Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

"Honestly, I hate this kind of venue."

"There are too many people around us: I always feel like someone is staring at my ass."

"That might be the Emperor's Children."

Shen smiled and won back Sevatar's complaint with a rare witty remark: Conrad's attendants were wearing ceremonial armor, and the specially made lizard-scale cloaks set off the blazing fire not far away, allowing most of his face to be covered in shadows.

But despite this, whether it was the bat wings on the death mask, or the jaw decoration and neck guard that looked like a mouth full of sharp teeth, it could warn the nearby villains how typical Shen was a Midnight Lord: the glory was always accompanied by disturbing rumors, and the bloody smell on the edge of the iron boots could not be washed away anyway.

Even in this seemingly happy party, where even Astartes and mortals can hang out like brothers, any settlement belonging to the Eighth Legion will turn into a vortex of silence at the right time: Conrad's descendants and their close mortal servants stand in the shadows that cannot be illuminated by the bonfire, silently chewing their share, or indulging in duels in the crowd, or whispering to each other in voices that others cannot hear, and the discussions behind them are creepy.

Almost all mortals and most Astartes will deliberately avoid them, especially those Nightborn who have taken off their helmets, walking in no-man's land, because their exposed faces will allow onlookers to clearly recall their names and the number of massacres surrounding these names: Sevatar, who is walking side by side with Shen, is one of the best.

Even the Dark Angels will try their best to avoid colliding with him head-on.

This prince of crows, who has already made a name for himself even in the top warrior circles of the entire galaxy, showed his once handsome but now disfigured face without any hesitation. His pale cheeks were as disturbing as a crazy moon, and wherever his dark eyes were cast, it would quickly become a dead empty space.

Sevatar seemed very satisfied with being treated this way.

With the sight as a pioneer, Sevatar and Shen moved forward quickly in the crowd to respond to the Primarch's expectations and ensure that they could catch up with the first round of the duel later: when they passed by a bonfire closest to the Spider Queen's Camelot Palace, a heart-wrenching sound of breaking through the air temporarily took away their attention.

In the deep night, Conrad's descendants could see clearly.

"Primarch."

Shen panted excitedly.

"It's Ahriman and Amit!"

"The duel between them is simply a collision of two arts of war."

The Crow Prince snorted, tentatively agreeing with the battle brother's statement. The two of them did not stop, but greedily snatched a few seconds of viewing time: the confrontation between the two on the field was in full swing, and their competition between every breath was a priceless treasure, especially for warriors.

The first thing Sevatar noticed was Ahriman, who was burning like a bright ball. He was wearing the bright red armor as always, and the traces of owls were decorated on his helmet, symbolizing his close relationship with the Second Legion: Although [Scarlet Archduke] has long become the most common name for Ahriman by outsiders, only by witnessing Ahriman's fighting posture with his own eyes can Sevatar truly understand the beauty of it.

The former chief captain of the Thousand Sons Legion was so agile in battle that even Sevatar could barely keep up with his speed: the moment Ahriman stopped to attack, the Prince of Crows could see his movements in the previous second, but apart from that, there was only a series of blurred, terrifying, crimson shadows reflected in Sevatar's pupils. After imagining the scene of himself fighting against this group of shadows, nervous sweat and excited smile bloomed together.

At this moment, he even envied Amit who could face such an attack: but the Flesh Tearer might think differently from him.

The fifth captain of the Blood Angels Legion seemed to be created by the Emperor himself, used as a mirror image of Ahriman: Ahriman held two slender single blades, close to the bright campfire, and launched countless swift and fierce attacks in silence, all of which were simple stabs.

Amit raised his Flesh Tearer Chainsword, which was almost as tall as him, and his power fist roared, covering the mixed sounds of the bonfire and the crowd, but the deafening roar was soon drowned out by the bloodthirsty roar of Amit's violent soul: Flesh Tearer was obviously half a beat slower than Ahriman, but his strength enough to split mountains and valleys made up for it.

Just as Shen said: This is a confrontation between two arts.

So, they clashed together, the clanging sound of the weapons and the grinding sound of the Flesh Tearer's teeth thirsting for blood were transmitted to Sevatar's ears together: every staggered posture was so fast that it was astonishing, and every change of action would leave the crowd's cheers far behind.

Ahriman looked for an opportunity. He circled around Amit like a lark, playing with the Blood Angel's clumsy sight. His rapier was always aimed at the connection between the steel plate and the cable, where the joint was. If he succeeded once, the Flesh Tearer would be knocked to the ground without a doubt: but every time Ahriman marched towards victory, Amit's roaring chainsaw sword would always come down with a man-eating breath.

He had no defense at all: the crazy attack was the defense of the Blood Angel.

Ahriman can win: if he is willing to die with Amit:

Faced with the choice given by the Flesh Tearer, the Crimson Duke will always instinctively retreat and patiently wait for this opportunity: they fought three times in a row in Sevatar's pupils, and Ahriman was still unscathed, but he only left a shallow sword mark on Amit's breastplate, and three hideous pits at his feet.

Until the Crow Prince left, the confrontation between the two sides continued: Shen reluctantly turned to the fourth confrontation between the two, and then he barely kept up with Sevatar's unstoppable steps amid the sluggish cheers.

"Don't you want to watch it again?"

"What's there to see."

Sevatar's feet were full of wind.

"The duel is indeed exciting: but you only need to watch for three seconds to know the final result."

"What do you mean?"

Shen became interested.

"Can you guess who will be the winner between Ahriman and Amit now?"

"Of course."

Sevatar glanced at him.

"The winner will be Ahriman: he and Amit are not opponents of the same level at all, but if it is a life-and-death duel, Amit may not have no possibility of chopping off Ahriman's head. Fighting is never absolute, even for me."

"Can you beat Amit?"

"Before you get bored, my power halberd can chop off the head of the Flesh Tearer, but Amit will also leave me something: he is still short of the most deadly thing to become a true battle master."

"What is it?"

"A numb heart."

"Numb...heart?"

Shen blinked.

"Is this what I lack?"

"No, you are different from him."

Faced with the confusion of the battle brothers, Sevatar answered without even thinking.

"You just don't have the strength to do it: stop imagining."

"..."

"What about Ahriman? Can you beat him?"

This question made the Crow Prince pause. He thought for a while: Shen Neng could see that Sevatar was thinking seriously, and countless possible life-and-death duels flashed through his mind. It was not until a moment later that he shook his head in doubt.

"I'm not sure, after all, Ahriman has not yet exerted his true power."

"You mean psychic power? Don't you know it too?"

"There is a gap between Ahriman and me in psychic power, just like the gap between Ms. Morgan and our genetic father in brain: but if he doesn't have time to use psychic power, I have a 50% chance of chopping off his head, and a 30% chance of escaping in time."

"A 20% chance of losing?"

"Just: one person's opinion."

Okay: he admitted that there must be a part of his self-boasting in this.

Sevatar raised his head, his eyes penetrated the evening curtains mottled by the bonfire and moonlight, and landed precisely on the wide stairs of Camelot Palace that were big enough to place a warlord Titan. On the top floor, several powerful auras that frightened him gathered together and talked happily with each other. They were the primarchs standing under the unified banner.

His gene father was also among them. I don’t know why he summoned them: maybe he found a good opponent for him?

Sevatar’s senses swept through the auras that were comparable to his, and the heat of the battle was provoking his heart: he located Sigismund and Akudona. The former was the opponent he wanted to challenge most tonight, especially when he heard that this favorite son of Dorne had talked about the fear tactics of the Eighth Legion more than once.

Obviously: he did not understand the value of fear.

He had an obligation to let Sigismund make up for this lack of knowledge.

Sevatar had to restrain his urge to fly up immediately, because several vigilant eyes stopped him: golden figures stood on the steps of Camelot Palace. They were the conscientious guards of the Imperial Guards, who also supervised and protected the Primarch. More than six pairs of eyes stared at Sevatar, and the oppression they brought made Prince Crow tremble with excitement.

He was sure that at least two of them could threaten him with death.

Prince Crow slowed down his pace and slowly left the Imperial Guards' alert area. Just when they passed the last defense network, Shen, who had been following his steps in a daze, as if thinking about something, suddenly looked up and looked in the direction of the Primarch.

"Sevatar, are you 80% sure that you can defeat Ahriman's psychic power?"

Prince Crow was silent. He didn't understand how Shen came to this conclusion, but he just nodded and was too lazy to explain.

"Is that so."

Shen seemed a little excited.

"Then, it's also psychic power: What is the probability that you can withstand Ms. Morgan?"

"Even one move?"

"..."

Sevatar's eyes widened, he turned his head and stared at Shen as if he was staring at a murderer. He forgot to move forward and forgot to breathe. He stared straight at Shen's hopeful gaze back at him. Obviously, he was quite confident in the Prince of Crows: and just when Sevatar didn't know how to answer...

"Tsk!"

A disdainful snort, or was it a laugh that couldn't be held back? This sound was not made by Sevatar himself, but by the guards standing next to him: the sound came from the mouths of two guards at the same time, and followed by a teasing look that made Sevatar grit his teeth.

He looked at Shen again.

＃Even these guards couldn't hold back what you said. ＃

Gnashing his teeth, Prince Crow smiled and answered his brother.

"You said Ms. Morgan..."

——————

"He can kill me in an instant."

Sigismund muttered to himself,

Then he looked at the next Primarch.

Well, this one also looks like he can kill him in an instant.

Sigismund frowned, he held Dorn's Stormfang tightly: even for the greatest Astartes warriors, this chainsaw sword is too big, and few of them have enough strength to lift it, but Sigismund can do it with difficulty.

So, it became the weapon of the Imperial Fist champion tonight, using it to win honor for the entire Seventh Legion: Sigismund had enough self-confidence, when he had to use both hands to lift the Stormfang, the Black Knight felt that even the world of Ullanor under his feet could be split in half.

As a matter of course, Sigismund's eyes were on the Primarchs. More than ten descendants of the Emperor stood in front of him, talking in groups of three or two, and waiting for their brothers who had not yet arrived: even the champions of the legions rarely had such an opportunity to see the gap between themselves and the Primarchs.

Not to mention, some of them even responded to Sigismund's gaze.

Among them, Horus was admirable, but also a little uncomfortable: this Primarch who naturally stood in the center of everyone just nodded to him in a rather doting manner after noticing Sigismund's gaze, and then smiled, as if dealing with a child.

And Abaddon was standing next to his gene father at this time. He seemed to have become the core topic of conversation among the Primarchs at some point, and he proudly raised his chest. This arrogance, coupled with the shiny Terminator armor on Abaddon, made him successfully attract Sigismund: the Luna Wolves must be on his challenge list tonight.

He hoped he wouldn't be ranked too far back.

Compared with the wolf god, Jonson was much more terrifying: Sigismund's sight was only in mid-air, and accidentally collided with the Caliban people, which brought disaster, and the son of Dorne had to lower his head. Jonson's indifferent sight made his back cold.

Beside the lion stood three world-famous champion swordsmen, but to be honest, none of them could put too much pressure on the Imperial Fists: compared with their primarchs, the pressure of these three champions was as small as fireflies.

Especially Astelan: he was sure he could chop off this guy's head.

On the contrary, Corswain's restraint was worth his challenge tonight.

And I don't know if it was because the two of them stood too close, but Morgan, standing next to Jonson, actually gave Sigismund the same feeling as the lion: even vaguely more dangerous?

Just like...

Like a hungry spider sitting in the middle of a spider web: in a battlefield as fierce as the jungle, it is hard to tell which is more deadly, the sharp teeth of a lion or the venom of a spider?

The Imperial Fist wiped away the cold sweat, and his eyes began to follow the Midnight Ghost who was closest to them: Conrad left the formation of his brothers, dragged two trays full of wine glasses that were almost overflowing, and swaggered into the Dawnbreaker team.

A short cheer and complaint broke out among the captains and Terra veterans. After it subsided, many of them reluctantly took a few wine glasses and walked towards the champions of various legions who were also waiting on the platform: including Sigismund.

The one who handed him the wine glass was a famous big man: Sigismund had heard of the martial arts of the Perfect Knight Bayar as early as the Terra Unification War. At that time, he was still an object of admiration for everyone, and now it is still the same.

But the smile has disappeared.

"Take it."

Bayar handed the wine to him. The Fist of the Empire thanked him softly, but did not drink it immediately.

Instead, he was curious about one thing.

"You and Akudona: Will you two continue your duel tonight?"

"Do you care about this?"

"I hope you can reserve a special seat at the front for me."

"It depends on the time."

Bayar took a sip of wine, as if he was tasting the supreme wine in the galaxy.

"Akudona and I have had hundreds of real sword duels, which is almost longer than our lives. Now there is no need to be obsessed with it: we decided to choose a deserted place to duel tomorrow morning, just as a statement of ancient friendship."

"Be sure to notify me."

"You can live until then."

Hearing this, Sigismund smiled and accepted the blessing.

Then, he also took a sip of wine.

"Cough... cough cough cough!"

Damn: Did someone just put a sun in his mouth?

Then, Sigismund choked, coughed painfully, and almost vomited them all out: Bayar frowned and sighed at this scene.

"What a waste, you bastard."

"You are the bastard!"

The Fist of the Empire clenched his teeth, and he wanted to throw away the remaining wine, but Bayar quickly caught it.

"What on earth is this?"

"You are not worthy of it."

The Dawnbreaker's face was serious.

"Even we rarely get to drink the wine brewed by the Mother of Genes: if she hadn't said so beforehand, you outsiders wouldn't have gotten to enjoy this kind of hospitality, not to mention the current waste of natural resources."

"Thank you so much."

The Imperial Fists grinned, and he noticed that his performance was not the most out-of-control moment among all the people present: even among the Primarchs standing farther away, there were several people who frowned because of the strength of the wine in the cup, Guilliman was one of them.

"I forgot to tell you, Bayar."

The Imperial Fists stuffed the wine back.

"We never have the habit of drinking before a real sword duel."

"Not to mention this... wine?"

Sigismund lowered his head and felt the spasm in his stomach.

"It seems that even the internal circulation system in my armor can't digest it."

"There is a bathroom in the palace: you should still remember how to use the flush toilet?"

"That's not what I meant!"

Sigismond took a deep breath and firmly stuffed the wine glass back.

"I'm afraid I can't afford this kind of thing: you can actually drink it?"

"Take it as a test."

Bayar took it, and he tasted his own cup leisurely under the admiring eyes of the Imperial Fist: Following the Perfect Knight's casual wandering sight while tasting the wine, Sigismund caught something that interested him, a dark shadow was gradually approaching.

"Is that Sevitar?"

The Black Knight's pupils lit up.

"Yes, the most promising young man."

Bayar nodded, and their eyes silently followed Sevitar's footsteps until Prince Crow stood in front of Midnight Haunter: Conrad patted the wine barrel beside him and took out a larger cup, which seemed to have left a lot for his dear sons.

"What? Is he on your challenge list tonight?"

"I'm not sure: after all, the fighting style of the Night Lords determines..."

"Determines that he is very strong."

Bayar interrupted him.

"Don't question it."

"Maybe."

The Imperial Fists did not reply, because he found that the Primarchs had already moved: with Lorgar as the last participant, slowly walking down the stairs, first Horus, then the others, all the Primarchs went to greet their brothers, and walked shoulder to shoulder to the core of the party.

In front of them, the distant crowd came to celebrate the victor's cheers: Sigismund vaguely heard that next to the bonfire closest to them, the shouts about Ahriman pierced the gradually sinking night, blending with the cheers of victory.

"The first winner has appeared."

The Imperial Fists licked his lips, and he excitedly followed the pace of the Primarchs, but Bayar did not: because he noticed that the Spider Queen actually stayed where she was, and did not walk down the steps with her blood brothers.

Bayar was about to ask, but found that the Primarch made a gesture to them, which was to signal them to let her stay where she was: despite confusion and worry, all the Dawnbreakers did not disobey the Primarch's orders, even Rana was silent and quickly disappeared in the bright lights under the steps.

Until everyone left, Morgan took a few steps and walked to the place where he could look up at the endless prosperity below the stage, then gently raised the corners of his mouth and spit out a sigh mixed with white mist in the air.

[I really didn't expect that the first one among the brothers who wanted to talk to me was you. ]

[Are you so impatient? This is completely different from my impression of you. ]

The Spider Queen's sigh and smile dissipated in the fishy breeze. After a few seconds, there were bursts of thick fog standing side by side with her. The steady breathing sound was almost unique among the Primarchs, and Morgan didn't even need to turn his head to confirm.

Because her pupils hurt a little.

[So, what do you want to talk about? ]

[Will it take a long time? 】

"No."

"I just have something important to talk to you about alone."

"It won't take long."

In the moonlight, by the bonfire.

Mortarion's hoarse voice tried to hide his true thoughts.

[Ah, so that's it. ]

Morgan nodded.

[What do you want to talk about? ]

"Talk about your future."

The Lord of Death paused, he didn't seem to want to say the next sentence.

"And... your future."