He was known for many epithets.

First Captain.

Black Knight.

Templar.

And now, Emperor's Champion.

The new armor and weapons he received with the title felt already like extensions of his body, but the name, the burden that came with it...The weight of those words and the duty expected of him felt heavy on his chest. A mind trained to push the limits of discipline, to know no fear nor doubt, was now facing a challenge like no other. But then again, that was a battle like no other.

How many friends turned foes would he have to face? What could a sword, even one as formidable as his, do to tip the scales in such a conflict? Would he fail? Would he disappoint his father one last time?

He stared at the reflection of his eyes on the blade, unnerved by the glimpse of doubt he saw in there for the first time in centuries of war. He breathed deeply, and then he found it, a sparkle of fire dimmed behind all the crippling self-doubt. He breathed again, the bellows within him turning that sparkle into a fiery determination, burning away all questions, all shadows of human fear, until all that was left was the sword. Only the sword.

Sigismund of the Imperial Fists strode towards the opening gates; the Emperor's Champion took the field of battle."