Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 149 Blade Dancer

Erica stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding a whip, her blue eyes sweeping over the tall, training warriors with a serious expression.

The current King of Norwick's "Genetic Offspring" inherits the power of the Gene Primarch and is an unpolished gem.

"Your genes and bloodline contain power that forges you into powerful warriors, but the instinct to kill is far from enough."

“You are like rough steel, hard but easily broken. I need weapons that are both tough and resilient.”

"Don't tense your muscles!" Erica's voice was sexy, but cold as ice. She raised her thin whip and lashed it across the Doom Slayer's well-defined thigh.

Her slaps were just the right amount of force, stinging without damaging the skin, leaving red marks on the bronze muscles.

The soldier's thigh nerves twitched, and he immediately released his toes, landing on both feet at the same time.

He shook his head, reflecting on why he had failed. He summarized his experience, stepped onto a low stool, gripped the edge of the sword blade with his toes, and pondered how to relax his muscles.

A sharp blade is caught between my toes; my body is resisting with a sense of danger, and I could cut myself if I'm not careful.

If you don't straighten all your muscles, how can you exert force?
The previous instructor had demonstrated it once, and he himself had indeed done it, gripping the blade with his toes while his body remained very relaxed and natural.

Erica nodded slightly. The warriors before her were powerful, but they were not arrogant and were willing to learn more skills.

These powerful warriors were taciturn and their mental state was clearly that of seasoned veterans, yet King Norwick called them greenhorns.

Their muscles were taut and stiff, their souls like tempered steel, concealing a hidden explosive power within their restraint.

"Don't let your instincts control you. Overcome the protective instincts of your own body and you will become stronger."

Imagine the swords and knives beneath your feet as a stage, and you are performing a dance.

“You are powerful, and every time you exert your strength, you go all out and unleash your power.”

"I don't want you to go all out. Control your posture, relax your mind first, and then you can grasp the key."

"Thump!" One soldier failed and, in the instant he tried to relax his muscles, his feet hit the ground.

"Come down, all of you." Erica's face grew even colder as she exhaled a breath of stale air.

"I'll personally demonstrate to you how to control your body's muscles." She turned and left to change into clothes suitable for the demonstration.

The Doomsday Warriors all landed and stood on either side of the blade, waiting for the lady to give them a demonstration.

After a while, Erica came over wearing a brown bodysuit.

The bodysuit was so thin that you could clearly see the movement of every muscle in her body as she walked.

After removing the pristine white instructor's robe, the soldiers noticed that the woman's abdomen was slightly protruding, clearly indicating that she was pregnant.

Erica married a soldier ten years ago to fulfill the responsibility of procreation.

Most of the Night Guardians, especially those wounded in the "War of Truth," were assigned by Doom to the Academy as instructors to continue their contributions.

Erica tied her long hair up with a simple knot; having been away from the battlefield for a long time, she had grown her hair long.

Her azure eyes swept over the crowd, and she sternly reminded them, "Watch closely, soldiers, I'm going to demonstrate for you."

With that, Erica bit the ponytail, did a front flip, and landed lightly on the sword.

She gripped the sword blade barefoot, her calf muscles showing no tension, her body seemingly weightless.

Erica felt no instinctive tension; she even closed her eyes and began to walk, her toes precisely gripping each blade.

Memorizing the location of the blade is not difficult for Night Watchers or Doomsday Warriors; the challenge lies in trusting yourself to precisely grip the blade.

This confidence comes from the composure that transcends arrogance and self-confidence.

As she said, what lies beneath her feet is not a dangerous blade, but a stage that belongs to her.

Ordinary humans know that there are swords standing upright under their feet. Even when walking on a bridge, they can't help but look down to make sure the bridge is safe and that they haven't strayed off course.

Trained individuals can ignore sharp edges, know they are in a safe zone, and thus quickly cross the bridge.

Erica went a step further, overcoming primal human instincts and subconsciously displaying her skills with unwavering confidence.

The lady's elegant figure danced on the blade, like a serpent gliding across the edge, her movements sharp yet without the slightest redundancy.

Backflips, side spins, rolls, and handstands with the thumb and forefinger gripping the sword blade – the movements are so agile they seem unreal.

The dancers move with agility and grace, dancing on the blades, their incredible attention to detail leaving the audience speechless.

The Doomsday Warriors held their breath, their pupils contracting like a hunting owl, their vision as precise as a high-definition camera, recording every detail they saw. Their extraordinary memories captured the woman's every gesture, every muscle stretch.

The master-level movements far surpass those of ordinary instructors; every detail is worth analyzing and learning.

For a full ten minutes, Erica demonstrated her control over her muscles, her sweat radiating confidence as she wielded her sword amidst the blades.

Finally, she landed lightly on the ground with a backflip, like a gymnast completing a routine.

Erica was drenched in sweat, her breathing became rapid when she landed, and her fingertips trembled slightly from the exertion.

She rubbed her lower abdomen with one hand, her voice slightly regretful and magnetic: "If it weren't for this little one, I could have done even better."

A soldier draped a robe over her to prevent hypothermia that might occur after the woman sweated profusely.

"Do you understand now?" Erica nodded her thanks, her face slightly flushed from the strenuous exercise: "Giving your all is very important, and you must use your strength in the right place to do your best."

"Precisely controlling muscle exertion, controlling physical strength, and suppressing psychic instincts is a bit difficult for you."

"Don't get caught up in your instincts. Be an observer of yourself, let your soul be calm and undisturbed, and you will have succeeded in overcoming your instincts."

“Even Harlan Oglieve, the Night Watch champion swordsman, he wields his instincts, rather than being dominated by them.”

After Erica finished speaking, she stepped aside and gestured for the soldiers to try again, while she observed from the side.

“We’ll try our best.” The Doomsday Warriors were impressed by the lady’s skills; they knew all too well the superiority of Nur’s martial arts.

The father of genetics sent them here to learn, and the soldiers did not want to let him down, so they learned as quickly as possible and joined the Great Expedition.

"Don't be impatient. Impatience is a big no-no. You will be generals and commanders in the future. You can't achieve victory if you're impatient."

“Control your power, suppress your primal instincts, and harness the anger that you were born with.”

Erica nodded in agreement, then immediately shook her head. She saw the urgency in the warriors' eyes: "Your genetic father, King Norwick, understands this more deeply. You don't need to rush."

"Now that you've come to the War Academy, the best way to repay him is to calm down and focus on your studies."

"You have great potential, but remember not to waste your talent. Strive to the best of your ability in everything, and the reward will come at the end of the road."

“We understand, madam.” Osiris, as their representative, solemnly promised Erica, “We will remember your teachings.”

Erica's expression softened slightly, the frost on her face melted away, and she revealed a kind smile: "I look forward to your performance."

Training at the War Academy continued, and Doom, watching the holographic imagery, nodded in approval.

In the War Academy, every teacher imparts their knowledge without reservation.

The transmission of skills holds a very high position in the culture of the Night Watchers, representing a great recognition and honor for the teacher.

The powerful warriors, to prevent their skills from being lost, went to great lengths to find an apprentice to inherit their mantle.

In the past, when the population was dwindling, teachers would give students an "apprenticeship gift" if they were willing to pass on the skills of their predecessors.

It is necessary to persuade the apprentices' parents, because talented children also come from warrior families and have inherited family skills.

Learning other techniques is tantamount to severing someone else's lineage, so naturally not many families would sever their own lineage, unless they are the most elite warriors.

As for learning both, that's even more impossible.

Genes are in continuous decline, each generation is weaker than the last, and mastering a skill passed down from one's predecessors is already a sign of exceptional talent.

For the few children whose genes have reverted to their ancestral form, it is even more important not to learn techniques from other families; it is best to develop one's own family's methods.

For various reasons, the swordsmanship exhibition hall of the War Academy now displays projections of the combat skills of countless powerful warriors, waiting for future generations to discover them.

How much their offspring can learn genetically, and how much effort they are willing to put into accepting Nuer culture, depends entirely on their own attitude.

The War College's library and various exhibition halls will not disappoint any student who is willing to learn about them.

As for Erica, she is indeed a strict teacher, serious yet encouraging, and Xilan made the right choice.

She is the most qualified person to serve as the dean of the War Academy.

Other capable and qualified people are not like her, who can calm down and teach students.

The other masters, ever since Nur set out into the stars, have been busy conquering the world, reclaiming their homelands, and slaying their enemies.

(End of this chapter)