The news that Thierry Vieira had challenged Captainf Cezak of the First Company spread like wildfire throughout the Eleventh Legion and among the newly enhanced warriors of Vostroya.
When Cezak heard the news, his eyes were full of rage.
A freshly transformed warrior, who hadn't even had the chance to wield the power of an Astartes in the crucible of war, dared to challenge a veteran like him? The sheer arrogance was insulting.
"Tell him, I accept the challenge."
"And let it not be said that I am unfair, I will grant him five days to prepare."
"We'll fight beneath Father's spire. I'll show him what it truly means to be an Astartes."
Cezak said confidently. He didn't take Thierry's challenge seriously. But since the challenger was one of the Nareth's close followers, this could be a perfect chance to prove himself before him.
Five standard days later, before the duel even began, a squad of warriors in red power armor arrived at the spire.
Cezak, his guards, and several captains who came to spectate immediately recognized the markings on their pauldrons, the legion insignia they themselves wore before their Primarch's return.
Soon after, Nareth sat on his throne, with thirty-three swords behind him, each holding a crown.
He tapped his fingers on the armrest, gazing at his gene-sons standing before him.
"You've come from Terra?"
"Father,"
One of the red-armored warriors, wearing a power sword at his waist and a boltgun on his back, stepped forward. He had earned the right to speak on behalf of his brothers through strength.
"We come from various hive cities in Terra's Asia sector. We ascended on Luna."
"Based on our performance, we were assigned to the 11th Legion."
Each Astartes training cohort consisted of 500 warriors, undergoing advanced instruction. Training included bolter drills, swordsmanship, and other assessments. Performance determined their assignment:
The top 25 were sent to the Sixteenth Legion, to serve under the Primarch of the Emperor's firstborn sons, the Luna Wolves.
The rest were distributed among various legions until Nareth returned.
Those ranked 26th to 50th from each cohort were assigned to the Eleventh Legion.
"How many of you are there?"
"Father, 350 battle-brothers. We were ordered to come to Vostroya and report to you."
Nareth noticed one among them had a medical rig on his left arm, clearly an apothecary.
He raised a hand to point at him.
"You, an apothecary?"
"Yes, Father. I trained in Luna's gene labs and passed my Apothecary trials."
The long-haired Apothecary replied excitedly, feeling the deep connection he shared with the Gene-Father for the first time.
"How many Apothecaries? And apprentices?"
"Father, including myself, six Apothecaries in total. There are 17 apprentices and 52 attendants trained to perform surgeries."
The Apothecary had already guessed Nareth's reason for asking; it was clear these reinforcements would assist with the genetic enhancement of future candidates.
When they were selected for the Eleventh Legion, the inclusion of geneseed recovery and surgical operations had boosted their standing. Their importance in expanding the legion was undeniable.
Nareth tapped the throne twice, in thought.
'These Terra-born veterans were trained as tools of war, yes, but they've not yet been tainted by the bloodlust of the Reapers. They'll be easier to shape.'
He spoke decisively:
"Return for now. The tech-sergeants will repaint your armor with the Eleventh's heraldry."
"Until I give further orders, get to know your new homeworld, but do not disrupt the local order."
His serious tone drew a unified response from the gene-sons.
As they departed, Nareth thought to himself:
'I should send envoys to Luna, to influence Terra-born recruits early, introducing them to our values and culture.'
He then rose from the throne and walked to the window, gazing at the training field below.
The result of this match, between Vostroya-born and Terra-born warriors, would shape his next steps in reforming the legion.
The red-armored warriors, riding a dedicated lift, could see the same training field.
"They're sons of the Gene-Father, too. Let's watch."
The power sword-wielding warrior suggested, and the others agreed. They were curious about their legion-brothers, eager to meet those who had already shed blood among the stars.
Captain Robin of the Eighth Company spotted Captain Adams of the Fourth and Captain Sanchez of the Seventh standing among the Vostroyan newcomers.
He scowled.
"You two, why are you standing with them instead of with us?"
Adams remained expressionless as always.
Sanchez, however, raised an eyebrow. His deep eyes locked on Robin like a predator eyeing prey.
"Robin, all Shadows of Order are sons of the Gene-Father."
"By standing together, we honor our Father. You should join us."
Captain Samir of the Third saw some of the other Company leaders hesitating. His eyes flickered darkly, and he quickly said:
"Enough talk. Only victory proves anything."
He placed all his hopes on Captain Cezak, long regarded as the finest warrior of the legion.
Arsena stepped between the two camps. Cezak looked at the silver-haired psyker with a hint of disdain, but said nothing. Arsena was the Primarch's aide, his will made flesh.
Looking between the two groups, and then at the approaching red-armored newcomers, Arsena finally spoke:
"This is a duel of honor between Captain Cezak of the First Company and Thierry Vieira of Vostroya."
His voice rang like a warhorn.
"The duel will use chainswords. Victory is determined by first blood from the torso, incapacitation, or wounds such as severed limbs, damaged eyes, or slashes to the front of the throat."
For mortals, these would be fatal. But for Astartes, they were survivable.
The rules were lenient; honor duels needed to be real, or else neither warrior could give their all.
"No armor. No firearms."
Only when both Astartes had adjusted their grip and revved their chainswords did Arsena add:
"The stakes: your honor."
Everyone in the crowd grew solemn. It wasn't just personal pride on the line; it was a clash of cultures.
"Prepare!"
The two Shadows of Order saluted each other. Both were sons of the same father.
They lowered their weapons and took their stances.
Cezak crouched low, sword tip to the ground, like a beast poised to pounce.
Thierry stood tall, sword raised to his chest, eyes locked on his foe.
.....
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