Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 172 The Tragedy of Pride
“Continue.” Raising his blazing red longsword, Forgrim remained expressionless, the confident smile on his face vanishing.

Instead, a painful sadness filled the air, and her purple eyes looked at Doom with a hint of anger.

All his confidence and composure were shattered by his brother's longsword.

What was originally a contest to test swordsmanship has now become a humiliation of oneself.

“In Nur’s culture, exchanging sword skills is perfectly normal.” Doum stepped back and explained to Fugrim, “To identify and improve one’s own skills.”

He never imagined that this distinguished-looking brother would have such a misunderstanding about him.

Cultural differences led to misunderstandings between the brothers.

Fugen probably thought he was making a fool of him in front of everyone—like a senior disciplining a junior, deliberately creating an imbalance of status.

"In our culture, normal duels between warriors never result in victory or defeat; the exchange of swordsmanship is of utmost importance."

As Doom explained, he took a step back and planted his longsword in the ground, unwilling to make a move that would deepen the rift in the misunderstanding.

His face was full of apology, and he felt even more remorseful.

In my interactions with the Doomsday Warrior and the Night Guard, we fought in a friendly and peaceful manner, and this became a habit over time.

His equal relationship with his brother and the joy of their reunion made him overlook their differences and the cultural differences between the two worlds.

Nur and Chemos are from two different worlds.

Having been deeply influenced by the Nur culture, I naturally felt there was nothing wrong with accepting the Night Guard's equal treatment.

Fugen came from Chemos, an industrial world that was captivated by him and respected him.

Right now, I'm using the sharpness of my sword to tear apart my brother's pride bit by bit.

“Take that sword and defeat me with all your might!” Forgrim’s voice rose involuntarily, as if pleading, his eyes glistening with tears: “Don’t humiliate me.”

A proud person remains proud even now.

"Chemos has no warrior culture, but those who compete must determine a winner, even to the point of taking the other's life."

"Giving your all is the greatest respect you can show to each other."

Fugrim drew his sword, pointing it directly at Doom.

His hand holding the sword was even trembling; at this moment, the Primarch was suffering immense torment.

Her demeanor was no longer perfect, her beautiful hair had lost its luster, as if she had experienced the vicissitudes of life in an instant.

The gazes from the audience were like thorns in her back, sending chills down the spine of the glamorous Chemos.

Doom opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent.

He remained silent, gripping the hilt of the sword beside him with his large hand, his expression full of apology.

A contest between brothers has escalated to this point due to their differences; it's time to end this brotherly suffering...

“Forgive me, Fugen!” His gaze sharpened, and he forced out the words of apology: “My dear brother.”

The sharp words only made Forgrim laugh: "Let me experience the power of the King of Warriors."

After a frustrating competition, he was acutely aware of the gap between himself and Doom.

The focus now is not on how to win the match, but on how to lose gracefully and honorably.

To preserve his last shred of dignity and maintain his remaining pride, Fugrim's hand holding the sword stopped trembling.

Regaining their confidence, they faced their brothers' proactive attack.

“The proud are not afraid of defeat.” Doom’s face was solemn as he once again performed the warrior’s salute, straightening his longsword so that its tip touched the ground and pointed directly at Fugrim.

"Failure is temporary. Truly proud people face failure head-on, then regroup and rise again."

To avoid any misunderstanding, he spoke in a deep voice, explaining, "The dueling etiquette of warriors is in accordance with what you call victory or defeat."

“My dear brother Fugen, please remember—failure is only temporary.”

"Now, you must face me seriously and accept a brief defeat."

Everyone in the audience craned their necks, watching intently as the competition took a dramatic turn.

The Doom Legion's cousins, they are completely different from other legions, far surpassing the Space Marines.

The Space Marines' power stems from the genetic seed properties of the Father of Genesis, which in turn proves the Primarch's power.

The Imperial Guards stood solemnly, not daring to make any move, for fear of missing any details that were happening on the field.

The creation of the Doom Soldier was entirely the responsibility of the Imperial Guard.

They knew, of course, that the extraordinary warriors who had withstood the test possessed terrifying mental strength and physical prowess comparable to or even surpassing that of the Imperial Guard.

All that power comes from the gift of the genetic seed.

As for the root of everything, just how powerful was Doom Norwick, the Primarch and father of the Twenty-first Legion?
They all want to know.

The Emperor and the others did the same; the four strongest beings leaned forward slightly, admiring the King of Warriors' imposing presence. "Forgive my rudeness!"

With a low growl, the Warrior King launched his first offensive, raising his longsword at his Primarch brethren.

Fugrim's purple eyes narrowed, and he felt a blur before his eyes as Doom's speed far exceeded what he had just experienced.

He was extremely shocked. In his panic, he saw his brother's slashing movements clearly, which were incredibly fast!
As a fellow Primarch, Forgrim saw his brother's actions clearly, but he had no time to think.

An instinctive sense of crisis was frantically warning him; in a brief, rapid moment, he instinctively raised his longsword to parry.

Doom remained expressionless as he swung his longsword down with his right hand, and as he had expected, Fugan parried the blow.

Bang~
The air, compressed by violent force, emitted a heavy airburst.

The King of Warriors' body went from rapid speed to a sudden stop and then to stillness.

The release of energy created a shockwave that sent the stone floor of the arena flying everywhere, and the flying debris injured the spectators.

They were completely oblivious, their attention entirely focused on the center of the arena.

Doom abruptly stopped his right hand in mid-air, and Fugrim, who had raised his parrying longsword, instead collided with the longsword in his hand.

Incredible!

Fogrem's eyes widened in disbelief; this scene defied the laws of physics.

His longsword, which he swung back, clashed violently with his brother's sword, yet neither could budge it an inch.

In his wide-open phoenix eyes, his purple pupils suddenly contracted, his expression of shock deepening.

With the sparks from the clash of the refined iron, the longsword in his hand bounced back due to the immense force, causing his tiger's mouth to split open and bleed profusely.

The longsword that the brother had left there seemed like an unshakeable pillar supporting the sky!

Before he could even think, the Primarch's dynamic vision detected that his brother's left fist was already coming at him.

Ta-da!
With another muffled thud, Doom punched Forgrim in the abdomen, the violent force instantly blasting into his body.

His magnificent purple robe burst open, revealing his bare upper body to the sunlight, and a visible burst of fist energy erupted from behind him!
Despite Doom's deliberate depletion of power, Fugrim was still in a bad mood.

The dense nervous system suffered a severe blow, causing excruciating abdominal pain, and the eyes rolled back, making it difficult to breathe.

His abdominal muscles were violently struck, causing an irresistible spasm that made him involuntarily bend over.

A violent physiological reaction came from the internal organs; the gastric juices in the stomach churned and rushed up into the throat along with bile.

A sense of powerlessness washed over me, and my instinct to protect my body prevailed.

Fugrim's knees buckled, and he instantly lost all resistance, vomiting stomach acid and bile.

vomit……

Green bile gushed from his mouth and nose, the whites of his eyes rolled back, and his brain was in complete disarray.

For a normal human or a space warrior, such a blow would be enough to render them defenseless.

But Forgrim is different; he is the Primarch, a war machine created by the Emperor.

In the next instant, Forgrim's expression changed drastically, and Primarch Superman's mind suppressed all discomfort.

He focused all his attention, gripped the longsword that was about to slip from his grasp, and instinctively swung it forward with all his might.

Doom frowned, a hint of helplessness flashing in his eyes. The Fugan brothers were extremely proud and unwilling to fall like this.

Therefore, he showed respect to his brother.

His speed increased again, and he dodged Forgrim's attack with a swift movement.

Doom changed his left fist into a palm, using his hand as a knife, and stabbed it into Forgrim's collarbone.

"Crack~" The sound transmitted through the bone was even faster. When Fugrim heard the sound, he knew that his collarbone had shifted, and his hand holding the sword instantly went limp.

He remained defiant, twisting his left palm into a fist and swinging his arm to strike Doom.

Doom shook his head, supporting his forearm with his left hand, and then delivered another chop to his brother's left collarbone with his right.

To prevent Fugrim from struggling further, he used his left hand to support his brother and prevent him from falling.

With his right hand, he stabbed the thigh nerve in the groin with a sharp chop, two well-timed attacks that completely rendered him unable to resist.

After doing all this, Doom turned around and lifted Fugrim up.

"Stop struggling," he whispered in his brother's ear. "Defeat is temporary. Don't let yourself lose gracefully."

“I look terrible now, don’t I?” Forgrim stopped struggling, leaned on his brother’s shoulder, and gave a helpless, bitter smile. “I shouldn’t have challenged you.”

“There’s a poignant beauty to it that makes people feel sorry for him.” Doom looked him over carefully, tore off a piece of his purple robe, and used it to wipe the filth from Forgrim’s mouth and nose. “That’s much better.”

(End of this chapter)