The echoes of the war drums had not yet fully faded when [Twin Maple] struck first.
He knew that the Iron Warriors excelled at breaching defenses and close-quarters combat. He could not allow his opponent to close the distance with ease.
The bright yellow figure held his ground, raising his bolter with astonishing steadiness. Without the slightest warning, he fired three precise bursts that tore through the air, targeting [Tsundere Cutie]'s head, torso, and path of advance in a coordinated pattern of suppression.
"Hmph."
[Tsundere Cutie] let out a muffled grunt. The instant the bolt rounds left the barrel, his gray-black figure surged into motion.
Rather than retreat clumsily or attempt to block, he launched into an explosive zigzag advance at an oblique angle, moving with an agility utterly at odds with his heavy armor. The searing rounds narrowly skimmed past his plating and blasted small craters into the sand behind him.
His objective could not have been clearer: close the distance and crush his opponent's ranged advantage with the oppressive close combat at which the Iron Warriors excelled.
[Twin Maple]'s eyes narrowed behind his visor. His opponent's speed and decisiveness exceeded his expectations.
Without hesitation, he began retreating while continuing to fire, attempting to preserve the distance between them.
The rhythm of his bolter fire abruptly intensified. He was not seeking an immediate kill, but rather to suppress and disrupt his opponent's charge, forcing him into more exhausting evasive maneuvers.
Yet [Tsundere Cutie] pressed forward like a siege ram that had found a crack in the wall. He took two glancing bolt impacts to his pauldron and greave without slowing, dragging his power battleaxe behind him as he pushed his charge to its absolute limit.
The distance between them vanished in the blink of an eye.
Thirty meters!
Twenty meters!
Ten meters!
[Twin Maple] knew he could retreat no farther.
He hurled his empty bolter aside, gripped his power sword in both hands, and activated its humming energy field. His bright yellow armor lowered slightly as he assumed an impeccable defensive stance, the quintessential style of the Imperial Fists.
Stillness against motion. Defense as attack. He transformed himself into a reef that his enemy would have to shatter.
At five meters, [Tsundere Cutie] suddenly gathered his strength and leaped.
The massive power battleaxe descended with mountain-splitting force, carving a shrieking arc through the air from upper left to lower right in the most brutally direct strike imaginable.
"Come on!"
[Twin Maple] roared inwardly.
He neither dodged nor retreated. His power sword rose from below, meeting the edge of the axe with perfect precision. He angled the blade slightly, not intending to oppose the blow through raw strength, but to block and redirect it.
"Clang!"
The deafening crash rang out like a great bronze bell.
Blinding sparks of energy erupted from the center of the collision. Sand exploded outward in a circular wave around the two warriors.
The ground beneath [Twin Maple]'s feet abruptly sank. His knees bent slightly, and the joints of his yellow armor groaned under the unbearable strain.
Yet through masterful force redirection and a stance as solid as bedrock, he truly withstood that thunderous blow.
His power sword locked firmly against the battleaxe, and the two warriors were caught in a contest of strength.
A savage light flashed in [Tsundere Cutie]'s eyes.
The instant he landed, he used the recoil to twist his body, turning the downward chop into a horizontal sweep aimed at [Twin Maple]'s waist.
[Twin Maple] reacted with remarkable speed. He withdrew his sword to block while lashing out with a brutal kick toward his opponent's shin.
They collided again, each forced half a step backward, only to surge together once more like two interlocking whirlwinds.
The true melee had begun.
The yellow and gray-black figures crossed, collided, separated, then collided again at high speed in the center of the arena.
The endless clash of power sword and power battleaxe sounded like the wildest hammering in a forge. Sparks scattered like rain, forming brief curtains of light around the two warriors.
[Twin Maple]'s swordsmanship was disciplined, precise, and methodical.
He rarely initiated elaborate combinations. Every strike was intended to disrupt his opponent's balance, interfere with his attacking rhythm, or deliver a precise thrust toward the joints and seams of his armor.
He brought the defensive art of the Imperial Fists to its highest expression. Like a tightening noose, he sought to exhaust and trap his opponent through impenetrable defense and perfectly timed counterattacks.
[Tsundere Cutie]'s battleaxe, by contrast, moved with broad, savage, and fiercely aggressive strokes.
He launched assault after assault, the axe blade shrieking through the air as it attacked from every angle. Some blows carried crushing weight, while others were swift and treacherous.
He fully exploited the power battleaxe's superior reach and destructive force, forcing [Twin Maple] to block and evade without pause. Through overwhelming strength and relentless pressure, he sought to disrupt his opponent's defensive rhythm, expose a weakness, and end the battle with a single decisive blow.
It was the ultimate clash between two completely opposing styles.
One embodied absolute defense, becoming immovable stone. No matter how fiercely the winds blew or the waves battered, he remained unshaken, waiting for the moment to strike back.
The other embodied absolute offense, becoming an iron hammer that vowed to smash every obstacle through an unending storm of blows.
Both warriors displayed the defining traits of their Legions to perfection.
The sand was covered in deep craters left by their crossing footsteps, along with scorched marks carved by weapons and energy blasts.
Cuts, dents, and burns rapidly spread across both suits of armor. Yellow plates broke free, and gray-black rivets snapped, yet neither warrior slowed in the slightest. Their fighting spirit only burned more fiercely.
A crushing vertical strike from [Tsundere Cutie] missed as [Twin Maple] twisted aside, burying the axe blade deep in the sand.
[Twin Maple] seized the opportunity and thrust his sword toward the exposed gap beneath his opponent's ribs.
With a roar, [Tsundere Cutie] refused to evade.
He released his battleaxe, caught the incoming blade in one hand, then clenched his other fist. The powered gauntlet came crashing toward [Twin Maple]'s visor.
[Twin Maple] immediately abandoned his sword and ducked beneath the punch. At the same time, he drove his entire body into his opponent, slamming his pauldron heavily into [Tsundere Cutie]'s chest.
"Bang!"
The two warriors staggered apart once more.
[Tsundere Cutie] retrieved his battleaxe, while [Twin Maple] scooped up the bolter he had discarded earlier. Though already somewhat deformed, it could still serve as a crude blocking weapon.
The battle entered its most brutal and primitive stage.
Their weapons were damaged, their armor shattered. What remained was a pure contest of strength and will.
Both breathed heavily. Exhaustion and accumulated injuries had begun to slow their movements, yet the fire in their eyes had not diminished in the slightest.
After another full-force collision, the recoil hurled them apart simultaneously.
Each slid backward several meters before dropping to one knee, using his weapon to support his body as he gasped for breath.
For a time, neither could immediately launch another attack.
Sweat dripped through the gaps in their visors, leaving tiny dark marks in the sand.
The referee's count continued in silence.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds...
The two warriors continued staring each other down, struggling to recover even the slightest trace of strength so they could deliver one final blow.
Yet their heavy bodies and overtaxed reflexes told them that the next charge would most likely end in mutual destruction.
At last, when the count reached thirty seconds, the referee raised both flags simultaneously.
A ringing announcement echoed throughout the arena.
[Draw! Both combatants have lost the ability to continue attacking. Under tournament rules, the match is declared a draw!]
The instant the announcement ended, the tension snapped.
[Twin Maple] and [Tsundere Cutie] released their final reserves of strength almost simultaneously. Their bodies swayed before they collapsed into seated positions on the sand, too exhausted to move, held upright only by sheer will.
The battered figures in yellow and gray-black looked especially tragic against the vast battlefield.
Yet somehow, they also seemed perfectly matched.
---
In the Imperial Fists' section of the stands, a complex expression flashed across Rogal Dorn's rock-hard features, relief intertwined with genuine concern.
The cold declaration he had made before the battle, that defeat would mean expulsion from the Legion, no longer seemed quite so absolute as he looked down at [Twin Maple], sitting helplessly on the ground in his ruined yellow armor.
"Apothecary!"
Dorn's voice remained steady, but his speech was noticeably faster than before.
"Go down there immediately and bring my warrior back. Prioritize internal injuries and damage to his power armor. I will not tolerate any lasting complications that might affect his future battles."
The Imperial Fists Apothecaries and support personnel beside him immediately raced down from the stands like bolts of yellow lightning.
Dorn's gaze followed [Twin Maple] closely as he was carefully lifted onto a stretcher.
The concern in his eyes resembled that of a father watching over an injured son, standing in subtle contrast to his reputation as an unyielding rock.
His severity had been born from expectation. His concern now came from something more fundamental: his deep regard for the sons of his Legion.
On the other side stood the Iron Warriors' section.
Perturabo's breathing seemed to grow heavier for a moment beneath his helmet.
Failing to achieve a clean victory over the Imperial Fists had clearly disappointed him. His burning need to prove himself had not been fully satisfied.
Yet when he saw [Tsundere Cutie] sitting equally helpless on the sand, his gray-black armor covered in scars as he stubbornly refused to collapse, that disappointment transformed into a complicated form of recognition.
"Useless waste," he muttered.
Then he turned toward his attendants and issued a brief, direct command.
"Our warrior also requires immediate treatment. Have the Apothecaries use their finest methods. He has proven the resilience of the Iron Warriors and deserves the finest repairs. Move!"
The Iron Warriors' medical team swiftly entered the arena and transferred [Tsundere Cutie] with equal care.
Across the field, the two Primarchs briefly met each other's gaze once more.
There was no victor's mockery, nor a loser's frustration.
There was only a silent acknowledgment of the strength and resolve displayed by each other's son after such a brutal collision.
Perhaps a draw was the most fitting and meaningful conclusion for this destined confrontation between stone and iron.
It had decided no superior, yet it had shown everyone the defining qualities of both Legions in their purest forms, along with the honor and indomitable spirit of warriors that neither side could deny.
The radiance upon the throne also seemed to cast a silent, unreadable gaze upon this evenly matched battle that had left both sides broken.