He crossed through the smoke and dust, his shoulders slumped as he marched toward Soshyan, as if he were advancing against the biting bite of a blizzard.
A pitch-black cape was fastened behind his neck with a bone clasp, and the massive skull and fangs of a dead beast made up his right pauldron—it looked like a Tyranid.
Magyar was unhelted, revealing a weathered face crisscrossed with ravines, like a windswept cliff, topped with a tuft of short, grayish-white hair.
He had no beard, his cheekbones were high, and the tattoo on his chin resembled the open jaw of a skull. His eyes, as iron-gray as his armor, shone brightly, exuding an intimidating aura.
The warriors under his command were equally wild; their weapons and battle armor were adorned with all sorts of bones torn from corpses.
These revenant-like warriors followed closely behind their leader, much like a flock of birds flying in the slipstream of the lead goose. Many people weren't even sure if these grim reapers wrapped in Plasteel armor would ever stop their advance.
But regardless, this nakedly provocative stance filled all the Astral Knights with anger.
A mont later, Soshyan's calm voice reached the ears of every warrior.
"Steady. This is just an empty show of strength, nothing more."
Just as he said, these grim reapers halted their steps, surrounding them in a semicircle.
"Chapter Master of the Astral Knights, Soshian Alexei."
Magyar spoke loudly, his voice resounding and harsh, like a cold-blooded predator.
"My na is Magyar, Chapter Master of the Excoriators Chapter, Lord of the Sanctuary of Death."
The very next second, his Scythe fell with a boom.
Soshyan drew his sword from its sheath at the exact sa ti, faster than the naked eyes of most could capture, his cape swirling like a cloud.
Magyar t him with his giant Scythe.
Amidst the resonant clang of colliding tal, a shockwave shot out from around the two of them, stirring up a flurry of ash mixed with dust.
Seeing their Chapter Master attacked, the Astral Knights all posed to make a move, but Sol shouted them down.
The warriors of the Excoriators Chapter, however, remained entirely unmoved, as if they were well-accustod to such scenes.
"Lord Malakim, is this how you treat your guests?"
Soshyan hissed, repelling the attack once again.
"This is the etiquette of warriors."
Magyar snorted while parrying the close-range blade.
Although wielding such a heavy and ruthless weapon, his movents were no slower than Soshyan's, and every single attack was exceedingly solid, tight, and steady.
"If this can earn your respect."
Soshyan let out a laugh, deftly swinging his sword once more.
Fighting against a Chapter Master was a challenge he had sought but failed to find for a long ti; compared to this, his past battles were simply insignificant.
During his ti studying swordsmanship with Sol, he had constantly thirsted for an opponent who could hone his skills.
Soshyan let out a low roar and dashed in close. Spinning rapidly on one foot, the Holy Fla Sword suddenly thrust toward Magyar's abdon.
But just before he could succeed, that giant Scythe rotated horizontally at a tricky angle to block the strike.
The two weapons sparked in a streak as they collided and dragged against each other.
"Too slow."
Magyar mocked, then gripped the battle Scythe tightly with both hands, swinging it at incredibly high speed.
Knowing the other party had gotten serious, Soshyan dedicated one hundred and twenty percent of his attention to dealing with it.
To the Mortals, the fierce battle between the two Chapter Masters was rely a flurry of a Frost Blade dancing, with thunderbolts concealed within, but they couldn't catch a single glimpse of its true form.
Lord Malakim's every strike possessed the montum to split mountains and cleave seas, yet Soshyan was like a surfer amidst the waves, treading an elegant "dance" as he calmly advanced through the stormy seas.
This was exactly that "Sword Dance" developed by the swordsn of the Eldar Court's blades ten thousand years ago, which very few people still mastered to this day.
Soshyan's learning ti was still short. In Sol's eyes, he couldn't even utilize a tenth of the Sword Dance.
But to deal with such an offensive, it was More than enough.
The key to the Sword Dance was to bring the opponent into one's own rhythm. Using the tip of the sword as the center of a circle, one continuously dragged the opponent's attacks with semi-circular movent trajectories, always keeping the opponent under the threat of one's own sword tip.
"Lad, your swordsmanship isn't bad. Who taught you?"
Although he was constantly being led by the nose by Soshyan, Magyar didn't seem worried. He continued to breathe rhythmically and maintained a vigorous desire to attack.
This battle seed as if it would soon turn into an endurance race.
"Our Chapter instructor."
Soshyan whispered, brandishing the Holy Fla Sword and unleashing a fatal sweeping strike.
Magyar parried this strike, his heavy boots sinking about half an inch into the ground.
Missing the strike, Soshyan imdiately withdrew his hand, and while stepping in a semi-circular trajectory, launched another series of swift and fierce blade attacks.
At one point, the Holy Fla Sword glanced off Magyar's thick pauldron, striking him and causing him to sway for a mont.
As ti passed, Soshyan's sword strikes beca increasingly violent, the blade crashing against the giant Scythe and sending out a flurry of clangs.
"Then I will teach you again right now."
This legendary hero of the Imperium, after letting out a muffled laugh, began to rouse his spirit and close in on Soshyan with steady efficiency.
He took large strides closer, planted his feet firmly, and continuously unleashed highly destructive attacks.
The collision and rebound of the two weapons could only be seen as distorted afterimages. The twin blades sent sparks flashing through the air, every single movent unabashedly declaring the majesty of Angels.
Soshyan was surprised to find that his dance steps had been broken, as if a barbarian had suddenly burst into a banquet.
The unrestrained and vicious attacks swiftly tore apart the hypocritical mask of civilization.
"Flashy skills can be used, but don't ignore our own strength!"
Magyar quickened his pace, the Scythe falling like a thunderclap.
Soshyan forcefully took this strike head-on, the tip of the Scythe just inches from his head.
"I've learned my lesson."
Having said this, he executed a dodge and swirled around Magyar in a full circle, making it almost imperceptible to others how he maintained his balance.
When they clashed again, the sound of the impact was deafening.
The supre leaders of the two Chapters fought each other, using all their strength with every attack.
Unknowingly, they had already been fighting for half an hour.
Soshyan continued fighting, but he needed space to utilize his speed. He had to break free from his restraints, grasp the initiative of the battle in his own hands, and escape Magyar's suffocating entanglent.
Then, he gathered all his strength, slamd against the Scythe, and pulled away.
Magyar held his giant Scythe high, its shadow cast on the floor. With his tattered cape, he looked like the terrifying Grim Reaper of human mythology.
Soshyan stood in place, panting heavily, assud his stance, and waited for the enemy to move.
There was only one chance—one perfect chance to bypass the Scythe at a precise angle.
It had to be flawless. If it wasn't, there would be no turning back.
But to everyone's surprise, Magyar stopped moving.
He lowered the Scythe. A faint cough ca from within his gorget, which Soshyan soon realized was a type of laughter.
"Enough, that's enough."
Reviews
All reviews (0)