This small interlude did not take long.
The voice of Arch-Magos Cawl continued to resonate steadily through the grand observation hall, carried clearly by the vox-amplifiers to the ears of every warrior assembled on the floor below.
"The rules of the trial are hereby announced: this exercise will not use the traditional 'first blood' or 'killing blow' system.
All of your power armour has been fitted with energy shield generators. When an individual's shield energy is completely depleted, that warrior is considered eliminated. When all members of one squad have been eliminated, the opposing squad wins."
He paused briefly to allow the rules to be fully understood, then added:
"Furthermore, each squad has been allocated the same initial tactical points. The tactical panels before you list the additional weapons available for selection — all the latest models developed during this recent period — which may be exchanged by spending points. Exchanges must be completed during the preparation phase. You now have twenty minutes for tactical discussion, equipment selection, and initial deployment."
"The exercise begins in twenty minutes."
Upon hearing the rules, neither of the two squads on the training floor hesitated for even a moment. They moved immediately.
Everyone strode toward their respective ends of the field and began making thorough arrangements.
Time flew.
Long with words, short without.
The piercing alarm of a countdown reaching zero rang throughout the entire space.
"Exercise — begin!"
At the command, in movements so textbook-perfect they could not have been more standard, both sides' Primaris Space Marines set off simultaneously.
They did not blindly charge toward the centre of the field. Instead, with breathtaking speed, they sprinted immediately for the defensive fortifications and solid cover positions they had already identified — the ones closest to their respective starting zones.
"Interesting."
Behind the observation window, Adam's gaze locked instantly onto the warriors' silhouettes as they charged, particularly the distinctive profiles of their backpacks. His eyes lit up.
"I see you've noticed. Your eye is as sharp as ever."
Arch-Magos Cawl explained at once, with a faint note of pride in presenting his work: "The power armour they are currently wearing, which I have designated the MK11 pattern, differs significantly from the MK10 I designed previously. Its power systems have been miniaturised to an extreme degree.
"Therefore, their power supply no longer requires the bulky and antiquated power pack configuration — that device occupied far too much space. Its formidable energy system has been integrated into a miniaturised belt unit, making it exceptionally difficult to destroy."
"I can see that," Adam nodded, though curiosity remained. "So what is occupying the backpack position on their armour now —"
Suddenly, he saw what happened next.
"Ah. Never mind. I see it."
At that moment — perhaps owing to inexperience — a Primaris warrior from the Imperial Fists, seemingly seeking a better firing angle, cautiously leaned out from behind a half-collapsed wall and exposed most of his body, attempting to shift to a flanking position.
The instant his body was exposed —
"Fzzzt — CRACK!"
A blazing bolt of plasma, brilliant blue, came screaming from a concealed direction, tearing through the air and striking the Astartes with devastating energy — a direct hit.
Yet the expected scene of armour melting through or the warrior being hurled to the ground did not occur.
Instead, in the very instant of impact, approximately one inch from the stricken warrior's body, a layer of rapidly flickering energy field suddenly blazed to life.
Ripples surged across its surface like a great stone thrown into still water — violent, churning — but the Primaris warrior within suffered no meaningful harm, and immediately threw himself back behind cover.
"— That's a personal void shield!"
The realisation struck Adam.
So that was why Cawl had felt comfortable running live-fire exercises.
They'd managed to mass-produce these as well?
"But of course. And on the firepower side, we have made corresponding improvements as well."
Before Cawl had even finished speaking, at the rear of the Ultramarines' position, three Eliminators raised their heavy-bore missile launchers simultaneously.
With a keening shriek tearing through the air, several missiles trailing white plumes of exhaust slammed precisely into an exposed position on the enemy side.
"BOOM —!"
An instant later, within a radius of more than ten metres around the point of impact, massive dense clouds of green vapour erupted violently outward, lit from within by blinding, sickly-white fire.
"Good grief — is that a phosphex weapon?"
Adam's eye twitched slightly.
These monstrous weapons, renowned for their terrifying destructive potential and extreme burning temperatures, produced flames capable of burning through solid ceramite-and-adamantium composite armour in a short span of time.
Adam vaguely recalled that an STC fragment relating to such a weapon had once been ordered destroyed by a Tech-Priest horrified — and perhaps frightened — by its sheer brutality.
But evidently, that Tech-Priest had not been thorough enough. In some obscure corner of some unknown data-vault, the blueprints had apparently been archaeologically excavated by the formidably resourceful Arch-Magos Cawl, and subsequently optimised and put into mass production under new technical conditions.
Predictably, beneath such a weight of firepower, that Primaris Space Marine was immediately eliminated and teleported from the field via the warp.
The exercise had claimed its first casualty.
On the training floor, the acrid stench of drifting smoke and phosphex had yet to disperse.
By conventional Astartes squad-versus-squad logic, both sides should at this point have been repositioning, using the complex terrain to continue mid-to-long range exchanges of fire — probing, attriting, searching for the other side's weaknesses.
But contrary to everyone's expectations, a faint hum suddenly arose.
"Hmmmm —"
Sergeant Felix, in the midst of rapidly issuing orders and redeploying his crossfire network, jolted as if struck by a high-voltage current and spun around.
Not only him — every one of the Ultramarines Primaris reacted in the same instant. Power armour servo-motors whirred as gun barrels swung toward their rear at maximum speed.
Approximately fifteen metres behind them, an unsettling, gridlike energy structure flickering with an eerie jade-green luminescence materialised out of nothing, rapidly expanding to form a translocation portal.
"— That's a Necron Phase Gate!"
Adam, who had personally gone tomb-raiding on more than one occasion, recognised it immediately. The corner of his mouth curved slightly.
Now this is interesting.
Cawl had truly gone and applied xenos technology directly to Primaris Astartes equipment? Did Sutton have a hand in this?
Without a thunderous war-cry, Sergeant Sol's silhouette emerged — like a ghost stepping out of an ancient oil painting — gliding from the dark depths of the Phase Gate with a lightness and elegance utterly at odds with his imposing frame.
The moment he appeared, the exquisitely crafted phase blade in his hand had already become a deadly arc of green light, thrusting directly at the nearest Ultramarines warrior.
Behind him, flashes of jade luminescence came in rapid succession, as the remaining Imperial Fists Primaris warriors sprang through one or more simultaneously-opened smaller phase gates with the same efficient and decisive movements.
And in their hands — not ranged weapons, but phase blades, to a man.
"...What kind of Imperial Fists are these?"
Felix muttered inwardly.
But as a worthy son of Guilliman, his reactions were sharp. Faced with a lethal blade edge that had appeared practically at his nose, he immediately abandoned any thought of shooting, drew the power sword at his hip, and parried with all his strength.
"CLANG!"
The jade phase energy and the power sword's disruptive disruption field collided violently.
At their flanks, the Primaris warriors broke into open combat.
Mechanicus relics, Corona Ignis incinerators, stasis grenades, antimatter particle rounds, photon grenades, gravity weapons — every manner of rarely-seen armament from across the galaxy wove together into a grand symphony of war.
And watching from beside the window, Adam was thoroughly, utterly satisfied.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
This — this is exactly what I wanted to see.
Rivers of blood.
With personal void shields in play, ranged attacks were largely ineffective; deploying weapons of mass destruction risked mutual annihilation. Close combat had become the only recourse.
"CLANG! CLANG! CRACK! FZZZT —!"
Parry, engagement, evasion, thrust, riposte —
In the span of a single breath, Felix and Sol had already traded over a hundred blows.
Felix's attacks moved like a textbook given life — flowing, seamless, transitions between offence and defence without the slightest hesitation. Sol's strikes, meanwhile, resembled an elegant and supremely skilled dancer, pouring his artistry out in exuberant motion. Power sword and phase blade clashed and crossed, ringing with sharp, bright cries.
And at last —
"I yield."
Felix exhaled softly, and lowered his blade.
Around him, every one of the Ultramarines Primaris had already been put down.
With personal void shields nullifying most ranged fire, close combat had been the only viable path — but there, the enemy had come fully prepared, having even equipped every member with time-accelerating Chronostasis Hourglasses. It had been, to put it bluntly, a thoroughly unfavourable matchup.
I must admit my own experience and awareness were far too lacking. I was far too rigid in my thinking.
He could not deny it: this battle had been a thorough lesson.
Sol sheathed his blade with elegant grace and pressed a fist to his chest in salute: "A fine match, brother. You honour me."
"Not bad."
Behind the observation window, Adam had watched everything unfold. He gave a small nod.
He was evidently quite satisfied with the weapons on display.
Adam turned his head again toward the ever-accommodating Cawl.
"One question. Have you spoken with the Custodes about any of this? Weapons this advanced — why haven't we seen them equipped on the Legio Custodes?"
"— Because Tribune Trajan was less than pleased with some of my more ambitious modifications. He mentioned that he would need to consult with other Custodian senior staff — Tribune Daerike, Tribune Ixion Hale — to discuss the matter."
Cawl replied.
"And where are they now?"
Cawl consulted his data-records rapidly: "They should have already departed at the head of the Achilles' Heel Rapid Response Task Force. By now they will have arrived in the Maelstrom region and be preparing to meet with the local leadership."
"Ah, that's — wait. The Maelstrom?"
Adam blinked slightly, drawing a sharp breath. "And it's Custodes who've gone?"
Surely not —
Surely it can't actually be what I'm thinking?
Brother Cypher might be in very serious trouble.