Chapter 447: I Am the Son of Rogal Dorn

Kael ultimately agreed to this duel—a blood rite.

Mainly, the current situation left Kael no choice: whether or not Zhou Yun, Guilliman, and Sanguinius supported the duel,

even the Primaris alone, Kael could not control.

They were the Emperor's warriors, loyal to the Emperor, loyal to Roboute Guilliman, loyal to their gene-fathers, but not to Belisarius Cawl.

Many even harbored resentment toward Cawl, for he often resorted to kidnapping when creating the Primaris.

Cain accepted the challenge with slight resignation; Zhou Yun faintly heard the Butcher's Nail humming on his skull.

Clearly, the Primaris' challenge and hostility had stirred Cain's anger and bloodlust.

Zhou Yun had suggested removing the Butcher's Nail from Cain's skull, combining Cawl's technology, Zhou Yun's artifacts, and the powers of the Ruin and Malice domains—perhaps it could be done safely and cheaply.

But Cain himself rejected the proposal, so Zhou Yun dropped it.

Seth, facing the Primaris' challenge, seemed eager to fight—he longed to beat those red-armored Space Marines senseless right now.

A brief argument erupted among the Primaris over who should fight.

Eventually, two warriors entered the arena: one clad in purple armor, the other in brilliant red.

Their power armor gleamed as if newly forged, shining brilliantly, as youthful as the warriors themselves.

Seth entered wearing his ancient, dark red power armor, stained like dried blood, gripping his fearsome chainsword.

Cain followed silently behind him, his power armor hidden beneath a cloak and the blood-darkness beneath it—the cloak itself was the demon Lorum, fused to Cain, concealing his identity.

His bare arms slightly exposed beneath the cloak, wrapped in chains tightly bound to an axe whose form was obscured by blood mist.

"You don't use skinning knives anymore?" Cain asked, eyeing Seth's holy chainsword, Bloodletter.

Seth glanced at Cain with a strange look, then replied: "That's an old tradition. We don't use them anymore."

Using barbed skinning knives was the old custom of the Butcherers, passed down from the first Chapter Master, Ammit—but the technique demanded too much skill, so it was gradually abandoned.

"I understand. I couldn't use that thing either." Cain nodded, then fixed his gaze on Seth's chainsword: "Have you considered chaining the blade to your arm? It's practical."

Seth stared again, noticing Cain's chain-wrapped arms, and asked: "Are you a Black Templar?"

Binding weapons to the arm with chains was the Black Templars' custom.

Cain laughed at the question: "A Black Templar learned this trick from me."

Sigismund copied Cain's habit of chaining weapons to his arm, and it later became the Black Templars' tradition.

"Begin, four warriors," Sanguinius' clear voice rang from the dais: "In the name of blood, in the name of new power and old glory, you shall engage in a blood rite. The first to draw his opponent's first drop of blood wins."

At Sanguinius' command, the battle did not erupt.

The Primaris warrior in purple armor gently raised the Eagle Salute toward Cain and Seth.

They noticed: this Primaris was the same warrior who had led the charge against the servitors earlier.

The purple-armored Primaris elegantly lowered his weapon to the ground, paying homage to his opponents in the manner of an ancient Terra knight.

His weapon was a finely crafted power court blade—a slender, beautiful, and deadly blade requiring exceptional skill to wield.

"Imperial Fists, son of Dorn, Sol." The elegant purple-armored warrior introduced himself.

"Son of Dorn?" Cain's tone was odd.

"I am proud of it," said Sol, the purple-armored warrior claiming to be Dorn's son, smiling.

Cain did not know how to respond; his instincts, his vision, his senses all told him:

This damn thing was absolutely a Child of the Emperor, a Fulgrim's son.

Roboute Guilliman was trying to insert a Child of the Emperor into the Imperial Fists.

Cain was bewildered; his skull, pierced by the Butcher's Nail, felt like it was burning.

"Are you truly Dorn's son?" Cain could not help asking again.

"I am Rogal Dorn's son," the purple-armored warrior Sol declared firmly.

At least in sheer stubbornness, he truly resembled Dorn.

"Blood Angels, son of Sanguinius, Larr." The warrior in crimson armor spoke with intense pride.

"Idiot," Seth spat: "You have no idea what the Blood Angels are."

The crimson-armored warrior's face flushed red; he gritted his teeth: "Honor and virtue!"

Seth laughed scornfully.

"Blood and rage, idiot."

"Honor and virtue without blood and rage are meaningless."

"We are first the blood-sons of Sanguinius; the Blood Angels blessed us, filling our souls with no emptiness, only longing and rage."

"Only those who master this longing and rage are angels, worthy of virtue and honor; otherwise, they are merely... hm."

Seth did not continue—further words would touch upon the Blood Angels' secrets.

The Primaris Larr looked utterly unconvinced and retorted: "I've never heard such nonsense!"

"Then you're just an Ultramarine, painted red," Seth said, voice rising slightly.

He looked down on both Primaris, especially the red one.

The Primaris Blood Angel Larr clenched his teeth, glaring at Seth—but the self-proclaimed son of Dorn, Sol, raised a hand to stop him.

He nodded respectfully to Seth and Cain.

"Seth, don't provoke them," Cain murmured. "Since they introduced themselves, introduce yourselves too."

Seth glanced at Cain, then turned to the two Primaris: "Chapter Master of the Butcherers, Gabriel Seth."

Upon hearing this, the purple-armored warrior Sol turned to Cain—

"I am a nameless nobody," Cain's voice suddenly appeared before Sol, the scent of blood hitting his face even faster.

Sol stared, stunned and bewildered, as the Primaris Blood Angel Larr was flung skyward, his chest ripped open by the chainsword, blood gushing forth—his Larran organs failed to stop the bleeding, his Primaris-specific Cawl's Furnace also failed, and Larr simply collapsed without reason.

A murmur swept through the hall.

Mortals were confused, Primaris were stunned, the old Astartes were impressed.

Then Cain's axe swung around, the roaring chainsword slashing toward Sol.

Sol nearly forgot to breathe; this axe, descending like a mountain of corpses and oceans of blood, shattered every technique implanted in his mind.

The Sanguinary Gland's multitasking cognition screamed to find a counter,

but the first to react was Sol's instinct.

The genetic memory stored in his blood, flesh, and gene-seed activated.

The combat memories within the gene-seed forced him to raise his arm.

He swung his court blade with elegant precision, meeting Cain's axe.

Sparks flew; blade and axe clashed in a ringing symphony.

The Primaris cheered; the old Astartes marveled at Sol's reflexes.

Cain couldn't help laughing.

"Lucky day."

"Saw many shadows of old acquaintances."

Then Cain applied slight pressure—Sol's court blade snapped clean.

Cain's axe twisted at an impossible angle, slicing through Sol's power armor, spraying blood from his chest.

Sol clutched his chest, staggered back several steps, raised his broken blade in surrender.

"That was an ambush!" the Primaris Blood Angel Larr shouted angrily.

He clutched his bleeding chest, glaring at Cain.

In his eyes, Cain's move was indistinguishable from an ambush.

"Sanguinius declared the fight begun," Seth replied coldly, having stood by without intervening until now. "Are you questioning the Primarch?"

"I merely wished to remind you not to be rigid," Cain nodded. "I struck only after introducing myself."

"My voice simply reached your ears slower than my axe reached your flesh."

"You—" Larr's face flushed crimson with rage.

Sol shook his head again, silencing Larr.

"An impressive lesson. Admirable skill," Sol bowed to Cain.

"I thought a man like you would be more proud," Cain lifted his head slightly.

"I am proud," Sol replied. "But pride is not defended by words."

"More like him," Cain muttered. Sol reminded him of someone from memory—a loyalist from Istvaan—but Sol was far younger than that man.

Not just Cain—Guilliman's expression was also strange.

If it were only paint, fine—but Sol's instinctive strike just now? That was unmistakably a Child of the Emperor's style, Fulgrim's taught posture.

What the hell did Cawl use to get the gene-seed of a Child of the Emperor?

Judging by the Primaris' instinctive reaction, this gene-seed came from the Great Crusade era, carrying the Child of the Emperor's combat memories.

"Cawl!" Zhou Yun raised his voice, shouting at Cawl: "It seems my guards' suspicions about the Primaris were justified."

"If you don't produce something more substantial soon, I'll accuse you of incompetence."

This was a psychic message Sanguinius had sent Zhou Yun, urging him to speak these words.

Sanguinius wanted the old Astartes to shatter the Primaris' pride, but also to see the Primaris' strength.

Sol had shown a little—but not enough.

Belisarius Cawl's body stiffened; his gaze turned to the darkness beside him.

A shadowy figure in the darkness nodded to Cawl.

(End of Chapter)