Looking at Lancelot in the arena, the Crimson Angels were on high alert.
The target of this trap was indeed exactly what Lancelot had thought: the abominable traitor to the Emperor in this reversed world, the fallen Primarch of the First Legion, the slave of the God of Scheming, the blue-winged Lion El’Jonson.
Precisely because of this, these Crimson Angels looked at Lancelot with unwavering eyes.
Even though Lancelot currently possessed absolutely no Primarch-level aura, in their eyes, this was merely the disguise of that mysterious fallen Primarch.
They believed that the trap laid down by their Primarch would inevitably catch the scheming behemoth of Caliban; after all, everything right now perfectly matched their Primarch’s expectations!
If the traitor Lion were truly lured here and stepped into the trap, the resulting situation would be exactly like Lancelot’s right now!
What?
You say you are merely an ordinary Dark Angel?
Then how did you silently breach everyone’s perception to arrive at this place, and even have the guts to spy on secrets between Primarchs?
This must be the cunning Lion transforming into the appearance of an ordinary Astartes!
At that moment outside, Thunderhawk gunships, one after another, brought crimson-clad Angels to the spectator seats of the gladiatorial arena.
A force field resembling mithril cascaded down, sealing the entire circular arena into an isolated cage.
Warriors outside could enter to participate in the duel, but if they wanted to get out, they would need to defeat everyone inside the gladiatorial arena one by one!
Furthermore, the method of gladiatorial combat was restricted to melee.
Ranged weapons were entirely deactivated, and even the disruption fields of power swords were suppressed to a level only slightly sharper than mundane iron!
The veterans of the Crimson Angels stood ready in strict formation.
This was a place for fighting to the death, and also a place for stalling.
Everyone looked at Lancelot.
Their combat instincts told them that this seemingly ordinary black-armored warrior was terrifyingly strong!
This made them even more certain that he was the disguised Primarch!
But even fully knowing their opponent was a former Legion Primarch, one of the most elite war gods in the galaxy, not a single person in the Crimson Angels Legion flinched.
They had to stall.
Their strategic objective was simple: delay!
When designing this gladiatorial arena trap, the reason for adding this one-on-one restriction was precisely to stall for time.
The only thing the Crimson Angels stationed here had to do was block the fallen Primarch who entered the trap through gladiatorial combat.
Their mission was to stall until the Lord of their Legion, the loyal son of the Emperor, arrived; to stall until the power to sanction the fallen descended!
Even if it cost their lives, they had to trap this traitorous fallen Lion to death within this tiny arena!
This is troublesome…
Lancelot glanced at the ever-growing crowd of red-armored Astartes around him and immediately raised his hands.
“My battle-brothers!
Might there be some misunderstanding here?
May I ask if there is a Primarch currently presiding over the Imperium?
I need to speak with a Primarch!” Lancelot spoke in this manner, but no one before him took his deceptive words to heart.
On the contrary, it made them feel that he was stalling for time!
Upon discerning this intention, a warrior wearing a golden laurel wreath, holding a longsword and a Storm Shield, and possessing the bearing of a Company Champion immediately strode toward Lancelot.
Some mechanism within the force field seemed to finish its judgment, and the red sand seemed to automatically clear a circular area, giving Lancelot and the Company Champion of the Crimson Angels room to engage in a one-on-one duel!
Thump, thump, thump!
The Champion’s footsteps stomped heavily on the red sand, sending debris flying with the tremors.
The longsword in his hand lit up with a faint blue glow, and his figure, like an arrow released from a bowstring, fiercely charged Lancelot using the shield in his hand.
He did not hold back; every move was a sharp killing stroke.
The sword blade aimed straight for the heart, chopping fiercely and stabbing trickily, in a completely life-risking posture!
Lancelot was forced to raise his longsword to parry the attacks of the Company Champion before him.
Undoubtedly, as the face of his company, the Champion’s duty was precisely to kill high-threat enemies in one-on-one combat.
Existences capable of becoming Company Champions all possessed combat power that could be considered top-tier among Astartes.
But even so, the Ten-Thousand-Battle Veteran posture bestowed upon Lancelot by the Secret Keeper system allowed him to adapt to the opponent’s attacks with somewhat of an ease.
A Combat Score of 95 far exceeded an ordinary Company Champion.
According to tabletop rules, three hundred points was already Primarch-level.
Lancelot had now at least crossed the level of a common grunt and reached the hero level.
Therefore, facing the sword’s edge, Lancelot merely shifted his figure slightly; his footsteps shifted laterally by a small margin, yet so fast that it only left a faint afterimage!
By a hair’s breadth, he nimbly dodged the lethal sword of the Company Champion before him.
The blade scraped past his armor, only sparking a string of fire, not even touching his flesh.
Without waiting for the veteran to retract his momentum, Lancelot lightly flipped his wrist, using only the spine of his sword to accurately strike the armor on the opponent’s sword-holding wrist!
“Clang!” A crisp sound.
The force was as heavy as a mountain, yet could be extended and retracted freely.
The veteran felt a sharp pain in his hand.
An irresistible force surged in along the sword hilt; his palm instantly went numb.
The precision of this force caused the power sword in his hand to fly out with a clang.
Subsequently, Lancelot kicked out, sending the other party flying backward.
The process wasn’t fast; it was even somewhat slow.
But at that moment, the kicked-away Company Champion only felt a tightness in his chest and a shortness of breath.
Kneeling on one knee, he looked at his power sword in the distance and reached out to touch his own chest.
In his own expectations, his defeat was perhaps anticipated, but he had never thought that the consequences of his defeat would be so minor.
After being hit by that kick, the armor around his chest should have completely caved in, and he should have been heavily injured and near death in an instant.
But the actual situation was that nothing happened.
He was sent flying by Lancelot using precise force.
It was somewhat unreasonable.
How could an entity fallen into a trap be so unhurried?
Logically speaking, his top priority right now should be to cleanly kill everyone present and then break out of this cage, but this being hadn’t done so.
Either this was within his expectations, or he had absolute certainty that he could break out from here!
With this in mind, a second Crimson Angel wearing Terminator armor immediately stepped into the arena without the slightest hesitation.
His power fist roared as it energized, swinging toward Lancelot with a whistling sound!
Lancelot once again nimbly turned and dodged.
In the next moment, the chopping, slashing, sweeping, and stabbing flowing from his hands showed increasingly ruthless swordplay!
This Terminator veteran gave it his all, his hydraulic joints operating at full capacity, his figure as fast as a ghost.
But no matter how he attacked, he couldn’t touch a single corner of Lancelot’s clothes.
As the battle progressed, Lancelot’s fighting style became an art form.
There were no superfluous movements, no frenzied exertion.
Every dodge was precise, every parry perfectly timed.
With a light knock of the sword’s spine and a slight turn of the wrist, he could easily deflect all of the opponent’s force.
He was like an immovable mountain; despite the stormy attacks of the Crimson Angels before him, he always stood steadily in place.
The warriors of the First Legion are intrinsically sword masters.
Being a Ten-Thousand-Battle Veteran described not just seniority, but more importantly, the fact that his individual combat power had reached the apex of ordinary Space Marines!
Thaniel_a_goodchild.