Chapter 286 Simulated Battlefield
"I remember how I lost last time," Roger Dorn said. His sitting posture was as upright as ever, as if his spine was not superimposed and mobile. The bone joint is a straight stone work that was shaped and polished at the beginning of creation.
And Perturabo knew that the spine itself was not a vertical line of ink rope. So, this is the false synaesthesia brought to them by this Primarch's usual posture.
He continued: "In the last combat training, I consumed too much energy when approaching Perturabo. His medium and close range artillery fire and energy transfer shield almost It eliminates the need for him to engage in close combat. His skills focus on using guns with maximum efficiency, and Perturabo is good at making full use of his strengths."
"What about this time?" Phoenix waited for Rogal Dorn's turn, wiping his flaming sword with a dark purple velvet.
Fulgrim's desire to join the battle in person grew when he saw his own warriors dueling against the phantom warriors of the Imperial Fists through the embodied battle display created by Perturabo.
The Emperor's Children and the Imperial Fists were the first legions to trial the Court of Narni. Subsequent arrangements included a duel between the Salamanders and the Iron Hands, as well as a battle between the Night Ghost Court and the Iron Warriors.
If Angron's World Eaters arrive in Olympia in time, the Thousand Dust Sun, which is temporarily lodged within the Iron Warriors, will also send combatants to fight against it - considering the stability of the system, Thousand Dust Zhiyang will not be able to replenish psychic energy during combat.
Therefore, it would not even be a loss of honor if the latter refused to fight.
"This time, I brought a shield." Rogal Dorn replied.
Phoenix laughed softly, "The Emperor's strong shield!"
"And I didn't expect you to choose the snowy mountain scene again." Perturabo said, divided between two things, monitoring and protecting Na. The operation and broadcast of the Court of Erni involved the dialogue between the two Primarchs.
Rogal Dorn's silence was too long for him. Then he answered: "That was my first defeat."
"Many more after that, Rogge," said Perturabo.
While working together on Terra, Rogal Dorn lost to more than one person in friendly duels.
Angron didn't mention it, and he himself didn't need to say that losing to Leman Russ was not a surprise, but he had even been defeated by Magnus's brilliant red punch - "It doesn't matter, I Defeated Russ too," Magnus replied, reaching out his hand to let Rogal Dorn stand up again.
“No,” Dorn paused, “I awakened in Inwit, and that was my first defeat.”
“Um, any words of wisdom?” Fulgrim He tilted his head and tucked his long silver hair behind his ears, looking like he was listening intently.
"Have you ever been defeated?" Rogal Dorn asked.
Fulgrim narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to put the light reflected in his eyes into the inner pupils, "I am good at using swords, Rogal Dorn. And I have never challenged him in combat. I failed, but that doesn’t mean I never suffered setbacks.”
"Then, you no longer need me to explain my speech." Dorn nodded and returned his attention to the two screens in front of him.
The two screens share the same combat background, which is a slightly higher plain with sparse forests, a vast sky, grassy fields spread out in the open fields, and birds will still be frightened from the tops of the trees. To ensure relative fairness, the climate here is very different from either Inwit or Chemos.
The screen on the left belongs to the more than ten combatants sent by the Imperial Fist this time. The bright yellow warriors shuttled among the golden and purple phantom formations, as if they were in a real battlefield, completing each task meticulously. A combat goal. The screen on the right includes the Emperor's Children, ensuring that the swift and graceful movements of these warriors are fully displayed to their genetic father.
“They are doing a good job.” Perturabo said, the stream of charged particles on the cables connected to the many interfaces moved at high speed, like the glowing solar wind.
"I want to thank you for your creation, Perturabo," Fulgrim said happily, his fair face lit up with a look of satisfaction. "What a great simulated battlefield!"
He witnessed with satisfaction the perfect record achieved by his company-level commanders and above, the outstanding members of the Phoenix Guard, and the Palace Blades in Perturabo's Court of Narni.
Although the data used to simulate the Imperial Fists warriors were only phantoms debugged by Perturabo, the Iron Lord undoubtedly used some unimaginable use of technology and the control of Rogge. Dorn's deep understanding allowed him to perfectly recreate the combat effectiveness of the Seventh Legion.
Between the phoenix power spears in the confrontation, the power punches of the close attack, and the purple-gold light flashing from the sword grid when slashing, it is difficult to criticize every direct thrust or horizontal slash. When an Imperial Fist is knocked down, a new number will appear on the corresponding shoulder armor. Perturabo rated each phantom with points and added them up to the winner.
After the initial adaptation, and after confirming that fighting the Phantom to their heart's content would not affect the Gene Father's evaluation in front of others, the Emperor's Children realized that they did not have to deliberately avoid delivering fatal blows to their opponents. , or let this simulated battle end under the phantom's offensive.
The pace of the golden and purple warriors changes quickly and accurately, accompanied by the sharp flashes of bolt guns at various points, seizing those critical and unforgettable moments in the storm of crossfire, Insert the point of the weapon into a chink in the armor.
He easily recognized his warrior, Julius Caesoron, whose sword was as charismatic as his poetry. Telemanon Lylas, the twin swords cut the cables of the Lightning Claw like blades. And, of course, there is Akulduna, whose fighting is as graceful and flawless as his sword itself, like a piece of music, or an irretrievable memory.
It was an unfamiliar experience to fight directly against fellow Astartes, but their first performance had already lived up to the Golden Eagles of the Emperor's Children.
"Do you think we need to continue?" asked Perturabo. "Further?"
"Let them...?" Fulgrim said the beginning of the words.
"Okay." Rogal Dorn answered briefly and began to wait.
Fulgrim smiled helplessly, "Even if Rogal Dorn trusts you so much, I still have to ask, will this really not cause real damage?"
"Will it?" Perturabo Looked at Dawn.
"During testing, your data body blew off my left hand." Roger Dorn said, raising his left hand and rotating the wrist left and right, demonstrating its flexibility.
"Okay, let them start." Fulgrim leaned back and turned his head: "Is there any food suitable for the Primarch to eat?"
"Grapes How about it?" replied Perturabo, "It's purple."
Fulgrim raised his eyebrows: "Why do you think that everyone is the same as you two, obsessed with keeping the same color as their own legion at all times?"
"I don't think there is any fruit that is Yellow and black," said Perturabo, smiling.
“Where are the specially bred watermelons with yellow background and black stripes?” Morse asked, holding his right shoulder with his left hand, moving his arm that had become inexplicably less flexible, and walked slowly from the elevator.
"What's that?" Rogal Dorn asked.
"What's wrong with your hand?" Perturabo noticed the abnormality in Morse's behavior - of course, it didn't mean that the black-clothed craftsman was used to being elusive.
Fulgrim once told him in private that after finally meeting Morse himself and his unique style, he understood why Iron Warriors' Agora Market could be circulated all year round about Pei. There is a discussion on whether Turabo's mentor is a fantasy created by etheric fluctuations or electromagnetic currents, or whether he truly exists in the real universe. "Is there also a simulation game going on here?" Morse glanced at the back of the light-transmitting screen and recognized the scene on the screen. "You know that Olympia is launching a mortal wrestling match, right?"
"Mechanical me presided over the opening ceremony." Perturabo nodded, and then added: "I have already Its skin is completely repaired. If you are willing to assist in reconnecting the other humanoid iron rings, I can fully activate them."
"Continue to use your current mechanical guard," Morse put it down. With his left hand, he waved his right arm freely, "You don't need additional extraordinary means, they are enough. I participated in the wrestling match ten minutes ago."
"You...what?" Turab's manipulation of the cables ceased.
"Oh, first of all, I changed my face." Morse sat down on the chair and tapped his left leg. "My physical fitness is the average of an Olympian, and I don't use any abilities other than those of a mortal. Don't worry, I I didn’t steal the Olympian championship. After all, I have a long life and can’t compete with the young people of today for fame.”
“Who kicked you out of the wrestling ring or pushed you to the ground?”
The look on Perturabo's face at this moment was undoubtedly a smile. Morse dared to say that he had not seen this kind of teasing from Perturabo for a long time, or he had never seen it before.
"The contestant comes from Crete, the second planet in the Setia system," Morse frowned, "That is the group champion of today's round of competition. I can't rashly take away the people under your rule. Deserved honor."
"Thirty-two strong," said Roger Dorn.
"I thought you had learned to seize the opportunity to shut up over the years..."
"What Rogal Dorn meant was that, as a non-combatant, he only simulated the use of the average local human resources. In terms of physical fitness, you can achieve the top thirty-two results in the Olympia Star Cluster, which is a very commendable battle result."
"I think so too," Perturabo said with a smile, "Mechanical. I'm still watching the fight. I wasn't sure ten minutes ago if that young man was really you, but now that I've been identified, I'll keep that memory. You fought well, Morse. ”
Morse picked up a grape from the fruit plate delivered by the automatic machine. These fruits, presumably bred specifically for the primarch, are especially large, with a grape almost as large as a mortal fist.
“Do you think I’d be angry or ashamed? No, I wouldn’t. Because I’m not a combatant, and I’m not denying that.”
He carefully took a bite of the fruit. The taste was not bad, and the peel did not thicken as the fruit expanded. As for the leaking juices, that's a minor problem that can easily be solved with psychic powers.
"Why don't we focus more on how real warriors fight? Then I can write my next skit." Morse said, looking at the two screens He tilted his head. "That will be a scene I am looking forward to very much."
Then he snapped his fingers, and the dark form immediately merged into the air and disappeared.
"So..." Perturabo noticed the empty tray of the automatic machine and couldn't help but take a deep breath. "Well, we need a new plate of grapes."
——
Finish. Akulduna thought.
He took a step forward, crossed forward, used the momentum of his right hand to spin, and the sword blade slashed upward from below, hitting the opponent's gauntlet and knocking away the opponent's bolt gun. He caught up with a half-turn sweep, and the top of the long and slightly curved sword was immediately pressed against the very real throat of the Phantom Warrior.
Akulduna exerted a little more force forward, triggering the detection limit inside Narni's Court. The phantom warrior fell to the ground, his body turned into flowing green liquid, returned to the simulated battlefield and was trampled under the grass raised by the turf.
The hot air rolled over the tassels on the sword master's head, causing them to rise like the tip of an eagle's wings. It's an honor to compete with you, he said in his heart, and saw a flash of light on his right shoulder armor from the corner of his eye. How many opponents in the illusion is this? He didn't bother to count.
He gripped the blade again and let it slide in his hand at an impartial angle, waiting for a new opponent to suddenly appear from the forest at any time, just like what he had experienced in the previous battle.
This slightly curved long sword is named Timur. The hilt is a stallion's head and is tied with a shiny black horsehair ornament. The other sword was long, straight and narrow, engraved with ancient Greek runes of unknown meaning. It's called Athena.
For some unclear reasons, Akulduna chose the first sword as his main weapon today. Even though both swords were crafted by ancient Terran craftsmen.
But his opponent did not continue to appear.
Akulduna did not completely let his guard down, but he allowed himself to relax from his fighting stance for a moment. There is a degree of relaxation, and a warrior should not waste energy on useless tension.
He moved forward. There are not many of his companions left, half of them have collapsed from exhaustion in the training battles, turning into flowing green matrix and returning to reality. The rest fought separately with him. Of course, following a combat master would inevitably reduce the points on their own shoulder armor.
They behaved very well. Akulduna thought. If the Primarchs were watching, they did not dishonor the golden eagle on the Emperor's Children's chest.
After walking in the forest for a while, he heard a branch snapping, crisp and slight, but not negligible.
The swordsman tensed up again. The blade reflected his helmet, and no expression could be seen there.
Here he comes.
The iconic bright yellow armor of the Imperial Fists warriors, as well as the white robes with black edges that partially cover the torso, emerge from the shadows of the trees.
Following him were several black-armored warriors, who also used clenched fists as signs, proving their special status in the Imperial Fists.
Templar. No doubt.
“You are serious, right?” Akulduna tilted his head, and the blade of his sword drew a sharp half-arc in the soil. he asked loudly.
Even if there is no clear evidence, he knows very well that the warriors he faces at this time are no longer the phantoms obtained by Perturabo's perfect simulation - because these warriors are different. They are not perfect.
A different kind of expectation surged in his chest.
Opposite him, the leading warrior looked at him across a forest. The sun fell between them, forming a dark green circle around the grass.
The warrior raised his sword and saluted. The vague and simple steel reflects Akulduna's signature delicate carvings that extend from the breastplate to the armplate.
Akulduna took a breath and stepped forward.
(End of this chapter)