Chapter 179 Comrades

Sigismund felt the chains tightening on his hands. After removing the armor, these cold and loyal chains were wrapped directly around his bare arms, which made him feel unfamiliar.

His arms were stiff for a while until he adjusted to the connection between the blade and the chain, and felt the further connection between the long sword and the flesh. This was the advice given to him by the World Eater Karn. He took it and tried it.

His companion, a young warrior named Bolius, held his sword tightly, ready for the upcoming battle.

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

Two veterans of the World Eaters stood on the other side of the fighting pit, with simple light armor made of metal and leather wrapped around their torsos, and lightning tattoos extending from the veterans' arms.

Kahn took off his armor, stretched his limbs, and like many other battle brothers, he paced in the sand while looking across the gladiatorial pit, sizing up his cousin who had come to challenge him like a hunter.

As early as the Unification War, Sigismund knew about the War Hounds - more precisely, the Seventh Legion had cooperated with them. The War Hounds were experienced and cruel, and only the most stringent military regulations could limit their thirst for war. Sigismund would say that they came from a legion that had proven its past greatness, but facing the World Eaters that were now reshaped by the red sand, Sigismund could not give an evaluation.

"Were they like this before?" Bolius asked.

"How?"

"So... quiet." Bolius described the situation in the arena. Compared with the warriors who were about to participate in the battle below, there were more World Eaters sitting in the stands. "I mean, even when we in Inwit were doing duel shows, we would be noisier. But they are so silent, although their eyes are bright enough."

"Do you think this is a good thing?" Sigismund said, stepping on the sand pit with his short boots specially used for gladiatorial combat, and letting his instincts adapt to everything needed for fighting in the sand.

"I don't know." Bolius answered honestly and followed Sigismund into the sand. Since he underwent the Astartes operation and left Inwit, every day there are countless new things for him to accept.

"Participate in it." Sigismund said, "Find the answer with me."

In the center of the gladiatorial pit, an old soldier nodded to him, and the metal chain hammer at the end of the chain connected to his arm began to shake. He let out a deafening roar, just as a courtesy to announce the start of the gladiatorial combat.

"Here it comes." Bolius whispered, rushing forward. Sigismund stood guard beside the young warrior with a sword, although he himself could be called young.

The metal ball at the end of the opponent's chain attacked in the air, trying to hit Sigismund's head or chest. Sigismund easily dodged or parried, and the sword scratched the chain. He realized that tying the weapon to his hand with an iron chain was an effective option, because he could neither cut the iron chain with the steel sword in his hand without the energy field turned on, nor directly cut off the arm of another Astartes who had no grudge.

The iron chain showed a contrasting free nature in the hands of the World Eater, flexibly increasing the range and strength of the warrior's attack. The long sword scraped across the armor, a string of sparks burst out, and in every swing with the sound of wind and momentum, he felt the opponent's strength and skills.

"Be careful!" Bolius shouted, and Sigismund felt that he needed to start persuading 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. Boris took the opportunity to swing his sword at the veteran's chest. His movements were seen through by the veteran's partner. Sigismund swung his left hand, and the chains were entangled with each other, and the metal ball was suspended in the air in the violent shaking. Then, the World Eater was pinned to the ground by him.

On the other side, Boris gasped violently, his pupils constricted, because the sharp axe of the World Eater stopped just at his throat.

"You should leave the field." Sigismund said, even though Boris was the one who was still standing.

"You are laughing." Boris pointed out Sigismund's changing expression.

The young Imperial Fist saluted briefly to the World Eater on the sidelines and took the initiative to leave the sand pit. More World Eaters stepped into the gravel and made gestures to Sigismund that expressed combat etiquette in their respective cultural systems.

With the appearance of the Primarch, the brutality and bloodshed in the XII Legion was quickly suppressed, but in Sigismund's eyes, this change was not natural.

If the Primarchs of the Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors were the absolute core of the Legion, then the Lord of the Red Sands delegated too much power to his followers. He was still the core of the Legion, but this status came more from the love that the Legion offered. Sigismund wanted to know how all the changes happened under such conditions.

Metal and leather collided with each other, sand and dust covered the afterimages of the blades, and everything was changing rapidly. Sigismund's sword drew a silver-white arc in the air, and every swing had precise combat significance. His movements were swift and accurate, without any extra hesitation. Calmness and concentration helped him lock on to the weaknesses of every opponent. His blade could easily cut through armor and flesh, and the Templar actively limited his damage in the sand pit with exquisite skills.

He felt calm in the battle, like swimming in the frozen lake of Invert. Blood gradually fell from the sand pit, like cold rain. The air vibrated with waves, and the clinking of weapons and the crisp sound of ships breaking through the ice were exactly the same. A slight numbness climbed up his arm, telling him that he was slightly injured.

In the corner of his eye, Sigismund saw that the number of people in the audience was increasing. He saw some familiar faces, and the specific information was pressed back into the blank area of ​​​​Sigismund's consciousness in an instant. He focused on the battle.

A few minutes later, Kahn joined the battlefield. Their attacks were aimed at all warriors who were suitable as targets of the battle at the same time, sharing a different kind of fairness.

A bitter smell rose in Sigismund's mouth, and the sharp taste stimulated the tip of his tongue. They quickly and tacitly defeated any other warriors in the field, and this uncoordinated cooperation still produced an effect.

The sand pit was stained with a wet dark red, until the surroundings fell into silence, and the last World Eater who decided to enter the field today also fell in the red sand, and was helped off the field by the waiting apothecary and comrades - or stubbornly supported himself and barely left.

Sigismund watched all this.

"You look like you are missing something." Kahn said. "Your reputation has spread far and wide: a master of swordsmanship, a close attendant of Dorne, an invincible guardian of the temple. But I don't really know you, Templar."

Some fragmented black spots spun in front of Sigismund's eyes, and he didn't count how many people he had defeated today. He stood in the field, supporting his body with a steel sword.

"The Seventh Legion once fought side by side with 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, holding a weapon in his hand when he died." Kahn replied. "Are you familiar with him?"

"Only once." Sigismund said. A mechanical arm lowered from the roof with a weapon rack fell in front of the two men. Khârn put his blade back into the rack, and Sigismund sheathed his sword.

The two walked out of the fighting pit without supporting each other or slowing down for each other. When Sigismund sat down on a bench beside the sand pit, he found that he walked steadily all the way, and then his muscles and leg bones began to ache.

"Are you here to ask for news about him?" Khârn asked. Sigismund heard the curiosity of the World Eater. As the only templar of Rogal Dorn, it was undoubtedly incredible for a warrior who had met him once in the past to part with the Primarch and stay in Nuceria.

Of course, Sai was not the main reason why Sigismund came to the fighting pit on the World Eaters frigate. He just occasionally thought about some things before the Primarch returned, such as how the Warhound officer wished the dying warrior eternal life in battle. Sigismund was a warrior before Rogal Dorn came.

"I came here to seek the many answers I needed," Sigismund said. "Like races. Like battles. Like the Primarchs."

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

After the fight, there were still some idle warriors lingering here, and Sigismund dug out the names of those familiar faces from the corner of his mind again.

Barabas Dantioch, the centurion of the Iron Warriors, and Azak Ahriman, a member of the communication of the Thousand Dust Suns, were sitting together talking to each other, and Ahriman was hiding his fatigue and loss. Sigismund briefly wondered why it was Dantioch and not Kedomo Fricks who accompanied Ahriman.

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

"Well, they are not under your jurisdiction." Kahn shrugged. "Have you found the answer?"

"Are you ready to form a Primarch Guard?"

Kahn was slightly surprised by Sigismund's question. He did think 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 the Templar did when he found them was to overthrow the World Eater who had overthrown the entire gladiatorial pit.

But for Kahn, discussing the Primarch was indeed a more pleasant topic for him.

"No." He replied, "The Primarch said he did not need our protection."

"Do you accept?"

"Most of us equally respect our blood father." Kahn said. "No need for a title, we are the guardians of the Primarch."

Sigismund's silence blended into the sound of cleaning the venue in the gladiatorial pit. Today's gladiatorial pit has been closed, and mortal servants began to remove the blood-stained red sand on the surface. Some fragments of weapons and the remaining debris of armor were cleared away with the red sand, and new soft and dry sand was filled into the venue, waiting for the next round of competition.

After a few seconds, Sigismund spoke: "The Templars are Rogal Dorn's Primarch's guards, and I am the only one at the moment."

"Everyone knows this." Kahn grinned, he was more patient than he looked.

"And the Primarch wants me to find a way to improve this phenomenon." Sigismund said, hearing the calmness in his voice. "Improve the initiation ceremony of the Templars, expand the number of Primarch's guards, and stop letting countless loyal warriors kneel outside the Black Temple. The Primarch thinks this is more important than letting me fight with the frontline army."

Kahn stared at Sigismund intently, and a smile spread on his face: "You are not what I thought, 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 barged into this place, our own arena, crudely imitated a semblance of our decorum, and declared war without sinking your blade into the sand. You are here 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.

Forbidden Army kittens are on the shelves today, support meow