40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 536 54. Record of the war group era (Fifteen, two old antiques, storm is coming)

Khalil leaned against the wall, watching Scarardrick and Scheherel Cold Soul swing their swords at each other in the duel cage.

Although they share the same blood, they are not identical brothers.

The Supreme Grand Master is never as wild as the Scarlet Lord. His swordsmanship is deadly and quiet, and all his killing moves are hidden in the inconspicuous rotation of his wrist.

Scarardrick was different. He was proud and wild. He swung his sword as if a natural disaster was passing through and was merciless. Every swing of his sword was a killing move. He never gave in at all. Even if he was just teasing, he was always aimed at the Sheikh. Swept by your throat.

This huge difference between them is making this duel more dangerous. Although the swords used are blunt training swords, they are not wearing armor.

With just one mistake, one of the two Chapter Masters will surely fall in a pool of blood - the realization of this made Calgio extremely frightened. Although the Sons of Calth were also engaging in similar battles, , but they in no way advocate bloodshed.

Every time they fought against each other, the Sons of Calth would put on training clothes or training armor. How could they be so naked and treat each other like enemies?

Does this really not cause non-combat attrition?

Khalil didn't know what to expect and answered his questions very calmly.

"Yes, Chapter Master Calgio. So they will do their best to avoid this situation. No one wants to meet the apothecaries in the infirmary. The pain of sewing the wound without anesthesia is compared with the ridicule of the apothecaries. It’s not a big deal.”

Calgio looked at him in astonishment.

"Mocking?" He couldn't help but ask. "The pharmacist laughs at the patient?"

"Yes." Khalil nodded slightly, still watching the fight in the duel cage intently, but he did not forget to explain in a low voice.

"Once they are injured, or their opponents are injured, it means that they have problems controlling their bodies and skills. This is different from being injured on the battlefield. The situation in war is ever-changing, and no one dares to say that they can remain unscathed. "

"However, the duel cage is another matter. The children of the night have similar skills and the same ferocity. For experienced people, it is not difficult to predict the opponent's next blow."

Amidst the clash of swords, Khalil turned his head and gave Calgio a serious conclusion.

“Therefore, being injured is the same as not being good at your craft.”

His words made Calgio's expression become a little unspeakable. At this moment, the battle in the duel cage gradually entered a white-hot state.

The blunt swords collided, iron filings flew, and sweat continued to fall. The two controlled their strength and slowly pushed their skills to the top during the sparring, but they also became more dangerous.

A second ago, Skaladrick was blocking Scheher's thrust with his sword, and without hesitation, he slashed his sword at his neck with his back hand. At the same time, he stepped out with his right foot, exerted force from his waist, and did a good job. some kind of preparation.

A third of a second later, he was not surprised to see his sword blocked by Scheher, and the recoil brought his sword back into the air even faster.

The Maharaja grinned, ferociously exerted his strength again, and swung out a second forehand chop without hesitation.

This blow was so powerful and heavy that it had completely released the shackles of power. If it was a hit, I am afraid that the Supreme Commander would have to go to the emergency room today - but he did not panic, and even raised his sword confidently, blocking the forehand chop properly.

"clang--!"

The metal shattered, and two broken blunt swords were thrown down by them, declaring that the battle was over.

Khalil saw clearly from the sidelines that although the two people did not communicate, they had already decided to end the fight at this time.

This is one of the reasons why Scarardrick swings his sword with all his strength. They must have practiced against each other many times before to have this kind of tacit understanding without words.

The man wielding the sword trusts the man defending and attacks with all his might. The defender trusts the wielder of the sword, so he never dodges, only blocks.

"Wonderful battle," Khalil said sincerely. "You must have fought side by side many times."

"Not a lot," Scaladrick said.

While opening the door of the duel cage, he slowly walked out and began to put on his training clothes.

The gray clothing, provided by the Sons of Calth, is not made of cloth, but of a grass-like fiber that has been genetically edited. It has a delicate touch and has a certain degree of cleaning function, but it is also easily damaged.

Scheher followed him out of the cage door and began to explain.

"We have a tradition of cooperation. Hunting traitors is something every loyalist has a natural passion for, and the Crimson Claws are the best among them. And we happen to have them all over the galaxy."

He paused, and his expression became a little embarrassed for some reason: "I mean, we are spread out very far. In short, we do have a tradition of cooperation."

He gave Khalil a dry smile and said nothing more.

It was only at this moment that Calgio belatedly realized what it meant to be standing here. He immediately coughed lightly and found a reason to leave, briefly forgetting the fact that this was the residence of the Sons of Calth. .

Khalil watched him leave, feeling a little helpless.

What should I say?

As expected of Robert Guilliman's descendant, his political sensitivity is deeply engraved in his genes.

Even if Sheikher didn't actually mean that at all, he read the wrong interpretation from that dry smile and used it on himself.

Khalil withdrew his gaze, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the Supreme Commander of the Judgment Blade and the Lord of the Crimson Claw. The two of them were also staring at him, as if they were waiting for something.

Judging from this scene alone, it is really hard to help but sweat for Khalil. To the uninformed, this scene might be interpreted as the Chapter's servants being held to account by two Astartes.

Even if you don't consider this matter, the terrifying ghost-like looks of the grand leader and the grand king can easily remind people of something not very good.

Then, Khalil spoke softly.

"It can be made more realistic." He said lightly. "Although there were precedents for pharmacists and medical officers to laugh at patients during the legionary period, it was just for mutual amusement."

"I'm not surprised that it has changed like this after ten thousand years. However, this has deviated from the original intention when we set up the duel cage. You should swing your swords at each other with the intention of killing each other, and if the sword breaks , does that mean the battle is over?”

"Where are your fists? I wouldn't say I want to see one of you two get his hands and feet broken, or his brains exploded, but I do want to see some blood."

He gave the most obvious smile at the mention of blood.

Scarardrick and Scheherel Lenghun looked at each other and nodded silently.

"Of course, this speed is indeed difficult to control. So, Yago, come into the cage with me."

Yago Savitarion, who was chewing mushrooms in the dark, responded dully.

He finished the remaining 'Coast specialty' in one bite, patted the shoulders of the hunter and Caiul, and pulled them out of the darkness without showing off.

The Grand Commander and the Grand Lord cast cold glances at him, as if they were threatening or persuading. Savita just grinned, stretched out his right index finger towards them, and shook it gently.

He got a glare that made even the calmest hunter frown. But, still no one spoke.

Khalil shook his head slightly disappointed - why didn't he even refuse to persuade me? It's like my words are law.

He took a step forward and walked into the duel cage at the lead. Sevatar followed, holding a blunt training sword in each hand.

Khalil bent down, picked up the broken swords one by one, and gently threw them out of the duel cage. When he raised his head again, a sword that was a little too big for him was clearly placed in front of him.

Sevatar grinned at him, turned his wrist, pointed the tip of the sword at himself, and handed him the hilt.

Khalil reached out and took it.

At first, he habitually wanted to use one hand. However, even if he is considered a big man among mortals, this sword still requires him to use both hands to appear balanced.

Unlike him, Sevita just stood there carelessly, carrying the sword on his shoulder casually, looking carefree and very frivolous.

His posture was something that the other Chapter Masters present had never seen before. In their impression, Yago Savitarion had always looked gloomy, serious and reliable, and had never behaved like this.

Kaiul rubbed his brows and swallowed back the comment that he was like a gangster at the bottom of the hive city.

"I will limit the power."

Khalil asked. He raised the sword with both hands, and it just covered half of his face. The blade, which was polished like a mirror, accurately reflected Sevatar's smiling face.

"Are there any rules?" the smiling man asked softly.

"No, just think of me as Siani or Richter"

Savita nodded, suddenly took a big step forward, and threw out his right hand. This sword had no rules at all, but he used his own strength to control the movement of the sword.

At this moment, the blunt sword seemed to have really turned into a warhammer or some other blunt instrument, and it hit Khalil on the head, who was much shorter than him. The howling wind was so intense that even the Chapter Leaders outside the field could hear it. Hear it clearly.

At this moment, except for the hunter, everyone else changed their expressions.

Then, they saw Khalil blocking Sevatar's sword lightly.

"Not fast enough," he said sternly. "What? You don't dare to strike hard when you face me? I know you can be faster than before, but what about your determination? Don't force me to laugh at you, Yago, you don't deserve to be treated like this."

Sevatar sighed.

He retracted his sword, bent his knees, bent over, placed the sword on Khalil's weak side in a very standard starting position, and then began to slowly test.

There was no frivolity on his face anymore, only absolute rationality remained. As long as Khalil showed even a slight flaw, he would pounce on him without hesitation, bite his throat and move his head left and right.

At this moment, he was no longer Yago Severtarion, but a real enemy who wanted to kill Khalil Lohars.

Khalil looked at him, shook the sword slightly, and then put his hands down. The blunt sword was hanging low and he was holding it with both hands, tilted to the side of his body. His posture was relaxed, his shoulders were loose, and he had no intention of attacking at all.

Savita narrowed his eyes and did not attack rashly. He knew very well that this was just a trap.

Last move first is not a sophisticated skill in swordsmanship. The sword can essentially be simplified to an extension of the arm, another straight line. The length of this straight line will not change. Savita can be very fast, but Khalil, who predicts the path of his sword, will only be faster.

He only needed to raise his sword to block, then rotate his wrist and swing the sword with his steps, and he could easily disarm and kill Savita.

"Are you still saying that you don't know how to use a sword now, instructor?" Sevita asked, with ridicule in his voice. "I think you can make Richter pop out of the coffin now."

Khalil responded to his taunt with a smile, and then actually took the initiative to attack.

The bright blade of the long sword turned dim at this moment. It pierced the air cunningly and viciously, and stabbed towards Sevita's seemingly defenseless knee.

This time, he was naturally blocked, but Savita's face did not relax at all. He growled lowly and raised his hands sharply, with such force that he seemed to want to chop off Khalil's head with this sword.

He succeeded in using strength to defeat skill, completely disrupting the series of swordsmanship changes that Khalil had prepared later, forcing him to take a step back. However, this was only the beginning. Savita's eyes were dazzled, and the blunt sword stabbed towards his eyes again.

He quickly retracted his sword and blocked the fatal blow, but Khalil had already rushed over. He was far shorter than him. This shortness did not allow him to be faster than Sevita, but it gave him an advantage in vision to a certain extent.

Sevatar had to lower his head to get a closer look at him.

But now, he didn't bow his head.

Khalil ran into his arms, placed the sword across Sevita's abdomen, then gently rotated his wrist, pulled, and pulled.

Savita took a deep breath, as if he saw himself being disemboweled, and there was a burning pain in his abdomen and side ribs.

He took a step back and nodded toward Khalil.

"One to zero," Khalil said. "Any comments, Yago?"

"No."

"You are careless, why? This is not the first time you have fought me. We have spent more time in the duel cage than anyone else. You should know very well how I will deal with you, but you are still slow. ”

Savita was silent for a moment, then replied angrily: "In my impression, you are much taller than you are now."

"Height cannot be a criterion for measuring the strength of an enemy." Khalil laughed dumbly. "Are you making excuses, Yago?"

"No," said Sevita. "It's just that I'm not used to seeing a short instructor."

Khalil burst out laughing.

Five seconds later, they resume fighting.

——

Robert Guilliman pushed open a door, walked past the majestic warrior wearing an eagle helmet, carrying a heavy short sword and a light blue booklet, and walked into an interrogation room in person. Under the bright lights, several people were looking at him with horror on their faces.

The Lord of Macragge dropped the pamphlet at their feet with an expressionless expression.

"I'll ask five questions, but I'll only ask them once," he said slowly. "I don't like to ask questions repeatedly, so you'd better listen to every word I say. Do you understand?"

He got a shaky nod.

"Very well," said Guilliman. "Now tell me, who gave you the instructions to spread this religion?"

There was no answer, so he threw his dagger. Amid the splatters of blood and screams, the eyes under the short gray-white hair of the Lord of Macragge began to slowly shine with a frightening radiance.

The air trembled and whined, but he himself remained calm and indifferent. In the past ten thousand years, there have been all kinds of sufferings and countless deaths. Every burden and difficulty he has endured along the way has been forged in the forge in his chest at this moment.

Robert Guilliman stretched out his right hand, grasped his sword from his chest, and slowly drew it out.

"Like I said, I don't like asking a second time," he said.