Chapter 74 The Fatal Joke

Zhuang Sen stroked the armor on his left arm, his expression as gloomy and terrifying as the deep forest after a heavy rain.

The logo that showed the sword and wings of the First Legion had been completely torn by an overly obvious scar, just like a goshawk roughly scratched the metal wound with its sharp claws, triumphantly

Showing off his successful blow.

This is the only crack on the black armor of the Primarch, and the rest is nothing more than some dark scratches, and only scattered paint spots have been lost, but it is this whitish trace that is visible on the pure black armor.

It looks extremely dazzling, allowing anyone to easily observe it at first glance.

White within black is even more eye-catching and eye-catching than black within white.

The Primarch of the First Legion kept observing this rough crack, and his vision became increasingly gloomy, even when he saw the mortal: her appearance now looked extremely miserable, from the corner of her mouth

Even when his earlobes were dripping with blood caused by psychic overload, his depressed gaze did not have any sense of victory.

Zhuang Sen was sure that at that moment, he did not let down his guard.

When he warned the somewhat offended mortal and started another round of training, he never let down his vigilance even a little bit, nor did he abandon any method that was enough to win: except directly laying the sword across the mortal.

on the neck.

But despite this, even though he was trying his best to dodge and sense, the net that Morgan weaved with his spiritual energy still gradually shrank and squeezed his activity space until the spiritual energy condensed by a cluster of firelight

The sharp edge finally fixed the location of the Primarch, leaving behind a wound that almost shattered the entire Seiko Power Armor shoulder armor.

Zhuang Sen recalled that moment carefully, took the trouble to take it apart, kneaded it bit by bit, and analyzed it inch by inch, but in the end, he came to that conclusion.

Under those conditions, he really had no means to escape unscathed.

Either rush into the airtight psychic net, or you can only use the most defensive shoulder armor to resist the blow under the threat of that psychic impact, leaving the possibility to the equipment instead of

own strength.

The speed and reaction that the Primarch was so proud of showed a different kind of paleness and powerlessness in front of the web of thorns woven with psychic energy.

At that second, it seemed like a dead end.

After coming to this conclusion, the Primarch's face became increasingly gloomy.

Although for the past two Terran Standard Hours, he had wandered in a dragnet capable of destroying thousands of Astartes warriors, even though he had countless opportunities every minute to erase Morgan's beautiful white neck and

He considered himself the absolute winner, but just this unavoidable moment was enough to make all Zhuang Sen's arrogance and sense of victory disappear.

He even thought he had lost, to some extent.

This made his aura even somewhat dangerous and scary.

But Jonson was not obsessed with this. He was not Perturabo. He would not get angry just because he stepped in a puddle after a moderate rain and splashed mud. The Primarch swallowed himself quite rationally.

small failures and start thinking about the things that really matter.

The Primarch raised his head and looked around. At this time, the arena was completely in ruins. The aftershocks of psychic energy, the waves of sword energy, and even the violent aura of the Primarch himself had been heard in the past two Terran standards.

This poor space was ravaged back and forth, and the anti-psionic devices used for fixation and maintenance had long been shattered to pieces. Sound waves and air waves echoed in countless corridors and rooms, attracting countless dark angels to look at them.

But even so, Zhuangson still found an area that was still intact, which was an audience seat on the edge of the arena that could still accommodate people.

He walked over, stretched out his hand, smoothed the ashes and gravel on it, and then pointed, motioning for Morgan to come over.

The silver-haired mortal female officer obviously spent too much energy in the training just now. She walked with difficulty, her footsteps dragging on the ground. From her eye sockets, the corners of her mouth and the shells of her ears, freshly dried blood could be seen. That was

The result of over-squeezing psychic energy.

Compared with the glamorous appearance before, Morgan now can be said to be a little disheveled.

She was originally wearing a light silver-gray knee-length windbreaker with tight waistband and easy folds, paired with white trousers and the same pure black riding boots, and a navy blue scarf on her pale neck.

It was wrapped a little carelessly, and only a few traces of snow greasy could be seen vaguely.

Morgan even carries a pair of sunglasses in the pocket of his windbreaker, just in case.

And all of this happened two Terran Standard Times ago.

The folds that were once specially arranged on the sleeves and waist of the windbreaker have been completely disrupted. The collar is now dotted with drops of dark red blood, which is completely dirty, and the corner of the scarf has also been stained by an unknown source of air.

The waves were cut away alive without a trace, and now they are lying limply on the chest, like a poisonous snake with its head cut off.

It is true that Jonson will not win this training by pointing his sword at Morgan, but this does not mean that one or two of his countless sword lights will not pass by: how to interfere with the spellcasting of psykers has always been [

Killing Psykers] is an important research project in this discipline. The Primarch is obviously well versed in this. Just a seemingly random swipe is enough to turn Morgan's strangling formation into a ridiculous flaw in an instant.

object.

At first, Jonson was just quiet, but after a few minutes, after realizing that Morgan's figure was still a little far away from the seat, the Primarch simply walked over, grabbed one of Morgan's arms, and pulled her away.

He lifted it in the air, took a few big steps, and pressed it down on the seat.

Morgan felt a slight tearing pain in her shoulder. She turned her head slightly, only to see Jonson's other hand holding his big sword tightly.

The Primarch stood before her, like a majestic mountain casting endless shadows.

He pointed at the scars on his shoulder armor, showing no sign of reluctance to face it.

"Is such an attack an accident or the result of careful calculations?"

Johnson's inquiry came, but Morgan just pursed his lips and showed a smile.

She did not answer immediately, but just lowered her head slightly, breathed slowly, and adjusted her breath until Zhuang Sen's already frowning frown deepened.

【Both, Your Excellency.】

This answer did not relax the Primarch's frown even a little bit.

"Stop riddles and speak clearly."

[I made it very clear, Your Excellency, it is both.]

[You can say it was accidental, because this is my first time to use this kind of step-by-step strangulation snare, and the effect it will have is unpredictable. 】

【but……】

She breathed heavily again, and the Primarch's eyes moved slightly in response to her breathing and tone of voice.

[This is bound to happen, because when you choose such a training venue, it is destined that I will only choose this unfamiliar method, because this is the only way I can fight against you here. 】

Johnson raised his head.

He heard the undertones.

"You didn't use all your strength."

Morgan slowly raised his finger and tapped the blood at the corner of his eye. Zhuang Sen looked at the scarlet trickles on the pale cheeks and the smile.

His face was tense.

[These blood stains, Your Excellency, they appear because I am suppressing my spiritual power, not because I am overloading my power.]

As soon as he finished speaking, an icy cyclone exploded around the Primarch, turning into waves of violent storms that were enough to chill the soul.

"I ordered you... to use all your strength."

【Yes, Your Excellency, you ordered it.】

"But you are disobeying this order."

【No, Sir, I did not violate it.】

She was still laughing, even though Jonson's sword looked like it was going to kiss her neck the next second.

"This time, you can explain."

【If you really want my full strength, then things will go badly.】

Morgan tilted his head and leaned back, exuding an aura of fatigue and laziness.

[Of course I can try my best to let every ounce of my strength burst out in the battle, but the consequences are unimaginable. At the very least, the Invincible Reason cannot survive such an explosion. Its reactor will

My psychic scream exploded, sucking the entire battleship into the rift in the void together with thousands of Dark Angels.】

[Please do not underestimate the desperate struggle of an alphaph, and do not overestimate those anti-psychic devices. If they are really effective, psykers will not become a nightmare.]

【I did carry out your order, Your Excellency.】

【I did try my best within the scope allowed by the situation.】

Zhuang Sen lowered his head, his green pupils covered by long golden hair, and the sword blade made a harsh friction sound on the metal ruins floor.

"Next time, tell me before you start and don't be clever."

"I can tolerate it only once."

【Of course, Your Excellency.】

Morgan straightened her back again and nodded meekly. This time, she was serious.

Just like Jonson, he is also serious.

The Primarch was silent for a while, as if waiting for Morgan to rest.

"Now……"

"Tell me, your [full strength]."
To be continued...