Chapter 50: Thierry’s Path of the “Warrior”

Having narrowly vanquished the psyker-wizard, Howard Finde did not pause to catch his breath. Sensing that he had truly embodied the essence of an "Arbiter," he leveled the muzzle of his heavy logging gun at the mutants, pronouncing their doom.

The mutants, witnessing the fall of the blue-robed psyker, saw their morale crumble. They descended into chaos, scrambling over one another in a desperate bid to flee.

"Slaughter them! Let none escape!"

The "Arbiter" bellowed with commanding authority, and the workers, acting on instinct, obeyed his decree, launching ferocious assaults upon the mutants.

After the battle's conclusion, the golden-haired noble seized his communicator, shouting for his appointed deputy.

"Yasin! Yasin!"

Receiving no response, Howard's mind stirred with suspicion. He turned to the dozen foremen approaching him and commanded, "Follow me!"

The foremen, without a moment's hesitation, trailed behind the "Arbiter."

Meanwhile, within the hive of Lukpo.

Thierry faced yet another formidable adversary—a blue-robed figure with eagle-like claws as sharp as chainswords, whose attacks were unnervingly uncanny.

Each of Thierry's strikes seemed anticipated, as though he were a marionette dancing to the blue-robed enemy's tune.

The foe's assaults invariably struck at the precise interstice following Thierry's own attacks.

Thierry discerned that his opponent did not possess Nimrod's transcendent mastery of the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine but relied instead on sorcerous foresight.

[To slay him, I must surpass the limits of his precognition.]

The "Warrior" gripped his power sword tightly, his eyes ablaze with resolute fervor.

[He is not my king. I can achieve this!]

Thierry surged forward, unleashing for the first time since taking up the blade the primal instincts of combat.

The "Warrior's" slashing strikes broke free from the constraints of the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine. His power sword, crackling with energy, cleaved through the air, aimed at the blue-robed figure's right shoulder.

No premonition of this attack surfaced in the blue-robed man's mind, unlike before.

His avian eyes darted rapidly, their iridescent irises dilating like a camera's aperture.

Conversely, his pupils contracted sharply.

The blue-robed figure hastily sidestepped, the power sword grazing his form. Its crackling disruption field tore through the blue robe, revealing a chest riddled with countless grotesque eyes.

Though the strike missed its mark, the "Warrior's" confidence surged. He knew his approach was sound.

Thierry advanced, retracting his sword to evade a grasping left claw, then swept his blade in a horizontal arc.

The "Warrior's" onslaught flowed like a relentless tide, each wave cresting higher than the last. He no longer calculated how to apply the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine to fell his foe.

Yet every strike he delivered was imbued with the essence of "Osberh-Vaya."

Fourteen years of practice had woven the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine into his very being, transforming it into instinct.

The "Warrior's" superhuman agility overwhelmed the blue-robed figure's foresight, outpacing the mutant eyes' ability to track his movements.

After nine consecutive strikes, Thierry blended the first form's thrust with the twenty-third form's weak-point assault in a single piercing lunge. His power sword plunged into the largest, most repulsive eye at the center of the enemy's chest.

A shrill scream pierced the air as the disruption field's searing energy incinerated the grotesque mutant flesh.

Thierry twisted his wrist, the power sword spinning, shredding every eye upon the chest.

As he withdrew his blade, clarity dawned within him.

[I have trained ceaselessly, striving to emulate my king's fusion of the 'Osberh-Vaya' doctrine, yet I could never succeed.

Today, in this moment of peril, I achieved it unwittingly.

I am not a servitor replicating sword techniques but a 'Warrior' who, facing a formidable foe, holds steadfast in faith and finds the key to victory.]

With this realization, Thierry felt his weary body surge with vigor, his power sword seeming to meld with his very essence.

Having discovered his path as a "Warrior," he brandished his power sword and charged into the throng of mutants.

At that same moment, Howard finally navigated the passageways to locate his regiment.

Upon arriving, he discovered a gaping crater where the passage had been bombed, the tracks shattered, and a train derailed into the lower levels.

The golden-haired noble led his workers into the fray, only to confront a middle-aged noble clad in opulent attire.

"It's you, Bogusz! You traitor, daring to betray our lord!"

Bogusz, upon seeing the "Arbiter," recoiled in shock.

"Howard, you're alive? Impossible! The Enlightened Emissary swore he would personally deliver your punishment."

"No, it can't be! The Enlightened Emissary wields the power bestowed by the God of Wisdom. How could he fail?"

The "Arbiter" sneered coldly. "Traitor, face your death!"

He raised his heavy logging gun, pulling the trigger. Bogusz was riddled with bullets, collapsing in a sieve-like heap.

After purging the traitor's private soldiers and the mutants, Howard located Yasin.

Yasin, with a straight nose and resolute features, strode swiftly to his commander, his voice laden with guilt.

"My lord, en route to your summons, I encountered Bogusz, who offered to join us."

"I failed to discern the traitor's vile scheme. The train exploded mid-journey, delaying me."

Howard nodded slightly. Having seen Bogusz, he had already pieced together the events.

"You bear responsibility, but the fault is not entirely yours."

"Reflect deeply, and ensure such errors are not repeated."

"As you command, my lord."

Nimrod, returning to Vostonia, did not immediately head to the hives under his control. He trusted in Howard and Thierry's capabilities to repel the mutant assaults.

His vision extended beyond his own strongholds, encompassing the entirety of Vostonia. To achieve this ambition swiftly, he required the support of Kivior-2, the Sage of Altar One.

Much like the Fabricator-General of Mars wields influence surpassing other Forge Worlds' leaders within the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Sage of Vostonia's Altar One commands the allegiance of the local machine-oil devotees.

Through the viewport of his flier, Nimrod gazed upon the Mikhailovsk hive below.

This, Vostonia's grandest hive, rose like a mountain, its spires piercing the jaundiced cloud layer, a dense sprawl of structures resembling a forest of steel.

The flier descended into the landing zone reserved for the Mechanicus, nestled between the hive's tallest twin spires. Nimrod, accompanied by Rosicky, Wojciech, and others, approached Altar One.

Moments later, Nimrod met Kivior-2, a red-robed Sage devoid of flesh, wholly mechanical. He first addressed their prior agreement.

"Sage, as per our established compact, I come to claim the star-charts."

Kivior-2's faceplate illuminated, a synthetic voice intoning.

"Initiating identity verification protocol. Identified as contractual counterparty, King Nimrod."

"Requesting exchange of contractual obligation data."

Wojciech promptly produced a data-slate, displaying the relevant page.

The Sage's faceplate emitted twin beams, scanning the slate's contents from top to bottom.

"Per the aforementioned contractual obligations, all star-charts held by Vostonia's altars shall be provided to King Nimrod."

With that, his mechanical tendrils delved into his robe, extracting a data-chip.

"Fulfilling contractual obligation: data-chip containing star-charts."

Wojciech accepted the chip, inserting it into the slate for rapid review.

After verifying its accuracy, he nodded to Nimrod.

With the star-charts secured, Nimrod turned to Kivior-2.

"Sage, our transaction is complete. Now, it is time to discuss the mutant rebellions."

...

T/N: I don't want to translate this story anymore, so I would post all 335 chapters in one go whether it go deleted I don't care anymore. That's all . I know you woul'nt read this though... this story only has few readers..