40K: When evil spirits appear

"Who's next?!" someone shouted.

Overwhelmed by intense dizziness, young Bloodclaw Havar collapsed heavily to the ground, feeling completely breathless.

He struggled with all his might to stand up again, but his body refused, forcing him to remain lying there, staring silently at the dim sky of Fenris. A moment later, two arms grabbed him from behind, dragged him off the ring, and threw him to the ground. After a while, he struggled to his feet and saw a series of mocking faces.

"Who told you to go up there and show off, kid?" a gray hunter yelled at him. "You're so arrogant! Haven't you witnessed the power of the Dragon Slayer with your own eyes?"

Havar glanced at him, intending to say something, but after weighing the difference in their current fighting strength, he chose to give up and instead spoke weakly.

"You're just upset because I beat all of you to it..."

The Grey Hunter laughed heartily, showing no anger. Instead, he pointed towards the arena, indicating that Bloodclaw should watch.

Haval did as instructed, but felt a sharp pain in his eyes. Staring at the tall mortal figure, he was filled with disbelief, because the other party had not actually displayed any of the 'Dragon Slayer's power' that the Grey Hunter had mentioned... He was faster than a mortal, stronger than a mortal, but that was all. Haval had even been able to see his every move clearly.

In the end, he was defeated.

Bloodclaw grimaced, raised his hand and touched his right rib area, where it was still very painful.

Meanwhile, on the arena, a new battle is about to begin.

On the right side of this rough, flat boulder covered with marks of chisels and axes, Ald raised his hand, tore off the frost wolf pelt from his shoulder, and slowly wrapped it around his waist. Then he began to untie the shroud that was wrapped around his body, one circle at a time.

He moved with extreme care, as if afraid of damaging the fragile strips of cloth, while Havar, sitting in the audience, only wanted to know how they had survived such a transformation...

Bloodclaw scratched his head in confusion, wondering if that body was just some kind of armor.

He received no answer, and Old had already removed the shroud from his upper body. He rolled it up, placed it at his feet, and then stretched his arms.

If Saen of the Ironheart tribe were present, she would surely be astonished, for the Ord she had initially seen was merely a emaciated, dried-up corpse, quite unlike the tall and strong man he now appeared to be. However, what was most striking now was not his muscles, honed solely for combat, but rather the two strange lines that stretched from beneath his eye sockets down to his chest.

They formed a pattern that the wolves did not understand, but they could notice that it was faintly emitting a crimson glow.

Ald bent down, picked up the giant axe that had cut down his first opponent, and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

His opponent—a bushy gray hunter—also raised his sword and shield with a serious expression, then held the sword up in a reverse grip, resting it on the shield, and slowly walked towards Ald. His posture was very cautious, but none of the wolves below objected, even though it was not in line with their usual fighting style.

They all knew very well that this was the best battle strategy.

But Ald put down his axe.

He glanced down at the massive axe, clearly not meant for someone of his size, then suddenly looked back. There, the wolf priest Ulric was observing from the darkness. Seeing Ald looking over, he raised his hand in a gesture of permission.

So Ald released his grip, letting the axe fall to the ground, then bent down again and found a terrifyingly curved battle sword among the weapons scattered on the ground, which he then picked up.

His opponent narrowed his eyes, then suddenly took a step forward and disappeared in a black shadow.

When he reappeared, he had chosen an extremely tricky angle to swing his shield at Ald—yes, a shield, not a sword. For him, the shield was merely a one-handed shield, but for Ald at that moment, it was no different from a large shield. Therefore, no matter from which angle he swung his sword, the blade was bound to collide with the shield.

Someone in the audience shouted out, seemingly excited, but Bloodclaw Havar only felt disdain.

"By Ruth!" he thought. "If this trick works, I'll throw away my sword and switch to shield fighting."

He doesn't need to do that.

Nothing struck the shield, and Ald retreated swiftly without drawing his sword, dodging the premeditated shield bash. But the Grey Hunter wasn't about to give up so easily. He roared, and his longsword emerged from behind the shield like a venomous snake, aiming precisely for Ald's thigh.

His idea was simple, even obvious—first weaken the enemy's mobility, then repeat shield bashes...

If Alder managed to dodge the first time, could he dodge it a second time? Or a third time?

The answer was no, but this time he didn't dodge either. Instead, he swung his battle blade down, blocking the longsword's thrust. However, this was still within Gray Hunter's expectations. He swiftly drew his sword, turned around, and with a spin, transformed into a whirlwind, hurtling towards Ald's left.

He swung the shield again, and this time it was particularly vicious, using its sharp edges and aiming for the head.

The wolves howled loudly, but the Grey Hunter sensed something was wrong.

They weren't on stage, so they could assume he had the upper hand and cheer for him. But he was different; he was face to face with the Dragon Slayer who had killed the Frost Dragon and the ancient monster with two punches. Even though the other party hadn't actually entered that terrifying fighting state, his hairs were already standing on end.

At this moment, he could clearly see the warning coming from those crimson eyes—as if to say: I'm about to attack, you'd better watch out.

Before the Grey Hunter could even react to the warning, he felt a heavy blow to the underside of his shield.

That power was far greater than that of ordinary people; although it didn't reach the level of the Astartes, it was enough to cause him trouble at this moment...

His shield was intercepted and deflected by Ald.

Alarm bells rang in Grey Hunter's mind. He immediately took two steps back, his battle instincts honed over countless trials driving him to swing his longsword in his right hand, instinctively holding it horizontally in front of his neck. But a flash of cold light appeared before his eyes and then disappeared—followed by a muffled thud. He was left wide open as he continued to retreat, his shield falling to the ground, his hand trembling uncontrollably.

He wasn't wearing his training gauntlets, just a pair of leather gloves, which had now been slashed open and were oozing blood.

The audience was silent, but Havar cheered.

"Fine!" he roared. "Again!"

The wolves stared at him strangely, but soon someone joined him, even a wolf guard. Then a second, a third...

In the end, the entire wolf pack cheered.

"Again! Again! Again!"

The Grey Hunter glared angrily at his brothers, shook his left hand, then pressed it to his cheek and opened his mouth to suck blood.

But just two seconds later, he stopped bleeding. He opened his mouth again, bit off the glove, and then charged at Ald again with his sword in both hands. At this moment, he had only one thought in his mind: an eye for an eye—in the ensuing series of steel-on-steel clashes, he didn't even aim for Ald's vitals, but instead relentlessly attacked his left hand.

This sowed the seeds of his downfall.

After narrowly dodging Grey Hunter's blade once again, Ald suddenly swung his blade backhand, slashing at his opponent's injured hand in an unavoidable arc. Grey Hunter parried with his sword, then laughed angrily and lunged forward with a roar. His pupils shrank to pinpoints, and his entire face was contorted with rage.

And this is what I want. Ald thought calmly.

He had anticipated this and sidestepped the Grey Hunter's strike, then gently placed his blade against the man's neck. The latter froze, tossing and turning between 'continue attacking' and 'stop attacking' for at least three seconds...

But in the end, he put down the longsword in his hand, then let out a long breath, and his face returned to calm.

"I was defeated by anger, Dragon Slayer," he said, bowing his head. "I will correct my mistakes."

After saying that, he turned around and jumped off the stage without hesitation to face the ridicule of his brothers.

Old watched him walk away, pondered for a moment, and then, as if remembering something, strode after him.

He stood on the left edge of the ring and shouted at the figure's back, "I haven't even had a chance to ask your name yet!"

Grey Hunter paused, then grinned. He broke free from his brothers' grasp and answered loudly.

"Egil Stormshield! Remember me, Dragon Slayer!"

Old nodded to him and returned to his corner.

Someone else shouted, "The third one! Who's coming?"

The crowd erupted into a sea of ​​arguments and roars. Having witnessed such a battle, every wolf wanted to be the next challenger. Ald, however, had no time for that; he was busy telling himself he should have asked for names before the fight even began...

Then, he once again put down the weapon he wielded so readily, just as he had put down the axe he had chosen in the first battle, and began searching around.

The wolf pack's training ground, located in the middle layer of Ete, wasn't enclosed; rather, it was connected to the outside world, a massive cavern excavated later. It stood over a hundred meters high, its central stone platform flattened and scarred by years of fighting, countless weapons lying around its edges, and the air thick with the smell of blood and rust...

Of course, there was also the smell of leather on the wolves.

Finally, he found a new weapon in a corner of the ring. His eyes lit up, and he strode over, while the third challenger jumped up.

He was a rare bald wolf with a scarlet claw tattoo on his right cheek and a conservative goatee.

He immediately introduced himself upon entering: "I am Beoric Wintertooth, a wolf guard of the Gaze of the Dragon... It is an honor to fight you, Dragon Slayer."

Ald picked up the two-handed greatsword, which was longer than his entire body, dragged it on the ground, nodded to Wintertooth, and raised the sword without saying a word.

The latter raised his two axes with a serious expression and gently spun them around once.

The battle had already begun, but he did not attack immediately. Instead, he paced back and forth, his eyes fixed intently on Ald, as if they were rooted to the spot.

He didn't look at the sword, which was so large it almost overshadowed the main subject, but rather at his shoulders and legs, displaying an extraordinary level of patience.

The wolves below gradually quieted down. The younger Bloodclaws couldn't understand what the wolf guards were doing, and a few complained. However, they were quickly met with angry reprimands and scoldings from their elders, who told them to remain silent because—

"The battle has already begun."

The Wolf Guards only made a move seven minutes after they stepped onto the arena.

He cautiously took two steps to the right, raising his left axe as if to throw it, while his right axe hung low as if to launch a slash... But Ald remained unmoved, standing motionless in place, his greatsword acting like a heavy shield, obscuring most of his body. Coupled with his sideways stance, the wolf guard's brows furrowed even more deeply.

Two minutes later, he lowered his hand with a furrowed brow and shook his head.

"I can't figure out how I could hurt you while you're wielding this sword, Dragon Slayer. I concede. My skills are lacking, but I'll admit my mistakes and correct them. I hope we can fight again in the future."

Old blinked and nodded again. However, just as Dongya was about to step down, he spoke.

"I think you're overthinking it," he said. "Why not just charge in?"

The wolves roared with laughter, while the wolf guard fell into deep thought. Finally, he nodded solemnly and disappeared into the depths of the wolves.

Soon, the argument filled the training ground again. The wolf guards, who thought Beoric was an idiot, were furious and prepared to go up on stage to show off their skills and shut up the Bloodclaws who were spouting nonsense. Meanwhile, the Grey Hunters were whispering among themselves, discussing countermeasures. Only the Bloodclaws were recklessly provoking others, completely unconcerned about whether this would lead to even more rigorous training...

However, after all this, amidst all the chaos, only one person remained silent.

He sat behind the pack of wolves, his hair orange-red, one eye replaced by a mechanical prosthetic.

He then stood up.

"Enough." He didn't roar, but simply shouted in his normal speaking volume, which silenced the hundreds of noisy wolves. They all turned to look at him, while Krom Dragon's Gaze simply shouldered his axe and strode toward the arena.

"Get out of the way, all of you." He scoffed dismissively. "Damn it, a bunch of us have been fighting for so long, and we couldn't even break one of his fingers..."

The Bloodclaws, who had been making the most noise, retreated from his presence like a tide, while the Grey Hunters bowed respectfully, and the Wolf Guards followed behind him.

Finally, he leaped onto the ring, unarmored yet still possessing a massive physique. He immediately charged at Ald, still carrying his axe, not assuming a fighting stance. He only stopped when he was almost face-to-face with Ald.

Then, he suddenly laughed. The laugh wasn't fierce; it even seemed a bit mischievous, which didn't match his notorious reputation, but it was genuine.

"You think I can't see through you, warrior?" the Wolf Lord asked softly. "You refuse to fight us in your current form, is that it? You're afraid you'll hurt us? Hmph, I don't care about that, I want you—"

"—Shut your fucking mouth, Crom."

Not far away, the voice of the Slaughterer, Ulric, came in a deep yet authoritative tone. The wolf priest slowly left the darkness, and wherever he went, the wolves scattered. No one dared to look directly at this oldest wolf, not even the fierce-looking one who had been cursed at, who merely curled his lip in dissatisfaction.

"This is just a fight, and you've crossed the line," the old priest said, standing at the edge of the ring. "Therefore, I want you to get off this stage immediately, and you're forbidden from returning here for the next ten days. Do you have any objections?"

Krom looked up, glanced at the sky listlessly, and then sighed.

He looked at Olde again.

"Sorry, brother." He shrugged. "Sometimes I... well, never mind, I know I'm wrong and I'll change. Just you wait and see, I swear on my name."

After saying that, he turned and left without looking back.

Ald looked at him, then down at the wolf priest, who was staring at him—or more precisely, at the greatsword in his hand.

Alder noticed that Ulric seemed to be smiling.

"The sword," said the wolf priest. "In the end, you only chose a sword?"

"It's good enough," Old said.

Ulrik laughed genuinely.

"Very good," he said. "Put that thing down and let us go to Iron Island to get you a real sword."