Chapter 57: Psyker? Psyker!

Aboard the *Endurance*, within the Dueling Cage.

Now.

A brilliant white light illuminated the Dueling Cage, casting a hazy glow in the otherwise darkened hall.

Two figures took their positions on the platform, readying themselves.

Scythe met longsword.

A resonating hum filled the air.

Domingo, a Terran veteran, lunged forward with his sword, aiming a ruthless thrust at Haznir.

Haznir raised his scythe in defense. But as if Domingo had already predicted Haznir's next move, he suddenly accelerated, bypassing Haznir's defense. The blade flashed, and in a split second, red lines of blood appeared on Haznir's arm and neck!

Just one exchange!

Had Domingo's blade been fully sharpened, Haznir might not have been able to stand on the dueling platform now.

The outcome was clear!

With a mix of resentment and frustration, Haznir shot a glance at the veteran Domingo. The burning sensation on his shoulder and neck, however, served as a stark reminder of his defeat.

He silently descended from the platform.

Domingo remained on the platform, standing as immovable as a boulder, showing no intention of leaving.

Below, the Barbarus side was a mix of silence and discontent. Some murmured, some grumbled. The crowd was restless, but no one dared to step up.

Haznir was among the top three undefeated champions in the Dueling Cage. Many below had been defeated by him and knew they were no match.

However, Vox, the only one who could potentially defeat Haznir, was mysteriously absent. He, who often watched the duels, was nowhere to be seen.

The Terran veterans remained silent, waiting. Even if some didn't approve of Domingo's actions, all they could do now was wait.

Mortarion's imposing figure remained motionless, resembling a skeletal statue. The smoke from his censer swirled around him, the scent of poison subtly piercing everyone's nostrils.

His face, obscured by a hood, a gas mask, and the smoke, was inscrutable.

Mortarion was waiting.

The atmosphere grew tense. The slight commotion among the Barbarus crowd subsided, and silence once again enveloped the hall.

Domingo stood proudly and silently on the platform, like a stone knight guarding a treasure, awaiting any challengers.

Footsteps broke the silence.

Calas Typhon slowly emerged, silently stepping onto the platform. He glanced at the weapon rack and drew the same scythe used by the previous Barbarus duelists.

Typhon took his position opposite Domingo, raising his scythe.

Domingo, in turn, raised his sword, calmly facing Typhon.

Mortarion remained still.

The duel began!

Domingo continued his previous strategy, lunging forward with a direct thrust, aiming to defeat the overconfident rookie in the shortest time.

He wasn't afraid that Typhon would predict his moves based on the previous duel. On the battlefield, most duels were dominated by sheer power and speed. Tactics were reserved for evenly matched opponents.

And these new recruits, fresh from their augmentations, couldn't possibly match the seasoned veterans.

However, Typhon's face showed neither fear nor disdain. He directly blocked Domingo's thrust with his scythe and accelerated to block Domingo's second strike.

His movements were fluid, unlike the previous Barbarus duelists.

Domingo was slightly taken aback. He hadn't noticed Typhon among the regulars of the Barbarus Dueling Cage. Typhon wasn't a frequent duelist.

This was an unexpected obstacle—

But it wouldn't change the outcome!

Domingo didn't retreat. He engaged Typhon in close combat, his sword moving like a serpent, trying to breach Typhon's defense.

The scythe, with its long and broad attack range, seemed ineffective at close range. Typhon struggled, using the scythe's handle to block Domingo's relentless attacks.

Typhon tried to create distance, but Domingo didn't give him the chance, pressing the attack and not allowing Typhon any room to maneuver.

To any observer, it was clear that Typhon would soon be defeated.

But Typhon remained calm, continuing to block Domingo's strikes.

Arrogant whelp.

Domingo pressed on, increasing his attack speed—

Suddenly, a flaw!

Domingo's sword moved in a downward arc, then hooked upwards, aiming directly for Typhon's heart, forsaking his own defense.

Time seemed to slow. Domingo saw the gleam on his blade and—

A hint of frost suddenly appeared on the blade!

What?!!!

Domingo's eyes widened. His instincts told him to defend, but it was too late to retract his thrust.

Typhon's face bore no hint of triumph or joy, only solemn respect.

This guy is a psyker!!!

Although Domingo tried to adjust, in the heat of battle, a moment's hesitation could determine life or death. Typhon seized the opportunity, his scythe bypassing Domingo's arms and aiming straight for his chest—

The outcome was clear!

As Typhon's scythe touched Domingo, both stopped.

Domingo's sword was an inch from Typhon, but Typhon's scythe had made contact with Domingo's chest.

The chilling sensation faded quickly, and it seemed that none of the spectators had noticed the psyker's influence.

Domingo's pupils trembled. He wanted to say something, but when he looked into Typhon's eyes—

There was no hint of triumph or joy, only solemn respect.

This guy hid his abilities well!

Wait, Typhon's moves... they resembled those of the Death Guard's elite!

How?

Confused, Domingo had no choice but to leave the platform and disappear into the crowd.

The Terran side was abuzz.

Typhon, unlike the previous duelists, showed no intention of continuing. He turned and walked towards the weapon rack.

Cheers erupted from the Barbarus side.

Mortarion remained motionless, but the gentle clink of his censer suggested a hint of emotion, though the sound was quickly drowned out by the crowd.

Calas, my friend, is this what you wanted?