Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 350 The Crown of the Champion
Hippocrates' greatsword pressed against John's neck, bright blood seeping from the edge of the blade. With just a little more force, the blade would sever his head.

His left hand was pierced by a rapier, but in the critical moment, he used his metacarpal bones to clamp the blade tightly, forcing the attack trajectory to deviate.

“You won.” John Wick withdrew his rapier, his tone a mixture of relief and admiration.

The brothers in the legion have always believed that he is the most skilled in martial arts, and today the truth has finally been revealed.

Although it was not what everyone hoped for, he felt a great sense of relief.

“We are only in different positions,” Hippocrates sheathed his greatsword, shaking off the blood of his brothers that stained it. “Strength or weakness proves nothing.”

"I don't really understand." John brushed the blood off the sword and shrugged indifferently. He seemed quite indifferent to winning or losing.

Hippocrates!

A deafening roar of cheers echoed across the sky, celebrating the victory and offering blessings to the winner.

It took the mortal a long time to see clearly what happened between the two in the moment that determined the outcome of the battle, through the slow-motion holographic image.

Harlan laughed out loud—he had gone all in on his assets and finally reaped the rewards he deserved. The thrill of the dramatic ups and downs made his face flush.

Doom rose from his throne, and the platform immediately separated, with the anti-gravity platform carrying him down from the sky to bestow the rightful glory upon the victor.

Hippocrates!

Hippocrates!

The deafening sound waves converged, bringing the atmosphere in the arena to a climax. Countless people craned their necks, eager to capture this glorious moment with their own eyes.

Hippocrates and John Wick knelt on one knee, and their servants opened the sandalwood box and presented it to King Norwick.

Doom presented the champion's crown from the box, its crimson color dazzling, each leaf bearing the Legion's rune insignia, uniquely characteristic of the Legion.

"I bestow this supreme glory upon you."

Holding the laurel wreath aloft with both hands, Doom raised it high above his head, turned to show it to the audience—the crimson laurel wreath that had once been the symbol of the Legion's supreme glory.

The audience is going crazy!

The voices were hoarse from excessive screaming, and some people even fainted on the spot and were carried off by medical robots for emergency treatment.

In the martial spirit of Nur, regardless of type, the supreme honor symbolizing "champion" is undoubtedly the highest affirmation for an individual.

Hippocrates slowly rose, bowed his head, and felt the heat of the father of genes' palm and the coolness of the champion's crown.

"Hippocrates! Legionary Champion!"

The cheers were deep and powerful as the spectators offered their blessings to their brothers.

"I suppose you have no intention of joining the Honor Guard?" Doom said with a smile, his eyes full of pride.

If it weren't for the Legion Grand Tournament, I wouldn't know the details of this offspring's background. No matter what, he always stood at the very end of the line.

“Yes.” Hippocrates knelt on one knee, his words pleading: “Father of Genetics, please forgive my choice.”

Doom reached out and pulled him back, comforting him, "You made a brave choice and took on the corresponding responsibilities. How could I possibly stand in your way?"

"Don't worry." Doom patted Hippocrates on the shoulder, his voice low and gentle: "The job of Legion apothecary is perfect for you. I wish you could have a more relaxed life."

The hope that pharmacists could have a less demanding job implies a desire for less sacrifice; it is both an expectation and a blessing.

The lighthearted, half-joking remark prompted Hippocrates to chuckle, "I also wish to do nothing."

Doom turned his gaze to John: "You have also proven your strength. Although you lost by half a move, you are still a powerful warrior above millions. Don't dwell on your personal failure. You still have responsibilities."

John nodded silently upon hearing the words of comfort.

As the Primarch said, personal failures are insignificant; what warriors should do is fulfill the great responsibilities entrusted to them.

Hippocrates!

"John Wick!"

Amid cheers and shouts from the audience, the legion competition came to an end, and the military reform was largely completed.

But a new battle is imminent.

"Looks like you're done with your work?" A communication came through the mental link, Li Tang's unique mental fluctuations came through: "Depart in one hour to wipe out Lady Kra." Almost exactly on time, the legion competition and related rituals were completed, and the battle order was already issued.

The Imperial Guards in the VIP seats received a communication to assemble their troops and quickly left while the audience's attention was focused on the main event.

The Doomsday Warriors did the same, hastily departing for the dock to prepare to board their ships and head to the next battlefield.

The tall warrior's quiet departure, his whereabouts concealed by the noisy crowd, could not escape the keen eyes of those with ulterior motives.

Bjorn, the Little Wolf, nudged the Blood Angel beside him, raising his chin slightly to signal the latter to look over. The Imperial Guard had already left, and the Night Guard had replaced the Doom Warriors who were on guard duty.

Amarans had already noticed, and pointed to space, indicating to his cousin to look at the other end of the ring—a medium-sized fleet was assembling in the orbital dock.

Bjorn paused, a look of urgency crossing his bearded face. He rose to leave.

“Brother, I know you crave revenge.” Amarans reacted quickly, grabbing Bjorn who was about to leave, his handsome face swaying. “But this battle does not belong to you or me.”

"We are guests, so we must not overstep our bounds, lest we incur the wrath of the Nur Stars."

Hearing the sincere words of advice, Bjorn hesitated for a long time before finally sitting down slowly, watching the King of Warriors depart, and choosing to watch the upcoming song and dance performance.

As my cousin said, this battle no longer belongs to me, so I must not try to take the initiative and invite unnecessary resentment.

Although the Wolf King and the Warrior King have a close relationship, minor matters between legions should not be handled impulsively, lest they embarrass the two Primarchs.

Doom left the viewing platform and grabbed Harlan, who was grinning from ear to ear from making a fortune: "Come with me to fight."

Caught in an inescapable grip by immense force, Harlan's wary instincts, blinded by money, returned. He racked his brains, confirming that no battle orders had been given.

"What combat mission?" He asked, puzzled, unsure of what kind of combat mission it was, and a look of evasion appeared on his face: "I don't want to go with you."

Upon hearing the champion swordsman's evasive answer, Doom raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and wondered if this man had been corrupted by money.
Harlan, who is passionate about fighting, refuses to fight; it's as if the stars have reversed and the sun and moon have been turned upside down.

"It's pointless to go with you." Seeing his master's unfriendly expression, Harlan quickly explained, "You are the commander, you have to stay in the command room, you have no chance to go down and kill people."

“I’m just standing here like a log, it’s really boring and a waste of time. I’d rather teach the younger generation in my family martial arts.”

Doom then realized that Doom was afraid of being sidelined.

“Don’t worry,” he explained as he pulled Harlan forward, “I’m not in charge this time. I’ve found a commander, so you can act freely without worry.”

Harlan's eyes lit up, and he immediately changed his tune, leaning closer and rubbing his hands excitedly: "Really?"

While asking questions, his hands were busy sending commands through the communication panel to prepare the weapon crates.

“That’s natural,” Doom replied confidently. “You know, I’ve never liked giving orders.”

"Alright!" Harlan exclaimed excitedly upon receiving the affirmative reply, and pressed the loading command to have the robot deliver his weapons.

Doom released his grip on him, and the two walked side by side toward the strike fleet whose plasma engines had been activated.

After being assigned to the expeditionary force, the Harlan arm armor's information terminal immediately lit up with a holographic projection, displaying the mission objective and enemy intelligence.

The more he looked, the deeper his brow furrowed. Mrs. Clara's strangeness had exceeded the range of normal living beings.

"Another warp-based psionic device."

His tone was full of contempt and disgust. In Harlan's mind, everything related to psionic energy belonged to the warp.

Seeing his simplistic and crude understanding, Doom didn't bother to explain.

After all, from a broad perspective, the source of psionic energy is the warp, and the birth of psionic races is naturally related to the warp.

The two complement each other, and although the specific description is very complicated, they are indeed inseparable.

In an open space, Harlan picked up the Dark Light from the machine's cargo hold, and his entire demeanor instantly changed!
Once he picked up a weapon, his roguishness vanished completely, and he transformed back into the fearsome champion of the Night Guard that instilled terror in his enemies.

A teleportation beam shone from beneath their feet, and the two disappeared into the Ring of Nur, boarding the core of the strike fleet, the flagship of the Li Tang Dynasty—the Former Glory.

"All combat personnel are present," the Iron Man Captain's mechanical voice rang out.

Li Tang sat upright on the command throne, his clear voice resounding across the bridge: "Initiate subspace navigation."

(End of this chapter)