The third.
The fourth.
The fifth…
The duels came one after another, round after round.
The veterans took the field in rotation, each of them fighting until their strength was exhausted.
Dust began to coil through the red-sand arena in lingering clouds, and the Space Marines around him breathed as heavily as broken bellows, yet they still came forward one after another.
They were stalling for time.
Every extra moment they held out meant another sliver of hope.
And as Lancelot fought on, he also realized that these people before him seemed to be waiting for something.
If they believed he was a traitor Primarch, then in the Warhammer universe, what could possibly defeat a combatant on the level of a Primarch?
Grey Knights?
Custodians?
Neither felt right.
When he connected it with the stele and recalled the faint traces of lived-in warmth within that room, a conclusion naturally surfaced in Lancelot’s mind.
Could the Warhammer universe he had crossed into now actually be set in an era when Primarchs still walked the world?
Was this 30K, or 40K?
For some reason, the panic still lingering in Lancelot’s heart settled in an instant.
After realizing that Primarchs still existed in this world, his original anxiety dissipated then and there.
In that case, his objective was actually very clear.
Delay.
Delay until the Primarch arrived, and everything would become clear.
As a Primarch, she should be able to see through the fact that he was not actually her traitorous brother.
Not to mention, he still had something in his hand that could be called a trump card.
He still had Big E’s blood.
In this inverted universe, although the Primarchs’ rebellion had been reversed, Big E, at least, was still working himself to the bone for the Imperium of Man.
Those thoughts passed through Lancelot’s mind, but his movements outside became increasingly immersed in something similar to a state of flow.
In this state, even though Lancelot never used the edge of his sword to wound anyone and never attacked any vital point, every strike he made could effortlessly disarm his opponent or knock them back.
The skill of a veteran of countless wars was displayed in full.
Though the black power armor on Lancelot’s body gradually accumulated more and more scars, his breathing remained steady, and his gaze stayed calm.
It was as though this entire battle of attrition was nothing more than a trivial task.
At this moment, the Crimson Angels also noticed Lancelot’s composure.
To them, the calmer Lancelot appeared, and the less anxious he was to escape, the more anxious they became.
Perhaps out of concern that the “traitor Primarch” before them was brewing some Warp sorcery, an old and highly experienced warrior finally charged down and engaged Lancelot in combat.
Clang, clang, clang!
Power axes and power sword crossed back and forth through more than ten exchanges.
Surprise appeared on Lancelot’s face as he once again blocked the crimson warrior wielding twin axes before him, then reversed his grip and struck out, splitting the man’s helmet with a single sword blow. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
But even then, from beneath the shattered helmet, Lancelot did not see the slightest fear on that face.
Instead, it was filled with terrifying fury.
The twin axes spun in a slashing arc.
Lancelot tried to repeat his previous method and, just as he had against the other warrior’s battle-brothers, shifted sideways to avoid the attack.
But this Crimson Angel before him seemed completely different from the others.
With an almost self-destructive posture, he hurled himself directly at Lancelot.
Lancelot’s brows immediately furrowed.
Caught off guard, he could only attempt to parry again.
The twin axes left two extremely distinct scars across the armor on his chest.
Following the momentum, Lancelot tried to seize the man’s head, but the other warrior forced himself aside and dodged it.
With no other choice, Lancelot changed his palm into an elbow and smashed it into the man’s face, knocking him away.
Yet even after taking that elbow strike, half his face now stained crimson with blood, the warrior showed no fear at all.
He even seized that chance to kick out with force, striking the hilt of Lancelot’s sword and making Lancelot retreat dozens of steps.
“Interesting.
State your name.”
Lancelot also became slightly more serious.
The man before him had finally given Lancelot a sense that he was troublesome.
He was clearly no ordinary Astartes.
Most likely, he was someone with a name and reputation.
The power sword in Lancelot’s hand twirled through a flourish.
The man before him glared at Lancelot, drove his battle-axes into the ground, then tore the power armor from both shoulders with his bare hands, exposing his burly muscles.
After that, he picked up his axes once more and strode toward Lancelot.
“Dog of Chaos!
I am the Emperor’s Wrath!
Loyal Captain of the Eighth Company of the Crimson Angels Legion!
For the glory of Angrona!
In the name of Khârn, I will destroy you!”
His roar echoed through the entire colosseum.
At that moment, Lancelot stood with his sword lowered, but his expression became a little difficult to maintain.
Lancelot knew who Khârn was.
During the Siege of Terra, he had even fought on nearly equal footing with the Imperial Fists’ champion and swordsman, Sigismund.
But in the main universe, Khârn was Khorne’s mortal champion.
In this mirror universe, hearing him call himself the Emperor’s Wrath was honestly hard to process.
Still, there was no doubt that Khârn, the Emperor’s Wrath of this mirror universe, was clearly just as troublesome as the Chosen of Khorne from the main world.
Khârn’s roaring power axes and Lancelot’s power sword intertwined again and again.
Finally, at one moment, the weapons in Lancelot and Khârn’s hands could no longer withstand the excessively violent attacks.
The disruption fields attached to them shattered under the final energy collision.
The energies crashed together and collapsed, and the blades themselves struck each other, both edges warping slightly.
Thud, thud, thud.
The energy impact forced both of them backward.
“I think it’s time to get out of here.”
Lancelot had roughly felt out his current limit.
His present combat score was ninety-five.
Against ordinary Astartes, he could probably handle them with ease, but against a named Space Marine like Khârn, it was still somewhat strenuous.
After all, as a hero unit on the Imperium’s side, he was carrying the kind of script where he showed signs of decline early on, only to turn the tables later against the odds.
Lancelot could already feel Khârn’s combat strength growing stronger and stronger.
“Let us stop here.
Continuing this is meaningless.”
Lancelot halted and stood with his sword withdrawn.
But just as Lancelot was preparing to leave this world…
At that very moment.
Boom!
A deafening crash rang out.
An arc of light descended from high above like a meteor, smashing straight into the colosseum.
In an instant, red sand exploded into the air, and smoke and dust spread everywhere.
In the span of a breath, an extraordinary pressure that towered over all things, like the descent of a god, swept across the entire arena like a raging tsunami.
That pressure was as vast as a sea of stars and as heavy as an abyss.
It rose from the very depths of the gene.
Lancelot’s eyes trembled slightly, but in an instant, they returned to normal.
Even so, awe still surged within his heart.
She was here.
The loyal Primarch had finally arrived.
And the manner of her arrival was entirely worthy of the weight a Primarch should possess.
Alone, she had broken through the atmosphere directly from outer space and descended onto the ground without relying on the cushioning of any landing craft.
The only thing that could give someone the confidence to do such a thing was the terrifying body of a Primarch, transcending the physical limits of the real universe.
Thud, thud, thud.
Lancelot’s heartbeat quickened as well.
A Primarch.
A great being that, in many cases, he had only glimpsed through novels and games.
Now, at last, he would be able to see one with his own eyes.