Chapter 151: In the Depths, an Encounter with a Knight of Sword and Shield, His Defense and Cleave as Strong as a Monster's—
The battlefield was a chaotic mess.
In the secret plaza in the lower levels of the fortress, corpses, blood, and fragments of steel covered the ground, staining the deep, damp earth red.
A pile of corpses, several meters high, was stacked at the breach. Thanks to the advantages of their race, the Harlequin troupe, numbering only a little over twenty, had not suffered too many casualties. It was the heavily armored soldiers who were layered one on top of the other, with all sorts of weapons scattered on the ground.
The Iron Warriors, responsible for guarding the ritual, numbered five hundred in total, all of them bred from the gene-seed of their company captains.
"I offer you this dance, that you may contemplate its crudeness."
Like a beautiful flower blooming on a gray and desolate land, an arc of blade-light filled the minds of the Iron Warriors. The white-faced Solitaire led his troupe, weaving wantonly through the jungle of steel.
From extreme speed to sudden stillness in a single instant, he avoided the rain of bullets and axe-blades that came for him, then stepped on the chain-axe blade swung by an Iron Warrior, and with a light leap—another fine head fell.
"That which you cannot obtain, why add to your worries with delusions?"
Extremely fast, incomparably sharp.
Even an Astartes's vision could barely track his movements. By the time the signal of pain was transmitted from the wrist that held the weapon, the brain had already lost its ability to process.
These agile xenos had abandoned all the flanking strategies in the records, and with lightning speed, had plunged straight into the enemy's interior, pouring all their grief and anger for the fall of the Eldar into their assault.
"The Lord of Iron has no such intent. Why do you trouble yourself?"
This was The Revenge of Cegorach, a play that told of the heroes' resistance against Slaanesh during the Fall of the Eldar. It was therefore extremely bloody, tragic, and very deadly—especially for the enemies of the Harlequins.
Unlike their cousins who were masters of torture or masters of battle formations, the Harlequins were just purely strong, purely pushing the physical talents of the Eldar to their absolute limit. The origin of the Harlequin troupes could be traced back to the twilight era before the Fall of the Eldar. At that time, these artistic groups had used the performance of ancient legends as a medium to pass on the memory of their civilization. However, paradoxically, the Eldar Empire, at the peak of its hedonism, had long since cast aside its divine faith. It was common for blasphemers in the theater to throw things at the performers, and even to start brawls.
To ensure the normal progress of their performances, the Harlequins had begun to become better fighters than their audience, until their faction, after several tens of thousands of years, had become the elite of all the Eldar factions.
And now, out of necessity, they would once again display their martial arts.
"Your thoughts are in disarray. Do not add to your original sin."
The long poem, composed in High Gothic, echoed through the chamber. The Solitaire of the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow stared intently at the center of the secret plaza, at the ornate disk that was spinning in the void.
He had to get his kinsmen's wisdom back before the ritual of these filthy creatures was activated.
Cegorach had passed down a secret message. It was their clue to the path of eternal death. He would have a chance to walk the path of true death.
The Solitaire looked at his fallen comrades around him, a hint of envy in his eyes. Their souls would receive the protection of the Laughing God. Even after death, they could find a pure land.
But the Solitaire could not. The role he played was Slaanesh. Even the Laughing God, Cegorach, could only rely on luck.
"We shall march towards death."
"Damn it, these xenos are really tough!"
Having withstood a round of ambushes from the Solitaire, a hundred-battle veteran, who had lost three fingers, directly threw away his plasma pistol and swung his sword to force back the幻影.
An endless frustration was gnawing at his mind.
Because he could understand the Harlequins'叽叽歪歪!
How did those damned rumors get to the mouths of these Eldar xenos!
He adjusted the barrage of the fire support squad. A performer would only occasionally fall in the crimson dance floor. He raised his eyes to assess the situation.
The battle had raged to this point. Facing the Harlequin troupe, which had only lost three members, the Iron Warriors, although they still had the numerical advantage, were already at an absolute disadvantage. With enough time, this Solitaire could kill them all. But they were still far from breaking. The harsh military discipline drove them to fight a desperate battle.
And—
Feeling the chill from behind him, the hundred-battle veteran focused even more. The support had been cut off. He couldn't contact Idriss. But they still had to hold on. This was a sacrifice. When they offered the sacrifice, the blood flowing in their bodies would link every Iron Warrior to the source of this blood. The Lord of Iron would watch over every son who offered him a sacrifice.
At that time, they would return to the Legion and serve the Lord of Iron once more.
The gaze of the Primarch was about to descend. They had to offer him victory.
"Iron Lord, the enemy is here again!"
A reminder from the adjutant at his side interrupted the Iron Lord, who was struggling to command the battle.
He didn't even react the first time he heard the warning. He had already sent three of his companies to block the possible attack of the sons of Dorn. These soldiers, created from his own gene-seed, were much tougher than the fast-bred troops. And even in the face of a devastating attack, they would not retreat a single step.
"Who is the enemy? Where are they from?"
The moment his voice fell, a dull "thud" echoed in the Iron Lord's ear. He looked up in a daze and saw the wall bulge, a red patch appearing on the reinforced facility.
"Take cover!"
In that instant, the Iron Lord reacted.
With his shout, a burst of molten fire blasted through the wall. The overflowing airwave and debris separated the two sides, who had been locked in a slaughter. They each hid behind cover, and saw the black and red knights break through, the blades in their hands gleaming with a cold, sinister light.
"Dark Angels!"
When the Dark Angels tore through the defenses and broke into the hall, the Iron Lord's first reaction was not to fight, but to turn and lead his troops to retreat to the inner part of the defensive line.
He retreated so decisively that it even made the Solitaire pause for a moment.
According to their experience in fighting these great enemies of Chaos, these Iron Warriors would die in their trenches. When had they ever turned and run?
In that instant, the Iron Warriors had already retreated to the inner part of the defensive line. The active adamantium barrier immediately lowered, with a rumbling sound—
The Solitaire also knew why the Iron Lord had retreated so decisively.
BOOM!
Phosphex weapons were fired at point-blank range. Buildings, armor, and corpses melted like foam. The Harlequins who had not had time to dodge were like flowers in a raging fire, instantly annihilated in the endless flames.
Super-heated plasma was fired, breaking through the psychic shield that someone had held up with their life. Vortex grenades were thrown, and under their precise control, they landed in the enemy's formation.
In the rising Warp-vortex, the Solitaire could even hear the sharp laughter of Slaanesh from the Empyrean.
Slaughter, bombing, destruction.
No chance for maneuvering or hiding. The enemy, the cover, and the very air around them were all destroyed together.
Watching all of this, Arthur turned his head and asked Ramesses, "Do we leave them?"
"We don't," Ramesses replied. He was willing to spare the Farseer's life because he had a good personal impression of him. He was willing to protect a portion of the Eldar because, compared to the cost, he could gain more. But the Harlequins were a no-go. And the Solitaire was even more of a no-go.
They currently didn't have the capital to negotiate with Cegorach. There was no need to stir up trouble. And the Solitaire, in the Harlequin troupe, played the role of Slaanesh. He was already on their radar. Even the Laughing God, Cegorach, could only rely on luck to save him.
He personally would, under limited conditions, make choices based on his preferences, but when risks were involved, it was an exception. The cheats were not omnipotent. Power could only be expanded with a rational and clear mind.
And they had to get the soul circuit. They were naturally in an adversarial relationship.
This was the Crone-Sword. The fewer people who knew the clues, the better.
"Alright." Arthur nodded, then drew his sword.
At his side, the four knights of the Order of the Broken Crown also raised their blades. These warriors, who had inherited the traditions of the Host of Crowns, had names like the heroes of human history and myth. They specialized in being the line-breakers and vanguard warriors, were extremely skilled in honor duels, and were also a symbol of victory.
"I am not your enemy. Why must you do this?" The remaining Harlequins were still unwilling to leave. The Solitaire stared intently at Arthur.
The knight did not speak, just swung his blade down.
They were determined to have the clues to the Crone-Sword.
CLANG!
A crisp clang.
The Solitaire caught the black sword that was cleaving at his head. His body leapt lightly and, in a posture that violated the laws of physics, he turned in mid-air.
Inadvertently, his gaze fell on the thirty-odd Dreadwing who were advancing towards the Iron Warriors' line. The exterminatus weapons had still chosen saturation coverage.
All must die.
Suppressing the shriek in his heart, the Solitaire, who suddenly could not hear the whispers of Slaanesh, raised his Harlequin's Kiss. A crystal-clear shuriken shot from it, straight for Arthur's face.
Arthur tilted his head slightly, and the shuriken was easily dodged.
"???"
The blessed shuriken, which had been blessed by several Eldar ancestors and whose result of hitting had been achieved before it was even fired, had just been dodged?
The Solitaire, for a rare moment, was stunned. He even suspected he had brought the wrong weapon.
Arthur raised his hand and slashed horizontally.
SWISH—
A black line was left in the plaza, a scar in the atmosphere. The Solitaire quickly squatted, ignoring the sharp edge that passed over his head. The Harlequin's Kiss, like a short sword, stabbed at Arthur's abdomen.
BOOM!
A shower of sparks. The impact made the Solitaire take half a step back. He pressed down with his short sword to block the opponent's slash, and the whole person retreated again.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Arthur strode forward steadily, swinging his black sword with one arm, his shield constantly blocking one thrust after another.
Flawless, unhurried.
CRACK—
A crack appeared in his arm-guard. The constantly retreating Solitaire suddenly opened his hands, letting his chest take a blow, and then hugged the knight's leg, shifting his center of gravity forward.
DONG!
The seemingly slender body erupted with an unparalleled strength at that moment, actually bringing the knight, who weighed nearly two tons after being armored, down with him.
"Only death—"
The Solitaire was on top of Arthur, his Harlequin's Kiss aimed straight for his opponent's face.
CLANG!
The retracted black sword caught the short sword. The knight concentrated all his strength, feeling the short sword press down inch by inch, looking at the iron mask that bore the face of Slaanesh.
"..."
Arthur felt another gaze on him.
His arm suddenly went limp. At the same time, he cleverly caught the trajectory of the short sword and sent it into the semi-molten rock at the side of his face.
Before he could pull it out, Arthur, who had been preparing to use his shield to deal with a second attack, immediately changed his move. His fist had already slammed into the Solitaire's face.
CRACK!
A few cracks appeared on the mask, but his consciousness was clearer than ever.
The Solitaire had not yet had time to experience this feeling, which had been so unfamiliar since he had begun to play the role of Slaanesh, when Arthur, who had risen with the momentum, grabbed his head and slammed it against the architectural ruins, which had only been slightly scratched even by the vortex weapons.
Then, he began to run at full speed.
SCREEECH!
A trail of sparks. The friction of the body left a large bloodstain on the wall. And the Solitaire's head was held down, but he could still continuously use his short sword to deal with Arthur's thrusts. He even had the ability to counter-attack.
A crack appeared in the seam of the armor. The auramite layer inside also transmitted a vibration. Arthur's steps paused, and he directly threw the Solitaire in his hand. He also casually tore off the belt that had been damaged in the repeated deliberate attacks, the one that could manipulate real space and allow for some absurd maneuvers.
BOOM!
A beam of melta-fire directly hit the Harlequin in mid-air. The wall at the end was directly blasted through. The figure fell heavily to the ground, and then quickly got up again.
CRACK.
The mask shattered, revealing a beautiful face. He spat out a few teeth and looked at the knight who was striding towards him, his face grim.
"You are strong. Stronger than the Emperor's sons I met on your homeworld." He spat out a string of fluent High Gothic.
Finally, no more riddles.
And Arthur couldn't be bothered with him. After confirming that the Slaanesh mask was shattered, he narrowed his eyes, observing where the next sword should cut.
Truly a killing machine.
The Solitaire sighed inwardly, then said, "I only need to bring back the relics of my kinsmen."
CLANG!
Another sword came.
"I can bring you the future of humanity, even the news of the Throne God."
Arthur instantly understood the other's line of thought.
He can't win, so he's planning to talk his way out.
He simply raised his sword and cut.
It was best to believe as little of what a Harlequin said as possible. It was easy to be fooled.
"..."
How can there be such an incompatible opponent in the world.
'Not an opponent.'
The Solitaire sighed in despair, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth. He looked at the Harlequins who were clashing with the Dark Angels. They had seemingly been fighting for a long time, but it had only been less than twenty seconds. The others were still in a stalemate. He was not an opponent, and the others in the troupe were even less likely to be.
He then composed himself. "Retreat!"
The Solitaire quickly commanded, opening a Webway gate in the ruins.
The Dark Angels quickly surrounded them. The Solitaire looked at these younger ones, who were far smaller than him. He could only trade injuries for injuries, to create an opportunity for his comrades. His lifespan was very long, but these children, their lives had only just begun. Even with the protection of the Laughing God, they should not perish so early.
Although the Eldar had no physical aging or death, the coldness of his soul already made the Solitaire feel that his own death was approaching.
Today's matter was just for the sake of a thought. Since he could not obtain it, then he would not make any more pointless sacrifices.
Arthur knocked down two of the Harlequins who had entangled him, then plunged straight for the Solitaire.
SQUELCH!
The black sword was embedded in his chest, the overflowing blood staining the emblem on his chest red.
The remaining three Harlequins dove into it, and the Webway gate quickly closed.
"Today's cause, tomorrow's effect."
His entire body was trembling. The Solitaire stared intently at the knight before him.
There will be others. As long as the wisdom of his kinsmen was taken by them, there would be a continuous stream of people coming to reclaim this dead end.
He had long been prepared to accept his own ending.
He just hadn't expected to fall here.
Arthur was speechless. He swept his blade horizontally, directly taking the Solitaire's head.
He then threw down a sentence. "Then I think you will thank me."
The head that should have been filled with hatred fell to the ground, its expression a mixture of surprise, joy, and relief.
"My Lord!"
"Your Highness."
Cypher and Gareth's faces were filled with shame, blood dripping from their blades. They had failed to annihilate this remnant army.
"It's of no consequence." Arthur shook his head. The Harlequins were known for their individual combat prowess. It was possible for an ordinary Astartes to be instantly killed upon meeting them.
He then turned and looked at the battlefield, which had already been flattened by demolition charges.
The efficiency of the Dark Angels was never a cause for concern.
(End of Chapter)