"?"
At these words, the Spartans exchanged glances, yet no one dared to voice any questions.
Silently and in orderly fashion, they followed the Empire's Fist warriors as they left the hangar. The bright lights of the hangar gradually dimmed behind them, replaced by the soft illumination of the ship's corridors.
Meanwhile, Arroi and a group of elven warriors, following the original plan, disembarked from the Luna transports and headed toward the living quarters of the Valor-class super-heavy cruiser. Their steps were light and graceful—a stark contrast to the Spartans. Once aboard the onboard orbital train that led to the more open living area, the elves quickly dispersed to their temporary bunks. For the next two days, they would reside on this nearly two-kilometer-long cruiser. Aside from routine training and duty, their main task was to conserve their energy until the formation exited jump space and launched the military operation to occupy Tatooine.
On the other hand, after leaving the hangar, the Spartans similarly boarded the Astartes-exclusive onboard train provided by the Empire's Fist. Soon, the train arrived at a training area close to the hangar. The train doors slid open silently, allowing the Spartans to disembark swiftly.
Barely as they stepped out—
Thump, thump!
The Spartans immediately heard a series of heavy, resounding "stomps" as if the very floor of the training area were trembling. Moments later, booming voices filled the air with a mix of mockery and bravado:
"Ha! Brother, your reaction time is too slow!"
"Watch your mouth—feel the power!"
Within the training area—a space comparable to a small hangar—dozens of hulking Empire's Fist warriors, clad in training uniforms, were engaged in simulated combat at speeds almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Their movements were rapid and precise; each punch seemed to slice through the air. One group of Astartes was engaged in weightlifting, hoisting barbells so heavy that ordinary people would recoil, yet they handled the loads with ease, as if it were nothing more than a warm-up.
On another side, several support troops—muscular individuals whose stature was small compared to the Astartes but impressive to an ordinary person—were engaged in daily exercises, effortlessly performing chest presses with 300 kilograms as if it were weightless.
The entire training area pulsed with raw "power" and intensity, resembling a boiling furnace that forged both body and spirit. As befits the mother world of the Empire's Fist on Terrella, nearly every vessel carried a diverse array of "sub-human" units. These warriors, hailing from various branches of humanity, not only added diversity to the Empire's Fist but also injected unique vitality and culture into the legion.
Thus, the training area was not solely the domain of Astartes and support troops; it was also alive with numerous elves and a few dwarves.
The dwarves, ever fond of lively brawls, actually preferred drinking and "celebration." Often serving as technical or engineering advisors, once their duties were over, most dwarves would head to the bar in the living area for a hearty drink. The bar echoed with their laughter and the clinking of glasses—a celebration that seemed unending.
Some dwarves, however, chose to remain in the training area, swinging heavy war hammers to train their strength and endurance.
And then there were the elves—a truly "stunning" sight in the training area.
Female elves typically donned form-fitting athletic wear that accentuated their near-perfect curves. Whether engaging in martial or physical training, they showcased exceptional talent and skill that inevitably caught the eye.
However, one significant issue among the elves was their gender ratio. Owing to their extremely long lifespans, the phenomenon of "feminine dominance" had become increasingly evident; the ratio of male to female elves was roughly 4:6—and it was expected to shift further to 3:7 over time.
Thus, the majority of the elven warriors within the Empire's Fist were female. Not only did they demonstrate outstanding combat prowess on the battlefield, but they also became a striking presence in the training area. After all, most people are drawn to beauty.
During breaks between training sets, support troops often paused to casually glance at the graceful elves, silently admiring them. Some outgoing and sociable support troopers even approached the elves during their rest, attempting to strike up conversations or exchange contact information in hopes of a closer connection. Their voices carried a playful teasing tone, as if testing the waters.
Alas, the elves, having long integrated into Imperial society, were no longer the naive "sweethearts" of old. They knew well that asking for contact details in a gym-like training area was often nothing more than an impulsive gesture rather than a sign of genuine affection. Their responses were usually polite yet distant—a silent reminder that they were well aware of the other's intentions.
As for those who paid little attention to the elves, it was typically the Astartes. Not that they were oblivious to beauty, but simply that they had no time for such distractions. Despite undergoing gene-seeding and various modifications, their physiology remained normal, yet their formidable willpower enabled them to suppress impulsive desires.
Thus, as part of the Empire's Fist Astartes, they never solicited contact information or extended invitations to the female elves. Their eyes remained cold and focused—only momentarily diverted by friendly competitions, such as hand-to-hand combat with comrades or contests to see who could break the heaviest weight record.
Meanwhile, the Spartans, including John and his comrades, paid little heed to the graceful figures of the elves. They felt a tinge of confusion; after all, they were being directly led to the training area, which deviated from the usual routine. The small group of Empire's Fist warriors escorting them remained silent, offering no explanation, merely leading the way.
This silence instilled a sense of unease among the Spartans, as if an unknown trial was quietly approaching.
Soon, John and his team arrived at the central area of the training zone.
Here, the lights shone brighter, and their eyes eventually settled on an Empire's Fist warrior clad in titanium power armor standing on a simulated combat stage, helmet removed to reveal a cold, resolute face.
Overseeing the gathering of Spartans from an elevated position was none other than the commanding officer for the Tatooine assault—Sigismund.
In the Main Universe, Sigismund had already achieved "legendary" status.
Born on Earth in the Main Universe, he later moved with his family to Terrella.
Extraneous text removed as instructed.
In his early teenage years, right after his gene seeding, Sigismund once, during a combat training session disrupted by a "magical storm," inadvertently stumbled into an ancient ruin.
There, countless undead creatures lurked in a deathly maze. Yet Sigismund managed to single-handedly break through the horde, and along the way, he acquired a "black greatsword" forged by a legendary ancient dwarf craftsman.
Later, this greatsword underwent a second "refinement" by the Research Department and the dwarves, ultimately becoming Sigismund's signature blade.
At this moment, the greatsword hung from Sigismund's back, its blade intricately engraved with complex runes that glowed with a ghostly violet light, as if recounting its own storied past and honor.
Sigismund stood on the combat stage, his gaze sweeping over every Spartan warrior present—as if assessing their strength and potential.
Then, with a smile he deemed suitably amicable, he spoke in a low, measured tone:
"Welcome, everyone. However, since you are the 'newcomers' joining us for the Tatooine assault, as the acting commander for this operation, I must ascertain exactly what your capabilities are."
He then lightly raised his left hand, moving his four fingers towards his palm as a signal for the Spartans to come forward one by one.
Next, he tossed the "black sword" he carried behind him with a flourish; the blade traced an elegant arc through the air before landing securely in the hands of an Empire's Fist warrior standing outside the combat stage.
Judging by his stance, it appeared that Sigismund intended to engage the Spartans in a "bare-knuckle" contest while clad in their respective power armors.
"?!"
This unexpected move not only caught the Spartans off guard but instantly set the atmosphere in the training area ablaze with excitement.
With the arrival of the Spartans and Sigismund's challenge, every eye in the area—whether among the dueling Empire's Fist or the support troops and elves in the midst of weight training—turned to the central stage.
Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and anticipation as they converged to form a "ring" around the imminent showdown.
Seeing the scene, John and over eighty Spartans fell into a brief silence.
They couldn't fathom why Sigismund would do this—was it meant as a show of dominance?
But it didn't quite seem so.
Perhaps he was merely testing their strength?
Regardless of his intent, they had no choice but to accept the challenge; otherwise, they would be openly scorned by everyone.
"I'll go first!"
At those words, a Spartan designated "104," known as Fred, leaped onto the metal stage without hesitation—like a poised leopard ready to pounce.
As Fred's feet struck the stage with a deep "thud," it seemed to announce the start of the contest.
"Fred! Show us what you've got!"
"Let's see our prowess!"
With Fred's entry into the fray, several spirited Spartans began cheering him on.
In fact, after all their modifications, the Spartans had sparred in simulated combat against the Astartes before.
However, adhering to Dr. Halsey's advice, the Astartes always maintained a measure of restraint.
Thus, the Spartans could exchange blows with the Astartes—and even sometimes display potential that surpassed them.
Now, faced with Sigismund's sudden "challenge," even though they hadn't prepared in advance, the Spartans braced themselves with absolute confidence.
After all, Fred, designated 104, was renowned as one of the Spartans with the most outstanding hand-to-hand combat skills.
At this moment, Fred did not launch an immediate offensive. Instead, he advanced cautiously, attempting to gauge Sigismund's rhythm through probing moves.
He knew very well that an Astartes' reaction time was akin to that of a "beast"—even with the assistance of Thor's Hammer power armor, Spartans could barely keep pace with the Astartes.
And Sigismund himself was clad in titanium power armor, meaning his speed and strength reached levels nearly unattainable.
Thus, Fred opted to bide his time, waiting for Sigismund to strike first, then leveraging his own combat techniques and agility to determine the outcome in a split second.
But—
"Kid, don't get too cocky!"
Sigismund's warning burst forth like a clap of thunder near Fred's ears.
Before the words had fully faded, Sigismund's form blurred into a shadow, moving with a speed nearly impossible to track. In an instant, his right fist—like a cannonball fired from a barrel—struck Fred's helmet with pinpoint precision.
Buzz—Bang!
The resounding crash of a shield breaking and metal clashing echoed throughout the training area.
Thud!
Fred's body, like a kite whose string had been cut, was hurled off the stage, slamming heavily onto the ground. His limbs sprawled limp, and the face beneath his helmet slumped into unconsciousness—as if a statue had toppled.
Fortunately, Sigismund had controlled his force well and did not shatter the Thor's Hammer helmet visor. Even if the visor were damaged, the onboard engineers—especially the dwarf craftsmen—could repair it.
Observing their comrade being so swiftly defeated, the Spartans fell into a heavy silence.
Was it Sigismund's individual might, or were all members of the Empire's Fist truly this formidable?
Faced with such a display, some Spartans even began to doubt themselves.
------------------
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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