Chapter 54: Arrogance

The Endurance, Dueling Cage.

Now

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The once lively duel hall was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Huznir and Corinna stood in the center of everyone's gaze, their half-drawn blades gleaming under the pale, harsh lights.

But while everyone's eyes seemed to be focused on the dueling cage, their real attention was fixed on the towering figure below.

Sitting motionless in his seat like a corpse, the primarch exhaled quietly, white smoke from the incense burner rising slowly into the air. Yellow-green toxic gas seeped from his respirator mask with his steady breathing, veiling his eyes.

Since speaking those words, Mortarion had made no further movements.

The oppressive and heavy atmosphere radiating from the primarch himself had blanketed the entire hall.

A sharp, buzzing bell rang out!

Huznir was the first to break the silence, launching a fierce attack, while Corinna took his classic defensive stance, holding his greatsword in position, waiting for the assault.

When Huznir closed the gap and slashed downward with his scythe, there was no anticipated block from Corinna. Instead, Corinna swiftly sidestepped the scythe and swung his sword toward Huznir's chest!

However, unlike the previous encounter between Corinna and Joze, Huznir quickly retracted his scythe to defend himself, shifting his weight to the right and narrowly avoiding the lethal sword strike.

With a loud clang, Huznir gripped his scythe tightly, managing to stop Corinna's slash just a hand's breadth away from his body!

Sparks flew as Corinna applied force, the ear-piercing screech of metal scraping against metal filling the dueling cage, but the scythe's pole held firmly in place, not budging an inch.

At Huznir's feet, the high-strength composite flooring even showed signs of a slight depression from the intense pressure!

Realizing his opponent's strength, Corinna was the first to break the deadlock, retreating to adjust his stance for the next round of attack and defense.

But he shouldn't have retreated.

On a regular battlefield, the scythe is an exceptionally rare polearm. It requires extraordinary skill to wield effectively.

Unlike common polearms, such as spears, the attack range of a scythe is not linear. If you use a scythe the same way you would a spear, you'd only expose yourself to enemy strikes.

To wield a scythe, you must overcome your instinctive impulses. You can't attack and defend directly. You need to make use of its curve, that reaping blade—the weapon of death itself—to bend the fight to your will.

And just now, Corinna made a mistake.

The scythe had a much longer reach than the greatsword. Retreating instinctively only gave Huznir the opportunity to fully exploit this advantage. Corinna had mistaken the scythe for a spear, thinking that defending against frontal attacks would be enough.

After all, if the opponent had been wielding a spear, all he would need to do is block straight ahead with his sword.

But this was no spear.

Huznir decisively seized upon Corinna's error, extending the scythe forward. Corinna raised his sword to block, but although the pole was in front of him, the blade of the scythe curved ominously behind him, aiming for his exposed flank!

Corinna immediately twisted his body, pulling back his sword, but just as the greatsword returned, Huznir's scythe retracted once again, shifting angles like a blooming silver flower. Moving at lightning speed, Huznir pressed his advantage and surged forward.

In an instant, Huznir closed the distance, the tip of his scythe just grazing the right side of Corinna's neck.

The battle was decided!

Arrogant fool! Huznir screamed internally. 

These old veterans never pay attention to the weapons favored by the new recruits, nor do they bother to learn the techniques that come with them. And it was precisely this arrogance that caused you to lose to him today!

After all, any rookie who picks up a scythe knows that close-quarters combat is the most challenging scenario for a scythe-wielder, and a retreating enemy is the best sight a scythe-wielder could hope for.

A loud cheer and applause erupted from the Barbarusians. Huznir raised his scythe high above his head, basking in the spotlight as his face broke into a wide, exaggerated grin.

He turned around, glancing toward Mortarion's seat. 

Although the primarch's expression remained unreadable, the suffocating atmosphere had noticeably lightened.

Compared to the smug Huznir, Corinna's face was stern. He cast Huznir one last look before silently walking off the platform. The Terra-born veterans standing in the shadows parted to let him through, then quickly closed ranks again, hiding Corinna among them.

Taking advantage of the Barbarusians' cheers and applause, several figures quietly left the duel hall.

The Barbarusian cheering continued as Mortarion extended a hand, pressing down.

At the primarch's gesture, the hall fell silent once more.

Mortarion seemed pleased with the quiet and folded his arms again.

By now, some had begun to decipher Mortarion's signal—

He was waiting for the next duel!

Some of the more sensible onlookers were beginning to sweat. 

Huznir's narrow victory had already been the best possible outcome, satisfying the Barbarusians' pride while giving the Terra-born veterans a way to save face.

Any observant Terra veteran could see that Huznir had won by capitalizing on Corinna's mistake. If the duel had dragged on, Huznir's chances of victory would have been slim.

The next fight would likely end in Huznir's defeat.

A small stir could be felt among the Terra veterans.

Finally, a burly veteran leaped onto the platform. 

The people around him had not expected this and were left in shock, unable to stop him.

This guy was a hard-headed fighter from the Seventh Company, known for repeatedly requesting assignments to execute deadly missions.

It should be noted that the Seventh Company had the fewest Terra-born veterans in the entire hall. Though officially a combat company, these veterans preferred to spend their free time polishing their weapons or meditating.

As for the Seventh Company members who frequently visited the duel hall, they tended to be the most stubborn and hot-tempered of the bunch.

"I'll go!"

The primarch remained seated, unmoving like a statue.

Mortarion had just been studying how to deal with the Titan Legions, learning their etiquette, understanding their arrival times, and where to meet them appropriately.

Ever since joining this legion, there was always something new for him to learn: a strange language, unfamiliar timelines, unknown surroundings, and those lowly parasites lurking in the shadows, waiting to laugh at his missteps.

Hmph.

Those arrogant fools.

Mortarion had seen the portraits of his so-called brothers—nothing but gold, gilded lines, and jewelry to flaunt their status. Gleaming gems and baubles.

They were all kings, princes, and lords. Mortarion, however, was not.

He knew full well how they mocked him in their hearts.

A primarch who didn't resemble the Emperor's offspring at all? A filthy peasant from an agricultural planet, with hands stained by mud?

Did they think Mortarion couldn't hear them? That he couldn't see?

Those fools, who took pride merely because they arrived sooner.

He would make them shut up.

In the first four months after joining the legion, Mortarion slept only one hour each week. He studied relentlessly, devouring knowledge as if starving.

Mortarion was growing, rapidly, and the faster the better. He pushed himself to the limit, enduring the pain, but it was simple. It was the same way he had survived under Necare's rule.

He didn't want the Barbarusians to be looked down upon, to be pitied, or scorned.

They were the liberators of their planet, warriors who overthrew tyrants with their own hands, not fools selected merely by chance.

Mortarion had only allowed himself to leave his studies briefly when Hades had awoken. He had to see Hades, as it was Hades who helped him slay the last tyrant on Barbarus.

But after that, he threw himself back into his intense studies.

Today, however, Calas Typhon had suggested Mortarion take a break, to come see what his Barbarusians did during their free time.

It had been a while since he'd seen his people, his warriors, his arms.

Mortarion agreed.

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