Chapter 518: Dongge's Tactics Are 10,000 Years Ahead of the Galaxy
"How long have they been fighting?"
"Almost three hours... three hours and twelve minutes."
"Three hours, this is really weird: they have been fighting for three hours, but there is not even a drop of blood on the whole sand. People who don't know would think that there are thousands of us here watching an afternoon tea party."
"Hehe, compared to this, I am more curious about when Sigismund can get off Dantioch's body. The two of them are almost sticking together now: then again, this Imperial Fist is really skilled and daring, who would have thought he would dare to fight like this?"
Morgan's chief of guards narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, leaned on the railing, and divided his attention into two uneven halves. The larger half was used to constantly observe the actions of the three Primarchs on the platform, and the remaining little was invested in the sand to appreciate this seemingly evenly matched sword fight.
But even so, whether it was the experienced Rana, or Bayar standing next to Rana, or even Hector and others who were relatively less experienced in the distance, they gradually noticed something wrong in the twists and turns of the two sword fighters on the field, and the traces left by the spiral-like, layer-by-layer footsteps on the sand.
"Sigismund is making up for the disadvantage, and he is getting smarter and smarter."
Bayar praised in a low voice, and no one refuted his point of view. In fact, not only the Dawnbreakers, but also the think tanks who were the elites of various legions in the distance, and the battle-hardened Templars in the Imperial Fists, were also whispering because of the wonderful situation on the sand: more and more people have seen the way to win for the Imperial Fists.
This is a long process, so long that when they recall it slightly, they can clearly distinguish the context: the three-hour hard battle was divided into three stages, from Dantioch's crushing to Sigismund's advantage, everything was so natural.
"That Imperial Fist was completely beaten one-sidedly in the first hour, running from one end of the sand to the other, and then being driven back from the other end to this end, as if he would be knocked out of the field at any time."
Rana and Bayar smiled at each other. Everyone present could clearly remember the embarrassment of the Imperial Fist in the first hour: his chain saw sword could not break the Terminator Armor used by the War Blacksmith to wrap himself, but after a fierce exchange of fire, the chain saw teeth on the sword were broken into pieces.
"If he hadn't prepared a power sword in his backpack, he would have to admit defeat directly: but now think about it, he can actually hold on for an hour in such a disadvantageous situation, he is indeed a character."
Bayar nodded. His attainments in swordsmanship are higher than everyone present, so his praise for Sigismund is also stronger than his brothers: Then, the second captain's eyes moved to the other side of the sand, and his brows also frowned.
"As for Dantioch, his performance was not so good: he obviously didn't know how to use the Terminator Armor to fight. He fought vigorously at the beginning and consumed too much physical strength. When Sigismund took out his power sword and was able to leave a wound on his Terminator Armor, Dantioch actually fought very passively."
"Although he still has an advantage: the Iron Cavalry Terminator is used in short-range combat, and it is really too supermodel. Even a new recruit can achieve amazing results."
"I am more curious about another point."
Rana's eyes followed the Fist of the Empire on the field: Sigismund's figure was still so agile and swift, and he didn't look tired after fighting for several hours. Instead, he became more and more fanatical and excited. The light flashing in his pupils could even be captured by the people in the audience. It was too dazzling.
"Sigismund obviously has a better power sword, so why did he insist on using that chainsaw sword in the early stage, even until the chainsaw sword was completely broken?"
"He is just like that."
Bayar snorted.
"Have you forgotten our previous conclusion: Sigismund looks plain on the outside, but he is extremely arrogant in his bones. There are few people in the whole galaxy who are more arrogant than him, and the external manifestation is that he always likes to challenge the impossible and challenge the worst and most dangerous situations."
"For example: using a chainsaw sword to open the head of the Terminator Armor."
"This is not a good thing."
"Yes, but who can say that this kid is really good at fighting: just like what happened just now."
Rana licked his lips, and his pupils exuded a dangerous light.
"He was still being beaten in the first hour, but he found a way in the second hour. He fought back and forth with the power sword and Dantioch, who was gradually losing strength. He was also able to press forward step by step while fighting. Now he was almost sticking to Dantioch."
"In this way, Dantioch's greatsword is useless."
"Do you think Dantioch didn't find out?"
"He found out. Dantioch found out about Sigismund's plan early on, and he tried his best to stop it. Each of his attacks was more fierce than the previous one, but he still couldn't stop Sigismund's footsteps: there is still a gap between the two men's swordsmanship attainments."
"So, the situation became what we see now."
The chief steward shook his head and uttered a slightly helpless laugh. His deep blue eyes sparkled and his gaze followed the two legion champions on the field: they were so close to each other that it was almost impossible to separate them when they entered Lana.
In the third hour of the battle, the two champions still maintained their fanatical fighting spirit. Their speed was getting faster and faster, their expressions were getting more and more ferocious, and they were sweating but fighting non-stop, trying their best to squeeze out the last bit of energy in their bodies. It seemed that the next round would determine the winner.
At this time, Sigismund had shortened the distance between himself and Dantioch to less than half a meter. No matter how fiercely the war smith counterattacked, the Fist of the Empire never left this range. The dark green battle blade was almost useless at such a short distance, and the other methods of the war smith: punching, collision, or retreating to advance, were all resolved one after another by the son of Dorne.
Sigismund's swords were as dense as raindrops on a spring night, and the warsmith didn't even have time to draw the sword behind him.
But even so, Dantioch was still as unshakable as a mountain. None of the dense scratches and wounds on the Terminator Armor were fatal: instead, every time Dantioch swung a punch with great force, Sigismund had to dodge breathlessly.
But the Son of Dorn also exhausted all his offensive means. He even used the power fist that he had disdained before: the power fist left an afterimage in the air, and with one blow, bricks and stones were shattered, internal organs were injured, and a terrible dent was made in the Terminator Armor.
The Son of Dorn was even able to launch five counterattacks in the gap between the warsmith's attacks, knocking Perturabo's champion to the brink of collapse, but he could never knock him down: instead, Dantioch's effective attack could make the sound of Sigismund's bones shatter so clearly that the audience could hear it.
As a result, all defensive measures lost their effectiveness. The Imperial Fists' power swords and power fists could threaten the Terminator Armor on the Warsmith, and the Warsmith was gradually adapting to the speed of the Imperial Fists, greatly compressing Sigismund's dodging space: after several hours of mutual training, both sides finally understood each other's style thoroughly, and the brutal exchange of blood finally began.
The battle went on like this: the third hour passed in the blink of an eye, and the fourth, fifth and sixth hours followed one after another, without any pause, until everyone stopped counting time.
Until the laughter on everyone's face disappeared, until the entire arena was finally shrouded in silence, until even the three Primarchs stood up with serious expressions and saluted the two warriors on the sand.
No more defense, no more skills, and even no more dodging. Sigismund clenched his teeth. The hand holding the power fist was accurately hit by the Warsmith and was drooping weakly, and the armor on his arm was tattered like a bunch of old newspapers.
The warsmith who succeeded in the attack was also in a bad mood, because the son of Dorn used this hand to gain a fatal opportunity: his sword blade exchanged injuries and finally penetrated the armor on the throat of the Terminator, and relying on the continuous weakening in the previous few hours, this blow almost pierced through Dantioch's throat.
Although the warsmith still narrowly avoided this fatal blow, a feeling of uneasiness enveloped him: since the beginning of this sword fight, he felt his flesh exposed to the cold air for the first time, and it was the fatal throat and chest. He also found his blood flowing for the first time. It was dripping on the sand.
If he was hit again, the Terminator armor would not be able to protect him.
The warsmith realized this, his breathing became heavier, and he subconsciously looked at Sigismund: he saw that the Imperial Fist had lost most of its combat power, and the remaining half of the body was shaking, but the hand holding the hilt was as hard as iron, and there was no sign of loosening.
The warsmith even had an illusion: if he gave him another solid punch, Sigismund might be knocked to the ground by him, but Dantioch soon began to laugh at his fantasy, because he had thought so at least three hours ago.
And he was also sure that Sigismund thought so too, but his idea was completely opposite to Dantioch's: they both firmly believed that they would be the winners, but they also doubted whether they would be the losers.
No one knew what the result would be, not even Bayar and Rana could guess: the two Terra veterans and all the warriors in the audience had stopped talking and laughing, they leaned forward a little nervously, watching the two champions charge each other again and again: Logically speaking, with the level of Sigismund and Dantioch, they would not be so weak that they died after just a few hours of fighting. The only explanation was that their self-exploitation and madness for victory had exceeded the threshold of their bodies.
The two men looked as if they would both fall down in the next second, but also as if they could continue to fight in this state for several hours, or even longer: the Astartes watching the battle whispered to each other, relying on their intuition and experience to calculate the winner, but this was undoubtedly a very difficult choice.
Everyone could see that blood was flowing out of the holes on Dantioch's breastplate, and it couldn't be stopped. The warsmith's already haggard body was under the pressure of the Terminator Armor. Anyone with a discerning eye could also see that at least half of Sigismund's body was almost paralyzed. He had beaten so many holes in the Terminator Armor furiously, but he also had to bear the same reaction force.
So, who will win?
Or: Who will fall down the last step?
The most elite warriors looked at each other, but no one could make up their minds: at this time, the cause of the battle was no longer important. Both the honor of the legion and the dignity of the primarch had been defended in front of these two warriors who fought to the death.
No one would discuss the gains and losses of their own legion in front of the blood-stained sand.
On the contrary, even the most stubborn Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists have realized one thing: the swordfight is going badly. This competition, which should have been based on friendship and willpower, is now likely to devour two of the best warriors.
And this situation...
——————
【It should never happen. 】
Morgan's tone became serious. She turned around and was no longer interested in the dying struggle on the sand. Instead, she looked at her two brothers: The Lord of Avalon knew that only these two Primarchs could end this competition, not Dantioch and Sigismund who were fighting to the death.
To put it bluntly, if the Lord of the Imperial Fist and the Lord of Iron remained silent, then the only fate of the Templar and the Warsmith would be to consume each other until one of them fell, or both of them died of exhaustion: the insignificance of the Astartes to the Primarchs was nothing more than this.
[But we certainly can't let this happen, at least not in front of so many Legion representatives and thousands of Legion warriors: let the two best warriors die of exhaustion on the sand of the arena? Please! This is not the sacrificial ground of the Word Bearers Legion! ]
The Spider Queen knocked on the table, her tone was extremely tough, and her confidence was the serious expressions of the two Primarchs: Dorn, not to mention Perturabo, might not want Dantioch, whom he trusted and loved the most, to die meaninglessly for the so-called honor of the Fourth Legion.
After all, even if the Warsmith died on the smallest battlefield, it was a contribution to the Great Crusade and was worthy of pride. As for dying in a competition with another Astartes like now?
"That's meaningless."
"You're right, Morgan."
Dorn was the first to speak, and of course it was Dorn who nodded to Morgan, then looked at his Iron Brother. The proud Invert lowered his head slightly, and his voice sounded humble and polite.
"So, brother, I'm here to give you a suggestion: should we use our authority as the Primarchs in our respective legions to forcibly end this competition?"
"At present, it seems that the development of the situation has deviated from our original motivation: our descendants should fight for the legitimacy of our respective demands. This should be a competition that stops at a certain point and pursues fairness rather than loyalty. There should be no blood flowing, and no outstanding warriors should be sacrificed for it."
"No, a death like this is not even a sacrifice."
The Lord of Invert looked serious, and after he finished speaking. He and Morgan turned their eyes to the Olympians.
"..."
Perturabo was silent. He narrowed his eyes slightly and stared at the center of the field, at the mortal enemy: No one knew what the Lord of Steel was thinking now. His light gray pupils showed a kind of intoxicated expression for a moment when he was looking at the blood on the sand, but he soon broke away from it. Then, complex emotions such as hatred, thinking, touching, and taking it for granted continued to appear.
His lips were also constantly whispering along with the complexity in his pupils. This inexplicable struggle lasted for perhaps more than ten seconds. After constant hesitation and accumulation, and countless retreats when they were about to touch his lips, it finally brewed into a long sigh.
"..."
"You are right, Dorn."
Perturabo only said this sentence, and then he never spoke again. He turned around and hid all his thoughts, as if he was deliberately avoiding his blood relatives.
Behind him, the Lord of Avalon nodded without surprise, gestured to Lana who had been watching her, and the chief of the guards called the second captain next to him.
The next moment, accompanied by a cry of surprise, the champion swordsman of the second legion turned over and jumped off the audience stand.
Just as Bayar, with a serious expression, drew the double blades at his waist and rushed towards the two people who were going to fight to the death again, the Lord of Steel, who had his back to his brothers, suddenly spoke without warning and threw a fatal question to his two blood relatives.
"You say..."
"Who wins this?"