Chapter 286 Simulated Battlefield

"I remember how I lost last time," Rogal Dorn said, his posture as straight as ever, as if his spine were not stacked, moving joints but shaped at the beginning of creation. A straight, polished stone work.

And Perturabo knew that the spine itself was not a vertical line of ink rope. So, this is the false synaesthesia brought to them by this Primarch's usual posture.

He continued: "In the last combat training, I expended too much energy when approaching Perturabo. His medium and close range artillery fire and energy transfer shield almost exempted him from joining melee combat. Necessary. His skills focus on using the gun with maximum efficiency, and Perturabo is good at making the most of his strengths."

"So what about this time?" Phoenix waited for Rogal Dorn's turn while wiping his flaming sword with a dark purple velvet cloth.

Fulgrim's desire to join the battle in person grew when he saw his own warriors dueling against the phantom warriors of the Imperial Fists through the embodied battle display created by Perturabo.

The Emperor's Children and the Imperial Fists were the first Legions to trial the Court of Narni. Subsequent arrangements included a duel between the Salamanders and the Iron Hands, as well as a battle between the Night Ghost Court and the Iron Warriors.

If Angron's World Eaters arrive in Olympia in time, the Thousand Dust Sun, which is temporarily lodged within the Iron Warriors, will also send combatants to fight against it - considering the stability of the system, the Thousand Dust Sun will not be allowed to fight Replenish psychic energy in the process.

Therefore, it would not even be a loss of honor if the latter refused to fight.

"This time, I brought a shield," Rogal Dorn replied.

Phoenix laughed softly, "The Emperor's strong shield!"

"And I didn't expect you to choose the snowy mountain scene again." Perturabo said, divided between two things. While monitoring and maintaining the operation of the Court of Narni and the broadcast, he participated in the conversation between the two Primarchs.

Rogal Dorn's silence was too long for him. Then he replied: "That was my first defeat."

"Many more times to come, Rogue," said Perturabo.

While working together on Terra, Rogal Dorn lost to more than one person in friendly duels.

Angron didn't mention it, and he himself didn't need to say that losing to Leman Russ was not a surprise, but he had even been defeated by Magnus's brilliant red punch - "It doesn't matter, I Defeated Russ too," Magnus replied, reaching out his hand to let Rogal Dorn stand up again.

"No," Dorn paused, "I woke up in Inwit, and that was my first defeat."

"Uh, any comments?" Fulgrim tilted his head and tucked his long silver hair behind his ears, looking like he was listening intently.

"Have you ever been defeated?" Rogal Dorn asked.

Fulgrim narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to put the light reflected in his eyes into the inner pupils, "I am good at using swords, Rogal Dorn. And I have never lost in a combat challenge, but this It doesn’t mean I’ve never had setbacks.”

"Then, you no longer need me to explain my speech." Dorn nodded and returned his attention to the two screens in front of him.

The two screens share the same combat background, that is, a slightly higher plain with sparse trees, a vast sky, grassy fields spread out in the open fields, and birds will still be frightened from the tops of the trees. To ensure relative fairness, the climate here is very different from that of Inwit or Chemos.

The screen on the left belongs to the more than ten combatants sent by the Imperial Fist this time. The bright yellow warriors shuttle among the golden and purple phantom formations, as if they are in a real battlefield, meticulously completing every combat goal. The screen on the right includes the Emperor's Children, ensuring that the swift and graceful movements of these warriors are fully displayed to their genetic father.

"They're doing a great job," Perturabo said. The stream of charged particles on the cables connected to the many interfaces moved at high speed, like glowing solar wind.

"I want to thank you for your creation, Perturabo," Fulgrim said cheerfully, his fair face lighting up with a look of satisfaction. "What a great simulated battlefield!"

He witnessed with satisfaction the perfect record achieved by his company-level commanders and above, the outstanding members of the Phoenix Guard, and the Palace Blades in Perturabo's Court of Narni.

Although the data used to simulate the Imperial Fists warriors were only phantoms debugged by Perturabo, the Iron Lord undoubtedly used some unimaginable use of technology and a deep understanding of Rogal Dorn. A perfect reproduction of the combat effectiveness of the Seventh Legion.

Between the phoenix power spears in the confrontation, the power fists in the close attack, and the purple-gold light flashing from the sword grid when slashing, it is difficult to criticize every direct thrust or horizontal slash. When an Imperial Fist is knocked down, a new number will appear on the corresponding shoulder armor. Perturabo rated each phantom with points and added them up to the winner.

After the initial adaptation, it was confirmed that fighting against the Phantom would not affect the Gene Father's evaluation in front of others. The Emperor's Children realized that they did not have to deliberately avoid delivering a fatal blow to their opponents, or let this time The simulated battle ended under the phantom's offensive.

The steps of the golden and purple warriors change quickly and accurately, accompanied by the sharp flashes of bolt guns at various points. They seize those critical and unforgettable moments in the storm of crossfire and penetrate the tip of the weapon. Cracks in the armor.

He easily recognized his warrior, Julius Caesoron, whose sword was as charismatic as his poetry. Telemanon Lylas, the twin swords cut the cables of the Lightning Claw like blades. And, of course, there is Akulduna, whose fighting is as graceful and flawless as his sword itself, like a piece of music, or an irretrievable memory.

It was an unfamiliar experience to fight directly against fellow Astartes, but their first performance had already lived up to the Golden Eagles of the Emperor's Children.

"Do you think we need to continue?" asked Perturabo. "Go further?"

"Let them...?" Fulgrim said the beginning of his words.

"Okay." Rogal Dorn answered briefly and began to wait.

Fulgrim smiled helplessly, "Even if Rogal Dorn trusts you so much, I still have to ask, will this really not cause real damage?"

"Will it?" Perturabo looked at Dorn.

"During testing, your data body blew off my left hand," Roger Dorn said, raising his left hand and rotating the wrist from side to side, demonstrating its flexibility.

"Okay, let them start." Fulgrim leaned back and turned his head: "Is there any food suitable for the Primarch?"

"What about the grapes?" replied Perturabo. "They are purple."

Fulgrim raised his eyebrows: "Why do you think that everyone is the same as you two, obsessed with keeping the same color as their own legion at all times?"

"I don't think any fruit is yellow and black," said Perturabo, smiling.

"Where are the specially bred watermelons with yellow background and black stripes?" Morse asked, holding his right shoulder with his left hand, moving his arm that had become inexplicably less flexible, and walked slowly from the elevator.

"What's that?" Rogal Dorn asked.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Perturabo noticed Morse's abnormal behavior - of course, it didn't mean that the black-clothed craftsman was used to being invisible.

Fulgrim once told him in private that after finally meeting Morse himself and his unique style, he understood why Iron Warriors' Agora Market could be circulated all year round about Pei. There is a discussion on whether Turab's mentor is a fantasy created by etheric fluctuations or electromagnetic currents, or whether he truly exists in the real universe.

"Is there a simulation game going on here too?" Morse glanced from the back of the light-transmitting screen and recognized the scene on the screen. "You know there's a mortal wrestling match going on in Olympia, right?"

"Mechanically, I presided over the opening ceremony." Perturabo nodded, and then added: "I have completely repaired its skin. If you are willing to assist in reconnecting the other humanoid iron rings that were used earlier, I can also fully activate them. ”

"Continue to use your current mechanical guards." Morse put down his left hand and waved his right arm freely. "There is no need for additional extraordinary means, they are enough. I participated in the wrestling match ten minutes ago. "

"You...what?" Perturabo stopped operating the cable.

"Oh, first of all, I changed my face." Morse sat down on the chair and tapped his left leg. "My physical fitness is the average of an Olympian, and I don't use any abilities other than those of a mortal. Don't worry, I I didn’t steal the Olympian championship. After all, I have a long life and cannot compete with contemporary young people for fame.”

"Who kicked you out of the ring or pushed you to the ground?"

The look on Perturabo's face at this moment was undoubtedly a smile. Morse dared to say that he had not seen this kind of teasing from Perturabo for a long time, or he had never seen it before.

"The contestant comes from Crete, the second planet in the Setia system," Morse frowned. "That is the group champion of today's round of competition. I can't rashly take away the honor that the people under your rule deserve."

"Thirty-two strong," Rogal Dorn said.

"I thought you had learned over the years to seize the opportunity to shut up..."

"Roger Dorn means that as a non-combatant and only simulating the average physical fitness of local humans, your ability to achieve the top thirty-two results in the Olympia Star Cluster is very commendable. The results of the battle.”

"I think so too," Perturabo smiled. "Mechanically, I am still watching the battle. Ten minutes ago I was not sure whether the young man was really you, but now that he has been identified, I will Keep that memory alive. You played well, Morse."

Morse picked up a grape from the fruit plate delivered by the automatic machine. These fruits, presumably bred specifically for the primarch, are especially large, with a grape almost as large as a mortal fist.

"Do you think I'd be angry or ashamed? No, I wouldn't. Because I'm not a combatant, and I'm not denying that."

He carefully took a bite of the fruit. The taste was not bad, and the peel did not thicken as the fruit expanded. As for the leaking juices, that's a minor problem that can easily be solved with psychic powers.

"Why don't we focus more on how real warriors fight? Then I can write my next skit," Morse said, tilting his head toward the two screens. "That will be something I'm really looking forward to."

Then, he snapped his fingers, and the dark form immediately merged into the air and disappeared.

"So..." Perturabo noticed the empty tray of the automatic machine and couldn't help but take a deep breath. "Well, we also need a new plate of grapes."

——

The end. Akurduna thought.

He took a step sideways and slid forward, taking advantage of the momentum with his right hand, and slashed the blade upward from below, hitting the opponent's gauntlet and sending the opponent's grenade gun flying. He followed up with a half-turned sweep, and the top of the long and slightly curved sword immediately pressed against the phantom warrior's extremely real throat.

Akurduna exerted just the right amount of force forward, just enough to trigger the detection limit inside the Court of Narni. The phantom warrior fell to the ground, his body turned into a flowing dark green liquid, and returned to the simulated battlefield to be trampled under the grass where the turf was lifted.

The hot air swept over the tassels on the sword master's head, making them rise like the corner of an eagle's wings. It's an honor to compete with you, he said in his heart, and saw a flash of light on his right shoulder armor in the corner of his eye. How many opponents in the illusion is this? He didn't deliberately count.

He gripped the blade again, letting it slide to a neutral angle in his hand, waiting for a new opponent to suddenly appear from the forest at any time, just like he had experienced in the previous battle.

The slightly curved long sword was named Timur, and the hilt was a stallion's head, with a black and shiny tuft of horsehair ornament. The other sword was straight and narrow, engraved with ancient Greek runes of unknown meaning. It was named Athena.

For some unclear reasons, Akurduna chose the first sword as his main weapon today. Even though both swords were made by the hands of skilled craftsmen in ancient Terra.

But his opponents did not continue to appear.

Akurduna did not completely relax his vigilance, but he allowed himself to relax from his fighting posture for a while. There is a limit to tension, and a warrior should not waste energy in useless tension.

He moved forward. There were not many of his companions left, and half of them had fallen due to exhaustion in the training battle, turning into flowing green matrix and returning to reality. The rest fought with him separately, of course, following behind a master of combat, it was inevitable that their own shoulder armor scores would be reduced.

They performed well. Akurduna thought. If the Primarch was watching, they did not insult the golden eagle on the chest of the Emperor's Children.

After advancing in the forest for a while, he heard a branch breaking, crisp, slight, but not negligible.

The swordsman tensed his spirit again, and the blade reflected his helmet, where no expression could be seen.

He came.

The Imperial Fists warriors' iconic bright yellow armor and black-edged white robes covering their torsos emerged from the shadows of the trees.

Following him were several black-armored warriors, who also used clenched fists as a symbol to prove their special status in the Imperial Fists.

Templars. No doubt.

"You are real, right?" Akurduna tilted his head, and the blade drew a sharp half arc in the mud. He asked loudly.

Even without clear evidence, he knew that the warriors he faced were no longer the phantoms of Perturabo's perfect simulations - because these warriors were different. They were not perfect.

A different kind of expectation surged in his chest.

Across from him, the leading warrior stared at him across the woods. The sun fell between them, encircling the grass into a dark green circle.

The warrior raised his sword and saluted. In the blurred and simple steel, Akurduna's signature exquisite carvings extending from breastplate to armplate were reflected.

Akurduna took a breath and stepped forward.