Night was falling.

Nukeria's night was longer than the normal night that Carlil was familiar with, and at 4:20 a.m., the sky still didn't mean to be bright.

Among the gloomy fortresses of darkness, Carlil walked slowly. There was no light around him, and the arena had been completely abandoned three hours earlier.

At this moment, both gladiators and slave owners have completely said goodbye to this place. The burning flames have also faded, and only the smell of burnt remains. There were corpses covered with white cloths on the ground waiting to be reined in, and the Ultramarines still gave them the most basic respect when they treated their enemies.

Staring at them, Carlil sighed silently.

When he is alone, he doesn't hide his emotions like he usually does. One should not lie to oneself.

He came to the bunker and crouched down.

A four-meter-tall giant has many inconveniences in his daily life, and even if he wants to observe it in detail, he has to crouch down. He reached out his right hand, scooped up a handful of rough grit, felt it pass between his fingers, and shook his head calmly.

The smell of blood remains.

He clenched his right hand, letting what little sand remained in his palm. They couldn't hurt him, but they made him feel a small amount of pain.

The rough grit rubbed against the skin and the lines of the palm, and after a brief moment of discomfort, Carlil let go of his palm, allowing it to face down, but this time, there was no more sand falling.

There are blood dripping.

Then, the flame ignited. The black flames, dancing wildly in the darkness, have been enveloped in unprecedented anger and hatred since the moment they were born, urging people or souls to do what they have to do.

The flame was as heavy as the darkness, and it should not have illuminated the darkness, but it had caused the darkness to recede spontaneously after it had been ignited. This strange scene would be incomprehensible to ordinary people, and even shatter their sanity, but Carlil knew what he was doing.

He stood up calmly and slowly, staring at the massive bunker and exhaling a breath of cold air.

Boom ——!

A huge roar that ordinary people could not perceive or even hear was violently played at this next moment.

Continuously, one after another, there is a rhythm as fine as a heartbeat in a manic and passionate way in an imperceptible world. It's like a piece of music, but it's more like a terrible cry. Deep voices sounded quietly in the darkness, singing in harmony with the singing of their names.

Carlil slowly opened his hands, closed his eyes, and stood still in the darkness like a sculpture. But the sound began to grow more and more intense, until it became a manic movement that resounded through the darkness.

Voices murmured, screaming and screaming rapidly, saying the name of the killer in a pre-death voice.

The sound was constant, quaint and heavy, and it sounded like substance in the abandoned gladiatorial arena.

Carlil opened his eyes, and the cold light flickered.

The bunker began to boil in the black flames, like pitch-black magma. The wind began to blow like thunder, and the sky of Nukeria began to change, and under the darkness of the night heavy clouds gathered, and in an instant lightning and thunder and rain fell.

The civilians looked up in horror, not understanding what was really happening. The gladiators talked to each other in the barracks assigned to them, dissolving each other in their own way. The Ultramarines looked up at the sky, the color of lightning reflected in their eyepieces.

And Carlil laughed, only he smiled.

The old anger and the old hatred returned, and it wrapped around him, black flames that made him look as terrible as if he were clad in armor. He smiled gently, but his dark eyes reflected the pale faces of the vain dead.

They waited in silence, standing in the darkness like ghosts.

They come from the desert of Nukeria, from the snow-capped mountains of Nukeria, from the forests of Nukeriya, from the plains of Nukeria.

They were once peaceful people, but they were taken away from their homes and families by slave teams, and forced to become bloody slaves, deprived of their freedom, their dignity, and everything. Each of them fought as a slave in the gladiatorial arena, entertaining everyone in the stands with their own lives and those of their countrymen.

Then they died, in the sand pits, dark red on the gravel, one of the bones of the sand and bones.

Wrath.

Hate.

Thirst for revenge.

Lightning slashed across the sky, splitting the clouds in two, and in the midst of the heavy rain, Carlil announced in a low voice, the sound clearly piercing the curtain of rain and reaching the ears of every dead soul.

"Revenge, then."

"In my name."

And so the thunder rang out.

——

Miro stared at the sky through the eyepiece and felt an unusual coldness.

The rain curtain was dashing, and together with the low-hanging night, it formed some kind of strange oppression. Night and rain seem to be the sum of heaven, as if they should appear together.

He shook his head, put the thought aside, turned and entered the improvised board room set up by the logistics staff, and took off his helmet.

He has a serious face, similar to most Ultramarines, but he is not handsome, and can even be described as ugly. Three deep scars that spanned the entire face ruined everything, making his physiognomy something that would not be scrutinized.

Fortunately, not many people actually cared about it. Those who can see don't care, and those who care can't see.

"Company commander."

His subordinate, his brother, Enshika, stepped forward and gave a fleeting smile: "How's the situation?" ”

"The list of criminals should be counted within four hours." Miró said. "We're going to settle everything by 8:25 and throw these hateful scum where they belong."

"Doesn't the original have any more orders?"

"Yes." Miro frowned. "But I don't understand."

Enshika looked at him in amazement: "This is not like your style, company commander. ”

Miro glanced at him and spoke in a stiff tone.

"I also want to understand the meaning behind every word of the original body, even his every movement and look. But it's impossible, and as a member of the Ultramarines, what I have to do is simple, I just have to follow his will. ”

"I knew you would say that." Enshika laughed. "But what else did the original say?"

Miro was silent for a moment and shook his head.

"I can't understand the meaning of that sentence."

"Are you selling off, company commander?"

"Nope."

"Can you say that?"

Miro sighed slowly.

"He kept us calm." The commander of the second company of the First Battle Regiment of the Ultramarines said. "But I don't understand why he said that."

Enshika was silent for a while, shaking her head slowly, equally unable to understand what their original body, Robert Kiliman, was saying. But they were lucky, because the confusion didn't last long.

Soon, they heard a low whistling sound coming from the rain curtain outside the barracks. Sharp and low, it made their eardrums ache the moment it sounded.

Miro snapped on his helmet and walked out as soon as he pulled open the barracks door. His right hand was already on the blaster on the belt at his waist, however, after a few seconds, he stood quietly in the rain and stopped moving.

"Company commander?" Nshika, who was a little slower, rushed out of the barracks and whispered to his motionless commander. "What's going on?"

The second company commander did not answer, but just stood quietly. Enshika was about to speak again, but suddenly he heard a loud thunderclap.

The bone-chilling chill struck abruptly after the sound, breaking through his armor's protection and burying in every corner of his body. In a trance, Enshika's consciousness also fell into a kind of stillness, and he stood still, staring at the darkness in the rain, a group of white shadows reflected in the eyepieces.

He could see them, but he couldn't perceive them. The rain curtain was still there, hitting the armor of the Ultramarines and shattering.

And then — there was a scream. Continuous, terrible and heart-wrenching, mixed with begging for mercy. But the ghosts didn't pay attention to them, they were just revenge, nothing more.

Returning from the silence of death, enduring the scorching flames of vengeance and hatred, they will never let words stand in the way again.

The gladiators grabbed the slave owner and whipped their fists in a rage of rage. The tortured slaves grabbed the dignitaries by the necks and watched with hatred as they exhaled the last bit of air.

Revenge, which took place all over Nukeria, from the liberated cities to the slave owners who had fled in the wilderness, spread and continued and continued as fast as the will of the vain dead, as if it were a natural law.

At this moment, there are countless bloodsheds going on, but no one can stop it, and when law and justice cannot calm the anger of the wrongdoers, then revenge is the last option.

Karil stared calmly at the sky as the raindrops fell into his eyes, shattering. The rain in Nukeria was natural, and even if he called out with a force that should not have appeared, it was mild, the opposite of that on Nostramo.

The night breeze blew from the snow-capped mountains in the distance and reached the edge of his fingers, bringing gratitude to the dead in vain. The lightning and thunder and the wind were gone, but the sound remained, like a death knell.

At 6:01 a.m., the trial was completed, and it was still dark.

He turned around and saw hundreds of pairs of dark eyes.

All the other spirits that had fulfilled their wish for revenge had already left, and some had no intention of resting, shattered and scattered in the rain.

But unlike these, they endured the scorching heat of the pitch-black flames and forced themselves to stand calmly in front of Carlil Lohals.

They knew who he was, and they couldn't know it again from the moment he was briefly resurrected.

But they are fearless.

Carlil lowered his head and sighed. But one of the spirits stood up at this moment, with an old face, gray hair, and a pale face looming in the increasingly sparse rain.

"Thank you." He said solemnly. "Thank you for your willingness to arouse us, let us calm our resentment, and complete our revenge."

"This is something I should have done a long time ago." Carlil said in a deep voice.

That's true.

He smiled bitterly in his heart - he should have walked here as a god, and at the first moment of his arrival he should have let the flames of revenge and hatred burn throughout Nukeria, but he didn't, because he still considered himself a human being. If you are human, you should act in a human way, and observe the whole world with the naked eye.

Even if he already knows his essence, for this. He even went so far as to make a covenant with the emperor to blur the line.

From this point on, he is evading some kind of duty.

"There's nothing that shouldn't be done." The old gladiator said. "You don't owe us anything, no one has ever tried to vend us before you."

"You are the ones who avenged yourself and completed your revenge, and I am just standing here."

The old gladiator shook his head, clearly disagreeing with Carlil's words.

His pale countenance began to become more and more illusory, and the flames were fading away little by little. The same goes for the other spirits, whose desire for revenge has been fulfilled, so Black Flame no longer provides the power to keep them.

But they had one more thing to do besides revenge.

To be precise, they still have one more wish to fulfill.

"Your Excellency." The old gladiator spoke in a low voice. "My name is Oinomouth and I'm from the desert."

Carlil didn't answer, just stared at him, to be precise, at him and the hundreds of spirits behind him.

"My name is Akar and I'm from the forest."

"My name is Milkan, and I'm from the snowy mountains."

"My name is Janio, I was born in the gladiatorial arena, and I am the child of a gladiator."

"My name."

Voices rang out, one after the other, one after the other. No one interrupts, no one pauses, they know their names, they know where they have come from, just as they know what they have to do.

The old gladiator—or rather, Oinomouth, spoke again after a long silence.

"I'm Angelon's father." He said.

"And me." Another spirit spoke. "I was his brother."

"Me too."

"I was his sister and I died when he was eight years old."

The voices of the spirits rang out again, they all knew Angelan, they all died here. They were close to him while he was alive, and they still cared for him after his death.

Carlil was silent without saying a word.

Then, the old gladiator, Oinomouth, the man who raised the primordial body, spoke slowly.

"Your Excellency. We are his relatives. He has saved us countless times, in gladiatorial fights, in the punishment of the slave owners, he took our bitter tears and fed us with his own blood, he would have had a chance to escape and become a free man, but he would rather stay in the gladiatorial arena because he did not want to see us die. ”

"His kindness has made him a monster, my lord. The slave owners forced me to see the whole operation, and I saw with my own eyes how they implanted nail after nail in my son's skull. They have ravaged many people with that thing, and Angeland is the most devastated, and I can see it even if I die. ”

"We've been wandering in this bunker, and I've seen him shatter, and we've all been, my lord."

Oinomouth's pale face began to slowly dissipate, turning into points of light. The darkness of the night finally began to change at this moment, and a misty light spread across the earth, evoking all beings and everything.

Oinomouth—and the spirits—spoke in unison the first moment the sun pierced the clouds.

——

Angron gasped lowly.

He sat in the far corner of the medical room without saying a word, leaning his back against the wall. His muscles were shaking, the nails were still digging deeper and deeper, and the most unbearable part of the process was not the pain, but the extension.

Angrand's perception is outstanding, so he can clearly perceive every drill of the nails. They made his skull swell, his brain tremble, and his nerves ached terribly.

He gritted his teeth and let out a low groan from his throat, blood spilling from his lips and nostrils and dripping down his white shirt. Names and faces flashed before his eyes, and he struggled to remember them, trying to remember every dead person with what little sanity he had left.

He had to do it, the nail wanted him to forget everything and become a monster who only knew how to kill, but that was his resistance.

He will not give in.

He was silent, then breathing, silently muttering the names of the dead in a broken voice between his blood-stained lips and teeth. He did this every night in the past.

The nail's fury spread, and Angron smiled coldly, chewing on the anger in satisfaction, letting the pain continue, and then proceeding to read the next man's name.

Akar, Milkan, Janio. Men, women, old people, children. From deserts or hills, from snow-capped mountains or volcanoes, from beside rivers, from plains. They are his brothers, his sisters, his relatives.

And then the last one.

Oinomouth.

His father.

The bruised giant slowly tilted his head, the braid swaying gently as he moved, the cable trembling, and the terrifying drilling continued. Angron wiped his face, blood staining his palms red, and he stared at his hand, thoughtful, but his vision blurred abruptly for a moment.

"Angron."

A voice rang out in the darkness.

He jerked his head up, but there was no one in the darkness.

"Who?"

A low growl more like a threat than a greeting came from a trembling throat, and Angrand's eyes widened as he stared into the darkness in an almost pleading manner.

"Who's talking? Is that you, Oinomouth? ”

No one answered, only a second call, a third, a fourth - all.

Four hundred and seventy-one.

They called out in unison and chanted softly. The giant raised his hand in pain, grabbed the cables behind his head, and began to pull them out like crazy. He wanted to cry, but the Butcher's Nail wouldn't allow it. As he moved, the tooth-aching cracking of bones rang out, and he wailed in pain, but he refused to stop.

The nails were furious, and the pain swept over him like a tsunami in the next moment, and Angron trembled and fell to the ground, becoming a man who could not even breathe carefully, but his fingers were still fiddling with the thick cables, not stopping for a moment.

"Stop, Angrun." In a trance, a familiar voice reached his ears. "This gladiatorial fight, we will fight with you."

In the dark treatment room, there is a golden light. After a few minutes, the incessant howling stopped, replaced by broken cries.

This chapter is 5.2k, celebrating the alliance leader plus more, and today it is 7k, but I don't know if I can finish it, I can only say that there is a chapter 5k before twelve o'clock.

By the way, ask for a ticket.

Also, I really didn't expect any of you to guess that it would be solved like this.

(End of chapter)