Warhammer: In the Name of the Emperor

The sound of metal knocking rang out, and the sound echoed in the training cabin like a crisp bell. The cold light that kept flashing under the lighting strip was like a meteor sliding down the dark night sky. The training swords in the hands of the combat training servitors were spinning and waving at high speed.

Lancelot moved around in the training cage. Those high-speed swords that were far beyond the reach of ordinary people seemed to be played back in slow motion in Lancelot's eyes. Astarte's tall but flexible body allowed him to dodge constantly.

The Caliban Knight did not carry any weapons, but entered the combat training cage empty-handed. Once those sharp blades hit him, they would definitely be enough to cut off the connection between flesh and blood, but the young knight had no fear at all. He faced fear in the training cage.

The burly body rotated between the blades as if welcoming, and the lightning-fast blades did not hurt him at all. The Dark Angel Space Warrior turned around and dodged a sword from the servitor.

He parried and counterattacked at a very fast speed, and swords flew out in front of him. The skilled swordsman used the sharp blade in his hand as if it were a part of his body.

Lancelot showed his unparalleled skills in the dim training cabin. Presumably, even in the Dark Angels, he was an outstanding swordsman.

Lancelot threw away his sword, turned around and dodged a slash at a very close distance, then popped out his arm and pressed the switch of the servitor at lightning speed.

The combat servitor with countless arms gradually became silent after a series of ticking sounds. The servitor shrank back and was then lifted up into the hatch on the top.

Lancelot took a breath, he opened the safety door of the training cage, his muscular body was covered with sweat, and he put a towel. Well, well, it is definitely a bath towel for mortals, but you know, this is Astarte.

Lancelot put the towel on his neck and strode out of the training cabin. He came to the door and the vast space of the public training area.

But now it was empty, with only three giants here.

None of the Astartes wore armor, even Bell, who only wore a robe. He was sitting on a bench, repairing a bolter with a multi-tool pliers.

Beside him, Ragnar was swinging his chain saw axe at high speed, the axe rumbled, and in his hands it was as flexible and handy as Lancelot's sword.

What? You asked why Ragnar didn't go into the training cage? Ah, that's because after he dismantled the servitor again, Cole still banned him. If this wolf cub of Fenris dared to go in during this period, Cole swore in the name of the Emperor and the Imperial Navy that he would definitely stuff Ragnar into the ship's cannon and then shoot it into the star of this system.

Lancelot walked to his position. It was a dumbbell rack, but there were no dumbbells on it. Instead, there was a long sword, a long sword decorated with holy wings.

Several mechanical servants were surrounding them. They held incense burners and swung around the long sword regularly, as if they were performing some kind of ancient sacred ritual.

"Laun Laun, Lion King, please guide the sword of your offspring to cut the enemy of the empire, so that this sacred blade will never be defeated."

Lancelot muttered something in his mouth. He put his palm on his heart and chanted the ancient prayer of the war group. These sacred and ancient sentences have been circulated among the sons of Caliban for thousands of years.

According to legend, as early as the Great Crusade, the Dark Angels would appease the machine souls in their hands in this way, hoping that those ancient and powerful souls would bless them to victory after victory.

Ragnar smiled, he threw the chain saw axe high up, and then caught the roaring battle axe in mid-air, "Hey, Lancelot, why did you come out so late? Tired?"

"Tired? No, Ragnar, I can't forget the prayer ceremony anyway, this is the sacred custom of the Dark Angels." Lancelot said, running a finger across the back of the blade, muttering something in his mouth, that was an elusive sentence of High Gothic, and there was a little accent.

"Ah! I hate it most when you all mumble High Gothic. How come this Gothic is different from Bell? Caliban dialect?"

"Caliban dialect? Oh, no, no, this is probably the dialect of my hometown, Goronni. Although I left there a long time ago, the traces of my hometown have always been with me." Lancelot said, taking a bottle of holy water from the machine servant, and applying it to the blade with great solemnity and ritual.

The holy water also has a little bit of incense scent, maybe it can really soothe the machine soul?

Ragnar looked confused, "Golonni? What is that place?" "My hometown, at least where I was born, is a planet of the imperial feudal world. I am the eldest son of a local knight. I was selected by a priest on a passing Dark Angels strike cruiser and joined the glorious regiment." Ragnar's confusion did not diminish at all. He still looked at Lancelot with great surprise, "Wait, wait, you mean you were not born on Caliban? Will your priests go to other planets to recruit new soldiers?" Bell, who was sitting on the side, sighed helplessly. He looked at Ragnar, "The Dark Angels Fleet-Based Regiment, they travel in the universe on giant rocks, and the new soldiers are naturally recruited from various recruiting planets. Fleet-based regiments are not uncommon among our brothers."

"We fought side by side with the Black Templars, remember? They, the Sons of Dorn, are the ship-based warband." "I know they are, but I never knew the Dark Angels were, and Caliban is not their home planet. ?"

Lancelot smiled jokingly, "Caliban is the Rock. It is a huge suspended meteorite with an unparalleled propulsion engine installed at the end, allowing our battle group to travel in the galaxy."

"The giant rock is also our Chapter. It is the only remaining part of Caliban. Our Chapter's monastery is built on it." "What? Caliban exploded?"

Bell stopped what he was doing and looked at Ragna speechlessly, "Caliban's home planet was destroyed by a supernova, and now only the part protected by the void shield is left. Have you studied in your war group? The history of the nine major founding battle groups?”

Ragnar waved his hand nonchalantly, looking extremely casual, "Come on, I'm not one of those nerds, I prefer to listen to the glory stories of the Chapter! Hey! Olaf, do you still remember the story told by the old wolf Logan? The story of our Primarch, Leman Russ!"

The old wolf sitting not far away maintaining his armor smiled and nodded slightly, "How could I forget? I still remember the first time I heard the Wolf Lord's words. I will never forget that Leman Russ asked him to Sing that story for a long time.”

Ragnar laughed and spun the chain ax with one hand, "That's right! I still remember many stories, our great and glorious war history. This is much more conscious than giving lectures. Bell, won't you tell me?"

"The glory of the Chapter? Of course, of course we will talk about it, but the Ultramarines are also more important than academic studies. Ragnar, Lord Robert Guilliman once asked us to not only become an outstanding warrior, but also an excellent scholars.”

Ragnar waved his hand impatiently, then looked at Lancelot, "What about you? Are you so boring?"

The Dark Angel smiled, and he put the holy water aside, "We will naturally tell the glory of the Chapter, usually told by the Chaplain of the Chapter. Lord Safin has told us countless stories of glory, and I even had the honor to listen to it. Lord Azrael will tell us about the glory of the Chapter."

Ragnar smiled and rubbed his neck, "That's right! We are the Astartes, glory trumps all else!" "There is also faith and loyalty, Ragnar, I remind you not to forget it."

Bell said seriously, "This is the biggest difference between us and the traitors." "Of course, of course, my priest." Ragnar said with a smile and sat down on the side.

"You don't really think I'm the same as those traitors, do you? The glory of the Space Wolves includes our loyalty to our all-father, right, brother." "Of course, Ragnar, that's how it should be."

Olaf said, wiping the pattern marks on the armor. Every time he took care of the huge priest power armor, Olaf would be busy for a long time, but the old wolf never showed fatigue, but always took care of it happily. This is an old friend who has followed him for who knows how many years.

His breath has long turned white. Even by Astartes standards, Olaf is already considered old. However, his aging face has not affected this powerful warrior in the slightest. He is still the same strong, mighty and powerful warrior. The deadly Fenrisian wolf.

"Our battle group trials were fierce! I was naked and carrying a knife through the ice fields colonized by Fenris, fighting against the extreme cold and the beasts on the ice fields."

Ragnar said with a smile, obviously bragging, he patted his arm, "A giant bear that didn't know how to live or die bit me and tore off a large piece of my flesh, and then I exhausted that bastard to death. I just used this arm! I peeled off its skin and wore it across the ice fields of Fenris and arrived at the Wolf Fang Castle.”

As he spoke, he raised the tooth pendant hanging around his neck. Obviously, it was the tooth of the giant bear. Olaf also had a similar pendant on his neck, which was inherited by the Space Wolves Chapter from their home world. ancient culture.

According to legend, every Fenris warrior needs to go on a hunt when he reaches adulthood, a dangerous but glorious hunt. These young men who have just grown up will enter the wilderness to track and hunt those powerful beasts. In the end, if the Emperor If they are willing, they will return to their tribe, carrying the trophies from the beasts, and become real men there.

"I dare say! The kittens of the Dark Angels definitely don't have such a "terrible" battle group ceremony. Look at this kitten, he is tired in half an hour." Ragnar still did not forget to tease Lancelot. Can it be regarded as a long-standing cultural custom of the two war groups?

Lancelot picked up the knight's sword. He turned and looked at Ragnar with a sarcastic smile, "Then let's have another round? Last time we were interrupted by Vito, and we haven't decided the winner yet." He said flippantly, and Ragnar laughed, laughed, and walked towards him with his chainsaw.

Bell cursed and stood up, "You two! Stop it in the name of the Emperor!" "Don't be so boring, Bell. Let's just do it. I can knock this kitten down in one go!" "I doubt it, brother, let's try it."

"Stop!" Old Wolf said sternly. The two people who had raised their weapons stopped instantly. They turned their heads and saw that Olaf had stood up and looked forward. A man was walking towards the edge of the training hall. To be precise, he is a half-machine, half-flesh person.

With Omega's iron feet, he walked step by step on the marble floor. He came to several Astartes warriors, the mechanical eyes in his eyes flashing with a strange light.

"You can go down below and compete. I suggest that we compete in the number of enemies killed." Omega's mechanical voice said word by word. Both warriors put down their weapons and made way for each side.

The old wolf Olaf walked among them, and the burly giant stood in front of Omega, like a mountain blocking the sun.

Omega raised his head slightly, looked directly into Olaf's eyes, and then looked at the remaining three Astartes monks, "The Inquisitor, on the ground, we have received important news. We have confirmed that this planet has , was infiltrated by the Tyranids."

"The local gene stealers have built a dangerous Tyranid products factory in the wasteland of the Industrial Plains. The Inquisitor demands that it be completely destroyed. You can execute the wrath of Omnisiah and the Emperor."

Olaf raised his head, and the three warriors stood behind him, like a towering mountain range.

"As the All-Knowing Father wishes, we will bring down His wrath."