Warhammer: The 11th Primarch - The Black Emperor

To keep things fair, every portion of food served to the Emperor and the Wolf King was prepared in nearly identical sizes.

The Emperor dispensed with the refined table manners of Terra's nobility and instead, in the spirit of local custom, adopted Leman Russ's way of eating, grabbing steaming food with his hands and devouring it in large bites.

The Wolf King and his two wolf brothers ate with unrestrained ferocity, inhaling their meals like a storm.

Nareth noticed something keenly, the Emperor was not using his immense psychic powers to aid digestion.

'The Emperor must have noticed Leman Russ's aversion to psychic powers, so he refrained from using them. He's relying purely on his body to compete in appetite. But having evolved in the harsh culture of Fenris, the Wolf King has an overwhelming advantage in digestive capacity. The Emperor is doomed to lose!'

The Primarch compared Leman Russ's tearing and swallowing of meat to his own physical capacity.

'Even if I entered a "gluttony contest," I wouldn't be a match for the Wolf King. He's like a bottomless pit. Only by ascending to "Baron of Corruption" and warping the rules of competition could I win, but whether I could get that past Leman Russ is questionable.'

While thinking, Nareth put down his fork, having finished eating, and ignored the Wolf King's provocative glare as he waited for the match to conclude.

Leman Russ cast a disdainful glance at Nareth, then looked toward the man who claimed to be his father.

Nareth observed the Emperor's eating speed gradually slow. His stomach was slightly distended.

A moment later, after finishing the last piece of steak, the Emperor calmly said:

"I've lost."

Leman Russ laughed heartily, swallowing another bite of meat.

"Hahaha! Your appetites are a lot smaller than your mouths."

As the victorious Wolf King basked in his new title of "Champion of Gluttony," he coolly initiated the next challenge.

"Then the second challenge is a drinking contest."

"A man's worth is measured by how much he can drink. Whoever drinks more wins."

A bronze drinking horn was placed on the table in front of Nareth. Leman Russ bared his sharp fangs.

"Fenris mead isn't for sipping, it's for guzzling."

The Primarch originally didn't want to drink, but then a mental impulse flashed through his mind: 'Nareth, follow local custom, drink!'

Under the Emperor's prompting, Nareth reluctantly lifted the bronze horn and downed its contents in one gulp.

The liquid scorched his mouth instantly, slid down his throat, and burned in his gut.

It tasted like a mix of engine oil and acid, any mortal would've dropped dead on the spot.

But the Primarch's face remained calm. His superhuman physiology quickly adapted, and the burning sensation faded, replaced by a warmth spreading through his body.

At the same time, Nareth felt something melting within, he realized a bit of the potion from the "Briber" had been digested.

'Drinking this disgusting Fenrisian mead against my will is, in a way, a bribe to the Emperor.

If it were up to me, I'd never drink this stuff. If we're talking spirits, Rasputin vodka is far better, none of this revolting oil-and-acid flavor.'

Once again, Nareth ignored the Wolf King's provocative gaze and placed the horn back down, then looked toward the two competitors.

They continued to raise their horns and down them in great gulps.

The Primarch noted that, just like before, the Emperor did not use any of his vast psychic powers.

While Leman Russ, already adapted to this brutal mead, drank with ease, the Emperor's throat twitched slightly, but after the third horn, he had adapted.

Even so, Russ held the advantage. The Emperor's drinking speed steadily slowed.

Finally, the Emperor placed the bronze horn on the table and waved off the fur-clad attendant, signaling not to refill it.

He gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile and said calmly:

"I've lost again."

Leman Russ tilted back his horn and drained it before addressing the Emperor:

"Even Fenris warriors can't drink like you. You've earned my respect, you're a true man.

But you still lost. No one can match my drinking."

Nareth observed the triumphant Wolf King and admitted to himself that unless he distorted the rules, he too couldn't outdrink Leman Russ, who had trained himself into a bottomless well of alcohol tolerance.

As he was thinking, the Wolf King rose from his throne.

"Now comes the final challenge, a warrior's contest. I will defeat you in battle."

Leman Russ spoke confidently to the Emperor, then glanced at Nareth with contempt.

"With a true warrior's strength, not with despicable sorcery."

As the Emperor rose, his eyes flashed with golden light. He used his ability to simulate millions of possible futures.

He saw the outcome he desired, but also paid the price. Even for him, pain flickered in his gaze.

The pain quickly faded. After countless simulations throughout his long life, he was well used to it.

"I will send your brother Nareth to fight in my place. Do you accept?"

In all of the Emperor's millions of simulations, Nareth had emerged victorious in the physical duel against Leman Russ.

By sending him in, the Emperor would both win the challenge and earn the Wolf King's respect for Nareth.

From observing Russ, the Emperor confirmed he was a warrior through and through.

If Nareth won through combat, Russ would respect him.

As for Nareth's distaste for Russ's hypocrisy, despising psykers while trusting shamans, the Emperor believed Nareth would think of the bigger picture.

And the Emperor would soothe his displeasure with rare treasures tailored to his tastes.

Nareth hadn't expected the Emperor to appoint him as a substitute. While he had no respect for Russ's double standards on psychic powers, he also wasn't interested in a pointless fight.

After all, even victory wouldn't wake someone pretending to be asleep.

He knew he couldn't refuse the Emperor's request, but that didn't mean he would play along passively.

He would duel, but on his own terms.

Nareth said nothing as Leman Russ stepped forward, clenching his fists with a crackling sound.

"I accept. Nareth, let's fight! I will defeat you! Your silly sorcery is nothing against true strength!"

Nareth's black eyes flashed. "You're the Wolf King of Fenris, correct?"

"Of course!"

"Combat is dull. Wolves are hunters by nature, let's have a hunting contest instead. What do you say?"

Leman Russ was stunned. Nareth had just challenged him to a hunting match, and he didn't look like a hunter at all. How could he possibly win?

In a direct fight, Russ believed he had a real chance. But in a hunt? That was handing him victory on a silver platter.

"Fine. What shall we hunt?"

"You choose. No matter what, I'll defeat you."

"Kraken sea monsters. Whoever brings back the biggest one wins."

Nareth had already decided and stated his choice directly.

"Deal."

Russ had once hunted the greatest Kraken of Fenris, the King Gorgon. In his mind, no matter how skilled Nareth was, his own familiarity with the environment and the prey gave him every advantage.

Nareth was certain to lose!

"If I win, your Kraken is mine."

"Only if you can beat me," Leman Russ replied confidently. "But the winner will be me."

...

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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