The Three Challengers

After the battle was over and Valtar Laude, Margrave Aerst of the Black Stars was returning to his quarters on the Legion flagship, he expected a few hours of rest, a pause from the frantic pace of combat and some precious time to dedicate to his never-ending training. However, he was met with none of those things. Instead, he found three of his brothers blocking the entrance to his chambers; two of them fellow members of the Ochranic Cavaliers, who crossed their spears before the door when they noticed him. The third was naught but a common Sergeant, his power armour still plain and unadorned, an ordinary power sword hanging from his waste. Valtar knew the purpose of their presence, and approached them with confidence, his steps slow and deliberate, Gvalad, his famed spear still hefty in his hand.

"Brothers!" he hailed them. "You are barring my way. I will ask that you move. Immediately."

The Cavalier to his right, his uncovered face home to a self-assured grin and serpentine, greedy eyes, took a step forward. And another, until he was inches away from Valtar, who was looking down on him with contempt and rising anger.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, lord Laude. We are here to challenge you. It is every Star's right to challenge Father's champion, is it not?"

Valtar's expressions remained unchanged. The challenger was indeed correct, and this was by no means an uncommon occurrence. However, this Cavalier was more arrogant than the rest, and vexed the First of the Ochranic.

"And you wish to do this now? After a battle, when I am in need of rest?"

"Indeed", the leftmost Astartes said. "Our odds would never be better than now, when you are worn out, exhausted". The sergeant nodded in agreement to this statement.

Valtar closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. Then he turned his back to his challengers and moved away.

"Meet me in the dueling grounds in twenty minutes, and prepare yourselves for what is to come."

The great arena of Antares was a captivating sight. With a circumference of one hundred metres, the fighting pit was surrounded by seats numerous enough for a thousand marines and an equal number of mortals. Said seats were now filled, as the news of the upcoming duel had spread like wildfire. At the far left edge stood the Primarch's observatory, from where he and his retinue would oversee the duels. The entire complex was made of marble of the finest quality, and banners with the Imperial Aquila, the Legion's symbol and the colours of House Vaughn were hung all around.

Valtar stood alone in the middle of the arena, in complete silence. The audience dared not raise their voices, only whisper among themselves as they waited. Some claimed that this would be Laude's final day as the Champion, others that the contenders would not live to see another day. However, all fell silent when the gates opened and the first warrior stepped into the arena.

It was the helmeted Cavalier, one whose name Valtar had learnt was Faulk, an Astartes of considerable skill and age, but otherwise unremarkable. He bowed to Valtar, and the Margrave returned the gesture, before raising Gvalad and assuming a battle stance. Faulk mimicked his opponent. Valtar immediately noticed that his stance gave him an opening to his left flank.

Faulk seized the initiative, opening with an overhead chop, but saw his Khomíte spear slice through thin air, as Laude had dodged to his left and thrust his lance to Faulk's ribs. He barely managed to deflect, the force of the attack knocking him back. He stumbled for a moment, and Valtar used this chance to launch a barrage of strikes. Their weapons clashed over and over again, sparks flying around them in a mesmerised spectacle. It was a battle of endurance, and for almost an entire minute the two fighters almost seemed evenly matched, each thrust and slice deflected or blocked with impeccable timing. Yet a careful observer would notice that, where Faulk's moves seemed strained, Valtar's were natural, almost effortless. It soon became evident that Faulk's strength was waning, and he found himself pushed back, his movements slowing down. Finally, Valtar swung Gvalad in an upward arc, striking Faulk's spear out of his hands. It was sent flying to the edge of the arena, and then, swift as the wind, Valtar spun in place and slammed his weapon to Faulk's temple, cracking his helmet and knocking him to the ground. The first challenger did not move, and Laude was declared the victor, the audience rewarding his flawless performance with thunderous applause. A group of servitors retrieved the unconscious Faulk, and the second fighter immediately stepped into the arena, his confidence untouched by his predecessor's defeat. He did not bow.

"My name" he shouted, so his voice would be heard over the clamour "Is Rudol Keins. And tonight, I will be crowned as the new Champion of the IIIrd. Once, of course, I defeat you, lord Laude…"

Laude raised an eyebrow at Keins' statement and laughed. No joy could be found in his laughter. Only scorn.

"How old are you, welp? Thirty? Barely forty, I would say. I have held this rank longer than you have been an Astartes, and have already faced hundreds of skilled warriors that envied me. Now, let me demonstrate the difference in our skill…"

Before Keins had the chance to brace himself, Valtar was already charging at him faster than he could react. He fell on Keins like a meteor, and drove the unpowered Gvalad through his artificer plate, causing the spectators to gasp, then roar in excitement.

Keins looked at his penetrated abdomen in shock, and fell to his knees as Valtar pulled back his weapon.

"Pathetic, really. You thought that you could stand a chance against me? Me? With your mediocre skills? You are a pitiful dog, Keins. I should kill you, but I will not, for what awaits you is a fate worse than death."

The defeated Legionary gathered his strength and looked up to Valtar, only for his face to be met with a power armoured boot.

After Keins was also removed from the pit, the third challenger, the sergeant, stepped inside and bowed at Valtar before drawing his power sword. His body was stiff, and he was almost shaking.

Valtar took a deep breath and looked in the marine's helmet lenses.

"You do not want to do this, brother. You saw what happened to the other two, what hopes do you have, really? Only a fool would try this…"

His opponent did not respond, only stood his ground, his sword held firmly in his hands.

Suddenly, Valtar raised Gvalad and attacked. He struck the sword out of the sergeant's hands, and kicked it away as he tried to retrieve it.

"Let it go. It's useless" he said, pointing his lance's edge to the marine's neck. Finally, he relented, and left the arena. Valtar bowed to the audience one last time, and made his exit as well. He would return soon, he thought to himself.

*The frequency of these events had increased in the years after the Vanishing, exponentially so. The Legion was undergoing a change, slow and subtle, almost imperceptible, but he was sure of it. He could even feel it in himself, for his victories had never before satisfied him so, and often found himself relishing this delight, this thrill of triumph… He would look forward to the next challenger and defeat him, as only he, the Champion of Absalom Vaughn could.*