Trial of Combat

Jacob leaned forward, his expression grim. "The Chapter is no ordinary fighting group. Each chapter has its own traditions, and we're no exception. One of ours—call it a tradition, or a bad habit—is that we don't accept weakness. Our corps prides itself on being the strongest, a band of knights unmatched across the stars. Every incoming master must prove their strength through combat. It's a rite of passage."

Kayvaan's expression remained calm. "What kind of combat are we talking about?"

"A simple hand-to-hand battle," Jacob explained. "No power armor, only cold weapons. There are no rules—only strength and survival. As the incoming master, you'll face three Space Marines at once." 

Jacob stared intently at Kayvaan's face, studying every detail. He wanted to catch a glimpse of something—maybe anger sparked by his own words. It would only make sense for Kayvaan to be furious. After all, here was a warrior who had suffered so deeply and had finally fallen on a grand, legendary battlefield where he deserved to die with honor. Instead, the empire chose to let him live. When he woke after sleeping for nine thousand years, everything had changed. The empire no longer fully trusted him. Everyone he once knew had long since passed into memory, leaving him with nothing familiar. What would he feel now, looking at a world so alien to him?

Of course, he would return to the only place he truly knew—the battlefield. Even after all these ages, war remained war. The smoke, the killing, and the endless struggle hadn't evolved in nine millennia. Amid all the unfamiliar faces and towering buildings of this new era, only the battlefield stayed true to what he remembered. If Kayvaan were truly himself, he should have been seething, eager to reclaim some measure of glory. He should have yearned to lead an army back into the vast star-sea and plunge straight into those hellish warzones again, ruthlessly cutting down the empire's enemies. That was the natural order, the cycle he once lived by.

But he couldn't. Jacob knew that the words he had just spoken had struck hard, reminding Kayvaan of what he could no longer do. Yet the young-looking soldier showed no trace of the anger Jacob expected. There were no tears, no outbursts, no hysterics. Kayvaan didn't break down, didn't plead, and didn't even wear a forced smile. None of the reactions Jacob had anticipated came to pass.

Instead, Kayvaan was simply stunned for a moment. Then he chuckled quietly.

They stood together in a small courtyard scented by the cozy blend of black tea and coffee. Warm sunlight fell gently on them, but Jacob suddenly felt an odd chill creeping up his spine, as if a subtle coldness rose from the depths of his heart. He found himself wondering if it was fear or some ominous sense of danger. He recalled the stories of "the crow's smile," a legendary expression rumored to appear on the faces of those carrying crow genes. Could it be that he had made a horrible misjudgment about this young man?

Before Jacob could sort through his thoughts, Kayvaan spoke up: "It's actually a great tradition. I appreciate the idea behind it. It's about pride—our pride as Space Marines. Such a force shouldn't be led by someone weak. Whoever leads must naturally prove their courage and strength."

This threw Jacob off. There was no protest or strong objection. Instead, Kayvaan expressed genuine approval of the tradition. There was no trace of lunacy in his tone. Jacob found himself wondering if Kayvaan's long sleep had unhinged his mind. Didn't he understand the simple meaning behind these words?

Jacob tried to steer the conversation: "Well, it is indeed a proud tradition, but if you can't defeat three Space Marines, then you can't become the leader of a Marine Corps," he explained carefully. "Even if you have the Emperor's personal endorsement, the rule still stands."

"Of course," Kayvaan replied with a nod, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "No warrior would accept a leader who can't even defeat three of his own. If a leader can't overcome them, he isn't qualified to lead, and certainly not fit to protect his subordinates. I can't wait to get started. So, when can we begin?"

"Begin what?" Jacob blinked, taken aback. Then it hit him, and he nearly choked on his own words. "Wait, you actually want to take part in this challenge?" He had assumed Kayvaan would try to avoid it, to find some loophole or excuse.

"Why wouldn't I?" Kayvaan asked, tilting his head. "Do you think I'm going to lose?"

What kind of question was that? Of course Jacob thought he would lose. In fact, he was certain of it. Even one Neophyte Space Marine could likely turn Kayvaan's lean frame into a twisted wreck without breaking a sweat. They weren't even playing on the same field. How could Kayvaan possibly hope to win against three of them, all battle-hardened and heavily trained?

Still, he couldn't just say that outright. It would be rude and counterproductive. Trying to be tactful, Jacob said, "I just think your chances aren't great. Consider the differences in strength, physique, height, speed, and overall power. You're clearly at a disadvantage…"

Kayvaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are we Space Marines only brave when facing someone weaker? Do you doubt my courage?" His tone carried a quiet edge, as if Jacob's words were dangerously close to an insult.

Jacob quickly produced a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He needed to calm things down. "Absolutely not," he said earnestly. "I'm only worried about your safety. You realize that even if we limit ourselves to cold weapons, accidents can still happen. Serious injuries or even death aren't just possibilities; they're common. And if that happens, no one will be held responsible afterward. This is life and dead battle."

He genuinely feared for Kayvaan's life. Once both sides entered the arena, it became just like stepping onto a true battlefield. Rules faded. Nothing mattered except defeating the enemy standing in front of you. If one of the Astartes slew the prospective Chapter Master, no punishment would follow. On the contrary, such an act might earn praise and commendation for their strength and valor, for this trial was not about rank or loyalty. It was a test of dominance, where leadership was proven through sheer, undeniable strength.