Chapter 1191 - Old Dogs, Old Tricks pt 3 (Patreon)

“Wipe that grin off your face,” Titus muttered.

“What grin?”

“That grin. It’s unprofessional. The troops expect a little more decorum from a Consul.”

“I’m not Consul any more,” Minerva responded, “so if I want to express my happiness, then I will.”

Titus rolled his eyes. A small part of him had hoped that the dignity Minerva had cultivated in the highest office in the Legion would have rubbed off on her, but alas, it did not appear to be the case. The moment she was freed from the responsibilities, pomp and ceremony attached to the role, she had reverted back to her more relaxed ways.

Part of him loved her for that, the part that viewed her as his wife and the mother of his children. The part of him famed for its iron disciplinarianism found it endlessly frustrating.

She got away with it due to being one of the best fighters ever to pull on a suit of Legionary armour.

“Fine, just make sure you’re sharp when we get out there,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re telling me to make sure I’m sharp? You haven’t sortied in two decades! I was out yesterday.”

“That’s why you’ll need to make sure you’re in the right frame of mind to pick up the slack. It’s only the two of us going out, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll be counting on you to cover for my lapses then. I’ll be in your hands, Commander,” he snapped out a brisk salute and got punched in the arm for his trouble.

“So what else is new?” Minerva grinned. “Go jump into your old bucket of bolts and I’ll meet you out there.”

“Bucket of bolts?” he sputtered.

The Indomitable might have seen better days, but it certainly didn’t deserve to be disparaged like that!

“I prefer to call it ‘reliable and battle tested’”, he said sagely, but Minerva wasn’t listening, already having jogged down the armoury toward her own suit of Praetorian armour.

Unlike him, who had requested his old gear, Minerva had been more than happy to jump into a new berserker model. Adaptability was simply another of her strengths.

“Heading out for real this time?” Engineer Griner noted as he started to help Titus prep. A last second check over the armour, ensuring there were no obvious flaws, as well as a quick look over Titus himself. Exposure to the sort of mana levels that were needed to operate the Praetorian suits could have a devastating effect on a soldier, and the signs could appear out of nowhere.

When everything was cleared, Titus nodded in thanks and climbed up the back of the suit, sliding inside and closing it behind him. After a few moments to acclimate, he knocked on the side with his knuckles and moments later felt the burning cold of liquid mana running down his back and rising from between his toes.

A mix of nerves and anticipation rose in Titus as he felt the power rushing through his veins. Many times during the long years he had spent on the surface, he had yearned for this, but now that the moment was here, he felt a little trepidation. There was no help for it though, he was committed.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Minerva had used her authority to drag him back down here. Was it really just because she yearned for the good old days, the two of them fighting shoulder to shoulder in the depths? Or was there something else that she wanted?

Titus was under no illusions that he would be able to perform as well as he could in his prime. He may have gained a great deal of experience and levels since the last time he’d fought this deep, but very little of that was relevant to the type of combat engaged down here. The vast majority of the soldiers he met in the mess or passed in the halls were younger and hungrier than he. Deep down, he hoped he would still be useful.

As the liquid mana reached his neck, he knocked on the side and the flow reduced to a trickle and then stopped. After several deep breaths, he pressed his face to the plate and submerged his consciousness into the metal.

The Indomitable came alive as the will of the Commander suffused it. The right hand of the armour reached out to grasp the enormous metal axe standing beside it, Titus’ own weapon embedded in a slot on its side.

The demon contained within raged within the larger, Abyssal Iron weapon, thirsting for violence and blood.

With the left, the armour grasped hold of a weighty shield, embossed with filigree and the emblem of the Legion. Titus took a few steps to steady himself, then braced his weapons and moved to exit the armoury.

Again, most of the suits were already out, having sortied several hours ago, and Titus felt glad that he would no longer be taking up space without doing his share of the fighting. When he reached the exit, the port was already down, revealing Minerva’s berserker suit waiting for him outside.

“About time,” she remarked, twirling her twin blades in her armoured hands. “I was about to go hunting without you.”

“Then what would be the point dragging me down here?” Titus growled as he stomped out of the armoury and down onto the ground. Immediately, his eyes were treated to a sight he’d not seen for many years.

Glittering caverns of sparkling steel, molten iron that ran like rivers, trees of shimmering diamond, and above all, the oppressive weight that pressed against him.

“Welcome back to the seventh, darling,” Minerva teased.