Chapter 45: A Peaceful Day, A Beating

The Endurance

Now.

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In a private training room beside the Seventh Company's training hall, Hades stood in a simple combat suit, holding a standard-issue scythe, next to a training cage.

That veteran—Hades later learned his name was Branka, the battalion commander of the Seventh Company's Second Battalion—was standing next to Hades, wearing an MK2 power armor with his arms crossed.

A low, muffled voice came from Branka's helmet, "Come find me when you defeat this combat servitor for the first time."

Wait, wasn't he supposed to be taught how to use a bolter, a meltagun, or at least some tactical phrases first?

Hades watched in disbelief as a gray hemispherical fence rose, enclosing the area, and a combat servitor, half a meter taller than Hades, descended from the top of the cage, landing with a heavy thud.

Branka, without paying any more attention to Hades, simply waved his hand, signaling him to enter the training cage.

"Combat Drill Alpha-3, medium lethality."

The cylindrical combat servitor activated, with an ominous red light flashing from the indicator on top. Its side compartments opened, revealing six chainsaw-like blades gleaming with menace.

With a crisp click, the six chainsaws roared to life simultaneously!

Hades raised his scythe, assuming a starting stance.

Now he understood. This is called a show of force, right?

Though Hades expected something like this, he was still annoyed by the blatant disregard for pretense.

The machine rushed at him, and the six chainsaw blades spun in dizzying arcs!

Hades immediately pushed off with his feet, leaping into the air, spinning halfway as his head pointed downward. 

His hands moved, and the scythe whirled with him, slashing downward in a returning arc!

Screeech—

The teeth-grinding sound of metal scraping metal erupted as sparks flew between the scythe and the servitor, dazzling white light scattering everywhere.

Hades crashed heavily onto the ground but didn't hesitate. He turned and swung his scythe again, its edge slicing through the air, aiming straight for the servitor—

"Stop!"

The scythe halted just as it touched the servitor, leaving a glaring dent in the once smooth, polished exterior.

From Hades' first strike while in mid-air, the servitor had already sustained enough damage and entered a ceasefire state, with the red light on top now turning green.

Hades turned his head, looking calmly at Branka.

A show of force, huh? Unlike most of the Death Guard, who fought in large groups, Hades had fought his way out of Xenos hordes all by himself.

But Branka still stood there, arms crossed, his face hidden by the helmet, lost in thought.

"Servitor Type-3, Combat Drill Alpha-3, maximum lethality."

The veteran's calm voice rang out again, as if Hades' small act of defiance didn't matter at all.

From the ceiling, metal straps descended. 

The previous servitor automatically moved onto them, returning to its original position.

Next, a much larger servitor, at least twice the size of the previous one, slammed down with a heavy thud.

Hades looked up at the giant, which stood about two meters taller than him.

The red light lit up.

"Defeat this one, then come find me."

Branka's dull voice came from his helmet again, with a strange mechanical tone translating the Barbarus language.

This time, the veteran seemed confident. 

After saying this, he left the private training room, leaving Hades to face the massive combat servitor alone.

It was as if Branka was certain Hades wouldn't be able to defeat this one.

Hades raised his scythe again. Who does he think he's underestimating?!

So, it's just a bigger machine, right? He could finish this in no time—

By noon that day, Hades found himself in the medical room of the Seventh Company's Second Battalion for the first time, bruised and battered.

The Apothecary seemed to be expecting him, applying medical gel to Hades' wounds, which had been torn open by chainsword blades.

These don't look like typical servitor chainsword wounds, Apothecary Leo thought as he treated the injuries.

Branka may have a bad temper, but he wouldn't throw a new recruit against a Type-3 servitor right off the bat, would he?

Leo silently wondered.

But it seemed like he'd better prepare more basic medical gel supplies. 

Since the first new recruit arrived, they had been going through wound fillers at a rapid pace.

Veterans, in their regular training, would never sustain these kinds of injuries. 

They knew how to manage their wounds within reason.

"All done," Leo said, holding up the medical tray, a few drops of blood spattering on it and slowly dripping down the side.

Hades sat gloomily on the bench. 

He hadn't expected that despite being the same model, the second servitor moved at least three times faster than the first.

It was even quicker than that strike from Necare during their fight!

Damn it, they really are underestimating me!

But what Hades didn't know was that the reason why Branka left so confidently was because there were only a few veterans in the entire Seventh Company who could easily defeat the Type-3 servitor on its highest difficulty with ease.

The rest, while they could defeat it, barely managed to win.

In Branka's mind, Hades was supposed to be stuck fighting the first servitor for at least a week.

But because of Hades' calm expression, Branka decided to make things harder for him.

In less than a week, the recruit would likely come begging for mercy.

And even if Hades somehow managed to defeat the Type-3 servitor, then Branka would have forged a true warrior!

Still, the kid seemed tough!

In Branka's logical analysis, Hades would most likely give up and return to him, humbled.

Yet, deep down, Branka also wanted to see this recruit's potential. 

After all, who wouldn't want to see the Emperor's Angels grow stronger?

Branka despised these new recruits—boastful, arrogant, thinking that their connection to their primarch made them superior.

But when it came down to it, if there was a recruit who could fight, Branka hoped they could take up the mantle and bring glory to the Imperium in the Emperor's name!

If this kid could really defeat the Type-3, he'd surely be a deadly force against xenos.

That's what Branka concluded.

Feeling that his wounds wouldn't reopen from standing, Hades shakily tried to get up and leave.

But suddenly, the door to the medical room opened.

A pale, gaunt figure, clearly a Barbarus native, walked in.

The chainsword wounds had already scabbed over and were healing quickly.

Hades' eyes widened—

Well, well, if it isn't Vorx! Finally, a fellow Barbarusian!

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