But this momentary clash was far from over!
Alex forcefully stabilized his center of gravity as he retreated, the psychic glow in his eyes burning fiercely!
He precisely captured a fleeting, tiny moment of stiffness in Hathor due to her block—a fatal flaw!
Without the slightest hesitation, he ignored the intense numbness in his arm.
The Power Training Sword in his hand transformed into a metallic storm, dozens of indistinguishable real and illusory thrusts, like a bursting dam, precisely covering Hathor's defensive nodes!
Each strike incorporated the trajectory of psychic foresight, with tricky angles and meticulous calculations, intending to seal off all space for conventional dodging and blocking.
Hathor finally stopped holding her ground!
Her figure suddenly transformed into a silver phantom, moving and dodging at high speed amidst Alex's furious assault.
The sword in her hand was no longer a simple block but a precise defensive matrix; each swing accurately hit the critical points of Alex's attacks, neutralizing the most threatening strikes in advance or skillfully deflecting them.
The explosive clatter of colliding blades was as dense as rain, and sparks flew madly!
Energy shockwaves continuously erupted between the two, shaking the entire training ground!
All the Ash Knights watching held their breath, shocked by the Governor's extraordinary speed and foresight, and even more by Hathor's absolute defensive posture, which seemed to perceive and control everything!
This extreme psychic-driven assault lasted less than ten seconds.
Although Alex's psychic foresight was strong, maintaining such high-intensity combat simulations and physical enhancements pushed his mental and physical burden to the limit.
Just as an inevitable, slight delay appeared in his swordplay due to power consumption—Hathor's counterattack arrived!
Her sword seemed to break free from the constraints of physical laws, thrusting from a logically impossible angle, with a speed that surpassed visual perception!
Alex's pupils contracted sharply, and psychic foresight warned him frantically—countless images of future attack paths flooded his mind instantly!
But this massive amount of precognitive information itself became an overwhelming burden!
His brain's processing speed was instantly overwhelmed, and his body's reactive nerves were completely overloaded!
The cold sword tip pinpointed the nerve cluster on his sword-wielding wrist with unparalleled precision!
A subtle yet powerful shockwave emanated.
Alex grunted, and the training sword flew out of his hand!
Hathor did not pursue; her sword tip retracted instantly after striking.
She stood still, her breathing as steady as before, as if the exchange that would have left an ordinary Astartes dizzy was effortless for her.
She looked at Alex, who was slightly panting, his wrist aching intensely, and for the first time, her molten-gold eyes showed undisguised, pure admiration.
"Impressive, Governor." Hathor's voice carried a hint of genuine warmth, an acknowledgment of true potential.
"Your application of 'Future Sight' and your extreme enhancement of your mortal body… your proficiency far exceeds the basic level." She paused, then added, "In terms of pure 'combat technique' and 'battle instinct,' you still need extensive refinement, but to be able to use precognitive abilities to this extent in actual combat is an extremely rare talent.
Even among Librarians who can integrate psychic foresight so efficiently into close-quarters combat, they are not common."
Alex regulated his breathing, feeling the ebbing of the psychic tide within him and the soreness in his muscles, yet a relieved smile appeared on his face.
To receive such praise from a Primarch was, in itself, the highest affirmation.
Just then, the heavy main airtight gate of the training ground emitted a low hum and slowly slid open.
A crisp scent, a mix of rust, gunpowder, and promethium fuel, instantly rushed in, dispersing the lingering energy residue in the arena.
An Ash Knights Captain, clad in distinctive black and white quartered Power Armor, strode in, carrying the undissipated smoke of battle and an air of grim determination.
Cold stardust clung to the armor's crevices, and fresh, dark red splatter stains remained on the edges of his shoulder pads—proof of alien or traitor blood solidified in vacuum.
His heavy adamantium boots echoed dully on the alloy floor, each step carrying the oppressive weight of one just returned from a crucible of flesh and blood.
He had clearly received an urgent summons, detouring directly from some frontline outpost or a brutal patrol skirmish.
The cold gaze behind his helmet's faceplate scanned like a laser beam, sweeping over the new and veteran recruits who had instantly fallen silent and held their breath at his intrusion, then over the dust still settling in the air.
Finally, with a hint of an almost imperceptible, routine scrutiny, it fixed on the tall, unfamiliar female figure holding a training sword in the center of the arena.
Gaviel Loken's steps abruptly halted.
This was not a tactical pause, but a deeper, instantaneous short circuit originating from the core of his cognition.
That figure… that posture, that indescribable rhythm in her every movement… like a faint electric current, unexpectedly pierced through the millennia-old ice of his sealed memories.
An utterly absurd yet incredibly strong sense of déjà vu seized him.
How could this be? This was insane! But why… why did just this back view cause a sharp pang in a long-numbed corner of his soul?
Beneath his helmet, his resolute brows furrowed tightly, and his cold gaze was, for the first time, consumed by pure, deep confusion and bewilderment.
He stood frozen, like an iron statue suddenly halted, his helmet slightly tilted, trying to dispel this untimely phantom and see more clearly.
In that instant, the woman in the center of the arena seemed to sense something, turning slightly and adjusting her grip on the sword.
That fleeting profile, the angle of her chin, and especially those raised eyes, which seemed to flash with a molten-gold luster under the training ground lights!
Buzz—! Loken felt as if an invisible sledgehammer had violently struck the inside of his skull!
Not a phantom! Not an illusion!
That unique majesty of the Gene-Seed Primarch, etched deep into the very marrow of every Luna Wolves' soul, and… betrayal! It was him! That name! That figure! The one who turned all glory to ash, trampled loyalty into mud, and stained brotherhood with the deepest darkness—the TRAITOR!
"Uh… Hgh…" A supremely suppressed, almost bestial dying gasp escaped from his helmet's vox-grille.
The next moment, under the horrified gazes of all the Ash Knights, Gaviel Loken made a move that froze the very air—he violently raised both hands, his movements so rough they were almost tearing, and grabbed his smoke-stained, cold, heavy helmet!
"Click!" The crisp snap of the locks releasing echoed like thunder in the dead silent training ground.
He yanked the helmet off!
A weathered face, etched with the tough lines bestowed by years and war, was exposed to the harsh lights.
Yet at this moment, on this face belonging to the legendary Captain of the Tenth Company, a member of the Council of Four Kings, there was no longer any trace of composure or wisdom.
His features were distorted by extreme shock and uncontrollable fury!
His eyes were no longer the calm eyes of an observer but had utterly transformed into two furnaces ignited by hellfire, erupting with terrifying blood-red light!
His pupils contracted to pinpricks, burning with a blood feud spanning ten thousand years, the searing pain of betrayal by a loved one, and the purest, all-consuming desire for destruction directed at the very existence before him!
------------------------
I've posted 70+ chapters in advance on Patreon.
Webnovel updates will still be daily, as usual.
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
[email protected]/TripleCrown
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"