approachable and amiable person, which made him secretly amazed and recorded it.

The only thing that struck him as odd was that when they walked to the edge of the theater together to cheer for Lord Leman Russ, the Lord of Steel summoned his two heirs to stand closely behind the bard. "This is to prevent someone from doing something behind the scenes when everyone's attention is focused on the center of the theater."

If this was done before the verdict was announced, it would be understandable. After all, the Lord of Steel seemed to have a pretty good relationship with the Red King.

However, all the testimonies and evidence reports about the Thousand Sons Legion sending its long-trained spies to the Space Wolves and attempting to launch a conspiracy in the Nikaea Conference Hall to attack the Custodians and friendly forces have long been submitted to the Glorious Lord of Mankind. Isn't it a bit futile to deal with him now, a witness who has already testified?
But the Lord of Steel insisted on doing so, and no one here could stop him.

So now, Hawser was standing in front of the two Astartes who were like iron walls, watching the duel with squinted eyes.

His own mortal eye was not capable of capturing the wild bear's swift and rapid attack, but the fleshcrafters of the Space Wolves had built a replacement for his lost eye with video recording capabilities in the underground of the Fang over the course of nineteen years.

The eye he obtained should be the Eye of the Wild Wolf. Although no one said it explicitly, it could indeed allow the poet to see the outlines of things in the dark or dim light. Its motion capture was also much better than that of the original eye. However, scenery more than thirty meters away would begin to become distorted and out of focus in his eyes, as if he was looking at the world through the lens of a camera. This took his brain a long time to adapt to the inconsistent yet consistent pictures seen by his two eyes.

-

The power axe's barrage of attacks was fierce and sophisticated, but unsurprisingly, all of them missed.

The shepherd dog that claimed to be the incarnation of Russ was of average size but surprisingly agile. Even the Astartes' attack speed seemed more like the other party was playing with the shepherd dog to it.

Wild Bear immediately found that he could no longer rely on the power of the power axe. This weapon was very inflexible for close combat with such a low-lying opponent.

So he dropped his weapon and tried to use his powerful fist. He swung his right hand and was about to smash his armored fist hard on the border collie's head.

Perturabo was about to leap upon him and send him flying, but he was obliged to twist and leap away, as though he were flying from the ground.

The wild bear's blow was as powerful as thunder. His fist hit the black marble floor hard, and pieces of debris splashed in the cracks.

After realizing the opponent's size and weight disadvantage, the wild bear attacked again, roaring loudly, and delivering continuous high-speed punches combined with occasional cunning kicks, not giving the sheepdog roaming around any chance to get close - obviously, the sheepdog's attack disadvantage is his own weight. Even if he can attack the wild bear, if he is kicked away, this kind of grip and weight will still cause him to be kicked away.

Finally, the Border Collie mustered his muscles and broke into a sprint, intent on quickly ending the fight that was increasingly irritating him.

He leaped several meters high, jumped directly behind the opponent's backpack, and then hit the wild bear's head with terrifying force when the wild bear was so shocked that it had never considered the attack of "a dog jumping on the back of your neck and slapping you with its claws".

Every time the sheepdog hit the wild bear, it would roar with joy, and the sound waves would surge across the battlefield like a shock wave.

There was now only a blank indifference in the young wolf's mind. Apart from trying his best to use his fists to cope with the rhythm of the dog's claws falling, there was nothing else. Pure adrenaline and rage drove him to continue fighting, as if his desperate fight now could prove the existence of the Primarch to some extent.

The Border Collie's strategy was more direct, and the force of the whipping was stronger. The wild bear's face without a helmet made a slight "hissing" sound as if silk was torn apart when the skin was broken, and blood gushed out of the wild bear's face.

Then he struck the bear mercilessly with one claw after another until the bear retreated again and again, but he still clenched his fists and struck himself above the head.

The shepherd dog grunted in dissatisfaction in his throat, as if he couldn't enjoy it to his heart's content because he had to restrain his strength, or as if he was annoyed with the young warrior's fighting spirit and tenacity.

Finally, after being knocked against the parapet, his ceramsite armor and his face shattered beyond recognition, the wild bear lost consciousness.

Suddenly, Perturabo BC began to roar. It was a pure roar of a wild beast, but people could hear a smile of joy and comfort in it.

"Ouch! Ouch!"

The thunderous roar rolled and rumbled in the air. The Border Collie proudly stepped on the head of a golden eagle on the ground, looking around. Its pure white mane like frost and snow exploded like a lion, like a majestic and inviolable god king.

"Ouch! Ouch!"

The wolf pack watching the battle became agitated, and the barbarian lords responded to the Primarch's call with a clamor, one after another, like the waves beating against the cliffs of Anaheim in the cold winter of Fenris. The dark blue sea carrying eternal mystery and terror raised huge waves, roaring and offering their own poems for the birth of the Winter King in the Golden Hall.

Seeing this, Gunnar Gunhilt decisively drew his weapon.

"Son of Fenris! For Russ and the All-Father!"

The shrill and wild roars responded to him one after another.

(End of this chapter)