Chapter 287 Red Teeth and Sharp Claws

His face became dry and tense under the pull of the wind pressure, even though the helmet should not let him experience this useless feeling.

At this moment when his mind was fully focused on the current battle, Akurduna still did not need to think too much about the battle. This was a natural physical activity for him. He let the arc at the top of the long sword stretch out a phantom of light, and let them be skimmed off synchronously when the blade reflected the light away.

The attack of the Templar was fast and fierce. After blocking his attack, the opponent did not hesitate and immediately injected lightning speed into his counterattack, heading for the black connection part inside his arm joint. Pure, real, concise. Even if he was currently fighting with a one-handed sword, being injured in an arm was still a price that could be paid but was inconvenient to pay.

Akurduna staggered his steps and immediately flashed to the other side of the warrior, cutting a curved blow with the sword in his hand.

The opponent noticed his intention, and what he got was not a beautiful dodge, but an accurate resistance, a dangerous collision between swords. Sigismund struck back, the guard grazing his blade.

Yes, Sigismund. Under that bright yellow helmet was a warrior who had no flaws and no need to use words to identify himself. Just as Akurduna never spoke his name, but he knew clearly that his identity was obvious.

Akurduna's sword ripped into a silver brilliance, the golden guard and the dancing black horsehair tassels echoing each other in each blow. With each attack, he was like painting a flawless scroll, a scroll that would rival the most beautiful scenes in anyone's memory. He searched for the flaw in Sigismund's defense, and the sunlight in the forest fell like fragments of gold, swaying and dancing with his attack.

Sigismund's response was extremely precise, and his sword tried to tear the scroll and turn it into nothingness with every contact. His sword was just a sword. Made of metal. Shaped. Used in fighting, covered in blood, oil mist and mud. It was a weapon, and this was closer to the truth of a weapon.

The other party still didn't say a word, and the only sound he made was the sound of the wind being cut by the sword, as if the sharp blade was his only organ of sound at this moment. He was more silent than his original gene, but this sword told Akurduna that Sigismund and his original gene were the same kind of warriors, the same kind of stubborn stone.

Akurduna smiled. He was willing to immerse himself in every battle, listen to the breathing during the battle, and find the rhythm brewing in the intersection of metal and iron. In the battle, he could occasionally recall some extremely distant stories, some glimpses of his childhood life in the Turkish court.

His biological father turned his sword against the emperor in the war of unification, and Akurduna never missed the collapsed dynasty itself.

He simply placed the beauty that memories brought him into the depths of his battles, the shadows of swaying trees, the golden yarn fluttering in the dust, the pepper and the dishes spilling soup, the half-opened "Art of War" in the study, which was said to have been called the Art of War in ancient times.

Excellence in battle and all this beauty are the same thing. If he does not learn to love fighting, it will quickly turn into something boring and boring for him.

Since Akurduna accepted the teachings of the Thunder Warrior Tauriel Collins, he has never lost a battle, and has never even been injured. So Akurduna had to learn to maintain his subjective love for fighting.

He admired the smooth polished ceramic steel side of Sigismund's armor and praised the black edge of the white robe that extended down the inside of his shoulder armor.

Then, he pierced it, like a bow grazing a string, the sword cutting off half of the tunic, letting the fibers sever at the edge of the blade, the sound was subtle and imperceptible, one of the best soundtracks to battle, second only to the thunder of armor falling to the ground, and far better than any cheers from the people around.

Sigismund did not retreat, he remained silent. This silence made Akurduna feel different. Once, when warriors still fought side by side on Terra, they were not so clearly divided by blood.

The sun was moving, and the light filled the clearing in the forest more. Time and space focused here, stagnant in the intersection of swords. Sometimes there were some physical clashes, he hit Sigismund's plastron with his knee, hit the other's ankle with his heel. All of this happened so naturally, like water falling into a ditch, it came at the right time, or as accurate as sunset and sunrise.

The sword of the Emperor's Child was an extension of his body, but his body itself was born for battle.

One blow, and another. Another heavy chop. Or an elbow attack. Akurduna pushed away Sigismund's fist and felt the vibrations in his bones. A tacit understanding began to form in his heart, which was a good thing for the birth of friendship, but not for the victory or defeat of the battle. Because it meant that the opponent's fighting habits were being mastered by him.

The Templar fought well, but it was not enough. He had experienced a rhythm that was grasped enough from the continuous battles, and grasped the pulse of the ebb and flow brought by Sigismund. He adjusted his breathing and let his three lungs play their full role.

"You fight..."

He didn't finish, because Sigismund's fighting rhythm changed. He suddenly raised his sword and rushed forward, and the broken robe on his chest was torn by the wind. The sword was no longer a sharp weapon, it became an iron rod, pouring all his strength and swinging it down heavily. Akurduna was surprised by this, because it was almost equivalent to giving up the fight.

But Sigismund broke the standoff. With an absolute offensive.

His heart was beating. He tried his best to move his body to the side, knowing that he could not take the sharpness of this blow head-on. The iron stick was raised high and smashed down on his head, not the blade, but the hard sword guard, close to the side of the fist.

In this moment, Akurduna staggered, and then he realized that he had lost his balance slightly.

Fortunately, Sigismund's imbalance was more serious, and Akurduna saw his perfect victory.

He gave up correcting his posture and swung his sword straight out, cutting into the shoulder armor of Sigismund who was lower, preventing him from getting up.

But he didn't.

Sigismund grabbed his legs with his arms and simply fell to the ground, causing Akurduna to fall heavily with him and the long sword to fall out of his hand. The Imperial Fists' chief templar became another warrior in an instant, abandoning his reliance on the rules of weapon use and adopting a more primitive and direct way of fighting. His movements were rough and savage, and he was tangled with the Emperor's Child in an instant.

A long-lost emotion was born in the battle, and Akurduna gladly accepted this transformed battle. He fought back with his bare hands, locked any limbs that could be locked with his arms, and dodged Sigismund's fierce attacks.

A beast. Akurduna thought.

The beast chased after him, hitting Akurduna's defense with his fists and elbows, and the fierce attacks continued. The swordsman felt his bones creaking, but fortunately the transformation surgery ensured that this level of pain would only leave a bruise. Akurduna seized the opportunity to retrieve the long sword, turned over and suppressed Sigismund, kneeling on him, and pressed the side of the sword against the throat of the templar.

Sigismund's armour trembled under his grip, and he struggled to free his free hand, clenched it into a fist, and smashed it hard into Akultuna's jaw. The Emperor's Son beat him to the punch, smashing his eyepiece with the back of his sword, and the fragments pierced directly into the flesh of his face.

】

The next moment, the fist persisted and smashed his head to the other side. The pain penetrated deep into the facial nerves, bringing a violent vibration. Colorful spots flashed before his eyes, his ears kept buzzing, and something warm and wet slid down his lips.

Akultuna continued to press down on the longsword. Sigismund's helmet shattered. The numbers on the Emperor's Son's shoulder armor flashed. Time also stopped at this moment.

In the surrounding woods, more figures appeared one after another. They were the consciousness of the warriors who had been defeated in the previous battle. They did not leave the Court of Narni, but all gathered to watch this final battle. This surprised Akultuna.

He let go of Sigismund, letting him return to the green torrent of data and blend into the soil. Then he found himself still kneeling on the ground.

The Emperor's Child was in no hurry to stand up. He took off his helmet, licked the sweet blood, and thought about it.

He was injured.

The Templars regrouped in the woods as a new consciousness and walked towards Akurduna in the woods. He took off his helmet, and his repaired facial expression was difficult to discern, but there was undoubtedly a tranquility in his blue eyes.

"You won." Sigismund said.

"Yes," Akurduna raised the corner of his mouth and smiled. For some reason, a deep joy was entangled in his heart. "I heard that you are also from Terra?"

"The Ionus Plateau refugee camp." Sigismund replied.

"So, you are actually a gangster. I thought you were the son of a Europa officer. I love this fight, Sigismund. Red Tooth and Claw."

The Emperor's Child smiled and spat out a pool of blood from his mouth, and suddenly saw a group of particularly tall shadows appear behind the Templar.

He raised his head, swaying and unable to stand up, so he just bowed his head and saluted.

"Father." Akurduna said respectfully, still smiling.

"Well won." Fulgrim personally took his son by the hand, "A perfect fight, Akurduna."

"No, not perfect." Akurduna replied, "I bled, father."

"Oh, that was Dorn's beloved Sigismund," Fulgrim didn't care, "Dorn, Perturabo and I were guessing who would win. Perturabo lost the bet."

Akulduna shook his head slightly, he was surprised by his sudden persistence: "My fight was not perfect, father. But I won."

Fulgrim's elegant and reserved smile faded. "I see," he said quietly. "You think you can still improve, right?"

"Perhaps, Master Primarch," Akurduna said. "If a person has a certain outstanding talent, then the achievements in this field are meaningless to him. And I have discovered that the meaning of fighting is richer than I thought."

Fulgrim regained his smile and patted the sword master's shoulder affectionately. "A good discovery, Second Captain. What do you think, brothers?"

"Do you want me to praise your perfect offspring?" Perturabo asked. "In the first battle in the Court of Narni, his score exceeded the displayed limit. Because the extra round was omitted, his score is now zero."

"Sky Eagle, you can't do this, Perturabo." Phoenix pushed Perturabo's shoulder.

"Fortunately, I have temporarily repaired this malfunction." Perturabo continued, and the numbers on Akurduna's shoulder armor were rearranged to add the missing round.

Phoenix shrugged: "Thank you for your recognition of my sword master."

"After Sigismund relaxed the admission standards for the Holy Code Knights, the first warrior who met his original regulations appeared." Rogal Dorn said, "If you have any thoughts on the meaning of combat, you can discuss this issue with Sigismund later."

"Thank you, Lord Rogal Dorn." Akurduna responded readily, his smile as charming as his primarch's charm.

"I'm not perfect." Sigismund said suddenly, and he seemed to have drawn his own understanding from this conversation.

"I know." Akurduna said happily, holding out his hand. "Me too."

Sigismund paused for a few seconds and shook his hand.

A thought was brewing in Fulgrim's deepening smile.

"Can I invite Akurduna to strengthen the training for the Templars?" Sigismund turned to the Primarchs, "In this battle, our overall score is not ideal."

"Don't be like this, Imperial Fists," Fulgrim sighed absentmindedly, the boundless purple in his eyes seemed to be shaking slightly, "I was planning to let him go to the Iron Hands."

Dorn was about to speak when a finger snap suddenly sounded in the air.

"I didn't mean to disturb you..." Morse's playful voice floated over the woods, "but we have a new guest coming... or, back."

"Uh, hello." Another voice sounded in the virtual space, "Are you in the Court of Narni? It seems that it has become a successful experiment, enough to be put into more subsequent research and practical use. However, Perturabo, can you ask the Iron Wing to issue me an access pass? Your macro cannon is aiming at our ship."

The virtual world suddenly lifted, and after entering the simulation space, the Astartes who were lying on the ground stood up one by one with the phantom pain left after the battle. Akurduna saw Sigismund lying in a pile of soldiers opposite him at a glance, and he nodded to him.

"You're here faster than I thought, Magnus," Perturabo said, closing his eyes. "Passage granted, dock on deck seven."

"Because I have to bring these World Eaters here as quickly as possible," Magnus' voice continued to float, "Angron will arrive in Olympia at the same time as the Emperor, but he hopes that his offspring will not miss too many upcoming events. So I - my other adult temporary body, completed the warp navigation myself."

"Some people will be disappointed." Morse smiled, holding a roll of parchment, and appeared in the room holding the Court of Narni. "I don't think your descendants would want you to arrive in Olympia at this time, Magnus."

"Ah?" Magnus's surprise and confusion were mixed with a sense of loss, "Why?"

"Because it means they have something to do." Morse said, "For example, they will enter the Court of Narni together with the World Eaters Legion that arrived at the wrestling match on time, and get beaten up at close range in an environment where they cannot use psychic power."

"Ah?" Magnus changed his tone, "Then... I will take them to the warp to get lost for a while?"

"Come in," Perturabo said, even if you only listen to the voice, you can infer that he is smiling, "Don't keep the fortress gate waiting too long, my brother. I will arrange the next battle tomorrow for the World Eaters and the Thousand Dust Suns, and your place will be reserved in the audience."