Chapter 152: Encountering the Sword and Shield Knight Deep Underground, Perfect Defense and Powerful Slashes |
The battlefield was in utter chaos.
Within the hidden plaza on the lower levels of the fortress, corpses, blood, and shards of steel carpeted the floor, dying the dark and damp ground a deep, gruesome red.
Bodies were piled several meters high near the breach. Thanks to their inherent racial advantages, the Harlequins' troupe, numbering only a little over twenty, had not suffered significant casualties.
Instead, it was the heavily armored soldiers who lay dead in layered heaps, surrounded by a scattered array of weapons.
A total of five hundred Iron Warriors had been tasked with guarding the ritual, all of them bred from the gene-seed of their company commanders.
"I offer thee this dance, though thou mayest find it clumsy."
Like a brilliant flower blooming upon a desolate wasteland, arcs of flashing blades filled the minds of the Iron Warriors.
The white-masked Solitaire led the troupe, weaving effortlessly through the jungle of steel.
The transition from blistering speed to absolute stillness took only a fleeting moment. Evading the hailstorm of bullets and swinging axes, the Solitaire stepped lightly onto the blade of a chainaxe swung by an Iron Warrior and sprang upward—
"That which thou canst not grasp, why let it add to thy sorrow?"
It was incredibly fast, possessing unmatched sharpness.
Even the enhanced vision of the Adeptus Astartes struggled to track the entity's movements. By the time their weapon-bearing wrists registered the sharp sting of pain, their brains had already lost the capacity to process it.
These agile Xenos had abandoned all the flanking and indirect strategies detailed in the tactical records. Instead, they plunged straight into the heart of the enemy ranks with lightning speed, channeling all their grief and fury over the fall of the Aeldari race into their strikes.
"The Lord of Iron cares not, why bring this torment upon thyself?"
This was "Jaghatai Khan's Revenge," a script depicting the struggles of heroic figures against Slaanesh during the fall of the Aeldari. As such, it was exceptionally bloody, tragic, and incredibly lethal—
Especially for the enemies of the Harlequins.
Unlike their cousins who excelled either in torture or in the rigid formations of war.
The Harlequins were simply and purely strong, pushing the physical talents of the Aeldari to their absolute limits.
The origins of the Harlequin troupes traced back to the Twilight Epoch before the Great Fall of the Aeldari. Back then, these artistic collectives served to preserve the memories of their civilization by performing ancient legends.
Paradoxically, however, the Aeldari Empire, at the pinnacle of its decadent ecstasy, had long since discarded all divine faith. It was commonplace for blasphemers in the theaters to hurl objects at the performers or even violently assault them.
To ensure the show went on, the Harlequins had to become better fighters than their audience, evolving over tens of thousands of years until their faction became the undisputed elite among all Aeldari.
And now, driven by necessity, they would once again display their martial prowess.
"Thy mind is fraught with worldly thoughts; do not add to thy original sin."
The epic poem, woven together in High Gothic, echoed throughout the chamber. The Solitaire of the Midnight Sorrow troupe locked eyes on the center of the hidden plaza, staring intently at the magnificent wheel spinning in the void.
They had to reclaim the wisdom of their kin before these filthy creatures could activate their ritual.
Jaghatai Khan had passed down the secret words, the clues that would guide them along the path to eternal death.
He would finally have the chance to embrace a true demise.
The Solitaire looked at his fallen comrades around him, his eyes filled with undeniable envy.
Their Souls would receive the Divine Protection of the Laughing God, finding a sanctuary of peace even after death.
But the Solitaires could not. The role they played was that of Slaanesh, meaning even the Laughing God, Jaghatai Khan, could only rely on luck to save them.
"We shall march toward death."
"Damn it, these Xenos are incredibly stubborn!"
Surviving a sneak attack from the Solitaire, the battle-hardened veteran, having lost three fingers, tossed aside his plasma pistol and swung his blade to drive back the psychedelic phantom.
Endless irritation was gnawing at his mind.
Because he could understand the Harlequins' incessant babbling!
How had those damned rumors reached the ears of these Aeldari Xenos?!
Adjusting the barrage coverage of his fire support squad, he glanced up to assess the situation, noting that only occasionally did a performer fall in the crimson dance hall.
The battle had raged on until now. Facing a Harlequin troupe that had only lost three members, the Iron Warriors still held the numerical advantage but were completely suppressed. Given enough time, this Solitaire could slaughter every last one of them.
Yet they were still far from breaking. Their brutal military discipline spurred them on, fighting bitterly like cornered beasts.
Furthermore—
Feeling a chilling aura emanating from behind him, the veteran sharpened his focus. Their support had been cut off, and they couldn't reach Iydris at all, but they had to hold the line.
This was a Sacrifice. Once they offered the sacrifices, the blood flowing through their veins would connect every Iron Warrior to its source. The Lord of Iron would gaze upon every Progeny who presented a Sacrifice to him.
When that time came, they would return to the legion and serve the Lord of Iron once more.
The Primarch's gaze was about to descend; they had to offer him victory.
"Iron Lord, more enemies are approaching!"
The urgent warning from his adjutant broke the intense concentration of the Iron Lord as he commanded the battle.
For a split second, he barely registered the alarm.
He had already dispatched three companies to fend off any potential assault from the Sons of Dorn. These soldiers, cultivated from his own gene-seed, were far more resilient than standard conscripts. Even in the face of devastating attacks, they wouldn't take a single step back.
"Who is the enemy? Where did they come from?"
The moment the words left his mouth, a muffled thud echoed in the Iron Lord's ears. He looked up in bewilderment to see the wall bulging outward, red patches blooming across the reinforced structure.
"Take cover!"
In a flash, the Iron Lord snapped to his senses.
Following his roar, a volatile Melt Stream blasted through the wall. The ensuing shockwave and debris forcefully separated the two fiercely engaged sides.
They ducked behind their respective covers, watching as black and red knights breached the chamber, the cold, sinister gleam of a Blade in their hands.
"Dark Angels!"
When the Dark Angels tore through the defenses and stormed the hall, the Iron Lord's immediate reaction wasn't to fight. Instead, he spun around and ordered his troops to fall back deeper into their defensive lines.
His retreat was so decisive that it caught even the Solitaire off guard.
Based on their experience fighting the great enemy of Chaos, these Iron Warriors would typically fight to the death in their trenches. When had they ever turned tail and run?
In that brief moment, the Iron Warriors retreated past their perimeter, and mobile adamantium barricades instantly slammed shut with a thunderous rumble—
Then, the Solitaire realized exactly why the Iron Lord had withdrawn so swiftly.
Boom!
Phosphex weapons were fired point-blank. Structures, armor, and corpses melted away like foam.
The Harlequins who couldn't dodge in time vanished in an instant, consumed like fragile flowers tossed into an endless inferno.
Super-Combustion Plasma discharged, shattering the Psychic Shield that someone had sacrificed their life to uphold. Vortex grenades were hurled, landing precisely amidst the enemy formation under their calculated aim.
Within the churning vortexes of The Warp, the Solitaire could even hear Slaanesh's piercing laughter echoing from The Empyrean.
Slaughter, bombardment, destruction.
They offered no chance to maneuver or hide, obliterating the enemy, their cover, and even the very air surrounding them.
Observing the carnage, Arthur turned his head and asked Rameses.
"Do we leave any alive?"
"None."
Rameses replied.
He was willing to spare the Farseer because he personally had a favorable impression of her.
He was willing to harbor some Aeldari because the rewards far outweighed the risks.
But the Harlequins were a different story, and the Solitaire was absolutely out of the question.
They currently lacked the leverage to negotiate with Jaghatai Khan, so there was no point in trying. Furthermore, the Solitaire played the role of Slaanesh in the Harlequin troupes and had long been marked by the Dark Prince. Even if the Laughing God, Jaghatai Khan, personally tried to rescue him, it would be a gamble.
Under limited circumstances, Rameses might make choices based on personal preference, but not when it meant taking unnecessary risks.
Cheats were never omnipotent; true power could only be expanded through reason and a clear mind.
Moreover, they were both after the spirit circuitry, making them natural enemies.
This was the Sword of the Crone we were talking about. The fewer people who knew the clues, the better.
"Understood."
Arthur nodded, then drew his sword.
Beside him, four knights of the Shattered Crown similarly raised their Blades.
These warriors, inheriting the legacy of the Heavenly Host of the Crown, bore names echoing those of human history and mythological heroes. Serving exclusively as line-breakers and vanguards, they excelled in honor duels and stood as ultimate symbols of victory.
"We are not your enemies, why go to such lengths?"
The surviving Harlequins remained unwilling to retreat, while the Solitaire glared intensely at Arthur.
The knight said nothing; he merely swung his Blade downward.
They were determined to secure the clues regarding the Sword of the Crone.
Clang!
A sharp, ringing clash resonated.
The Solitaire parried the black sword aimed at his head. He leaped lightly, performing a mid-air pivot that completely defied the laws of physics.
Inadvertently, his gaze caught the thirty-odd members of the Dreadwing advancing toward the Iron Warriors' lines, utilizing Exterminatus Weapons for absolute, saturating coverage.
Everyone had to die.
Suppressing the scream rising in his chest, the Solitaire, who suddenly couldn't hear the whispers of Slaanesh, raised his Harlequin's Kiss. Crystalline shuriken shot out from it, hurtling straight toward Arthur's face.
Arthur slightly tilted his head, effortlessly dodging the shuriken.
"???"
Blessed by several Aeldari ancients, the consecrated shuriken whose hit was fated even before it was fired—dodged just like that?
The Solitaire experienced a rare moment of sheer bafflement, briefly wondering if he had brought the wrong weapon.
Arthur raised his hand and executed a sweeping slash.
Swish—
A black line traced through the plaza, carving a rift in the very atmosphere. The Solitaire quickly ducked, ignoring the lethal edge slicing just above him, and thrust his Harlequin's Kiss, wielding it like a dagger, directly into Arthur's abdomen.
Bang!
A shower of sparks erupted. The resulting shockwave forced the Solitaire back half a step. Pressing his short blade down to block the incoming strike, he swiftly retreated once more.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Arthur marched steadily forward, wielding the black sword with one arm while his Shield flawlessly deflected thrust after thrust.
He revealed zero openings, maintaining a calm, relentless pace.
Crack—
Fractures appeared on the Solitaire's armguard. Suddenly, the retreating Harlequin opened his arms wide, taking a direct blow to his chest, only to wrap his arms around the knight's leg and shift his center of gravity forward.
Thud!
In that instant, his seemingly slender frame erupted with unprecedented strength, managing to drag down the fully armored knight, who weighed nearly two tons.
"Only in death—"
The Solitaire pinned Arthur to the ground, thrusting the Harlequin's Kiss right at his visor.
Clang!
Retracting his black sword, the knight parried the strike. Channeling his entire body's strength, he felt the short blade pressing down inch by inch as he stared into the iron mask bearing the visage of Slaanesh.
"..."
Arthur felt another gaze watching him.
Suddenly, he relaxed his arm, deftly redirecting the trajectory of the short blade and guiding it to bury deeply into the semi-molten rock right beside his cheek.
Before the blade could be extracted, Arthur, who initially prepared to raise his Shield against a secondary strike, instantly shifted his stance. His fist smashed brutally into the Solitaire's face.
Smash!
Several cracks webbed across the mask, yet the Solitaire's consciousness was clearer than ever.
Before the Solitaire could even savor this unfamiliar clarity—a sensation lost since he first took up the mantle of Slaanesh—Arthur vaulted to his feet, grabbed the Harlequin by the skull, and slammed it into the architectural ruins that had previously only suffered minor scratches from Vortex Weapons.
Then, the knight broke into a full sprint.
Screech!
Sparks trailed in their wake as the friction left a long, gruesome smear of blood along the wall. Despite having his head pinned, the Solitaire continued to frenetically parry Arthur's thrusts with his short blade.
He even retained enough coordination to launch counterattacks.
A hairline fracture appeared along the seams of Arthur's armor, sending tremors into the auramite inner lining. Halting his advance, the knight hurled the Solitaire violently away.
In the process, he casually ripped off the Harlequin's belt—already damaged from multiple targeted strikes—which had enabled him to manipulate reality and execute his outrageous mid-air maneuvers.
Boom!
A volkite beam struck the Harlequin point-blank in mid-air, blasting him entirely through the far wall. The figure hit the ground heavily but vaulted right back up.
Crack.
The mask shattered completely, revealing a breathtakingly beautiful face. Spitting out a few broken teeth, he stared gravely at the knight charging toward him once more.
"You are strong. Stronger than the children of The Emperor I once encountered on your homeworld."
He spat out a string of fluent High Gothic.
At least he wasn't speaking in riddles anymore.
However, Arthur couldn't be bothered to respond. Noting that the Slaanesh mask was destroyed, he simply narrowed his eyes, calculating exactly where his next strike should land.
Truly a killing machine.
The Solitaire sighed inwardly before speaking up. "I only wish to retrieve the relics of my kin."
Clang!
Another savage slash descended.
"I can grant you the future of humanity, even knowledge concerning the deity upon the throne."
In an instant, Arthur understood the Xenos's line of thought.
Realizing he couldn't win, the alien was resorting to negotiation.
Arthur's response was to simply raise his blade and hack down harder.
It was always best to ignore the honeyed words of a Harlequin; listening would only leave you completely duped.
"..."
How could there possibly be an opponent so perfectly ill-suited for him?
'I am no match for him.'
The Solitaire lamented inwardly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the remaining Harlequins fighting the Dark Angels.
It felt like an eternity had passed, but in reality, the duel had lasted less than twenty seconds. The rest of the troupe was still locked in a desperate stalemate.
If he couldn't stand up to the knight, the others in the troupe had absolutely no chance.
He quickly composed himself.
"Retreat!"
The Solitaire hastily commanded, throwing open a Webway gate within the ruins.
The Dark Angels swiftly swarmed in to block their escape. Facing these Space Marines—juniors who were vastly younger than him—the Solitaire could only trade injury for injury, desperately buying his kin a sliver of opportunity.
He had lived a very long life, whereas these children had barely begun theirs.
Even with the Divine Protection of the Laughing God, they should not perish so prematurely.
Although the Aeldari suffered no physical aging, the creeping chill in his soul informed the Solitaire that his end was imminent.
Today's actions were merely for the sake of a fleeting hope.
Since it could not be achieved, there was no point in making meaningless sacrifices.
Arthur laid out the two Harlequins attempting to stall him, then lunged straight for the Solitaire.
Squelch!
The black sword impaled his chest, the welling blood dyeing his frontal crest crimson.
The three remaining Harlequins slipped through, and the Webway gate abruptly snapped shut.
"The cause forged today shall reap its consequences tomorrow."
With every muscle in his body trembling violently, the Solitaire locked eyes with the knight before him.
More would come. As long as the wisdom of his kin was taken by them, endless waves of Aeldari would come to reclaim this path of death.
He had long been prepared to face his end.
He just never expected it to be here.
Arthur remained silent, swinging his blade in a sweeping arc that cleanly decapitated the Solitaire.
Then, he dropped a single parting remark.
"Then I expect your kind will be thanking me."
The severed head, which should have been contorted in pure hatred, struck the ground bearing an expression of astonishment, mingled with pleasant surprise and profound relief.
"My Lord!"
"Your Highness."
Kai and Gareth wore expressions of shame, fresh blood dripping from their Blades.
They had failed to completely annihilate the retreating forces.
"It does not matter."
Arthur shook his head. The Harlequins were historically renowned for their individual Combat Power; it was highly likely for an average Adeptus Astartes to be killed instantly upon encountering them.
Then, he turned around, surveying the battlefield that had been thoroughly leveled by the bombardment.
The efficiency of the Dark Angels was never something one needed to worry about.