Inside Victor's bunker...
"The enemy has achieved some success, extensively breaching our defenses. The Imperial Air Force's terrifying bombardment has caused heavy losses to our front lines.
In the west, the mon-keigh have completely occupied the metropolis and are outflanking towards the city center.
As for the Chaos faction, their forces cover the entire east side of the city and are already engaged with the mon-keigh, fighting in the casinos, commercial street, and the Second Residential District."
Victor, wearing his Aeldari pointed glasses, listened to the officer's explanation...
"As long as Lelith launches her attack, everything will be fine..."
Hearing this, several Drukhari in the room exchanged glances...
"Sir... Lelith, she..." He clearly dared not tell Victor the truth.
However, another Drukhari spoke up:
"Lelith took her close confidants and joined the Death God Army. Lelith did not launch this offensive..."
Victor fell silent. He took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he removed his glasses...
"Everyone who has served as a senior executive in the Obsidian Syndicate for over ten thousand years... stay."
After Victor finished speaking, only a handful of people remained in the room...
"That was an order! The attack was an order given to Lelith! Who does she think she is, to be so bold as to choose to betray us at this critical juncture!"
Outside the room, Victor's Tau Misses whimpered as they heard Victor's enraged voice from within...
"The entire Syndicate has been deceiving me! Even Lelith, to whom I showed 'kindness and recognition,' is deceiving me! All of you schemers and pirate kings combined are nothing more than monkey descendants, useless fish and rotten shrimp with no value!"
At this, a senior executive immediately and quickly explained: "Lord Victor, your words are a bit extreme; they are all fighting for you with their blood..."
"Which one of these are pirate kings? They rob merchant convoys and unarmed civilians with knives and pistols every day, and they think they're invincible!
Now that the regular armies of Chaos and the mon-keigh have arrived, every single one of them has shown their true colors and exposed their weaknesses!"
Victor slammed the staff in his hand onto the table.
"How many years has it been? All of you know only how to fight amongst yourselves. Malys is one example; the entire Syndicate is full of traitors! All of Commorragh tries its best to stab me in the back every day!
I really should do as the mon-keigh do... establish an Inquisition and feed all your souls to The Thirsting Lady!"
As Victor spoke, as an 'elder of ten thousand years,' he slumped back into his chair, powerless...
"I never came from a prominent family. I rose from a death row inmate to the leader of the Aeldari, all through my own efforts... Yet, in the end, everyone under me is a bunch of hypocritical traitors!"
...Meanwhile, Ahriman was furious. His psychic beams and incantations poured forth like a storm, twisting the surrounding air into a hazy illusion.
However, the mysterious hooded warrior remained unmoving, the trajectories of the Las-fire from his dual pistols precisely shattering each of Ahriman's attacks.
"Who are you?" Ahriman growled, psychic vortexes swirling around him.
A hint of unease arose in his heart. The last time he felt such oppressive power was when he faced an existence of the 'first among those below the Primarch' level.
The hooded warrior did not answer, merely let out a low chuckle.
He suddenly drew the Lion El'Jonson's Sword from his back, its blade erupting with a captivating aura amidst the intertwining flames and golden radiance.
The warrior lunged towards Ahriman, his dual pistols firing alternately, the plasma and fiery bullet trails weaving a net that sealed Ahriman's movements.
Ahriman immediately activated a protective barrier, a psychic shield wall blocking the fiery barrage.
However, the warrior's figure ghosted through the gaps in the flames, the Lion El'Jonson's Sword striking down like lightning, colliding with the psychic staff that suddenly appeared in Ahriman's hand.
"Boom!"
The shockwave swept across the battlefield, causing the surrounding Chaos Warriors and Thousand Sons Sorcerers to retreat.
For a moment, only Ahriman and the hooded warrior remained in the center of the battlefield.
"This swordsmanship..." A flicker of doubt, mixed with faint anger and shock, crossed Ahriman's eyes.
"Where did you learn this? This—this is clearly..."
"Shut up, sorcerer," the warrior said coldly, his blade twisting to directly parry Ahriman's shield.
His swordsmanship was almost eerie in its speed, and the balance between power and velocity was perfect.
Each slash precisely targeted Ahriman's weaknesses.
Ahriman gritted his teeth, psychic incantations rapidly forming in his hands.
He attempted to create distance temporarily through a time-stasis spell, but just as the ripples of time began to undulate, the warrior suddenly accelerated, cleaving through Ahriman's surrounding psychic field with a single sword stroke, directly shattering the power of time.
"Impossible!" Ahriman couldn't believe what was happening before his eyes.
He had fully utilized the power of the Warp, even employing the psychic inscription array of the Tzeentchian clan, yet he was still suppressed by this warrior.
"If you're relying on these stolen psychic techniques, then you're very disappointing."
The hooded warrior scoffed, the edge of the Lion El'Jonson's Sword slicing across Ahriman's left arm, directly severing his psychic staff.
Ahriman, a mix of shock and rage, violently released a psychic blast with his other hand, attempting to knock his opponent away.
However, the warrior did not retreat; instead, he skillfully used the impact to turn, and his dual pistols fired again.
The bullets, trailing golden flames, directly struck Ahriman's chest plate, exploding.
Fine cracks appeared on his armor, and the psychic runes were forcibly torn apart.
Immediately, fear spread from Ahriman's scalp to his toes.
He was too familiar with this; these fighting methods were definitely not something current Astartes would know.
They had to be the combat styles of the main forces who participated in the Great Crusade ten thousand years ago.
"Who... exactly are you! Sigismund? Qin Xia? Raldoron? Du Caine? Marius Gage? Ingo Pech or Herzog?"
Ahriman coughed, blood gushing from his mouth.
He barely managed to stand, his eyes a mix of fear and rage.
The warrior slightly raised his head, revealing a sharply defined face beneath the shadow of his hood.
His voice was deep, yet full of power:
"So... do you still remember me?"
Ahriman's eyes widened slightly, as if he had seen something incredible.
He immediately raised his staff and swung it at the hooded figure before him...
"No! You should have died long ago! You should have died in the ruins of Caliban!"
The hooded figure dodged Ahriman's staff, then swung the Lion El'Jonson's Sword downwards.
Ahriman was about to raise his staff to block, but the hooded figure's move was a feint.
He quickly ducked and performed a sweeping kick, knocking Ahriman to the ground.
"In the grand martial arts competitions of the Legions back then, besides Sigismund, I truly feared no one... Even Abaddon and Khârn were directly knocked to the ground by me."
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