The carnage began with the first drop of blood in the butcher's hand.

The blood fell with him.

Amid the grand cheers, guests from outside the sky jumped off the high platform and crossed an arc.

His figure slammed into the ground, splashing red sand.

Looking at the uninvited guest, the nails roaring, Angelon pulled out a twitching sneer, blood flowing.

"What are you going to do, slave master?"

However, his opponent ignored his taunts -

Karn slammed his chainsaw axe into the ground, grasping the handle of the axe in one hand,

"Bang!"

He fell to his knees.

The sleek power armor smashed into the mud, blood splattered.

On the viewing platform, the cheers came to an abrupt end, and people watched in disbelief at all this that they couldn't understand,

Peaceful, absolutely quiet.

"Sorry, we're late."

"Father."

Karn said softly, his blood rushing, his heart pounding, his soul throbbing.

Even though he was as still as a corpse now.

Angelon froze, his towering nose twitching unnaturally, he seemed to be trying hard to make sense of the situation, but the buzzing nails disrupted his thoughts.

However, the inexplicable throbbing, the binding from the genes and the soul, the one that came from the other side, the great sadness and anger, pulled the last shred of Angron's sanity.

The original body spoke, and the sound was a fierce wind whistling over the mountains,

"I'll give you a chance, what are you?"

Karn felt himself boiling, he was choking, he was convulsing.

Finally, he spoke slowly, and said the sentence that every war dog once dreamed of,

"We are the war dogs that bring glory to you."

There was no glory, and he bowed his head heavily, like a sinner.

Bitterness bloomed in his mouth,

He's the lucky one for that war dog, but—

There is no glory.

Angelon pulled out a smile that was uglier than crying, and his face studded with the butcher's nail was a broken demigod,

"Then help me kill them."

He was responded to by the roar of Karn's chainsaw axe.

On the towering stands, the pig who knows that it is not good, but still finds it difficult to accept the reality is talking,

"It's . What's going on, my lord? ”

They were responded to by the sound of their heads hitting the ground.

The slaughter, began.

No one knew exactly how long the carnage lasted, and the angry butcher forgot about the inconsequential matter of time.

Thousands of airborne silos roared and tore through the blood-red sky, spears of light and macrocannons lit up the sky, and the air trembled and bleed.

Tomahawks whirled, blood splattered, angry roars and whimpered, and crimson enveloped everything.

Like the god of war, Anglon galloped wildly among thousands of enemy troops, his strong muscles carved the body of an angry god, the rough leather draped in the identity of a slave, the huge tomahawk slashed, and life was swaying.

Countless war dogs were running wild, and they rushed out of the airborne bin, weapons in hand, slaughtering towards their father.

Fearless, towering figures are interspersed with the wild currents of war dogs, and hot melts and heavy explosive bombs are rare ranges in this slaughter.

Towering cities burned, sumptuous banners were torn apart, heads were wantonly chopped off, and mad war dogs howled and charged at their enemies.

Discipline is clearly not necessary at this point.

Under the huge difference in strength, they are the wind, they are the tsunami, and they can easily crush everything in front of them! They easily devour everything that exists!

City after city has been taken, and head after head has been cut off!

The cages in which the slaves were held were torn apart, and they were swept up in the killing frenzy.

Blood and carnage chased them.

Blood was all over the floor.

The flames were extinguished, smoke drifted across the sky, broken flags hung their heads, and dead bodies stuck on the flagpoles.

The last large group of survivors, men and women, mostly old and weak, ran to the caves in the countryside.

They were all poor people, or peasants outside the city.

It is through their familiarity with the wilderness that they have survived to this day.

The roar of the axe had arrived, and Karn, who had rushed to the forefront, expertly raised his weapon—

"That's enough."

The tomahawk, raised overhead, stalled.

"Enough, I said, enough."

The hoarse and deep voice of the original body echoed in the cave, and to those civilians, it was tantamount to heaven.

Even if the nails are still ringing.

Karn didn't understand, but he stopped his actions.

The ragged mortals in front of him shivered.

Karn looked back, like he had woken up from a big dream.

Angron's tall figure was in a trance in the light of the cave entrance, leaving him with only a silhouette.

"Yes, father."

He replied in a low voice.

So he turned and walked away after his primordial form, leaving a puddle of blood on the soft soil with every step.

They left the small, gloomy cave, the blood-red sky, the black smoke wafting and the blood and skulls as far as the eye could see, while the angry war dogs rummaged through the ruins of the city for the last of the living.

Angelon stood on the high slope and looked at all this, all of which had appeared in his dreams countless times.

Slave owners were beheaded, tyrants were overthrown, and the monarchs, ignorant lackeys paid their price.

But

His eyes were dark, the slaves hiding in terror, the poor people fleeing in panic.

The words of his father, Onomamus, echoed in the brains where reason had regained the upper hand,

"Those people are not monsters, don't be angry with them, there are many people who really look like monsters, they are the objects of your anger."

Some lives should not be paid for.

His anger is reserved only for monsters.

Angelon raised his hands flat, then let go.

"Bang!"

The tomahawk in his hand smashed into the hard rock, carving a permanent mark.

He opened his hands, and the blood of his enemies flowed from his arms.

He looked at these warriors who claimed to be his heirs, and he looked at these warriors who did not hesitate to be loyal to him.

"Enough!"

Angelon shouted,

"Enough is enough!!"

The men stopped, and they woke up from a dream and looked at it all.

The galloping torrent came to a halt, and they slowly converged from all directions.

Countless white-armored men emerged from the red-black ruins, pits, dust, and blood smeared their armor as they silently walked towards their father.

The battles in various places have long since ended, and most of the war dogs have been moving closer to their original bodies in the previous wars, and now, except for those who are slow to run, most of the war dogs are here.

With the flow of water, the last one to arrive is a special team.

It was a team of technical sergeants and pharmacists led by Legion Commander Roque.

Among the war dogs, those brothers who are unwilling to slaughter will choose to become pharmacists, or technical sergeants.

In the center of the procession are the brothers and sisters of the Angron Gladiatorial Arena.

After realizing that the arrival of the war dogs was a golden opportunity, Angron's brothers and sisters decisively asked Angron to take the war dogs to fight.

"Leave us alone, Angelon, and kill the slave owners."

"Angelon, we know you're not like us, but they're like you."

"Angelon, go and kill them, we can't catch up with you, but we'll do it."

"Kill the slave owners before they react, Angelon, and don't let them run away."

At that time, Angelon made a second request to the war dogs,

"Help me. Please let them participate in this battle as well. ”

He wanted to protect them, but he wanted to fight with them.

But the chasm of strength separates them.

Carrying the anticipation of his siblings, Angelon departed and ran to another, more brutal battlefield.

He hopes. They are alive but he doesn't want to. They are cowards who are protected.

The nail interrupted his hesitation, and in the anticipation of his siblings, he turned to seek the killing.

But they're all standing here now.

His siblings were there, some frightened, some excited.

What is happening now is a scene that has never happened in their wildest dreams.

Angelon looked at them, they were all there, and there were even some other strange faces, certainly the family of his siblings, or something.

Then he looked at the warriors who were protecting them, strange contraptions placed on top of their armor.

He silently remembered them.

Angelon shifted his gaze over the wardogs that had descended from the sky.

There were no glittering armors, and the blood was thick on them.

In the previous battles, from the words of the war dogs, Angelon roughly spelled out the stories of these warriors, as well as his origins.

Were they slave owners?

But slave owners don't fight with slaves.

Are they slaves?

But slaves would not have such fine equipment.

No, it's neither.

They are weapons.

A crazy and bloodthirsty war machine that can devour an entire world.

But now, the authority of the weapon was given to him, and the hound voluntarily handed it to the collar.

Angelon looked around at it all as if he were still in a dream.

The first kneeling child awakened him.

Karn got down on one knee.

Like a command, the sound of power armor smashing to the ground rang out, and blood scabs mixed with dirt were thrown up.

The sun shines down, and the armor glistens.

His sister Kleist in the Colosseum looked at him, smiled slyly and encouragingly, and knelt down with the giants.

The brothers and sisters knelt down.

Silence, he was the only one standing now, Angron spoke slowly,

He is the son of the mountains, and the sound is a falling boulder,

"I don't know where you came from, I don't know why you're allegiant."

"But you have taken Nusrid with me, and have cut off the heads of the slave owners,"

"You showed me your sincerity."

"If you still decide to follow, then Angron will live up to it!"

Angelon took a deep breath, he shouted, and his strong voice tore through the sky,

"In the history of Nusaria, the invincible armies were called the City Eaters, swallowing city after city."

"But you, you!"

"You mighty you can devour the world!"

"You are my battle axe that cut down the slave master, you are my war machine that devours all the world!"

"You are the World Eaters!"

"You are the Swallowers of the World!!

Twelfth Legion, World Eater.

Since then, it has been established.

"I'm guilty."

In the wreckage of the first gladiatorial arena, two figures hid in the shadows of the viewing platform,

Kahn, the commander of the Eighth Company, buried his head absent-mindedly, his gaze drifting.

"You're the first to discover the original father, and you've done your best."

Legion Commander Roque crossed his arms and stood straight, but his expression was tired,

"We've all done our best."

He muttered.

But no one spoke.

The expectations of the war dogs before are now like sharp and vicious daggers, stinging the world-devourers.

They are too arrogant, they are too vain.

Arrogant.

The return of the original gave them a resounding slap in the face.

"I used to look down on it"

"Shhhh

Roque looked at him, his eyes dark,

"We know that."

"I'm standing on that high platform, looking down on him."

It will be his eternal nightmare.

Roque patted him,

"There's nothing we can do about it."

"The top priority is to get our original body to recover."

"I've contacted the Empire—"

The horn of the gladiatorial battle sounded, interrupting the conversation between the two.

They glanced at each other, stepped out of the darkness, and walked out onto the brightly lit arena.

There, led by Angelon, countless World Eaters stood on top of the red sand.

Today, they are going to carve their first rope of triumph.

The Rope of Triumph, a tradition of Nusaria.

Karn stood between the warriors.

They took off their armor, and the scars were all over their majestic upper bodies.

Angelon was at the front, a red line winding up his spine from his tail vertebrae.

Every extension of the red line is a successful battle and a glory worth remembering.

Without hesitation, the original stabbed the dagger along the very tip of the red line, and scarlet blood dripped down.

Along with their fathers, the World Eaters slashed through their skin with blades, the tips of which went deep into the lowest black carapace.

Angelon picked up a handful of red sand and poured it into the wound, the rough sand embedded in his flesh.

In keeping with the eternal glory, Angelon reached out and reached into the freshly cut wound to tear it off, preventing it from healing quickly.

Blood dripped down his fingers.

Blood dripped down their fingers.

Karn braced his wound with his fingers, the tips of his fingers touching the slippery black carapace, the pain burning like flames.

He took a deep breath, but he didn't pick up the fiery red sand.

He picked up the black sand.

Black sand, a symbol of shame and failure.

Shame will be the beginning of the world eater.

Black climbed, numbing his painful heart.

Blurred vision, as far as the eye can see, black and red doping.

Angelon was delighted that he had acquired another new group of brothers and followed him to carve the red string of glory.

But what he didn't know was that not everyone in the World Eater chose Red Sand.

The black line meanders.

【Emperor Dream】

Future.

"Report to your lordship, the Twelfth Legion has discovered their original body."

With the words of the messenger, Anglon's message was transmitted.

The emperor looked at it casually,

"Oh."

"Inform the Twelfth Legion that I am going to arrange an operation for the Twelfth."

The battle report from the front came again, and the emperor's mind was only distracted for a moment, and he had no time to care about it anymore.

Although the Twelfth is broken, it is still usable.

Wonderful Little Theatre:

"Why don't you stop them?"

The seventh muttered to himself and pushed the eighth,

"His anchor is no longer here."

The old Bahaha laughed,

"Besides, I don't care about that, just have a head and blood!"

"Don't stare at a gas canister, man, I like it all!"

Lao Qi's dark expression, what fate, perseverance, kindness and other words that everyone couldn't understand muttered out.

[Extra]

Well...... The tangled point here is the emperor's attitude, in the original book, the emperor's attitude towards Angelon is extremely indifferent, which also has the saying that "the emperor is deliberately giving up what he doesn't like".

However, in the latest book, the emperor himself attaches great importance to the original body and hopes that everyone will retire happily in the end, but the image of sentient autism does not match the biography of Angelon at all.

In the part of this book, the image of the emperor will be more in line with the biography of Anglon.

The rest of the emperor part of the author will make a transition.

(End of chapter)