Chapter 33: Malum’s Training, The Emperor Loves Egypt

"Aaron, your father is right; it is time I taught you some combat techniques."

"According to the 'Ultramarines Recruit Training Manual, Fourth Edition,' an Imperial soldier must possess competent marksmanship and be proficient in the use of standard-issue Imperial weaponry."

"However, since this era lacks ranged weapons, I can only teach you the techniques of close-quarters combat and archery."

"First, the primary rule—"

Malum recited the training protocols with complete seriousness. The more he spoke, the stiffer Aaron's expression became.

"Stop, stop, stop. I have already analyzed Oester’s fighting style. You only need to teach me how to dodge heavy axe cleaves, how to close the distance to an enemy quickly, and which vital points to strike to maim or incapacitate them."

"That is a massive brute nearly as tall as you. If you make me start from the absolute basics, it will be too late."

Malum was somewhat at a loss regarding Aaron's request. As a native of Macragge, whenever he encountered a reality that exceeded the scope of his manuals, he would fall into a brief moment of hesitation, followed by entering a state of berserk fury—a state where he remained simultaneously excited and calm to achieve his goal.

This was evident when he had once slaughtered his way through a Forge World, yet still found time between shots to clasp his hands and roar, "The Emperor protects."

Few other Ultramarines possessed this capability. His idol, Titus, was even more formidable than he was, remaining in this state at all times. Based on his few memories of seeing Titus, the latter had once mentioned an advanced, strange state that might be called "Divine Grace"—as if the Emperor himself were whispering in his ear. Titus was terrifyingly strong in those moments.

Malum had never experienced such a state, though he had indeed felt the thrill of firing his bolter while his calm, analytical mind precisely counted the extra shells being discharged, a habit that had resolved many crises.

Malum’s gentle gaze turned stern. He reached out and raised his chainsword high.

"I am not accustomed to axes; they are mostly used by Chaos cultists," he whispered. He did not activate the chainsword; he simply brought it crashing down.

His waist and legs did not even provide power for the motion, and the speed of the descending weapon was easily trackable by the human eye. Yet, the sheer presence of the move made Aaron feel as though a titan in iron armor was assaulting him—a blow from which there was simply no escape. If the sky itself were to collapse, where could one flee?

The chainsword stopped steadily against Aaron’s scalp. To be honest, the unpowered blade was not sharp; in fact, it was somewhat blunt. It felt as if a cold, inanimate object was massaging his scalp—it was quite comfortable.

A bald head had that advantage: the scalp was easily stimulated, which energized the brain and perhaps even extended one's lifespan.

Malum froze. "A normal Imperial soldier should be able to dodge an attack at that speed. I have precisely controlled the force and judged your physical reaction time. Aaron, you must focus."

Aaron, feeling embarrassed, crouched slightly to move aside, rubbing his bald head. "My apologies. My first instinct was that I couldn't dodge it. And then, when this thing pressed against my head," he pointed to the gap between the chainsword's teeth, "it actually felt quite nice. In the future, will there be any daring souls who use this weapon to cut their hair?"

Malum gasped. If this weren't the Emperor's Firstborn, but an ordinary mortal Imperial soldier, he was certain a Commissar would already be on the way, loading a bolt shell with a frantic pull of the trigger.

"Father," he prayed silently, "I suspect the Firstborn does not have a normal human temperament either."

Wait, why did he say "either"? Could it be that the Emperor’s seed was so resilient that the Primarchs themselves were all a little deranged?

Aaron did not hear what was said. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, "Let’s continue. I will definitely focus this time. There is nothing I cannot do!"

Aaron opened his eyes again, as if he had entered a state of meditative visualization, seeing himself exactly as he needed to be. He was, after all, capable of wielding a chainsword well enough to trade a few blows with the Primarch Lorgar—even if his brother had surely been holding back quite a bit.

Malum nodded. Almost the moment Aaron’s chin moved, the chainsword rose and fell again. It stopped at the side of Aaron’s shoulder.

This time, he had avoided the head. On a battlefield, this would at most cost an arm. It was enough for an Imperial soldier, when facing a drugged-up Emperor’s Children Chaos Space Marine, to shove a melta gun into the gaps of the enemy's unmaintained power armor. But that was all.

"Again! I am almost finding the rhythm!"

Aaron was exhilarated. He was beginning to feel the thrill of his physical body gradually catching up to his thoughts, obeying his will like an extension of his own arm.

Malum continued the swinging motion, simulating the outcome of every improvement Aaron made. Within a few hours, Aaron’s best performance was enough to make a Chaos Space Marine stumble back a few steps, buying time for his teammates to aim their heavy weapons—before he himself was smashed into pulp by the Chaos marine, who would then nimbly dodge the heavy fire.

As for why the target was always a Chaos Space Marine rather than any other Astartes—it was naturally because those fallen children were mentally unstable, constantly consuming Slaaneshi concoctions, not to mention their slow neural reflexes. Furthermore, to facilitate their depravity, their power armor was full of gaps designed to accommodate their mutated limbs, allowing for more flexible, hedonistic pursuits.

That was why a mortal had a chance to bring their fragile firepower close to them. If it had been a World Eater, Aaron would have been cleaved in two by now.

When Anda returned from fishing, his attendants cheering and laden with baskets full of fish, he saw his son drenched in sweat, his face lit with joy.

Aaron looked back and saw his father smiling at him! It was no small feat; by the Mother, this was the first time he had seen his father smile at him since he could remember!

Aaron fought back the urge to cry. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw his father’s expression shift from gentle to smug.

The words that came out of his mouth were infuriating: "Ahaha! Aaron, look! My haul today is truly bountiful! I told you, it wasn't my fault—it was just that the fish of Thebes weren't giving me any face!"

Anda pulled two arm-length carp from the basket and tossed them at Aaron. "Hurry, hurry! You’re roasting the fish today. And use those spices unique to Egypt! I absolutely love this place! It would be even better if they didn't keep trying to shove tubes into my body."

"Why are you so listless? Get up and get to work! I’m finally genuinely happy, and you, as my son—what is with that look in your eyes?"

Full of rage, Aaron scrambled up, picked up the two fish, and hurled them back, slamming them into Anda’s face.

Both of them flew into a fury. Anda simply took the fish basket from his back and began pelting Aaron with the catch. The latter didn't have many chances to strike back, but he was able to dodge every single attack with precision.

Even Malum was impressed. At the very least, if the Emperor were throwing things at him, he would never dream of dodging.

Wait—Aaron’s dodging speed had increased again!

Malum was moved. This was all part of the Emperor’s plan!