Chapter 56: Arrogance

Aboard the *Endurance*, within the Dueling Cage.

Now.

The usually bustling dueling hall was eerily silent.

Haznir and Korinor stood at the center of everyone's gaze, their half-drawn blades shimmering under the pale light.

Yet, while many eyes seemed to be on the duelists, the true focus was on the towering figure seated below.

Mortarion sat motionless, resembling a corpse. The white smoke from his incense burner slowly rose, and the yellow-green gas from his mask seeped out with every breath, obscuring his eyes.

After his initial words, Mortarion remained still.

His inherently oppressive and somber aura enveloped the hall.

A piercing bell rang out!

Breaking the silence, Haznir charged forward, initiating the attack. Korinor, on the other hand, assumed his classic defensive stance, raising his greatsword in anticipation.

As Haznir closed in and swung his scythe, Korinor, instead of blocking, swiftly sidestepped the attack. Simultaneously, his greatsword thrust towards Haznir's chest.

However, the scene from Korinor's previous duel with Jozar did not replay. Haznir quickly retracted his scythe for defense, shifting his weight to dodge the sword's strike.

With a grunt, Haznir gripped the scythe's handle, successfully blocking Korinor's slash mere inches from his body. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal, but the scythe remained steadfast.

Beneath Haznir's feet, the high-strength composite floor showed a slight indentation.

Sensing the immense strength of his opponent and realizing that a prolonged stalemate would be to his disadvantage, Korinor disengaged, retreating to adjust his stance and prepare for the next attack.

But he shouldn't have retreated.

On the battlefield, the scythe is a rare long-handled weapon, requiring a wielder with exceptional skill.

Unlike typical long weapons, such as spears, the scythe's attack range isn't straightforward. Using it like other long weapons would expose the user to the enemy's attack range.

To wield a scythe, one must overcome instinctual impulses, not attacking or defending directly. Only by maneuvering its curved blade, the weapon of the Reaper, can one truly harness its power.

Korinor had made a mistake.

The scythe's range was clearly longer than the greatsword's. Retreating would only give his opponent a better opportunity. But Korinor, accustomed to a defensive style, mistook the scythe for a spear, thinking he only needed to defend from the front.

If his opponent had a spear, blocking from the front with a sword would suffice.

But not with a scythe.

Seizing Korinor's error, Haznir lunged with his scythe. Korinor raised his sword in defense, but while the scythe's handle was in front of him, its blade was at his vulnerable side!

Korinor quickly turned, pulling back his sword, but as he did, the scythe eerily retracted, its changing angle making it seem like a blossoming silver flower. Haznir, already fast, seemed to speed up even more.

Haznir reached Korinor's side, the scythe's tip perfectly positioned at Korinor's neck.

The outcome was clear.

Arrogant fool!

In Haznir's mind, he shouted. These haughty veterans never paid attention to the weapons favored by the new recruits, nor did they bother to learn their techniques. It was this arrogance that led to their defeat today.

After all, any novice with a scythe knows that close combat is the most challenging situation for a scythe wielder. But a retreating enemy is the best sight for them.

Arrogant? The arrogant ones are you!

The Barbarus side erupted in applause and cheers. Haznir raised his scythe above his head, the light shining on him as he laughed triumphantly.

He turned and smiled in Mortarion's direction. Although the Primarch's expression remained unreadable, the oppressive atmosphere around him seemed to lighten.

Compared to the boastful Haznir, Korinor looked stern. After a glance at Haznir, he silently left the platform. The Terran veterans in the dark discreetly made way for him, quickly closing ranks again, allowing Korinor to blend into the crowd.

As the Barbarus side continued their celebration, several figures discreetly left the dueling hall.

The cheers from Barbarus continued, but Mortarion raised a hand, signaling for silence.

With the hall quiet once more, Mortarion seemed satisfied. He crossed his arms.

By now, some had deciphered Mortarion's intent—

He was waiting for the next duel!

Some rational individuals began to sweat. Haznir's narrow victory was already the best outcome, satisfying the Barbarus side's competitive spirit while allowing the Terran veterans a way out.

Astute Terran veterans could see that Haznir had won due to Korinor's mistake. If the duel had been prolonged, Haznir's chances of victory would have been slim.

The next fight would be Haznir's downfall.

There was a slight commotion among the Terran veterans.

Finally, a burly veteran leaped onto the platform. Those around him looked surprised and puzzled.

This man was a hardliner from the Seventh Squad, having repeatedly requested to be assigned to the next mission on Zisha.

It's worth noting that in the entire dueling hall, the Seventh Squad had the fewest Terran veterans. Although designated as a combat squad, these veterans preferred to spend their leisure time polishing their weapons or meditating.

Those from the Seventh Squad who frequented the dueling hall were often the most stubborn and hot-tempered.

"I'm next!"

Mortarion continued to sit statue-like, unmoving.

Mortarion had been learning how to interact with the Titan repair crew, focusing on their etiquette. Since joining the Legion, he had much to learn: unfamiliar languages, unfamiliar times, unfamiliar environments, and those who, hiding in the shadows due to their lowly status, wished to mock him.

Heh.

Those arrogant fools.

Mortarion had seen portraits of his so-called brothers. They were all adorned in gold, jewels, and ornate decorations, shining brightly.

They were all kings, princes, and lords. Only Mortarion was not.

Of course, he knew how they mocked him internally.

A Primarch that doesn't resemble the Emperor's progeny? A dirty peasant from an agricultural world with hands covered in mud?

Did they think Mortarion couldn't hear? Couldn't see? Those who were simply chosen due to luck and then became complacent.

He would make them shut up.

In the four months since Mortarion joined the Legion, he slept only one hour a week, constantly learning. He absorbed knowledge voraciously.

Mortarion grew rapidly. He pushed himself to the limit, enduring pain, just as he had under the rule of Necare.

He didn't want the people of Barbarus to be looked at with pity or disdain.

They were the liberators of their planet, warriors who overthrew tyrants with their own hands, not these fools chosen merely by luck.

Mortarion had only once briefly taken a

break from his studies when Hadirus awoke. He had to see him, for together they had slain the last tyrant of Barbarus.

But after that, he plunged back into his studies.

However, today, Calas Typhon suggested Mortarion take a break and see what his Barbarus warriors did in their free time.

It had been a while since he had seen his people, his warriors, his arms.

Mortarion agreed.