Chapter 517 Some People Are No Longer in the Jianghu, but There Are Always Legends About Them in the Jianghu.

"Attention! Attention! Dear audience friends."

"Please focus your attention to the center of the venue: this is a rare event!"

"Two sword fighters, Sigismund and Dantioch, represent their respective legions, and now they have to decide the winner: and behind these two fighters are their respective genetic fathers. A total of three original bodies, as well as battle brothers from more than a dozen legions, will be watching the whole process."

"...Seriously, everyone."

"I'm already a little worried whether the two of them will cause trouble later."

"What do you think, Lord Rana?"

Bayar, whose content was heavy but whose tone was relaxed, turned his head. His vision swept across the auditorium crowded with thousands of Astartes warriors. He saw that the wide iron cage had long been covered with large blocks of color. Divided into thousands of whispers or loud discussions, the entire arena was naturally noisy, and it was maintained at a level that was not harsh.

The surroundings were very noisy, but it did not affect the communication among the battle brothers.

Bayar could see that the iron gray symbolizing the Iron Warriors and the yellow and black representing the Imperial Fist occupied most of the area, forming two areas with clear winding paths, competing with each other, and the Dawnbreakers The usual silver-white color is centered around the love of several Morgans, and a small independent kingdom is carved out from the collision of the two legions, with some colors of other legions attached to it.

For example, Captain Orfeo of the Ultramarines and several of his warriors. The indigo on their armor injects a little life into this dull building, as well as Ahriman and his bright red armor. . As well as other warrior brothers whose names Bayar could not name, most of them took psychic courses on the Dawn Goddess. They came from the think tanks of various legions and came here specifically to join in the fun.

Although not every legion's foreign students are interested in this competition, a rough estimate shows that all the Astartes present are from twelve or thirteen different legions, plus the three Primarchs, making this What was originally an ordinary sword fight became an unprecedented spectacle.

"I can't guarantee anything else."

The head guard's eyes took over the words of the second consecutive palm in mid-air, and Rana also had a faint smile on his face. His eyes swept across the battle brothers in the distance who were waiting for the opening ceremony. They may come from the Emperor's Children, the White Scars, and the Luna Wolves.

"But one thing I can be sure of: based on my experience, Dantioch has a high probability of winning this battle or drawing it. I am not optimistic about Sigismund's performance, although he was indeed good before. Won a lot of games.”

"It looks like we're on the same page."

Bayar nodded with a smile, but his conversation with Rana quickly attracted several battle brothers behind him, especially those led by Hector and Ahriman, who obviously had a mutual interest in Rana. Totally opposite idea.

"That's not right, Senior Bayar. If Lord Dantioch can really compete with Sigismund, why should we go to all the trouble of arming him? I've been watching here. , You and I both know the strength of Sigismund, and even if we look at the whole galaxy, there are few who can beat him."

Hector's voice quickly attracted responses from everyone, including Ahriman. Bayar didn't argue with anything. He just glanced at the responders with interest: most of them were in the military. The newcomers, less than a hundred years old, were recruited after the Legion left Terra.

Also, those cool old guys are rarely interested in watching this kind of game.

"What do you mean, Hector: Do you want to bet with me?"

Bayar asked with a smile, and soon received an affirmative answer: After the two sons of Morgan each took out their lunch share for the next week as a bet, others present also followed suit. Most of them were on Hector's side. Only Rana raised his hand and tentatively supported Bayar.

And the noise here quickly attracted attention from further away, so more bets and lunch shares came in: a few minutes later, when Rana counted the [funds] in the gambling pool, he almost lost his joy. Speak up.

If Sigismund wins the sword fight, then he and Bayar will have their lunches divided among more than sixty battle brothers in the coming week: but if Dantioch wins, or If the two people on the field ended up in a draw, Lana alone would have to settle for more than thirty lunches.

Where can he find such a delicious guy to help him deal with these trophies?

Is it necessary to rely on the legendary inner ring of Dawnbreaker, which has no functions that have been explored except that it consumes a lot of food? Rana didn't have much confidence in this: after all, it was a mysterious organization that even the champion swordsman Bayar didn't know about. Although the chief guard had vaguely figured out the existence of the inner ring, he never got strong evidence. .

But he still believes that there is an organization similar to the inner circle in the Second Legion, and this organization is often called by the Mother of Genes for collective meetings: If this is not the case, then why do large amounts of food disappear regularly? In the Primarch's throne room?

Could it be that their genetic mother could eat a high-calorie meal for fifty people by herself?

The Grand Steward thought about it for a while, but he was soon brought back to reality by the noise and impatient urging in his ears, which made him realize that something was wrong: Dantioch had entered the arena for several minutes, why hadn't the sword fight started yet?

"Because of the Primarchs."

Bayar pointed to the only VIP stand in the arena, which was several meters higher than the ordinary audience seats and had a better view. The three Primarchs were entrenched there: Originally, Dorn and Perturabo were mixed with their respective descendants, but after the Lord of Avalon talked with her two blood relatives one after another, the three descendants of the Emperor rushed to the VIP stand one after another.

The good view allowed Lana to see the situation there clearly. He saw that his gene mother was saying something enthusiastically, while her two blood brothers had a mediocre reaction, but something was obviously settled: because Morgan quickly stood up, and when she waved to the manager, the alarm bell symbolizing the start of the sword fight came.

The bustling noise suddenly disappeared. Including the battle-hardened sons of Morgan, everyone held their breath and concentrated, with thousands of eyes focused on the two people in the center of the arena: if it were an ordinary Astartes warrior, just this kind of depression and attention would be enough to make him sweat.

But both Sigismund and Dantioch were obviously not ordinary people. They had ignored the interference from the outside world and devoted themselves to the sword fight in front of them. The alarm did not start the sword fight immediately. The two champion warriors lowered their center of gravity, moved slowly, and confronted each other, as if they were looking for possible loopholes and shortcomings in their opponents.

This invisible confrontation lasted for about five or six seconds, until Dantioch shook the Terminator armor on his body, raised the green battle blade that was blowing hair off hair, and then he took the first step forward.

The battle began.

——————

And it was Sigismund who took the lead in swinging the first sword.

When Dantioch drove the heavy Terminator Armor forward, the Fist of the Empire moved, and the chainsaw sword in his hand swung out, like a thunder in the midsummer night, leaving only a shadow: this blow was so fast that most people present could not even see it clearly, and only heard the sword blade hitting the belly of the Terminator Armor, which was extremely harsh.

[Beautiful. ]

When she glanced at this blow, the Lord of Avalon on the high platform sighed from the bottom of her heart, even ignoring the strange atmosphere around her: but when she looked around belatedly, she did not find anything worrying.

Whether it was Perturabo standing on Morgan's left or Dorn on the right, they just stared at the duel on the sand with a serious look: but the Lord of Steel looked normal, as if it was not his war blacksmith who had just lost, but the Invit people's face was a little wrong, as if he was worried about Sigismund's fate.

This scene made Morgan's mouth curl up. She knew what was going on: the attack of the Imperial Fist was indeed beautiful, but it was just [beautiful] and had no real use.

Rather, it was the opposite...

"This is a mistake."

Dantioch's voice was hoarse, and he taunted his opponent: the war blacksmith failed to dodge the attack. He staggered back two steps before he stood firm, but his confidence grew with the [defeat], just like Sigismund's face also showed some unwillingness and seriousness.

No one knew what happened just now better than the war blacksmith: was the attack of the Imperial Fist a test? No! This arrogant guy was going to kill his opponent in one shot. The serious injury in his abdomen was enough to make most sword fighting competitions come to an end. At least three war blacksmiths lost in this way just now.

Dantioch could even imagine Sigismund's plan in his mind. He intended to disrupt the Warsmith's center of gravity with a heavy blow to the abdomen, and then take advantage of Dantioch's instinctive bending over in pain to jam the chainsaw sword into the junction of his helmet and armor: What a brilliant idea! This guy will make the entire Fourth Legion lose face in five seconds.

But unfortunately...

The Warsmith glanced at Sigismund's slightly trembling arm and the chainsaw sword with a broken chain saw tooth: the latter underestimated the Terminator's defense too much, and even had to forcibly pull out his chainsaw sword. Although the action was still too fast for outsiders to see clearly, it only left a white mark on the Terminator's armor.

Then, it was his turn.

Dantioch moved. He pounced forward like a giant in mythology, as if he had adapted to the heaviness of the Terminator Armor. He swung the dark green giant blade in his hand vigorously and launched a violent attack: Facts have proved that decades of training in the Far Eastern Frontier are by no means meaningless. The Warsmith is sure that his current physique is more than three to five times stronger than it was decades ago. Even wearing heavy Terminator Armor, Dantioch is confident that he can maintain high-intensity combat for a long time to come.

Facing an opponent who is overwhelming, the Fist of the Empire hesitated for a moment, but ultimately did not choose to escape. He took a step back and dodged the initial attack, then wielded his finely crafted chainsaw sword, pushed away the opponent's giant blade, and looked for an opportunity to launch an offensive: The son of Dorne has never been a person who is willing to defend. Under the pressure of Dantioch, he moved around and constantly looked for a gap to launch a counterattack.

Second after second, round after round, time passed slowly in the fierce battle. Only the iron boots of both sides drew layers of ferocious growth rings on the sand: Dantioch was advancing steadily, although he Sometimes he would be pushed back two steps by Sigismund, but he would immediately take three steps forward, forcing the Imperial Fist to the edge of the arena little by little. Although the son of Dorne was helpless in front of his powerful opponent, he never could. Be willing to back down.

The giant sword swept across again, making a harsh sound in the air, but Sigismund only dodged slightly, narrowly missing his helmet with the giant sword, and then, without stopping, he focused towards He stepped forward, closing the distance, and slashed the Terminator Armor's chest with the chain sword in the blink of an eye: This was the seventeenth time he hit the War Blacksmith's chest in two minutes, but all that was left was seventeen scratches. mark.

Imperial Fist gritted his teeth. For the first time in a sword fight, he felt helpless, but his opponent did not give him more time: Dantioch did not even withdraw the blade, but turned his wrist and twisted his waist. , turned on the spot, and smashed back from the previous direction. Anyway, no matter whether it was chopping or smashing, Sigismund could not withstand it.

The son of Dorne did not rely on his strength. He stepped back to avoid the blow, but he fell right into the hands of the warsmith. Dantioch was seen powerfully controlling the giant blade in his palm, and raised it high in the second half of the slash. He stood up, then seized the gap to relax his center of gravity, simply threw his body forward, bit the retreating Sigismund, and rushed down with the raised blade, holding the hand in the center of the hilt. Then it also slid down to the end of the hilt, greatly increasing the attack distance, giving full play to the advantages of the long-handled weapon, and fell towards Sigismund who had no time to escape.

This was an execution-like action, and it was also like a heavy hammer hand slamming down his own hammer. Under the exquisite calculation of the Iron Warriors, it hit Sigismund directly in the face: the Templar almost rolled on the ground. After a circle, he narrowly avoided this fatal blow.

But he still couldn't dodge perfectly. The dark green sword blade scratched Sigismund's left shoulder armor, immediately cutting off a large piece and cutting off the beautiful Imperial Fist symbol. For two, only half a broken fist was left.

Sigismund had no time to marvel that his armor was as fragile as the Word Bearer's knees in front of this dark green giant blade, because the noise from the audience had replaced his words. He quickly adjusted his posture and continued to dodge. Behind him, there was the sound of Dantioch's weapon hitting the ground and the sound of earth and rock cracking.

The Son of Dorne seized this opportunity and quickly launched a counterattack. His sword blade stabbed one of the only vital points of the Terminator Armor, causing Dantioch, who slowly turned around, to feel the pain: In the War Blacksmith, Before he could react, Sigismund ran back without hesitation and returned to the center of the arena, turning a deaf ear to the boos of the Iron Warriors.

Unknowingly, Sigismund had put down his initial arrogance and no longer dreamed of winning with one strike: whether it was the shoulder armor with a corner cut off or the broken chain sword in his hand, They all reminded the Son of Dorne of his current predicament.

His opponent turned around and overcame the pain easily. The nameless giant blade in his palm was still as bright as new. Only the interface between the steel plate and the cable on the Terminator armor revealed a small loophole: it was a tricky one. The extreme position is enough to illustrate the superb swordsmanship of Sigismund as the attacker.

Dantioch was not affected at all. He took another step and pressed towards the Imperial Fist silently: steady, slow, heavy, yet solid as a rock, attacking like a raging wave, unstoppable, and breathtaking. Angry.

Like a wave that engulfs the world.

"Like a true Iron Warrior."

his genetic father whispered.

On the high platform, Perturabo finally spoke, with a smile on his lips. He was obviously very satisfied with the performance of his son, and looked meaningfully at the brother on the other side: Although Morgan was blocking the way between the two of them. In the middle, the Lord of Avalon's extremely powerful height obviously could not stop Dorn and Perturabo from looking at each other.

But what made the Lord of Olympia feel a little regretful was that Dorn's face did not waver at all. He just calmly witnessed the plight of his children, observed the details of the battle with interest, and even noticed Perturabo After looking away, he nodded towards his brother. In that hard tone, there was still the kind of sincerity that made the Lord of Steel a little annoying.

"Your warrior performed very well, Perturabo. He made full use of his advantages in this battle, using his strengths and avoiding his weaknesses: this is a skill that every good warrior should know, and he did it to the extreme. "

Dorn's straightforward praise made Perturabo's face become subtle. Different from the time when this expedition just started, the Lord of Steel can now confirm that when Dorn speaks like this, he is indeed speaking. Expressing his opinion from the bottom of his heart: he admired Perturabo's descendant and praised his abilities, which made the Olympian's expression somewhat softened.

"As you said, Dorne, this is just the basic skill of a warrior."

Perturabo snorted, his chest filled with pride, but the expression on his face still retained a trace of seriousness: For the Lord of Steel who always likes to be critical, although Dantioch has the advantage, it is indeed gratifying. , but after all, the War Blacksmith relied on the powerful equipment on his body instead of relying on actual close combat skills to suppress Sigismund.

Although no one would care about this problem: Perturabo would care.

So, when Dorn frowned because of Perturabo's words and pointed out the problems contained in it directly, the good mood of the Lord of Steel naturally dissipated by half: the worries caused by this imperfection also erupted with a bang.

"Not so, brother."

The Lord of Inverte shook his head.

"In fact, knowing how to play to your strengths and avoid your weaknesses is a very important skill for anyone: most people still hope to be able to surpass their opponents in every aspect, but almost no one has ever been able to do this."

"The descendants who played before you were like this. Their martial arts, attitudes, and determination to fight bravely were impeccable, but they were too eager to defeat their opponents in a range they were not good at: if they chose the same method as the current Iron Warrior, I think we would have seen the current scene dozens of minutes ago."

"...What do you mean, Dorn?"

The Lord of Steel was silent for a while, and his voice became a little bad.

"Literally."

Dorn nodded.

"Sigismund's advantage lies in his swordsmanship and experience. He has been in the arena for a long time and knows how to win in this limited space. This is an advantage that your offspring does not have: before this, your other contestants were too eager to defeat Sigismund in his strengths. They did not know that the trick to victory is to bypass the opponent's obstruction and hit the opponent's soft spot."

"And the offspring you are playing now obviously knows this well."

"..."

The Lord of Steel raised his eyebrows.

"Are you trying to say that my Dantioch is trying to avoid the real situation?"

"There's nothing wrong with avoiding the real situation."

"For a battle, or a war: a small price is always better than a big price, hitting the vital point is always better than a frontal attack, and being able to cut off the enemy's neck with one knife is always better than being in vain on the frontal battlefield: Sigismund has been making this mistake since just now, and he only now understands how to fight this battle."

Dorn turned around, and he took a while to organize his words, as if he was trying to make his words more gentle, sounding like a suggestion rather than a accusation: but for the Olympians, such words are still too harsh.

He was not angry about it, but the resentment still surged up.

"So, Dorn, do you think that my Dantioch cannot defeat your Sigismund in a one-on-one sword duel, so you choose to rely on the advantage of equipment: using cold steel to cover up the lack of flesh and blood?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Dorn also shifted his last bit of attention from the sand. The confrontation between the two primarchs had already caused whispers in the audience below: Morgan used her eyes to soothe these warriors, and she seemed to be deaf to the noise behind her.

"First of all, Perturabo, Sigismund is indeed impeccable in swordsmanship. He is better than most swordsmen in the galaxy. His shortcomings are arrogance and recklessness, not his own swordsmanship attainments: this is a fact."

"And after realizing this, the warrior under your command named Dantioch was able to quickly select tactics that Sigismund was not good at to restrain him. This is also a fact: this is a manifestation of wisdom. It does not rely on brute courage and strength but relies on playing to one's strengths and avoiding weaknesses. There is nothing shameful about this. On the contrary, we deserve praise because this is what smart people do."

"..."

Perturabo raised his head. He could feel that Dorn actually had no ill intentions, but seeing the Invit people so calmly put Sigismund's swordsmanship above the entire Fourth Legion, the Iron Lord, who was the Primarch, felt uncomfortable after all: he stiffened his neck, and although he knew that this sentence was unreasonable, he still forced a rebuttal.

"Dorn, how can you make such a rash statement here and be sure that there are no warriors in my legion who are better than Sigismund in swordsmanship: maybe they just happened not to appear here. Your swordsman did win the battle, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Indeed, there is no evidence."

Dorn nodded calmly.

"So, I am just making a guess here, Perturabo: Based on the different combat styles of the Imperial Fists and the Iron Warriors, as well as the different legion cultures derived from them, I guess that in terms of sword fighting, my legion has invested more energy than your legion, so the output is naturally richer than your legion."

"Simple conservation law: You can understand this as the different strengths of each Astartes Legion. Maybe in other aspects, your warriors are better than my warriors because they have invested more energy there."

"..."

Perturabo frowned even deeper.

"You..."

[Okay, both of you. 】

Morgan looked up and lightly interrupted Perturabo's half-hearted anger: she was sure that her Olympian brother was not in real anger at this time, but just had a slight tendency, so she could easily cut it off.

To be honest, compared to when the expedition just started, the conversation between Dorn and Perturabo was a small scene of gentle breeze and drizzle: they were at least discussing some issues normally, instead of lighting each other's gunpowder barrels.

Although sparks were still flying.

This was also the reason why the Lord of Avalon would indulge them in a little debate. After all, this kind of discussion that would not cause real fire would enhance the friendship between brothers: but Morgan still needed to be vigilant at all times, holding the detonator cord to prevent the two flammable inorganic substances from rubbing out uncontrollable sparks again.

Just like before.

Morgan laughed, her eyes casually swept across the audience, and she caught the way to make these two guys share the same hatred: so she turned around, slowly took out the wine glass and wine bottle, and muttered words of persuasion, one sentence to Dorn, and the other to Perturabo.

[As Perturabo said, this is just a game, it can't prove anything. 】

She looked at Dorn, and the Invite nodded, indicating that she had no objection.

【And as Dorn said, each of our legions does have its own advantages, just like each of our brothers is different: rather than saying it is a specialty, I think it is better to say that it is our characteristics, or characteristics. 】

Morgan smiled and looked at the Lord of Steel, uttering a neutral word that he did not understand, which made Perturabo's face ease: this kind of word without comparative color is acceptable to the Olympians, temporarily dragging him out of the vortex formed by fragile self-esteem.

【So, my brothers. 】

Cut off the detonation line casually, Morgan slowly walked to the railing, holding three wine glasses in her hands, and she directed the two brothers' eyes to the audience, to the colorful place: it was crowded with elites from various legions, including many people familiar to the two Primarchs.

[Look over there, brothers. In addition to your own descendants, there are also elites from various legions. Who can deny their strength in their own fields? But if they really go on the field, how many of them can beat the warriors under your command? ]

Morgan's palm holding the wine glass drew circles in the air, pointing out the situation.

[Look, that's Yesugei, the representative sent by the White Scars Legion, one of the most psychically gifted children I have ever seen. His character and ability are impeccable. When talking to me, his words can even represent the attitude of the Khan...]

[And the wild warrior who looks like a raw meat eater, his name is Kwa, the chief rune priest from the Space Wolves Legion. Unlike his rough appearance, his attainments in psychic power are almost unmatched. It was he who helped me improve and finally finalized the system of the twenty-six rune alphabets. 】

【And there, Zharost, the most psychically gifted child under Konrad; next to him is Volyas, the chief think tank appointed by the World Eaters; the warrior in red is called Kul, and the black-skinned one beside him is naturally Yumozhen. They are from the Word Bearers and Salamanders respectively, and they are all chief think tanks, and they are all disciples who can receive my true teachings; a little further back, standing in the corner are Israfil and Ikareth, they are both Dark Angels. Since Jonson cannot determine which of them has stronger psychic talent, I will judge and decide who will be the real chief think tank in the First Legion? 】

The Lord of Avalon was extremely proud and pointed out her students to her two blood brothers. These psychic geniuses were either the chief think tanks of the legion before coming to the Dawnbreaker, or they learned rich knowledge under Morgan's command that was enough to determine their position as chief think tanks.

But in any case, their study journey will end in a few years. As they return to their respective legions, the psychic system created by Morgan will bear fruit throughout the Great Crusade and leave the traces of the Spider Queen in each Astartes Legion.

Behind her, Dorn and Perturabo looked at each other. They did not understand the purpose of Morgan explaining these things to them, but they still listened carefully: until Morgan finished these preparations, he naturally pointed his finger at the indigo, the color that symbolizes Macragge.

[Oh, there are also Ptolemy and Promus from Macragge, the two chiefs of the huge delegation sent by our brother Guilliman, but it was not them who really negotiated with me: Did you see the silent warrior next to them? That is one of the strongest Astartes I have ever seen. 】

【His name is...】

Morgan narrowed her eyes. She had just forgotten the name of that person, thus attracting the attention of the two blood relatives. Dorn and Perturabo frowned immediately. They had never seen the face of this so-called strongest Astartes.

"Who is that?"

Perturabo asked, and Morgan just happened to think of it.

【Ah, I remember. 】

【His name is Orfeo, the champion swordsman of our brother Guilliman. 】

"Really?"

Perturabo snorted coldly.

"Why have I never heard of him?"

Aside, Dorn responded to the words of the Lord of Steel with a silent nod.

【This is normal, brothers. 】

Morgan smiled and turned to look at her two blood relatives. After many days, she finally picked up the shield named Guilliman to help her block the possible fuse: her dear Robert is so useful!

[After all, whether it is Captain Orfeo or the two think tanks next to him, they are usually very low-key: you can see that on their breastplates and shoulder armors, there are only honor symbols of the Five Hundred Worlds, because they basically will not accept honors from the Empire. ]

"..."

The air was quiet for a moment.

"Humph!"

Then, it was Perturabo's earth-shattering disdainful voice.

"What's the difference between this and betrayal?"

The Lord of Iron clenched his teeth, and his voice could not tell whether it was anger or jealousy.

"Perturabo said a little too much."

Dorn also spoke in a serious voice.

"But one thing is right, Guilliman shouldn't do this: he can refuse certain honors awarded by the Empire out of humility or even his own values, but he shouldn't spread such ideas to the Legion."

"He couldn't have been unaware of this, but he still chose to do it."

Perturabo laughed contemptuously.

"He did it on purpose."

Dorn nodded.

"Maybe, but in any case, this is a dereliction of duty as the Lord of the Legion."

"He has been dereliction of duty for a long time..."

You said one thing, I said another, while ruthlessly lashing and accusing an unsuspecting Ultramar, the gunpowder smell that had gradually spread between Dorn and Perturabo had long disappeared without a trace, leaving only the atmosphere of common hatred and hatred.

The smiling Lord of Avalon saw all this, and she apologized to Guilliman in her heart without sincerity, and then raised the wine glass in her hand: When Dorn and Perturabo looked at each other and each took a glass, the atmosphere between them reached a level of harmony that had never been seen before.

At least, no one wants to quarrel.

[Who do you think will win? ]

Morgan glanced at the arena below. Her words made the faces of the two Primarchs a little stiff, but before this question sparked a new spark, the Lord of Avalon had already raised her wine glass and set a tough tone with a soft tone.

[It doesn't matter who wins. ]

[After all, my blood relatives, this is not actually a competition between legions, it is just an ingenious celebration: celebrating that we won this expedition, right? What we can get here is the brotherhood after fighting side by side. ]

Morgan glanced at her brothers. From their still somewhat stiff faces, Morgan knew that they didn't completely agree with her words in their hearts: but it didn't matter anymore. At least, they wouldn't quarrel openly anymore. As for the inner competition and friction?

Which two Primarchs would not have such filthiness.

If you want to blame someone, blame that golden old man with social anxiety.

The Spider Queen snorted. She knew that what she got was only temporary peace, but wasn't a truce for twenty years still a truce? Who could expect her to do more?

So she raised her glass.

[To victory, both of you. ]

The Lord of Avalon made a double entendre.

"..."

The two Primarchs looked at each other and raised their glasses almost at the same time, letting the three precious glassware collide in the air with a harsh friction sound, mixed with laughter that might be sincere or just to cater to the occasion.

"To victory, to the Empire. "