The blade swung down, and the limbs were severed by the sharp edge of Mori Han, and the skin, muscles, bones—the pain was transmitted by the nerves, however, the moment before they screamed and rushed into the wounded's brain in a frantic manner, blood exploded from the section of the wound.

Scarlet colors erupted from the veins, creating a blooming flower in the air.

Then, only then did the screams come from.

Cooler bowed his head thoughtfully, staring at the man who had fallen in the snow, and threw down the sword in his hand, which fell into the snow and quickly returned to its original form.

As for the one who was trying to rely on crawling away from him.

He chuckled and shook his head, looking away from the man.

The snow-capped mountains of Nukeriya are really beautiful. With such a sigh, he raised his head and observed the mountain that stood in the wind and snow.

It's looming, fascinating, and dangerous. This is undoubtedly a rare sight, and only a few brave people dare to go so deep into the snowfields of Nukeria. Even the tribes that inhabit it only survive on the edge of the snowy plains.

In their legends, deep in the snowfield, there are monsters.

Have it?

Carlil didn't have an answer, but he hoped that the monster would come out of the depths of the snow himself, which would save him some trouble.

He stepped forward and stomped on the back of the man who was trying to get away from him. He used a little force, and the muffled sound flickered, and the screams rang out again.

"So, a third inquiry." Carlil said calmly, still looking at the snowy mountains as if he were talking to himself. "Where did you learn the psionic spell to control the Butcher's Nail?"

Silence, there is still only silence. The subject screamed sullenly, but did not speak, as if he had been deprived of the ability to speak. Carlil could have done it, but he hadn't.

"Ah, a hard bone."

With a low smile, Carlil slowly crouched down. He picked up a handful of snow and gently sprinkled it on the man's wound, causing even more pain. He remained silent, burying his face deep in the snow and letting the blood and pain fill the air.

Carlil shook his head regretfully.

Too much torture doesn't make much sense in such torture, pain can bring most people to their knees, but for others, pain only makes their resistance more intense.

"I didn't want to do it at first, but you're all doing something with your brains and memories after all." Carlil whispered. "It's amazing, it's as delicate as a trigger-type bomb."

He laughed, reached out and grabbed the man's head, a cold light flashing in his eyes.

"But you neglect the soul."

In the midst of the blizzard, in the midst of violent screams, he said in a low voice.

At 9:17 a.m., Carlil concluded his investigation. The results were not satisfactory.

——

"The Emperor?" Angron asked.

He was sitting at a long table with Robert Killiman, eating a hearty breakfast. In the past, Robert Killeman didn't really ask for much food on weekdays.

He likes to eat steaks or some sweeter fruits, and he often chews slowly, savoring every taste of food with his perceptual system, which is hundreds of times richer than the average person.

But it will take a lot of time.

So, in other words, on weekdays, Robert Killiman only eats simple canned food.

Because of this, the chefs in charge of his diet have jointly complained to Talasha Yuton many times, on the grounds that the Lord of Maculag forced them to derelict their duties.

Thinking of this, Killiman couldn't help but smile.

He took the two plates of steaks that had just been served less than three minutes ago and placed them in front of Angrand: "This is the Grax steak, brother, taste it—and, yes, the Emperor." ”

Angron frowned, and there was a flash of suspicion in his light blue eyes: "Doesn't he have his own name?" ”

"Perhaps, but we don't know."

"But you said, you are his son, don't you even know it?"

"Yes, I don't know. But you are also his son, Angeland, and there can be nothing wrong with that. ”

Killiman sighed regretfully, and then persuaded his new brother.

"I know you have a lot of decisions about your father's choice, but we are related to him by blood. When you see him, you will understand, just as I see you, and you see me. ”

"When I saw you, I thought you were a nobleman." Angron smiled and made a joke, and the gruff tone that belonged to a gladiator returned to him. "And he's a very big nobleman."

"But I was wearing armor, and there was even blood on it."

"Do you think the nobles of Nukeria don't kill?"

Killiman was silent, not knowing for a moment how to respond. Fortunately, Angron did not embarrass him for long, and the gladiator laughed: "It doesn't have to be like this, brother, I know you're different from them. ”

Robert Killeman should have been thankful for this phrase, but he didn't.

He looked at Angron and asked softly.

"How do you know I'm different from them? As you said, I'm a very big nobleman, and I'm proud of that status. The empire is bigger than you think, Angeland. The emperor is its ruler and we are his sons, which means that we equally enjoy supreme power within the empire. In that sense, you are also an aristocrat. ”

The gladiator's eyes narrowed slowly, and he stared at Robert Killman, without saying a word for two minutes. His silence was terrifying and heavy, but, for some reason, Killiman didn't feel that his brother would attack him.

Angron shook his head and slowly stood up. He unbuttoned his white hospital gown, revealing his scarred body. He pointed to his waist, where there was a long scarlet rope that was noded with scars.

"This is the rope of triumph." He said. "Before the fight, cut a wound with a knife. If you win, let it recover on its own. If you lose, sprinkle some dirt into it and make it black. ”

Killiman stared at the horrible scar, looked up, and said, "And yours are all red." ”

"That means I haven't lost once." Angron replied dullly.

"But it's not an honor, brother, it's proof that I've lost my dignity. I accepted this rope because it was a tradition of gladiators. In that environment, you have to do everything you can to maintain your dignity, and you have to make yourself remember who you really are, or you will really become a slave. You say I'm a nobleman, will the nobles do that? ”

"I don't know." Kiliman said.

"You know." Angron stared at him and said softly.

The after-effects of the Butcher's Nail came back again at this moment, and they still replaced part of his spinal nerves and cerebral cortex. Today, Angron can think, laugh, and debate with his brother, but every time he does it, it hurts.

His countenance began to twitch, aching from the thought. The machine itself has lost its life, but relies on some kind of cursed inertia to punish the host's disrespect.

The gladiator reacted with a calm snort, and he smiled and spoke firmly, painedly.

"I apologize if my previous words offended you, brother."

"In my world, aristocracy is an insult that represents slave owners and their atrocities. But in your world, I guess it's a word for glory. I ask you to forgive me, Robert. I was an ignorant gladiator who didn't even know what the word surface meant half an hour ago. ”

Killiman sighed helplessly, and he tried to cover up the incident—his unhappiness—but Angron was clearly unwilling to do so.

He has a straightforward and resolute temperament, and gladiators survive in an environment where they may die tomorrow, and naturally do not use a roundabout way of speaking.

And this directness also hit Killiman deeply.

"I don't know how to answer you, Angrun." Said the Lord of Maculag.

"Normally, I'm a good person who uses words to achieve things, but you leave me speechless. Well, I was a little unhappy before, but after that, what I said wasn't entirely unpleasant. ”

Angrand raised his eyebrows, sat down, and buttoned up his clothes by the way: "What do you mean?" ”

"The part where you are noble." Kiriman said solemnly.

"You're a genetic protogen, and you're one of the Emperor's sons – which means you're born with some kind of responsibility on your shoulders. For example, I'm the captain of the Ultramarines and the ruler of Macurag. And you, your legion, are on their way. ”

"Me? Corps? ”

Angron laughed, seemingly taking Killman's words as a joke, but he kept looking Robert Killiman in the eye as he said them.

"Yes, your legion." Killiman nodded slowly and earnestly, not running away from Angelan's heavy gaze.

"They are your warriors and will obey any orders you make. They are also your sons, for they have your blood in them. They were already preparing for this in the days when we were not separated from the emperor. ”

"Like I said, Angelon, the galaxy is vast, so humanity needs to unite as one, while being a genetic protogen. We will use various methods to facilitate this, and that is one of our responsibilities. ”

Angron didn't answer, his expression shifting to a complicated one, and for a moment Killiman feared he would be angry—but he didn't.

He just frowned deeply.

"I need to know more about this." The gladiator said calmly, then bit down an entire plate of Grax steak with his teeth.

And also

(End of chapter)