Jacob leaned forward, his expression grim. "The Chapter is no ordinary fighting group. Each chapter has its own traditions, and we’re no exception. One of ours—call it a tradition, or a bad habit—is that we don’t accept weakness. Our corps prides itself on being the stro, a band of knights unmatched across the stars. Every ining master must prove their strength through bat. It’s a rite of passage."

  Kayvaan's expression remained calm. "What kind of bat are we talking about?"

  "A simple hand-to-hand battle," Jacob expined. "No power armor, only cold ons. There are no rules—only strength and survival. As the ining master, you’ll face three Space Mari once."

  Jacob stared ily at Kayvaan's face, studying every detail. He wao catch a glimpse of something—maybe anger sparked by his own words. It would only make sense for Kayvaan to be furious. After all, here was a warrior who had suffered so deeply and had finally fallen on a grand, legendary battlefield where he deserved to die with honor. Instead, the empire chose to let him live. When he woke after sleeping for housand years, everything had ged. The empire no longer fully trusted him. Everyone he onew had long since passed into memory, leaving him with nothing familiar. What would he feel now, looking at a world so alien to him?

  Of course, he would return to the only pce he truly khe battlefield. Even after all these ages, war remained war. The smoke, the killing, and the endless struggle hadn’t evolved in nine millennia. Amid all the unfamiliar faces and t buildings of this new era, only the battlefield stayed true to what he remembered. If Kayvaaruly himself, he should have beehing, eager to recim some measure of glory. He should have yearo lead an army bato the vast star-sea and pluraight into those hellish warzones again, ruthlessly cutting down the empire’s ehat was the natural order, the cycle he once lived by.

  But he couldn’t. Jacob khat the words he had just spoken had struck hard, reminding Kayvaan of what he could no longer do. Yet the young-looking soldier showed no trace of the anger Jacob expected. There were no tears, no outbursts, no hysterics. Kayvaan didn’t break down, didn’t plead, and didn’t even wear a forced smile. None of the reas Jacob had anticipated came to pass.

  Instead, Kayvaan was simply stunned for a moment. Then he chuckled quietly.

  They stood together in a small courtyard sted by the cozy blend of bck tea and coffee. Warm sunlight fell gently on them, but Jacob suddenly felt an odd chill creeping up his spine, as if a subtle ess rose from the depths of his heart. He found himself w if it was fear or some ominous sense of danger. He recalled the stories of “the crow’s smile,” a legendary expression rumored to appear on the faces of those carrying crow genes. Could it be that he had made a horrible misjudgment about this young man?

  Before Jacob could sort through his thoughts, Kayvaan spoke up: “It’s actually a great tradition. I appreciate the idea behind it. It’s about pride—our pride as Space Marines. Such a force shouldn’t be led by someone weak. Whoever leads must naturally prove their ce and strength.”

  This threw Jacob off. There was no protest or strong obje. Instead, Kayvaan expressed genuine approval of the tradition. There was no trace of luna his tone. Jacob found himself w if Kayvaan's long sleep had unhinged his mind. Didn’t he uand the simple meaning behind these words?

  Jacob tried to steer the versation: “Well, it is indeed a proud tradition, but if you ’t defeat three Space Marihen you ’t bee the leader of a Marine Corps,” he expined carefully. “Even if you have the Emperor’s personal endorsement, the rule still stands.”

  “Of course,” Kayvaan replied with a nod, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “No warrior would accept a leader who ’t eve three of his own. If a leader ’t overe them, he isn’t qualified to lead, aainly not fit to protect his subordinates. I ’t wait to get started. So, when we begin?”

  “Begin what?” Jacob bliaken aback. Then it hit him, and he nearly choked on his own words. “Wait, you actually want to take part in this challenge?” He had assumed Kayvaan would try to avoid it, to find some loophole or excuse.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Kayvaan asked, tilting his head. “Do you think I’m going to lose?”

  What kind of question was that? Of course Jacob thought he would lose. In fact, he was certain of it. Even one Neophyte Space Marine could likely turn Kayvaan's lean frame into a twisted wreck without breaking a sweat. They weren’t even pying on the same field. How could Kayvaan possibly hope to win against three of them, all battle-hardened and heavily trained?

  Still, he couldn’t just say that ht. It would be rude and terproductive. Trying to be tactful, Jacob said, “I just think your ces aren’t great. sider the differences in strength, physique, height, speed, and overall power. You’re clearly at a disadvantage…”

  Kayvaan's eyes narrowed slightly. “Are we Space Marines only brave when fag someone weaker? Do you doubt my ce?” His tone carried a quiet edge, as if Jacob’s words were dangerously close to an insult.

  Jacob quickly produced a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He o calm things down. “Absolutely not,” he said early. “I’m only worried about your safety. You realize that even if we limit ourselves to cold ons, acts still happen. Serious injuries or eveh aren’t just possibilities; they’re on. And if that happens, no one will be held responsible afterward. This is life and dead battle.”

  He genuinely feared for Kayvaan's life. Oh sides ehe arena, it became just like stepping onto a true battlefield. Rules faded. Nothing mattered except defeating the enemy standing in front of you. If one of the Astartes slew the prospective Chapter Master, no punishment would follow. On the trary, su act might earn praise and endation for their strength and valor, for this trial was not about rank or loyalty. It was a test of dominance, where leadership roven through sheer, undeniable strength.