Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

But Qiao Ze's scythe was now frozen in mid-air.

The outcome has been decided.

The Barbarosians grumbled in discontent, as if they were looking down on the veteran for deliberately showing weakness.

There was no reaction from the Terra veterans; a perfectly normal silence prevailed.

After all, there's no need to applaud when you crush a bedbug.

Qiao Ze glared angrily at Collina, put away his scythe, turned and stepped off the stage, spitting to the side in dissatisfaction.

Corrosive saliva hissed on the ground.

"I come!"

Haznil rushed onto the dueling platform and picked up his scythe.

Just as the two on stage were getting ready, a commotion suddenly broke out at the entrance of the hall—

The Primarch's towering figure appeared in the dueling hall!

Mortarion was dressed in full power armor, his face obscured by a gas mask, the slowly rising gas making his features even more indistinct.

The Death Guards in the entire hall immediately stood at attention and saluted.

how come? !

This is the Primarch's first time in the Duel Hall!

Some rational veterans among the Terran felt uneasy; the timing was perfect—just when the two forces clashed!

In the eyes of these veterans, the Barbarus recruits were absolutely no match for them. They would have been fine with a private lesson, but the arrival of the Primarch has created a new stalemate.

Defeating the Primarch's soldiers from his homeworld in front of him was not a good decision.

Even if Mortarion doesn't say anything outwardly, it will only worsen the Primarch's attitude towards them.

But if they were to let them off the hook, the Primarch would certainly be able to see through their little scheme.

What's more, the veteran who jumped onto the stage is no moderate! These people are just trying to slap the Primarch in the face!

Some Terran veterans were already sweating, regretting that they shouldn't have come to the Duel Cage today, and thus wouldn't have gotten involved in this conflict.

In contrast to these Terran people, the Barbarus were eager to prove themselves and earn glory under the Primarch's watchful eye.

Behind Mortalian, Karastifon stepped out and waved. His servants, hidden in the shadows of the hall, slowly pushed in chairs that were the right size for the Primarch.

The Primarch took his seat, the heavy power armor groaning softly. The round bronze incense burner hanging on the armor swayed and collided with the Primarch's movements, producing a crisp, subtle sound that was particularly clear in the hall where everyone was standing at attention and bowing.

The "Nether Lamp," manufactured using alien technology, nestled quietly in the Primarch's waist.

Mortarian's deep eyes, hidden beneath his hood, swept across the entire arena, his amber pupils flowing slowly like lava.

He raised his hands and clapped them gently.

"Let's begin, warriors."

(Barbarusic)

Happy reading! ~(￣▽￣～)~

Thank you so much to Bingqingyujienagoudie for the donation and joining the group!

I wasn't originally planning to add an extra chapter, but since I'm a fan of the N-party and was quite moved, I'm adding this one!

Has anyone else noticed that I update every day at 7:07 to praise the loving father? _(:з」∠)_

There won't be any more extra updates from now on (≧▽≦), so please stop threatening me to update more!

Besides the possibility of an extra chapter after it's released... right? ( )

Chapter 56 Arrogance

Perseverance, Duel Cage.

just now.

.

The usually bustling dueling hall was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Haznil and Collina stood in the center of everyone's gaze, their half-open blades gleaming brightly in the pale light.

However, while everyone's attention seemed to be focused on the dueling cage, it was actually on the tall figure below the stage.

The Primarch sat motionless in his seat, like a corpse. The white smoke from the incense burner slowly drifted up, and the yellow-green gas from the gas mask overflowed with the Primarch's quiet breathing, obscuring his eyes.

After uttering those words, Mortarian made no further moves.

The oppressive and somber atmosphere inherent in the Primarch enveloped the entire hall.

"Om-"

The piercing ringtone sounded!

Haznil broke the silence first, charging forward to launch an attack, while Collina adopted his classic defensive stance, raising his greatsword, ready to strike.

As Haznil closed in and swung his scythe, there was no unexpected counterattack. Collina quickly dodged the scythe by sidestepping it, while simultaneously slashing his greatsword at Haznil's chest!

However, the scene between Collina and Joze was not repeated. Haznil quickly withdrew his scythe to defend, shifting his weight to the right to avoid the greatsword's strike.

"throat!"

Haznil gripped the sickle tightly with both hands and successfully caught Collina's chop less than a hand's breadth from his body!

Sparks flew as Collina exerted force with both hands, and a piercing metallic scraping sound echoed in the dueling cage, but the scythe remained firmly rooted to the spot, refusing to move an inch.

Beneath Haznil's feet, the high-strength composite material ground had a slight indentation!

"clang--"

Sensing the opponent's immense strength, and realizing that continuing the stalemate might put him at a disadvantage, Collina took the initiative to break the stalemate with a sliding motion, then retreated to adjust his posture, preparing for the next attack and defense.

But he shouldn't have retreated.

On the battlefield, the sickle is an extremely rare long-handled weapon, requiring the operator to possess exceptional skill to wield it.

Unlike common polearms such as spears, the attack range of a sickle is not straight. If you use a sickle in the same way as other polearms, you will expose yourself to the enemy's attack range.

To wield a sickle, you must overcome your instinctive, subconscious impulses. You cannot attack or defend directly; you must go around it. Only then can you use these curved blades, the weapon of death, to your advantage.

And just now, Collina made a mistake.

The scythe's attack range is significantly longer than that of the greatsword. Subconsciously retreating would only give the opponent a better opportunity to perform. However, Collina's previous fighting style has always been defensive-offensive. He mistakenly treated the scythe as a spear, thinking that he only needed to defend the front.

After all, if the opponent is wielding a spear, you only need to use your sword to parry from the front.

But the sickle is not.

Haznil seized on Collina's mistake, thrusting his scythe forward. Collina raised his sword to try and block, but although the scythe shaft was directly in front of him, the blade was behind him, where his defense was weak!

Collina immediately turned to the side, withdrawing his sword, but just as the greatsword returned, the scythe reappeared mysteriously, its blade shifting angle like a blooming silver flower. Haznir's already blurry speed accelerated even further—

Haznil rushed to Collina's side, the tip of his scythe just touching the right side of Collina's neck.

The outcome is decided!

What an arrogant fellow!

Haznil shouted in his heart, "These arrogant old guys don't pay any attention to the weapons the recruits prefer, nor do they care to learn their techniques. It is this arrogance that has made you lose to me today!"

After all, any novice who picks up a scythe knows that close-quarters combat is the most troublesome situation for a scythe user, while an enemy retreating is the scene a scythe user loves to see.

We're arrogant? It's you who are arrogant!

A burst of applause and cheers erupted from Barbalus's side. Haznil raised his scythe above his head, white light shone on him, and an exaggerated laugh bloomed on his face.

He turned around and smiled at Mortalian's location. Although the Primarch's expression was still unreadable, the oppressive atmosphere around him subsided somewhat.

Compared to the arrogant Haznil, Collina kept a straight face, glanced at Haznil, and silently walked off the stage. The Terran veterans in the darkness tacitly made way for him, then quickly closed the gap, allowing Collina to disappear into the crowd.

Amidst the cheers and applause of the Barbarus people, several figures slipped away from the dueling hall in the chaos.

Barbaros's cheers continued as Mortarian stretched out a hand and pressed it down.

As the Primarch made his move, the entire arena fell silent once more.

Mortalian seemed quite satisfied with the quiet hall; he withdrew his hand and continued to cross his arms.

By this time, some people had already deciphered Mortarion's signal—

He's waiting for the next duel!

Some rational people were already sweating bullets. The narrow victory of Haznil, of Barbalus descent, was the best possible outcome. It satisfied the Barbalus's competitive spirit and gave the Terra veterans a way out.

Any seasoned veteran of Terra could see that Haznil had just won by taking advantage of Collina's mistake. If the duel had gone on for a long time, Haznil's chances of winning would have been very slim!

The next battle will be a defeat for Haznir.

There was a slight commotion among the Terra veterans.

Finally, a burly old soldier rushed onto the stage. The people around him couldn't stop him and looked surprised and puzzled.

This guy is a tough nut to crack in the Seventh Company; he's already asked Galo multiple times to let him carry out the Zisha mission again.

It's worth noting that the 7th Company actually has the fewest Terra veterans in the entire duel hall. Although they are labeled as a combat company, these veterans prefer to clean their weapons or meditate and recuperate during their leisure time.

The soldiers of the Seventh Company who frequently visit the Duel Hall are often the most stubborn and hot-tempered group.

[I'll do it!]

The Primarch remained seated there, motionless, like a statue.

Mortarion had just been learning how to deal with the Titan Order, paying attention to their etiquette, the timing and appropriateness of these big guys' appearances.

Since he arrived at this legion, there has always been a lot to learn: an unfamiliar language, an unfamiliar time, an unfamiliar environment, and those vermin who, taking advantage of his lowly status, lurk in the shadows, hoping to see him make a fool of himself.

Ah.

Those arrogant fellows.

Mortarian had seen the portraits of his so-called brothers, which were nothing more than gold, gold thread, and jeweled jewelry to show off their status, sparkling gems.

They were all kings, princes, and lords, except for Mortarion.

He knew perfectly well how those people were secretly mocking him.

It doesn't resemble the original form of an imperial offspring at all?

A dirty, muddy country bumpkin from an agricultural planet?

Do they think Mortarion can't hear? Do they think Mortarion can't see?

Those scumbags who are smug and complacent just because they arrived early.

He will certainly shut them up.

In the first four months after Mortarian joined the Legion, he slept only one hour a week, studying and studying, absorbing everything with great eagerness.

Mortarian was growing rapidly, the faster the better, the faster the better. He was desperately squeezing out his potential, which was painful, but also simple, just like he had done under Nacre.

He didn't want the Barbarosians to be looked at like that—no, no, no pity, no contempt.

They are the liberators of their planet, the warriors who overthrew tyrants with their own hands, not these fools chosen merely by luck.

Mortarion only briefly left his study state once afterward. Hades woke up, and he had to go see him, since Hades had helped him slay the last tyrant on Barbarus.

But after that, he threw himself into studying like crazy.

However, today, Karastifon suggested that Mortarion come out and take a look around, to see what his Barbarus warriors do during their free time.

He had indeed not visited his people, his soldiers, his comrades for a long time.

Mortarian agreed.

Happy reading! (≧▽≦)

Chapter 57 Psychic Power? Psychic Power!

Perseverance, Duel Cage.

just now.

.