He walked through the smoke and dust and walked toward Soshyan with his shoulders lowered, as if he was marching against the bite of a blizzard.
A black cloak was fixed at the back of his neck by a bone buckle, and the huge skull and sharp teeth of a dead beast formed his right shoulder armor, which looked like a Tyranids.
Mazar was not wearing a helmet, revealing a weathered face with crisscrossed ravines, like a weathered cliff, and a tuft of short gray-white hair on top of his head.
He has no beard, has high cheekbones, and the tattoo on his chin is like an open skull jaw. His iron-gray eyes are shining like armor, exuding an intimidating aura.
His warriors were equally wild, their weapons and armor decorated with various bones torn from corpses.
These soul-like warriors followed closely behind the leader, like a flock of birds flying on the air flow brought by the head geese. Many people were not even sure whether the gods of death wearing plastic steel armor would stop.
But no matter what, this nakedly provocative gesture made all the Astral Knights angry.
Later, Soshyan's calm voice reached every soldier's ears.
"Hold on, this is just a bluff, nothing more."
Just as he said, these gods of death stopped and surrounded them in a semicircle.
"Leader of the Astral Knights Chapter, Soshyan Alexey."
Magyar spoke loudly, his voice loud and harsh, like a cold predator.
"My name is Magyar, Chapter Master of the Ascetic Chapter, Lord of the Death Temple."
The next second, his sickle suddenly fell down.
Soshyan also drew his sword out of its sheath at the same time, faster than most people's naked eyes could capture, as if his cloak was curling like clouds.
Magyar greeted him with a giant scythe.
Amidst the clash of gold and iron, a shock wave shot out from around the two people, rolling up a cloud of ashes mixed with dust.
Seeing the Chapter Master being attacked, the Astral Knights all made moves to take action, but Thor stopped them.
The soldiers of the Ascetic Chapter remained indifferent, as if they were used to such scenes.
"Lord Magyar, is this how you treat yourself as a guest?"
Soshyan hissed and repelled the attack again.
"This is the etiquette of a warrior."
Magyar grunted and blocked the close-range sword.
Although holding such a heavy ruthless weapon, his movements are no slower than Soshyan's, and every attack is very solid, close and steady.
"If this earns your respect."
Soshyan laughed and swung his sword deftly again.
Confronting a Chapter Master was a challenge he had long sought, and the battles he had fought in the past were nothing in comparison.
While he was practicing swordsmanship with Thor, he had always longed for an opponent who could hone his skills.
Soshiyang let out a low roar, lunged forward, turned sharply with one foot, and the Holy Flame sword suddenly pierced Mazar's abdomen.
But just before he was about to succeed, the giant scythe turned sideways at a tricky angle to deliver the blow.
The two weapons created a string of sparks as they collided and dragged.
"too slow."
Mazhar mocked, then he clenched the war scythe with both hands and swung it at an extremely fast speed.
Knowing that the other party was getting serious, Soshiyang also devoted 12% of his attention to deal with it.
From the perspective of mortals, the fierce battle between the two Chapter Masters could only see frost blades flying and thunderbolts hidden among them, but they could not get a glimpse of the true appearance.
Every blow of Lord Magyar had the potential to split mountains and seas, but Soshyan was like a surfer on the waves, walking calmly through the stormy waves with elegant "dance steps".
This is the "sword dance" developed by the swordsmen of the Royal Court 10,000 years ago, and only a few people have mastered it so far.
Soshiyang's learning time is still short, and in Thor's opinion, he can't even perform one-tenth of the sword dance.
But it is more than enough to deal with such an offensive.
The key to sword dance is to bring the opponent into your own rhythm, with the sword tip as the center of the circle, and constantly drag the opponent's attack with a semicircular movement trajectory, always keeping the opponent under the threat of your sword tip.
"Young man, you are good at swordsmanship. Who taught you this?"
Although he has been led by Soshyan, Mazhar does not seem to be worried, still breathing rhythmically, and maintaining a strong desire to attack.
This battle seems to be quickly turning into an endurance race.
"Our Chapter Instructor."
Soshiyang whispered, wielding the Holy Flame, and struck out with a deadly sweep.
Magyar deflected the blow, his heavy boots sinking about half an inch into the ground.
After missing a hit, Soshyan immediately stopped his hand and launched a series of rapid sword attacks while moving in a semicircular trajectory.
The Sheng Yan Sword once grazed Mazar's thick shoulder armor, causing him to stagger.
As time went by, Soshyan's sword became more and more violent, and the sword made a jingling sound from the giant scythe.
"Then I'll teach you now."
This legendary hero of the empire, after letting out a dull laugh, began to cheer up and approached Soshyan with steady efficiency.
He strode closer, planted his feet firmly, and continued to unleash extremely destructive attacks.
When the two weapons collided and rebounded, only the afterimages were distorted, and sparks burst out from both blades and flickered in the air. Every movement declared the majesty of the angel.
Soshyan was surprised to find that his dance steps were ruined, as if a barbarian suddenly broke into the banquet.
Wild and ferocious attacks quickly tore apart the false mask of civilization.
"Fancy techniques can be used, but don't ignore our own strength!"
Mazar quickened his pace, and the sickle fell like thunder.
Soshyan withstood the blow, and the tip of the sickle was only a few inches away from his head.
"Been taught a lesson."
After saying that, he turned around and flew around Mazar in a circle, making it almost impossible to notice how he maintained his balance.
When they collided again, the impact was deafening.
The top leaders of the two war groups fought against each other, using all their strength in every attack.
Before they knew it, they had been fighting for half an hour.
Soshyan continued to fight, but he needed space to use his speed. He had to break free, take the initiative of the battle in his own hands, and break away from Mazar's suffocating entanglement.
Then, he mustered up all his strength, slammed the sickle, and distanced himself.
On the floor cast by the shadow of Mazar holding the giant scythe high, the broken cloak resembled the terrifying god of death in human mythology.
Soshyan stood there, breathing heavily, taking a stance, waiting for the enemy to move.
There's only one chance, one perfect chance, to get around the scythe at the precise angle.
It must be perfect, if not, there is no turning back.
But to everyone's surprise, Mazar stopped moving.
He put down the sickle, and a weak cough came from the neck brace. Soshyan soon realized that it was a kind of laughter.