Chapter 519: Dorne, Where Are the Gods and Demons in Gan

Chapter 519 Where are the gods and demons in Dorne?

Who won?

Bayar never considered such boring questions.

Or, when his sword blocked the desperate fight between Sigismund and Dantioch at the same time, and with a little effort in a flash, he forced the two exhausted legion champions to retreat, he could already guess who would be the final winner.

It was because the pressure and touch from the two blades were distinct: although Dantioch's slash was powerful and seemed unstoppable, Bayar only used a little skill to remove the bravery in it, and instead made the war blacksmith lose his balance and retreat backwards.

However, the simple and plain stab of the Imperial Fist forced Morgan's champion swordsman to temporarily add a little more strength, and just barely picked it off: even Bayar himself couldn't help but shed a drop of cold sweat, and he almost let the sword pierce Dantioch's flesh.

After the false alarm, the [Perfect Knight] glanced meaningfully at Sigismund, who had only taken a half step back and stood firm again: Although he had praised the talent of this [young man] in his heart, it turned out that he was still a little wrong. Sigismund was far more terrible than he expected.

Looking at the tense body at that moment, and the pair of light golden pupils that were extremely tired but still enthusiastic, Bayar had no doubt that if he pointed the blade at the son of Dorne at this time, Sigismund would not have any complaints, but would happily fight with his old predecessor again.

In fact: This guy seemed to want to do this!

What a madman...

The second captain shook his head slightly, and slowly uttered a sentence in his heart that he didn't even know whether it was a curse or admiration, then he put the two blades back into the sheath, spread his hands, and stood in the middle of the two champion warriors to show his intention to cease fire.

"The will of the three Primarchs."

He only said this sentence.

Faced with this sudden troublemaker, the two champion swordsmen did not say much. Even the more reckless and stubborn Sigismund did not start a dispute again because of the so-called [the honor of the sword fighting competition was insulted]. Even the vast majority of the audience on the stage remained silent.

Everyone is smart and knows that when the sword fight has reached this point, it is better to let a powerful third party stop it instead of letting one side fall and causing blood feuds: what's more, there is the will of the three Primarchs.

Although honor is also important, neither the Iron Warriors nor the Imperial Fists are the kind of guys who have to bleed for the so-called honor or arena rules: in fact, most of the legions are not so crazy, and most of the Astartes warriors are more rational than mortals imagine.

Of course, it's only relatively speaking.

In fact, the only two legions in the entire human empire who like to fight and resolve disputes in the Legion Arena, and who must cause death, are the original Ghouls and War Dogs. But since the return of Sanguinius and Angron, even these two legions, which are famous for blood, rarely cause death in the arena.

Needless to say, the Ninth Legion, although Sanguinius will not stop his descendants from fighting in the arena, the Archangel is absolutely opposed to this subjectively, and the Blood Angels who have always followed his lead will naturally not break the law knowingly. Assholes like Amit are only a minority after all.

As for the War Dogs, or the current World Eaters, the change on this issue has become more direct and thorough: although the Lord of Red Sand has maintained a cold attitude towards most of the legion's affairs, he is very concerned about the affairs of the arena.

According to the accounts of warriors who had visited the 12th Legion, Angron often went to watch the competitions in the Legion. He would show a very rare smile for those excellent gladiatorial performances, but at the same time, when one side of the sword fight killed the other, the Primarch would show unprecedented rage.

He absolutely, absolutely, absolutely did not want to see any fighters die in the arena. This seemed to touch upon the darkest and heaviest part of Angron's already fragmented past memories: the Primarch's attitude directly led to the transformation of the duel pit of the World Eaters Legion from the original legion duel with the highest casualty rate to the "bloodless platform" in the mouths of the warriors.

Therefore, this has instead led to a funny result: that is, the sword fight between Sigismund and Dantioch is already the bloodiest brotherly fight in the human empire. After all, if the two champion swordsmen are allowed to continue fighting, the final result will most likely be one death and one serious injury.

If nothing unexpected happens, Dantioch will definitely be the one lying in the grave, and Sigismund will be sent to the emergency room: if the Warsmith is a little luckier, he may still be able to hang on until his gene father personally builds a dreadnought for him, and the Imperial Fists only need to lie down for a few days before they can be full of energy again.

As for the probability of Dantioch winning...

"Hmm..."

Bayar thought about it and shook his head.

It can only be said that there is still a too obvious gap in strength between Dantioch and Sigismund, which cannot be made up by mentality, equipment or any tricks: the Imperial Fists are undoubtedly stronger.

Bayar didn't know whether the son of Dorne was aware of this, but judging from the outside, Sigismund's expression was no different from that of a defeated man: there was no trace of pride or joy on his resolute features, only extreme despotism and seriousness. He looked at Dantioch, nodded, and slapped the broken power sword in his hand on the breastplate to express respect.

The war blacksmith was also making the same move to the Fist of the Empire. The sound of his iron fist hitting the breastplate was even louder, and he completely ignored the blood flowing on the wound: the two champion swordsmen just looked at each other, as if this was the last round of the sword fight.

"..."

Bayar was a little helpless.

As the only witness, Bayar saw all of this. Perhaps those people in the audience would be moved by the mutual respect between the two legion warriors, but he saw those subtle little movements: the two legion champions respect each other? Of course, it's true, but under this respectful appearance, there is also their own stubbornness and final competitive spirit.

Since the Primarch has already said that they are not allowed to use sword fighting to determine the winner, then in this period of time before leaving the stage, let's see who will collapse, sit down, or even take a step back: a game must use some method to distinguish who is better and who is worse, right?

Bayar read these words from Sigismund's pupils, and then he saw the recognition in Dantioch's pupils, which made the second captain of the Dawnbreaker helpless and headache, and he also had the urge to cut them: Obviously, they admired each other's abilities and admired each other's tenacity, so why did they have to dwell on this meaningless [victory] that was not even a small profit?

What are you trying to do?

Forget Sigismund, but don't you Dantioch usually have a clear mind? When you fought with us in Avalon, you didn't care about the honor of the legion, why did you take it seriously in front of the Imperial Fists?

"Alas..."

Bayar sighed.

At this moment, he somewhat understood the helplessness of his gene mother when facing his two iron brothers: Fortunately, he didn't need to experience it for too long, because the hurried footsteps had already appeared at the edge of the sand.

The first to rush to the field was Kelvaren of the Fourth Legion, who brought his subordinates and the Iron Warriors of the Salamas descent, and the Imperial Fists rushed up from the other side of the sand a few seconds later: these people caught the champion swordsmen of their respective legions, carried them on their shoulders, and carried them down, as if the soldiers were carrying their victorious generals.

In the originally quiet audience, led by Rana, Yesugei and Ahriman, applause and cheers spread one after another. When the two champion warriors disappeared in their respective legions, the entire arena was already boiling: at this time, no one cared about victory or honor, and the silent and loud applause was the best answer to this battle and this grudge.

Perhaps this was not the best ending for any party involved in the sword fight, but for everyone, this was the most appropriate ending: thinking of this, Bayar could not help but curl his lips. He liked this ending from the bottom of his heart, with some regrets and some unwillingness, but for everyone, it was better.

This was in line with the aesthetics of the Dawnbreaker.

"It also fits mine."

With a murmur, Morgan's champion swordsman followed the tail of the Iron Warriors and left quietly. Before entering the passage, he did not forget to glance at the high platform where the three Primarchs were perched, and this glance made him frown: because he found that the atmosphere on the high platform was not harmonious.

In fact...

——————

The atmosphere was awkward.

Morgan held the wine glass, pretended to drink, blinked, and only took a moment to discover this simple fact: In fact, she didn't need to discover it at all, because this was already a familiar way of getting along between Perturabo and Dorn.

It was nothing more than Dorn's words causing Perturabo's groundless speculation, or Perturabo's words causing Dorn's shocking counterattack, and then, there was endless mutual scolding and deepening resentment: To be honest, Morgan even felt a little tired of this. Although it was indeed interesting to see these two capable guys quarreling like children, it was also very tiring to always smooth things over for them.

Tired of heart.

Morgan sighed silently.

She could already imagine what kind of sharp counterattack Dorn would make next: The Lord of Avalon, who understood this, was cold and arrogant, and no longer had the impetuous anger at the beginning of this expedition. Instead, he had a mentality of ashes after the wildfire burned out.

At this moment, she even understood Malcador, who was far away in Terra. After all, in a sense, the seal holder had to serve a bigger Perturabo, plus a bigger Dorn, or even a combination of the two.

It's scary to think about it: I don't know if that unlucky old man will ever retire in his lifetime. Even if he does, I'm afraid it will be delayed indefinitely because there is no suitable successor.

Thinking of this, the Spider Queen couldn't help but laugh. She just held the wine glass and relaxed herself for a second or two. Then, she suddenly felt that something seemed wrong?

[……]

It's too quiet.

Morgan raised his eyebrows.

It was too quiet. Almost half a minute had passed since Perturabo raised that question. Even if Dorn's hearing and reflexes were as slow as Guilliman's political sense, he should have responded. Did the Lord of Steel respond?

Why is it still quiet now?

In confusion, the Spider Queen looked in the direction of the Invites. Not only her, but Perturabo also did the same: the Lord of Steel actually felt regretful the moment he said the words, and he knew that he Saying this at this time, it somewhat meant that he was causing trouble for no reason, but it was indeed difficult for him to suppress his nature at that moment.

Or...habit?

Therefore, Perturabo could only forcefully hold up the shield in his heart, wait for Dorne's counterattack, and have another debate that he was completely untenable: If it was at the beginning of this expedition, then The Lord of Olympia could still deceive himself and force this debate to continue, but now, Perturabo knew from the bottom of his heart that what he was doing was no different from messing around.

but……

That's what he is.

Disadvantages are sometimes difficult to overcome.

The Lord of Steel sighed inwardly, and then quietly waited for Dorne's...

silence?

【……】

"..."

Why are you silent, Donne?

The Tyrant of Olympia and the Queen of Avalon looked at the Lord of Invite at the same time, and Dorn was also looking at the two of them. In addition to being as serious as ever, there was a trace of real confusion on the rock-like face. As if wondering what his blood relatives are wondering about?

And his confusion, in turn, made the two Primarchs even more confused.

Donne, what are you doing? Where are your sharp verbal counterattacks?

Morgan opened her mouth, almost spitting out the question, but her decades of strong restraint and absolute rationality successfully prevented the Lord of Avalon from being embarrassed. On the contrary, the Olympian next to him remained silent and struggling in place. After talking for a long time, he couldn't help but said one more word.

"Donne, did you hear what I just said?"

"certainly."

Dorn nodded quickly, and then fell into silence again, looking at each other with his two blood relatives as always, which only made the weird emotions in the air more and more.

He remained silent, answering his blood relatives with silence and seriousness.

At this moment, even Morgan didn't know what to say: the situation didn't seem so bad that she needed to smooth things over, but it wasn't so... beautiful?

At the very least, Perturabo's face was definitely not beautiful: when the verbal argument he expected did not appear, and what greeted him was Dorne's silence, the Lord of Steel only felt that he had inadvertently punched him. , seemed to have hit the soft cotton. Although he was relieved that no greater damage was caused, this silence also made him unhappy.

This feeling... is too strange.

How could Dorn... not speak?

How could he not fight back against himself?

Perturabo's throat rolled up and down. He had too many questions and words to pour out at once, but when he looked at the silence between the Invites and him, he realized that he actually had nothing to say.

Such an embarrassing situation turned into a cage, trapping the Olympian in place for several minutes, until the Lord of Steel snorted heavily from his gradually reddening face, then turned around and strode forward. After leaving, the eerie and tense atmosphere in the air disappeared with this action.

【so……】

Is the crisis over?

Morgan's brows twitched. Even she was a little uncomfortable with this scene. Instead, Dorn raised his hand and waved towards the Olympia brothers who left, still uttering farewell words in his mouth.

"See you later, brother."

"..."

Hearing these words, Perturabo's figure visibly froze. He was carrying his two blood relatives and seemed to be struggling for a few seconds before clenching his teeth and turning around, as if he didn't want to be there. As if losing to Dorn in this aspect, he nodded to the two of them quite seriously and waved goodbye.

"See you."

The words were harsh, just like Perturabo's hurried movements after turning around.

The Lord of Steel almost fled, and his shadow disappeared from the Spider Queen's sight in an instant, while Morgan began to think about whether to take the opportunity to follow him, or to stay and say a few words to Dorn: Anyway She and these two people had to talk privately, it was just a matter of order.

The Lord of Avalon thought for a moment, and she first looked at Perturabo who was leaving: It would take at least an hour or even more to talk to this stubborn Olympian, or to reach a consensus, right?

And Dorne...

Morgan glanced at her silent brother.

Regardless of whether it was successful or not: it should be done in five minutes at most.

Such a sharp contrast made the Gene Queen make up her mind in an instant. She completely failed to notice that in her heart, the gold content of the Invites had unknowingly surpassed that of the Olympians.

So, she took a step forward.

[So, Dorn, did you really hear Perturabo's question? 】

"certainly."

Dawn lowered his head and repeated the same words in the same tone.

"Perturabo was just asking who won the game."

[Then why don’t you respond to him? 】

Morgan continued to ask, and she was already a little excited in her heart, and she couldn't help but start looking forward to it: Could it be that after experiencing these things, her brother Invite finally understood the importance of keeping silent when necessary?

You know, most of the bad reviews of Dorne among the original body are caused by his "straightforwardness" that does not consider the occasion and atmosphere at all: a brother who can tell the truth and dares to tell the truth is certainly admirable, but a brother who always tells the truth and never shuts up will definitely make people upset, and this kind of annoyance will easily overshadow the original appreciation.

This is Dorne's advantage, but also Dorne's disadvantage. If he can make appropriate choices on this issue, give up when he should give up, and still grit his teeth and stick to it when he shouldn't give up, then he is really a person close to perfection.

Morgan couldn't help but imagine it, and then he was poured with a basin of cold water.

"Because I can't answer."

Dorn spoke bluntly.

"Or: I'm not qualified."

His tone was flat.

"If I am qualified to answer Perturabo's question, I will definitely answer it, but the fact is that I am not qualified to answer Perturabo's question at all, and naturally I am not qualified to point out the character flaws exposed in this question."

[...Okay. ]

The Lord of Avalon curled his lips: Fantasy is indeed just fantasy.

[Then why do you think you are not qualified to comment on this question? ]

Morgan continued to ask, and she realized belatedly that Dorne's words were actually very interesting: Not qualified? This is not something that Dorne, who has always been proud, would say.

Did he put down his desperate pride in this expedition?

Although this is not as great as improving the art of language, it can also be regarded as a pleasing change: The Lord of Avalon began to look forward to it a little again.

And Dorne continued to speak.

"Because I asked myself before answering Perturabo's question, I asked myself in my heart whether I didn't care about the outcome of this sword fight, and whether I could evaluate the two warriors from an objective perspective. The answer from my heart was: I can't."

"I also care about the outcome of this sword fight. I also hope that my offspring can win this battle, and even look for clues that can be regarded as victory for Sigismund in an obvious draw."

"In this sword fight, I have unfair selfishness. In this way, I am naturally not a completely fair evaluator, and I naturally cannot answer Perturabo's question about [who won]."

Dorn raised his head, and his answer made the Spider Queen silent for a while.

So...

Is this changed?

Or, has it not changed?

Morgan was a little unsure. She clearly felt that some of Dorn's personality, or habits, were different from before, but she couldn't tell exactly what was different: the Lord of the Imperial Fist seemed to still be outspoken about his inner thoughts to his brothers, and he still had pride in his bones, but the previous Dorn would never maintain the silence just now, although this silence was somewhat accidental.

[hiss...]

Or: He just learned to reflect on himself before speaking?

Not only did he see the shortcomings of others, he also began to see his own shortcomings, and learned to reflect on himself with his own shortcomings at all times, and gradually make up for these shortcomings: and silence was just that when he faced others who made the same shortcomings, he was unwilling to conceal his own shortcomings and speak out frankly, but because of the same shortcomings, he thought he was not qualified to answer?

This seems... still a kind of pride?

And it is pride among pride: a kind of self-restrained arrogance that does not even need to be restrained by others, and is completely created by his own overly noble character and overly clean moral concepts.

[...]

Then...

Is this a good thing?

Or a bad thing?

Morgan licked her lips.

She was a little unsure.

——————

But he knew that he had to make some changes for this.

On the way to the infirmary by his fighting brothers, although Sigismund closed his eyes and said nothing, a storm of thoughts swept through his mind, repeating the sword fight just now over and over again.

Victory? Honor? Or the reckless impulse when provoking this sword fight? And the comfort and victory cheers of the fighting brothers beside him? For Sigismund now, all this is irrelevant.

When he closed his eyes, he only saw one thing: he saw the opponent who was like a mountain, the nightmare that restricted him throughout the game, and the Terminator Armor that he could not completely break no matter what.

Yes, he did succeed at the last moment, but who would give him a few hours to grind tofu on the battlefield? And Dantioch was obviously not used to that armor.

If he met a guy who could master the ultimate armor of the Iron Cavalry model, how could he completely defeat such a steel demon in a short or long battle? How could he use the sword in his hand to pierce the opponent's heart?

"..."

What should he do?

Sigismund began to think.

In his heart, he longed to meet an opponent like this.