Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Sigismund felt the tightness of the chains on his hands. After removing the armor, these cold and loyal chains were directly wrapped around his bare arms, making him feel strange.

His arm was stiff for a while until he adapted to the connection between the sword blade and the chain, and felt the further connection between the sword and his body. This was the advice given to him by Karn, the World Eater. He adopted it and tried it.

His companion, a young warrior named Borius, holds his sword tightly in preparation for the coming battle.

Sigismund was the only Templar, but that didn't mean he had to go it alone. Borius established a relatively familiar relationship with him by repeatedly challenging him in the Black Temple, the core area of ​​the Phalanx.

Two veterans of the World Eaters stood on the other side of the fighting pit. Simple light armor composed of metal and leather wrapped their torsos. Lightning tattoos extended from the veterans' arms.

Kahn took off his armor on the side, moved his limbs, and stretched his muscles. Like many other battle brothers, while pacing in the sand, he looked across the gladiatorial pit, sizing up his cousins ​​who came to challenge like a hunter.

Sigismund had some knowledge of the War Hounds as early as the Unification Wars - more specifically, the Seventh Legion had worked with them. War dogs are experienced and ruthless, and only the strictest military regulations can limit their war-hungry nature. Sigismund would say that they come from a legion that has been proven to be great in the past, but facing the World Eaters who are now reshaped from red sand, Sigismund cannot yet make an evaluation.

"Were they like this before?" Borius asked.

"how?"

"So...quiet." Borius described the situation in the arena. There were more World Eaters sitting in the stands than there were warriors about to take part in the battle. "I mean, even when we are performing a duel duel duel, we will be noisier. But they are so silent, although their eyes are bright enough."

"Do you think this is a good thing?" said Sigismund, his gladiator boots digging into the sand pit as he allowed his instincts to adapt to what sand fighting entailed.

"I don't know," Borius answered honestly, following Sigismund into the sand. Ever since he underwent the Operation Astartes and left Inwit, there were countless new things for him to accept every day.

"Get involved," said Sigismund. "Join me in finding the answers."

In the center of the fighting pit, a veteran nodded to him, and the metal hammer at the end of the chain connected to his arm began to shake. He let out a deafening roar simply as a ceremonial announcement that the fight had begun.

"Coming," Borius whispered, rushing forward. Sigismund stood guard beside the young warrior, sword in hand, though he himself was considered young.

A metal ball at the end of the opponent's chain flew through the air, trying to hit Sigismund's head or chest. Sigismund dodged or parried with ease, his sword scratching the chains. He realized that tying the weapon to his hand with an iron rope was an effective option, because he could neither cut the iron rope with the steel sword that did not activate the energy field in his hand, nor could he directly cut off another Astartes who had no hatred. arms.

In the hands of the World Eaters, the iron rope embodies a contrasting free characteristic, flexibly increasing the range and strength of the warrior's attack. The long sword scraped against the armor, and a string of sparks burst out. With the sound of wind and momentum in every swing, he felt the strength and skill of the opponent.

"Careful!" cried Borius, and Sigismund thought it necessary to begin to persuade the warrior to learn to fight quietly.

The Templar turned around and used the hilt of his sword to block another veteran who was attacking from the side. Borius took the opportunity to swing his sword towards the veteran's chest. His movements were seen through by the veteran's partner. Sigismund De waved his left hand, chains intertwined with each other, and the metal ball hung in the air while shaking violently. Then, the World Eater was pushed to the ground by him.

On the other side, Borius gasped violently, his pupils constricted, because the sharp hatchet of the World Eater stopped barely near his throat.

"It's time for you to withdraw," said Sigismund, although Borius was the one still standing.

"You're laughing." Borius pointed out Sigismund's changing expression.

The young Imperial Fist briefly saluted the World Eaters on the sidelines and voluntarily exited the sand pit. More World Eaters stepped into the gravel and made gestures toward Sigismund that represented battle etiquette in their respective cultural systems.

With the emergence of the original body, all the brutal and bloody phenomena in the Twelfth Legion were quickly suppressed, but in the eyes of Sigismund, this change was not natural.

If the Primarchs of the Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors are the absolute core of the Legion, then the Lord of the Red Sands delegates too much power to his followers. He is still the core of the Legion, but this status comes more from the Legion's unsolicited love. Sigismund wanted to know how all the changes happened under these conditions.

Metal and leather collided with each other, sand and dust covered the afterimage of the blade, and everything was changing rapidly. Sigismund's sword drew a silver-white arc in the air, and every swing had precise combat meaning. His movements were quick and precise, without unnecessary hesitation. Calmness and focus help him target every opponent's weakness. His blade cuts through armor and flesh with ease, and the Templar uses exquisite skill to proactively limit his damage in the sand pit.

He felt at peace in the battle, like swimming in the icy lake of Inwit. Blood gradually fell in the sand pit, like cold rain. The air vibrated into waves, and the clanking of weapons was the same as the crisp sound of ships splitting the ice. A slight numbness crawled up his arm, telling him that he had been slightly injured.

From the corner of his eye, Sigismund saw that the number of people in the auditorium was increasing. He saw some familiar faces, and specific information was pushed back into the blank area of ​​consciousness by Sigismund in a flash. He was focused on the fight.

A few minutes later, Kahn joined the battlefield. Their attacks target all fighters suitable as combat targets simultaneously, sharing a different kind of fairness.

There was a sweet and bitter smell in Sigismund's mouth, and the sharp taste stimulated the tip of his tongue. They quickly and tacitly defeated any other warriors on the field, and this non-cooperative cooperation still produced results.

The sand pit was stained with a moist dark red until the surroundings fell silent. The last World Eater who decided to enter today also fell into the red sand and was helped out by the waiting pharmacists and comrades - or stubbornly held up by himself. The body reluctantly left.

Sigismund watched all this.

"You look like you're nostalgic," Kahn said. "Your reputation spreads far and wide: Master of the Sword, Page of Dorne, Undefeated Keeper of the Templar. But I don't really know you, Templar."

Some fragmentary black spots were spinning in front of Sigismund's eyes. He didn't count how many people he defeated today. He stood in the middle of the field, supporting himself with a steel sword.

"The Seventh Legion once fought alongside the Twelfth Legion." Sigismund said, "I saw your brother on the verge of death, and the apothecary took out the gene seed from his chest. Do you know Sai?"

"He died as a centurion with a weapon in his hand," Kahn answered. "Are you familiar with him?"

"It was a one-time thing," said Sigismund. The mechanical arm lowered from the roof landed in front of the two men with the weapon rack. Kahn inserted his blade back into the rack, and Sigismund sheathed the sword.

The two walked out of the fighting pit, neither supporting each other nor slowing down for each other. When Sigismund sat down on the bench next to the sand pit, he found that he had walked steadily all the way, and then his muscles and leg bones began to ache.

"You came here to ask for news about him?" Kahn asked, and Sigismund heard the World Eater's curiosity. As the only Templar of Rogal Dorn, and a warrior who had met once before, it was undoubtedly unbelievable that he was separated from the Primarch and stranded in Nuceria.

Of course, Sai was not the main reason why Sigismund came to the fighting pit on the World Eater frigate. He only occasionally thought about things before the Primarch's return, such as how the warhound officer wished the dying warrior immortality in battle. Sigismund was a warrior before the arrival of Rogal Dorn.

"I'm here to get the answers I need," Sigismund said. "Like Sai. Like fighting. Like the Primarch."

"What about them?" Kahn asked, nodding toward the audience.

After the gladiatorial fight, there were still some idle warriors lingering here with nothing to do. Sigismund once again dug up the names of those familiar faces from the corner of his mind.

Barabas Dantioch, the centurion of the Iron Warriors, and Azak Ahriman, the exchange member of the Sun of Thousand Dusts, were sitting together talking to each other. Ahriman was hiding his tiredness and loss. Sigismund briefly wondered why Dantioch and not Caidomo Frix had accompanied Ahriman.

"They are not the Imperial Fists," he said.

"Well, they're not under your jurisdiction." Kahn shrugged. "Did you find the answer?"

"Are you ready to form a Primarch Guard?"

Kahn was slightly surprised by Sigismund's question. He really thought that Sigismund would ask about some narratives about the battle itself, discuss the way of fighting, describe their respective combat concepts, etc. After all, the first thing this Templar did when he found them was to provoke the World Eater who had brought down the entire gladiatorial pit.

But for Kahn, talking about the Primarch was indeed a more pleasant topic.

"No," he answered. "The Primarch says he does not need our protection."

"Do you accept it?"

"Most of us love our blood fathers equally," Kahn said. "No need for a name, we are the guardians of the original body."

Sigismund's silence merged into the sounds of the clearing in the gladiatorial pit. The opening of the gladiatorial pit today has ended. Mortal servants began to remove the blood-stained red sand on the surface. Some fragments of weapons and remaining fragments of armor were removed together with the red sand, and new soft and dry sand was filled into the arena. , waiting for the next round of competition.

A few seconds later, Sigismund spoke: "The Templars are Rogal Dorn's original bodyguards, and I am the only one at the moment."

"Everyone knows that." Kahn grinned, more patient than he appeared.

"And the Primarch wants me to find a way to improve this phenomenon." Sigismund said, hearing no waves in his own voice. "Improve the initiation ceremony of the Templars, expand the quota of the Primarch Guard, and stop allowing countless loyal warriors to kneel outside the Black Templars. The Primarch considers this matter to be more important than allowing me to fight with the frontline troops."

Kahn stared at Sigismund intently, and a smile spread on his face: "You are different from what I imagined, Sigismund."

"Why?"

"You sound sad," Kahn said sharply, which surprised Sigismund rather than being stung.

"I'm upset about it, but I have no reason to be sad," Sigismund said.

"Okay, what was your original initiation ceremony?"

"Beat me."

"Who made these rules?"

"Me." He said flatly.

Kahn raised his eyebrows, and the scar in his eyebrows jumped. "You and I were even more different than you imagined, Templar. So you barge into this place, our own arena, crudely imitate our veneer of decorum, and declare war without sinking your blade into the sand. You are for Looking for a warrior worthy of being your opponent?"

Sigismund could hear the hidden displeasure in the other party's words. He thought it was inappropriate. After all, he had informed the World Eaters commanders of his application for battle when he came, and it was totally pointless to be wary now. Makes no sense.

Of course, as the only Templar and liaison to the Primarch to some extent, Sigismund was still more sociable than Rogal Dorn.

"I look forward to new opponents." Sigismund said. "An Astartes warrior who can defeat me in battle will allow me to find the truth of progress in failure, which will allow me to better complete my mission." Fighting Pledge."

For a moment Sigismund thought Kahn was going to make a move, but he didn't. The word battle oath wonderfully dispelled Kahn's desire to attack.

Sigismund continued: "And I came here to consider whether I could change the selection of the Templars into something similar to the gladiatorial pit: an exchange of skill and force. In battle, every time The battle brothers who fight to the end and are recognized by two-thirds of the existing templars can join the templars. You are the creators of the pit mode, and I am here to ask for your opinions."

"We are not creators." Kahn sneered, his voice piercing the sand, "We learned a little experience from the red sand pit in Desia City that was reserved for educational purposes. The red sand there is said to be Soaked in blood until now - Garland suggested that instead of forcing Nukeria to forget about it, it would be better to turn it from bad to good."

His expression became a little complicated: "My father didn't completely agree with this, but he was convinced. He allowed us to build our own sand pit."

Sigismund nodded.

"I hope to participate in more wrestling matches," he said. "I want to continue to observe your battle patterns."

Kahn laughed. "Dream your dream, Templar. Either get out of the audience and forget your arrogant observation, or get out of our sands, where there is only room for the blood of our brothers."

Sigismund looked at Kahn and drew his sword again.

Then, under the other person's gaze, he briefly pressed the sword to his forehead, then pointed the sword tip down and dug the blade into the sand.

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