Chapter 33: Armament

However, what should have been a training session in principle turned into a bloody gladiatorial combat.

But it did not stop, because Soshyan remained silent throughout.

"Hiss..."

Falzad's head began to wobble, and his previously sparkling eyes gradually grew dull.

Before he could regain his senses, Armin unleashed a storm of punches, striking the staggering, dizzy Falzad until he was forced to his knees.

Instantly, a wave of sound filled the training room, composed of praise, shouts, and loud laughter.

These sounds scraped against the railings and reflected off the ceiling, causing the entire compartment to vibrate with echoes. The raw intensity of the combat left the recruits' blood boiling.

The noise was so immense that it blurred the frantic footsteps of the surrounding servants.

Armin continued his assault, delivering one final, bone-crushing uppercut to his opponent before Soshyan stepped in to separate them.

His style was diametrically opposed to Falzad's; he did not play with his opponents, but rather sought to utterly demolish them the moment an opportunity arose. This was exactly what Soshyan wanted to see.

In actual combat, the relatively weaker Armin would likely survive longer than Falzad.

"Enough."

Soshyan roared in a low voice, pulling Armin away from the stumbling, dazed Falzad and tossing him back to the other side of the room.

Even without power armor, Soshyan was far stronger than any of them, let alone while wearing it now.

"This is a weapons training session, not a street brawl!"

By the time Armin struggled to his feet, Soshyan had already hoisted Falzad against the wall by his collar. The previously shouting recruits fell silent one after another.

Armin felt pain radiating through his entire body; blood dripped from a laceration on his forehead, carving a stinging, hot trail down his face.

He felt as though his strength had been completely spent, his body aching as if from a heavy blow, yet he felt magnificent.

On the other side, Falzad had regained a sliver of consciousness, though his head still hung low and his gaze remained unfocused.

"This is foolish!"

Soshyan was still roaring.

"Do you recruits hope I will beat the stupidity out of you! Your performance has left me deeply dissatisfied! On a battlefield, you would die quickly! And you would die a most shameful death!"

"Chapter Master, we will intensify our training."

The speaker was the third squad leader, Ustade. Compared to the first two, he seemed somewhat mediocre; the only reason Soshyan had chosen him was that he had served ten years longer than most of the recruits.

"I... I can still fight."

As he spoke, Falzad leaned against the wall like a drunkard, his words slow and slurred.

Armin smiled and limped toward his opponent. After Soshyan glanced at the two of them, he struck the wall heavily.

"Get yourselves sorted! Next time, I want to see a more mature bout, so you must train hard!"

With that, Soshyan strode out of the training room, leaving the mess to the three squad leaders and departing on his own.

Before Falzad could collapse to the floor again, Armin caught him and hoisted him up roughly.

"Just as I said, I was fast enough to deal with you."

Looking at the blood-stained face before him, Falzad's vision finally cleared. The blood gushing from his wounds had already begun to coagulate and darken.

Reluctantly, he had to admit that he had indeed lost—lost to his own carelessness and arrogance.

He would remember this lesson.

"Just this once, my brother,"

Falzad managed a strained grin, revealing a row of blood-soaked teeth.

"Don't let it happen again."

Armin also let out a low, hearty laugh of pure satisfaction. Then, the two warriors clasped right fists, their bruised fingers locking firmly together.

Bleeding was not a bad thing; the resentment of being driven away from their monastery fortress and homeworld had always been suppressed within them, and a visceral struggle could release that pressure.

Perhaps they would remain rivals in the future, but in the intersection of sweat and blood, they had also experienced that precious sense of brotherhood. After all, they held the future of the Chapter in their hands.

Hearing the laughter from the training room, Soshyan breathed a quiet sigh of relief; at least things were developing well.

After leaving the training room, Soshyan arrived at the makeshift armory constructed on the upper deck. The servitors at the entrance parted to make way as he approached.

As the heavy blast doors opened, Soshyan was met with rows of polished bolters on weapon racks. Some were stock from the fortress armory, while others were weapons from fallen warriors of the World Engine campaign, currently undergoing inspection and maintenance.

Higher up behind the weapon racks were the racks for power armor. A significant portion of them were broken or worn—reclaimed power armor that required repair and reassembly.

And all of this rested upon the shoulders of Liko Rogris alone.

Soshyan walked through the weapon racks to the deeper parts of the armory, where a red figure was circling a massive object. Servo-arms flashed with occasional sparks as they tapped and poked at the behemoth.

Sensing someone approaching, the figure straightened up and turned around.

"Chapter Master, you have arrived."

"How is it?"

Soshyan pointed at the massive thing, his tone heavy.

It was a suit of Terminator Armor, Indomitus pattern—the very one Furlo had worn. The Ultramarines had recovered it from the ruins; though it was heavily damaged, they had still handed it over to Soshyan, along with the remains of three other suits of Terminator armor.

Liko Rogris glanced back, and his servo-arms tapped the Terminator's abdomen, right leg, and left chest respectively.

"Though the damage is severe, the critical servo-systems have not been destroyed, which is the only thing to be thankful for. The force generator is also intact."

Soshyan could see that the armor plates at the points Liko had touched were newly attached.

"I have replaced some of the metal-fiber musculature and a small amount of the transmission components. These were scavenged from the other three suits. Their servo-systems were too badly damaged to be worth repairing... at least, not with my current capabilities."

As he spoke, Liko Rogris sighed.

"I hope my crude workmanship has not offended the Machine Spirit."

"You have done well."

Soshyan stepped forward, looking at the Terminator armor which bore obvious signs of repair, and thought back to the fallen warrior.

"Chapter Master, would you like to try it? It is functional now."

As Rogris spoke, he pressed a button nearby. The Terminator's eye lenses flickered instantly, followed by the low hum of the servos powering up.

"No, I am not yet worthy to wield it."

Soshyan shook his head. It wasn't out of humility, but because Terminator armor was not like standard power armor; one could not simply graft the Black Carapace and move freely.

In reality, to wear Terminator armor, one had to undergo specialized training, otherwise, even basic movement would be an issue.

Soshyan had never received Terminator-specific training, so he would not attempt it. After all, this was the Chapter's only suit of Terminator armor.