Invincible after death, but in Warhammer 40K

Ishis, burdened with Power Armor, struggled to keep pace with the speed of the Chaos Space Marines. He had managed to delay them for a moment; honestly, at this level, in some ordinary feudal worlds, he would likely rank within the top ten in organizing a planet-wide tournament.

Even seasoned veterans of the Astra Militarum, if they hadn't undergone specific modifications, could easily be overwhelmed if a Chaos Space Marine got up close—they might not even have a chance to react before meeting an untimely demise. After all, no matter how experienced, the ceiling for mortal talent was clear and set. The Astra Militarum were elite forces, but they weren't all top geniuses.

On the Chaos side, the cultist leader nodded with satisfaction upon hearing that someone had accepted the challenge inside.

In the earlier skirmish, the cultists had essentially gauged the capabilities of this squad. Although their gear was decent, the combat skills at best rivaled those of top-tier PDF or noble guards. If it weren't for their golden, high-end equipment, they wouldn't even measure up to ordinary Astra Militarum soldiers.

At most, they were a bunch of frogs at the bottom of a well. What kind of fighters could they possibly produce? Battle Sisters or veteran soldiers who had taken down a thousand foes?

Even if they had such fighters, they could just be overwhelmed in a wheel battle, leaving any remaining survivors with no way out.

Furthermore, leaving a few alive to torment those assured safety would not make it their fault for breaking the agreement.

Thinking this, the cultist leader couldn't help but chuckle, patting a cultist beside him, whose entire right arm had morphed into a claw. "Go, offer their heads to the True God."

This cultist stood a head taller than those around him, and the extent of his mutations testified to his favored status. His record of many battles demonstrated that he had lived up to such expectations.

He had personally claimed the lives of many enemies, numbering upwards of twenty or so, including several Astra Militarum soldiers.

But as he stepped around the corner, his previously frenzied battle cry faltered.

What appeared before him was not the exhausted and battered veteran he had imagined.

A nearly two-meter giant in Power Armor, completely out of place with the surroundings, stood quietly at the forefront of the defense, as if he had sprung directly from the pages of a storybook.

His armor was splattered with dry blood, and a large circle of ears, taken as trophies, hung from his waist—easily thirty pairs or more, fresh enough to suggest they had been removed only hours earlier.

Upon seeing the cultist emerge, Ishis felt a flicker of disappointment emanating from behind the visor of his helmet, but despite that, he began to introduce himself in a deep, resonant voice:

"I am here for a wager—a duel for our lives. Let me introduce myself."

He took a moment to recall, then eventually said, "Ridia, Thousand Victories, Champion of the Arena, Gold Grain Swordmaster..."

After listing an array of titles, he seemed to find them somewhat dull. After all, these accolades were mere terms of endearment from his homeland; he had quickly been defeated two times before he even arrived!

This indicated that, outside, powerful individuals abounded, rendering him effectively just a beginner. No amount of titles could change that; if they didn't correspond to actual strength, they only served to make him a laughingstock.

Thus, he chose to truncate his introduction:

"…but you can simply call me by my name, Ishis. Now, it's your turn."

The cultist fell silent, the energy he had hoped to summon faltering.

A Chosen One? He didn't meet such a standard at all! Moreover, why did it sound so flat coming from his mouth, this preposterous title?

No, the real question was, I'm to go? Me?

It wasn't that he feared death; it was simply that there seemed to be a much better option for dealing with these dying men.

He glanced back, casting a pleading look toward the leader behind him. The leader, unable to see Ishis, disdainfully encouraged him: "He's nothing more than a country fool from who knows where. Go on."

The cultist turned his gaze back to the enemy and, after a moment of contemplation, declared, "You, a dying man, do not deserve to know my name!"

With that, he took the initiative, propelling himself with great force, closing the distance between them in a flash.

Yet, facing this onrushing cultist, Ishis merely retreated a step, narrowly dodging the descending strike. As the foe's momentum carried through, Ishis seized the moment to thrust his sword upward.

In an instant, the blade tore through the connection between the cultist's claw and shoulder, leaving Ishis himself somewhat bewildered.

Having lost twice in single combat before, he had instinctively prepared for a tough battle against an enemy who dared issue such a challenge—surely they couldn't be that much weaker just because they appeared unremarkable!

Yet, the cultist's initial strike was the only part that posed a semblance of a threat. The remainder of his wild flailing was completely devoid of coherence, posing no genuine danger.

Why had they sent such a person to take the lead?

Oh, now he understood! Zhang Ge had previously mentioned that these semi-human beings were the most despicable and shameless of abominations. It was likely that even in a so-called honorable duel, they wouldn't mind employing underhanded tactics; they must have intended to wear him down by sending forth this expendable pawn.

The real threats must still be behind.

Armed with this understanding, Ishis fought while conserving as much energy as possible. But even so, after decapitating the fifteenth enemy, he inevitably began to pant.

Their resilience was shocking; even after slashing through a large portion of their necks, they would not fall. He had to forcibly chop through their tough spines to sever their heads and cause actual fatal damage.

At this rate, after another ten or so, he would start to tire, and fatigue was the precursor to defeat. Those rascals were indeed crafty... but exchanging his life for the safety of others could still be called a glorious death.

Meeting Zhang Ge's gaze, Ishis returned a steadfast look.

Yet, as the sound of something breaking through the skies outside reached their ears, the notion of their impending demise shattered.

Zhang Ge had anticipated that reinforcements would roll out with sparks from their wheels, but he hadn't considered the possibility of something much faster.

Six Valkyries flew at rooftop level, leaving bright contrails in the sky. Most combat zones were under the control of the Nest Forces, and unless there were specialized anti-air weapons, most ground equipment failed to even detect them.

Coincidentally, the last area, which had a plethora of anti-air equipment, had just been breached, and the enemy's defenses hadn't had time to readjust; a gap had appeared.

This allowed the Valkyries to fly at ultra-low altitude, using the buildings as cover to avoid visual targeting.

The six Valkyries had come from that nobleman. If memory served, they had been used to transport airborne troops to the bridge.

Each Valkyrie could carry twelve airborne soldiers, totaling over seventy well-equipped soldiers using Grav-Chutes as they descended from the skies, many of them smashing down toward the tower's windows under the lead of a girl wearing a long skirt.

But the function of these Valkyries extended even beyond that.

As they hovered, their weapons on either side slowly targeted the enemy below.

Rocket pods erupted in a torrent of flames, and missiles rained down upon the enemies, while rapid-fire multi-barreled lasers began to efficiently harvest any exposed cultist positions.

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