*Endurance*.
Now.
Hades leisurely scooped porridge into his mouth with a spoon. The mess hall was nearly empty, as it wasn't mealtime.
Vox had gone to the dueling cage to show off his skills. Already a rising star from the south, his combat abilities had soared after the hellish training of the Seventh Squad. Hades suspected that Vox might be challenging some northerners from Barbarus, recalling past tensions when the Death Guard rebels from the south had moved north and faced off with the stationed troops there.
But Hades himself hailed from the north of Barbarus, so Vox didn't elaborate, merely informing him of his intention to visit the dueling cage.
No matter. Perhaps Vox would give Typhon a good beating?
Hades mused, biting his spoon.
Ever since Hades had destroyed that combat servitor, the real training suitable for a recruit had only just begun.
Tech-Sergeant Alberto, after berating Blanca to the point of humiliation, finally got him to shed his arrogance. Though still somewhat brusque, Blanca taught Hades everything he needed to know, even sharing some of his most guarded combat experiences.
Most of the veterans in the squad still held disdain for the Barbarus natives, but tales of Hades taking down a Mark III combat servitor had quietly spread.
Every day, Blanca would drag Hades to his unit to pick a veteran specialized in a particular combat skill, who would then train Hades.
Most of these veterans were polite but distant to Hades, teaching him just enough to fulfill Blanca's orders.
But for Hades, who was still finding his way, this was more than enough.
Recently, for instance, Hades had been practicing with a grenade launcher. A veteran with a prominent scar on his wrist taught him its basic use and maintenance. After demonstrating a few times, the veteran let Hades enter the moving target range to begin his training.
At first, the veteran gave pointers on Hades's stance and timing. But soon after, he simply stood aside, letting Hades find his own rhythm.
And so, Hades's days went by.
During his free time in the evenings, he'd sit in the mess hall, not venturing elsewhere. Well, except for eating porridge and doing some reading. He had visited the Third Archive, the legion's library. Unable to borrow the higher-tier books, Hades chose some basic ones to study High Gothic and Low Gothic. It was a humble endeavor.
So, every mealtime, he'd eat and flip through the pages, quickly noting down new vocabulary, grammar, suffixes, idioms, and proverbs with his left eye.
Hades hoped to master High Gothic soon. Otherwise, training with the mostly mute veterans would continue to be awkward.
He remembered how the Wolf King Leman Russ had mastered High Gothic in just five days. Hades wondered how long it would take him. But looking at the dense text filled with words, he sighed.
It felt like being back in an English class!
Time to sleep!
Well, not really.
Interestingly, Barbarus's language had a grammar structure similar to Low Gothic. However, it used a higher frequency of fricatives. The Barbarus natives even created many of their own fricatives. Typically, an abundance of these sounds in a language can make speech sound unclear and weaken its overall tone.
To speakers of other languages, Barbarus's tongue sounded like a fast, light stream, making it hard to understand.
But Hades speculated that the choice of such a language might be due to its phonetics. Fricatives reduce the frequency of inhalation while expelling air from the mouth. On the toxic planet of Barbarus, minimizing inhalation was a wise choice.
He wondered if this linguistic evolution was a deliberate choice by the ancestors of Barbarus or just a random development.
*Useless knowledge increased!*
**First Day of New Training**
Had some porridge during free time.
**Second Day**
Assisted the Tech-Officer. Had some spare time for porridge.
**Third Day**
Porridge.
**Fourth Day**
Helped out, then went to the mess hall.
**Fifth Day**
Porridge.
**Sixth Day**
Come on, Hades! After helping out, maybe visit the dueling cage?
**Seventh Day**
Porridge.
*Endurance*, in an unknown training room.
Now.
Ugo stood expressionless on the training platform, bathed in the bright light.
The door gently opened, and a figure swiftly and silently approached Ugo.
"Nobody noticed you, right?" Ugo asked in High Gothic.
"You should trust me," replied the newcomer, who was none other than Karlast Typhon, albeit with a slightly stumbling grasp of High Gothic.
Ugo eyed the Barbarus native. He might not like these newcomers, but he had to admit that the future leadership of the legion would inevitably fall to them.
Ugo's plan was simple. To maintain the Death Guard's think tank, they needed new blood, the Barbarus natives. But they had to be careful, choosing those who were not too reckless and had a decent psychic potential. Otherwise, psychic outbursts during training might expose their secrets.
Yes, Ugo's meeting with Karlast was to nurture his psychic talents, preparing him for a place in the think tank. Karlast was Ugo's best candidate: a good psychic, level-headed, and unlike the arrogant Barbarus natives, he had even self-taught High Gothic. Moreover, Ugo knew Karlast had a special relationship with Mortarion.
If Ugo could influence Mortarion's view of the think tank through Karlast...
Karlast, facing the calm Ugo, had his considerations. While Mortarion despised psychic powers, Karlast knew that such a force couldn't be suppressed forever. One had to understand and harness it, not merely forbid it.
Karlast knew he could climb the legion's ranks based on his abilities and his relationship with Mortarion, even without psychic training. But that wasn't enough for him.
He remembered a figure climbing towards a mountain peak.
It's still not enough, thought Typhon.
*Hope you enjoyed reading!*