Warhammer: Start with a dog

The first ray of superhuman blood flew out from under the sharp sword blade.

Not unexpectedly.

This is not Sigismund's blood.

A strand of silver hair fell off Fulgrim's temples as if he was sighing, while a flash of bright red flew from the corner of the fallen primarch's mouth.

Phoenix's face turned pale and he screamed in annoyance, but even so, he covered his injured face and turned sideways to avoid the next seven or eight consecutive sword slashes.

"How dare you!"

A hint of disappointment flashed in the eyes of the templar leader who didn't even utter a war cry, and then he immediately changed the direction of his next step to jump away and block.

But among everyone present, except for Zifeng, perhaps only Magna Dorn clearly saw Sigismund's attack and Fulgrim's dodge.

Without him, in fact, Sigismund's attack movements are really.

too fast.

The tip of the two-handed power sword of the leader of the Templar Knights immediately and firmly slashed across Fulgrim's thigh after the blow to the neck failed. Those gorgeous and exquisite armor plates were like the scales of a snake. The force field shattered and flew, and Fulgrim screamed angrily and kicked Sigismund, who was close to him, in the heart.

The latter rolled three times on the spot and narrowly avoided Fulgrim's long-legged flying kick and subsequent trample.

"Dang! Dang! Dang!"

The sound of power swords clashing with single-edged swords was like another cacophony of noise, randomly tuned tuning forks introduced into the harmonious music.

"Dang! Dang! Dang!"

By the time the sixth blow of the two swords was over, the spine of Sigismund's greatsword had "glued" to Fulgrim's like soft spider silk.

Even their huge size difference could not prevent Sigismund from using his dexterity to "twist" the latter's single blade until it was almost out of his hand - the Lord Templar's own sword hilt was always bound by an iron chain. Being firmly tied to his arm made him much more convenient in this unfair struggle.

The sword wind, piercing, slashing and chopping of this Imperial Fist in black and yellow armor are so precise, steady and powerful that no trace of superfluous power is used for purposes other than attacking. He goes all out to attack It's just that the defense was done to the extreme.

But his steps and body shape are so incredible - not as nimble and light as the Eldar or the Emperor's Children, but extremely efficient and smooth. Every step and every sideways angle is just right. Avoid the sharp blade that could cut him in half instantly or rip him from the throat to the lower abdomen.

Magna Dorn used the extraordinary dynamic vision ability of the original body to almost obsessively watch and capture every move of Sigismund, ignoring his own injuries and focusing on the subtle self-sustainment of joints and muscles, and the formation of every twist of the body. The angle of attack of torque, each continuous slash achieved with the help of inertia and coordination, is so beautiful, this... This is the elegant balance created by violence and cruelty, calmness and endurance, the art of aggression and the spirit of resistance. The perfect combination with an eternal moment that cannot be repeated.

Although it is not as complicated and beautiful as the swordsmanship of Fulgrim or other Emperor's Children officers and has the charm of the Dionysian Dance, the move Sigismund displayed at this moment is extremely practical and powerful. The ground carved another kind of simple and perfect beauty in the air. This kind of beauty is completely different from the current aesthetics common to the empire and the galaxy, but it reminds Magna of Lamizane and Perturabo on the Iron-Blooded. That beautiful new office.

Just like the arc drawn by the blade when he swings the weapon casually or the angle at which he swings the weapon, it can reflect the universe...

Mystery?

No, not a mystery.

Nature.

Some kind of essence.

The nature of the weapon.

The essence of wielding a weapon.

The essence of why weapons are wielded.

Magnar suddenly realized that Sigismund was revealing to him the nature of the weapon he was now able to wield with such ease in the presence of a blessed Primarch.

Something rich, warm, full and full of hope, it was now sustaining the Lord Templar, empowering his supreme gifts to perform beyond their ordinary capabilities.

Magna Dorn tightened her grip on the greatsword in her hand.

I seem to understand a little bit!

Thank you! Hao Xiji!

You must be trying to teach me this! You are a good person!

Don’t become like the Black Templar in ten thousand years!

So now! I am coming!

He raised the sword in his hand high and rushed into the battle group of the two men.

——————————

In the distance, the Emperor's Children and the Imperial Fists defenders battled amid bombs and flames.

Under the gaze of the blood-covered Matheus and Sigismund, Magnar Dorn—"Rogal Dorn"—raised his sword to block Fulgrim's frantically swinging blade. , the two faced each other in steps that were like spinning court dance steps. Each step of the death pas de deux was trying to find the other's fatal flaw.

Finally, Magna swung his sword several times in succession, and Fulgrim parried it. Magna took the opportunity to move forward, using his sword to block the long blade that stabbed his armor frantically, leaving a long blade on his side. The sword blade with the bloody gash was approaching again——

The giant sword drew an arc in the air that could be described as a combination of strength and beauty. One of Fulgrim's hands left his body amid the scene of falling blood-red petals, and the door opened wide——

Magna stepped forward——

Dorn's great sword penetrated deeply into Fulgrim's body until it had no handle.

The end of the sword glowed bright red on the spine of the Fallen Primarch's back.

They hugged each other tightly for a moment.

Fulgrim lowered his head, leaned his broken and bleeding face on the shoulder of "Rogal Dorn", and sighed softly.

Then Magnar pulled back, his blade withdrawing from Fulgrim's body cavity with heat, and the Terran Praetorian cleared his throat, about to say something.

Then they saw the broken and almost cut-in-half Demon Lord opposite, smiling beautifully and maliciously at his brother, with blood staining his teeth and lips purple.

An ominous premonition came to Magna's heart.

"you……"

Before he finished speaking, Fulgrim's wounds and armor began to silently repair themselves. The brilliant blood he shed quickly turned into powder and flew away with the wind. His limbs began to reshape themselves, becoming as smooth as new. The legs began to close together, the skull began to elongate, and the gleaming gem scales together with his huge bright snake tail finally stood in front of Magna Dorn holding the sword.

"Did I tell you, Roger?"

He opened his mouth and his tongue came out like a snake letter.

"I won't die, and you are the one who is going to die here today."

Then, in the gaze that was stretched and lengthened due to excessive absurdity, the snake shadow, which was larger than the original Fulgrim, gradually rose, and then rose again.

"...You **** brought him back to life?! How are you going to fight this ****?!"

Before the darkness that finally ended this battle swallowed up his consciousness, Magna Dorn finally couldn't help but cursed Lamizane again with the foul language that he would accidentally say.