Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 87: Soshyan's Confusion

After returning to the underground base, Soshyan never again broached the subject of what had transpired on the surface, and neither did the other warriors.

Everyone simply went about their respective duties in silence.

Occasionally, Soshyan would continue his studies—Sol acting as the Chapter's swordmaster, with Soshyan being one of his students.

The clash of swords rang out within the secluded plaza. Situated at the heart of this abandoned Aeldari settlement, it was encircled by walkways constructed of beams and pillars.

In the days of old, such a vast space would have been crammed full of warriors coming to observe the bouts. The Astartes wasted no time; they seized every opportunity to practice various martial techniques.

But now, it was completely empty. At the Chapter Master's behest, only two warriors were permitted to stand in the center of the arena dueling.

One was tall and robust, an ever-so-slightly gloomy expression sitting upon his face, his eyes black as ink.

The other was somewhat shorter than his opponent, his frame still appearing a bit lean even when clad in armor. His eyes were a profound jade-green, and a few shallow scars marked his face.

The towering duelist was already drenched in sweat after their prolonged bout of swordsmanship, whereas the one opposite him remained as calm and composed as ever.

"Hah-ah!"With a loud shout, the training swords clashed once more.

The tall warrior swung his longsword, but the other merely executed a light parry, deflecting the side-slash and pushing the blade aside.

Though the strike was stiff, it still left a mark on the blade that the latter had to acknowledge.

"Soshian Alexei, your skill has regressed."

The shorter of the two said, his tone carrying a sense of formal and polite mockery.

"Your sword is entangled by your thoughts; it has grown slow, and it has grown dull."

"I do not think so, Instructor Sol."

Soshyan responded, his tone carrying the exact same sense of formality.

"But if you are tired, we can rest for a moment."

Soshyan shook his head, rolled his shoulders, and lunged forward into a sudden assault.

Sol gave a slight nod, expressing his appreciation for the attack, before responding with a flurry of slashes and thrusts—techniques from the Palatine Blades' swordsmanship.

It appeared that his exterior and footwork were extremely relaxed, yet his opponent had already darted swiftly across the plaza.

At the exact moment Soshyan's sword swung out, Sol suddenly sidestepped. The other's blade instantly struck the stone floor with a dull clang.

Just as Soshyan attempted to recover, Sol launched his counter-assault.

"You fight exactly like by the book."

Sol whipped Soshyan across the waist with a sword strike, knocking him back several steps. Then, as Soshyan raised his arm, Sol delivered another strike to his sword-bearing wrist, nearly disarming him.

If these were live weapons, Soshyan would likely have already lost his combat capability.

Ultimately, it wasn't until Sol swung a third time that Soshyan's weapon finally made contact with his opponent's sword.

As their weapons clashed and rang out, the young Chapter Master panted and said:

"That's not by the book; those are the lessons forged from the blood of countless martyrs."

"But that doesn't prevent me from predicting your moves. You should learn how to think more flexibly. Just as I am teaching you now: use your opponent's strengths against them."

"The Astartes did not need such tricks to achieve victory in a multitude of great wars!"

Soshyan displayed his extremely stubborn and obdurate side at this moment.

"We rely on our skill, courage, and resolve, just as all noble warriors should. When the time comes—"

Seeing him like this, a trace of visible irritation surfaced on Sol's face. He unleashed a flurry of strikes that interrupted his sentence, nearly knocking Soshyan's weapon from his hands, and even landing a blow on the Chapter Master's face.

"We will let the Emperor's fury burn!"

Soshyan threw all caution to the wind and charged forward, his moves wide and sweeping—a posture of exchanging life for life.

"Is that so."

Sol quickly retreated several steps, then abruptly drew another training sword from behind his waist.

Soshyan halted his steps. He noted that while the other's face remained composed and cold, his eyes already indicated he was weary of this bout.

Wielding twin swords or blades was by no means an easy feat, and becoming a top-tier martial artist using them was as difficult as ascending to the heavens.

Many Astartes considered it to be nothing but flashy posturing, preferring to use a single-handed weapon, a single-handed weapon paired with a shield, or simply a powerful two-handed weapon.

Often, only young warriors who valued ostentatious appearances, or brutes who delighted in intimidating their opponents, would choose to dual-wield.

Farzad was a prime example of the latter.

In fact, Sol's assessment of Farzad was that he was an overconfident fool.

However, there were a very select few—those of extreme talent—who could turn this impractical technique into art.

As a member of the Palatine Blades, the most elite force of the Third Legion, Saul Tarvitz just so happened to be one of this tiny handful.

"Unfortunately, to me, you look like a rabid dog right now."

The calm words had yet to fade from his ears before Soshyan felt a sharp gust of wind slam into his face.

What followed was an endless offensive akin to a stormy sea. The clashing of blades erupted in massive showers of sparks, illuminating the space around them.

Faced with this utterly unyielding assault, Soshyan's only recourse was to give his all into perfectly executing every parry.

"Why are you covering your head like a coward?"

Sol's cold voice slithered into Soshyan's mind like a venomous snake.

The complex emotions that had long been gnawing at his heart like vipers finally burst forth.

"I am not!"

Soshyan whipped his arm, the training sword carving a Z-shape in the air ahead. Parrying his opponent's twin swords, he drove straight for Sol's chest.

"A coward!!"

When his sword was a mere fist's breadth from Sol's chest, it was caught by the twin swords.

In the next second, accompanied by a powerful strike, Soshyan's sword was knocked flying from his hands, and Sol's swords slashed down like roaring thunder.

One blade struck flat against his chest, the other against his right knee, flipping him directly onto the ground.

Soshyan crashed heavily onto his back, the massive resounding thud resembling a brick wall being toppled.

He didn't stand up; he simply stared wide-eyed at the dark stone dome.

Footsteps approached, and then Sol sat down beside him, resting his crossed twin swords across his knees.

"Are you wavering?"

The man's tone was drawn out, like a chanting poet.

"Company Commander Sol, I don't understand... Our mission is to protect humanity, but if humanity itself is already slaughtering one another, how are we supposed to conduct ourselves?"

"Your question is fraught with rebellious implications."

Sol paused for a moment.

"You are quite different from others, Soshian Alexei."

The ten-thousand-year veteran let out a sigh. It was the first time Soshyan had ever heard the other sigh, and it was incredibly heavy.

(End of Chapter)