Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 95: The First Lesson

"What do you think we'll learn in our first training session?"

On the way to the designated training grounds, Farzad asked Armin beside him.

"Swords? Melee combat? Or do you think he'll teach us some ancient martial arts?"

Armin shook his head.

"It definitely won't be anything that exciting. Those kinds of training take years."

"You really are no fun, you know that?"

Farzad muttered.

Ever since witnessing Sol's astonishing swordsmanship, everyone had been full of expectations for this Chapter Instructor. However, until an hour ago, the man hadn't given them any training at all, only occasionally engaging in a 'sword duel' with Soshyan.

Of course, it was impossible for them to dictate what the Chapter Master should do, but everyone yearned to become a masterful swordsman.

It was a desire shared by any warrior—to become stronger.Soon, they entered a great hall. The lights suddenly flared on, revealing another hall within, filled with rows of workbenches and tools covered by dust sheets.

The squad dispersed in confusion. These young Space Marines wandered aimlessly around the area.

"What is this?"

Ustad asked, picking up a small jar near a stool.

"Where are the weapons? There are only pens here!"

The crowd then realized that what was covered under the dust sheets were feather-light pens and pristine white paper.

"Is this the training ground?"

Another person asked.

"Did we come to the wrong place?"

"This is your destination."

A voice rang out, and the recruits immediately snapped to attention as Soshyan emerged from the side.

"This is your training ground."

"What are we supposed to be training, sir?"

A recruit named Galvin de Fael asked.

At that moment, a figure on the other side of the room suddenly moved. The young Space Marines' attention immediately snapped to him, like a flock of birds of prey spotting their game.

"Your Chapter Master is right."

Sol said calmly, stepping out from the shadows.

"This is your training ground."

He then walked a bit closer, stopping at the edge of the table.

"You are going to learn how to write."

"Write? Of course we know how to write!"

Farzad exclaimed, picking up a pen. This was an extremely rare type of pen, its body made entirely of wood, and its tip composed of something like fine fuzz, looking entirely fragile.

"How am I supposed to defend the Imperium with this thing?"

A nervous chuckle rippled through the crowd.

Sol simply smiled. He walked up to Farzad, looking at the unruly recruit, and picked up a pen as well.

"Since you think it's so easy, why don't you write a couple of words to show me."

Farzad snorted. He took the pen and roughly dipped the entire tip into the black ink. In his hand, the pen looked like a pitiful twig.

But as he moved the pen toward the white paper, before it even landed, drops of ink had already bloomed across the pristine surface.

"Troublesome."

Farzad grumbled. He flicked the pen backward forcefully to shake off the excess ink, adding a black arc to the floor. Then, gripping the barrel, he pressed the tip against the paper.

With a snap, the pen broke cleanly in half.

"What the hell is this thing? It's not even as sturdy as an old Servitor's bones."

Annoyed, Farzad tossed the broken pen onto the floor and began to complain.

"Instructor Sol, I don't understand."

Without a word, Sol handed him a fresh pen.

"Didn't you just boast? Is Bakhsh Farzad a barbarian who doesn't even know how to write?"

"Who says I can't write!"

Farzad snatched the pen and made another attempt.

This time he was wiser. He only caught a tiny bit of ink, then carefully moved the tip toward the paper.

However, the tip of this kind of pen became exceptionally soft after absorbing ink. Combined with its incredibly light weight, it made the Space Marine, who was used to wielding heavy weapons, feel as if he were writing with a feather.

Press too hard, and he feared breaking the pen. Don't press hard enough, and his hand wouldn't stop trembling. Moreover, struggling to control the distance between the tip and the paper resulted in a large smudge of ink as soon as he touched it. It was completely impossible to write the delicate strokes of standard Terran script.

For a moment, he actually froze. Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead and cheeks, some even dripping onto the paper.

"Damn it—"

He grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, slowly dragging it along as if he were wielding a weapon.

With another snap, failing to control a sudden twitch in his hand muscles in time, he snapped the pen once again.

"Hmph!"

Farzad let out a frustrated growl and threw the broken pen onto the table in annoyance.

Obviously, he admitted defeat.

Sol scanned the room and addressed the crowd:

"As Astartes, you will wage countless battles in the long years ahead of you. But no battle will be as difficult as the one within your own minds. The Augmentation surgery granted us superhuman strength, but it did not give us a truly superhuman mind and control. The Great Rebellion is the best example of this."

The surrounding recruits nodded their heads.

"The training you received in the past taught you to utilize your strength to the maximum. This certainly can turn you into powerful weapons. But remember this: even the most powerful weapon will one day break. Therefore, I want you to become the ones who wield the weapons."

The recruits looked at each other, their eyes wide with minor confusion.

"Form a circle! Act like warriors, not a band of bandits!"

Soshyan bellowed from the side. The recruits jumped and quickly fell into formation.

At the edge of the table, Sol picked up an unused pen.

"Martial arts are not flashy tricks meant to dazzle the enemy, nor are they acrobatics to make your movements look more sophisticated. Its essence is to apply the appropriate amount of force at the right moment, and to conserve your precious stamina as much as possible."

Sol lightly grazed the tip of the pen in the ink, then scraped it gently against the edge of the inkwell. Pinching the barrel with his index finger and thumb, under everyone's astonished gaze, he wrote a line of delicate, standard Terran script on the pristine white paper.

"Controlling strength is far more complex than using it. A mighty warrior, whether holding a warhammer surpassing five hundred kilograms or a hollow twig, can wield them in the exact same manner."

With that, he gently set the pen down, resting the tip on the edge of the inkwell's lid.

"In ancient Terra, people used a specific phrase to describe this state: handling heavy weights as if they were light."

"Handling heavy weights as if they were light..."

The recruits repeatedly muttered this complex High Gothic phrase, and even Farzad was no exception.