40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 204 29. The suffering of reserve forces

Yago Severtarion was knocked away hard.

He fell to the ground, and his back collided with the metal floor, making a heavy muffled sound. And his enemies didn't stop there.

The fighter servitor rumbled towards him, stiff and dull, but it made the ground shake. Sevatar reluctantly raised his head, his vision blurred by pain just enough to see the stupid face of the servitor.

It had an expressionless face, and its face looked an almost poisonous gray under the light. Its eyes were dull, and there was no fighting spirit in it. It was just following the procedure.

It raised its left hand high, and the heavy training sword fell suddenly in the next second.

It didn't hit.

Sevatar spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with saliva, which hung thickly on his chin, causing a sense of discomfort. And whether it is comfortable or not is no longer a serious consideration for him now.

He staggered up from the ground, ran over and picked up his training sword. Its leather-wrapped grip and weight once again gave him the courage to face his enemy, and Sevatar turned around, wielding the sword like a club.

The servitor's face was twisted, and its jaw made a soft clicking sound, and then it fell down, hanging on its joints and shaking. And it didn't care about it, there was nothing in its dull and stupid eyes.

It raised its left hand high without wavering, extended the blade, and once again knocked Sevatar away.

He had resisted it with his sword, but he still couldn't resist this power that was far beyond his own. The reserve fell to the ground in pain, the blade came out of his hand, and the servitor stopped in place, lowering his head with a creaking sound.

A few seconds later, the door of the iron cage that closed him and the servitor was opened.

"Unqualified, reserve." Richtnar of the 8th Company said.

There was an expression on his face that he didn't know whether it was ridicule or sarcasm - maybe he came in with other emotions, but in Sevita's eyes, his expression meant this.

Ridicule, ridicule, contempt.

"What's wrong?" Savita asked while lying on the ground, blood still flowing from the corner of his mouth.

"Everywhere is unqualified." Saiweita's swordsmanship teacher knelt down and shook two fingers in front of him.

"It was too rough, Reserve. Your sword fell out of hand three times, and you didn't have any skill in swinging it. That servitor was stupid, but you were even stupider than it."

"Two." Sevatar replied weakly. "Is it really stupid?"

"Didn't you notice that its movements were regular?" Richter asked. His gaze was emotionless. Savita felt a twinge of pain, but still did not resist.

He comes off as meek, at least for now.

"What's the pattern?" asked the meek reservist.

"It doesn't turn. Just like you, reserve, it doesn't turn. You could have attacked its weak joints first, like its knees or ankles. But you chose to attack its upper body instead. What, you think you can use your own Will the weak force cut the fighter servant in half?"

Richter grinned.

Savita began to imagine how he would turn this face into a bruised and swollen face, and the corners of his mouth twitched. His malice did not escape Richter's eyes. The swordsmanship teacher pulled Savita up from the ground with his backhand, without any regard for his injuries at the moment.

"Stand up straight," Richter said grimly. "Unless you want to practice more tomorrow."

"I don't think extra practice can improve my performance."

"But it will shut you up." Richter nodded in greeting.

But this time, Sevatar finally caught an obvious mockery in his eyes.

An anger transformed from shame began to dance on his nerves, bouncing heavily, bending his thick nerves downward until it reached a certain critical point.

"No, I don't want to shut up." The meek reserve suddenly spoke. "Even if you ask me to practice extra tomorrow, I will still keep talking."

"Then what?"

Then you will be pissed off by me. Sevita thought. But what he said was another sentence: "Then, you let me practice more."

Richter asked. "So why do you keep talking?"

Because I want to piss you off.

"Because this is my habit," said Sevita. "I just have to keep talking. Dear swordsmanship teacher, if you can't stand me, I hope you will pass this job to someone else."

"Are you looking forward to someone else teaching you?"

"No, I just think you may not be able to tolerate me." Sevatar grinned, maintaining perfect etiquette and attitude, and his voice didn't even sound flawless.

"Then you are wrong, recruit." Richtnar folded his hands leisurely.

"In the beginning, I was really resistant to teaching you swordsmanship. But it is different now. You are very talented in swordsmanship, Yago Severtarion. And I very much like to improve with those who have talents. ”

"You don't think you can learn anything from me, do you?"

"Oh, actually, I really learned something." Richter smiled slightly. "For example, never be as stupid as you in battle."

"Perhaps the student's problem lies with the teacher." Savita suppressed his anger and retorted.

"Indeed, unless that student had a big problem from the beginning." Richter glanced at him, and a more elusive expression suddenly appeared on his pale and always cold face.

He stared into Sevita's eyes without blinking. The reserve soldier puffed up his chest and looked at him. His eyes hurt, but he still refused to blink.

One minute and twenty seconds later, Richter spoke again: "You've been having nightmares a lot lately, haven't you, reserve?"

".Yes." Sevatar whispered and finally blinked.

"What kind of dream?"

"Blood." The boy replied simply. "Dead people, bodies, and their screams."

"Is that all?" The swordsmanship instructor shook his head. "Does that scare you? You're a Nostramo."

But they are all people I know.

Sevatar lowered his head: "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, reserve, pick up the sword now."

Sevatar did as he was told. He once again touched the hilt wrapped in leather, and once again felt the heavy but reassuring weight of the sword itself. Richter grabbed his right wrist and ordered, "Hold it now."

The reserve clenched his right hand, fingers wrapped around the leather, and the sword blade trembled slightly.

"No wonder. Now relax," Richter instructed.

"Never hold a sword with full strength, you will lose flexibility. This is why when you swing the sword, you look like a monkey holding a stick. Also, there are some attacks that you cannot parry with the blade, so remember to dodge quickly."

He released his hand from Savita's wrist and shook his head at him: "Now, go find our chief medical officer."

——

"It seems Richtnar is very strict with you." Jairzinho Guzman lowered his head and said to Savita. "I thought he would make it a little easier on you. After all, you just went through nine weeks of rigorous training."

"I would rather train for another nine weeks, distinguished chief medical officer." Sevatar replied with a grin on his face, rubbing his ribs. "At least the physical training is much easier. Did you also fight against that kind of murderous servitor every day?"

"No." The chief medical officer shook his head and spoke lightly. "We were fighting directly against real people, death row prisoners, usually one against ten. You will clearly feel the touch of the sword blade when it cuts through their necks or pierces their abdomen."

Sevita looked at him with a little awe, Jairzinho smiled, reached out and poked his forehead, and the awe immediately disappeared.

"Weapons are extensions of limbs. That's when I learned this sentence." The medical officer said. "Of course, there are times when you have to abandon your weapons. When that happens, you have to use your hands to kill the enemy."

"Choke them to death, or beat them to death. Neither of these feelings is good. Every gasp and struggle of the dying person will be clearly captured by you. You will try to let go and save their life, but you can not"

He looked away, turned around, took out a tube of injection and injected it into Sevatar's wrist. The sting was fleeting, and then a cold feeling surged up and began to beat in the blood vessels. The reserve growled uncontrollably and clenched his fists.

"Because then you will be the one who dies," Jairzinho Guzman said. "That's why we are never kind, not even to you. Stop complaining or being dissatisfied, kid, and try to accept this. You have no choice."

Savita closed her eyes tremblingly and began to endure the sting and coldness caused by the repair potion. He gasped and struggled to speak: "The instructor said I still have a choice."

"When he comes back, you can ask him yourself about the definition of choice." Jairzinho smiled. "Of course, just a suggestion."

"So...when will he come back?"

"Soon." The medical officer raised his head and looked at the ceiling, his expression seemed thoughtful, and then fell into silence.

Savita opened his eyes and tried to capture the medical officer's expression at this moment, but due to the angle, he could only see Jairzinho's slightly trembling body. After the uncomfortable silence, Jairzinho spoke again.

And his voice had returned to normal. Not only that, he even reached out and poked Sevita on the forehead.

"He'll be back soon." The medical officer chuckled. "Start praying for your future life, kid. You will be implanted with gene seeds next week. By then, you will probably be able to feel what we feel."

Two more chapters.