At 10:30 p.m., Karil returned to the Glory of Macurag. Like the Nightfall, the ship was a Glory Queen-class battleship, but its boarding deck was not as austere as the Nightfall's.

Stepping out of the transport plane, the first thing he could see was the heavy tapestries woven by the various warbands of the Ultramarines. They are well cared for every day, and not only are they shiny as new, but they don't even change their color in the slightest.

He sighed quietly, feeling a headache at the pervasive solemnity—not a bad thing, of course, but he just couldn't help but think back to the empty nightfall horns and the dark, dilapidated corridors.

Repairs are trivial, but is there anyone in the Eighth Legion who can weave tapestries? You can't even learn from the Ultramarines, right?

Carlil shook his head, snuffing out his thoughts. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the destination of his trip by helicopter. After greeting the two victorious soldiers standing guard, he pushed open the door of Robert Killiman's study and saw the scene inside.

“.”

Silent.

No one spoke.

One of the victors turned his head to wonder what was happening, but Carlil raised his hand prophetically to stop him and gesture for the victors to move away.

Puzzled by this, one of them peeked in, then jerked around and led his companion to the other side of the hallway.

As for Carlil.

Without saying a word, he looked inside, and the two people in the room fell into an awkward silence at the same time.

Half a minute later, Killiman coughed lightly and took the helmet he had taken out of nowhere—Carlil saw it very clearly, it was forged from metal, with some protection, and the T-shaped opening was startlingly quaint.

And it's the original size.

As for Angelon. The reborn gladiator was standing awkwardly between the removed couch and the coffee table in his hospital gown, two short swords of two wooden daggers in his hand.

Just now, he was intently telling Killiman how the gladiators in the arena used their swords. The details of the two swords in his hand did not escape Carlil's eyes, both of which were engraved with Killiman's name on the tail.

"Frankly, I was surprised."

Standing in front of the door, Carlil spoke slowly, and he decided to break the silence, but not in a very serious way.

In fact, he's now struggling to keep himself from laughing.

"But, I must admit, it's a rare form of brotherhood."

"If you want to laugh, laugh, Carlile." Killiman pursed his lips, tucking his helmet under his armpit and looking like a warrior who had just finished a fight.

However, the laurel wreath on the warrior's head was skewed and his hair was disheveled, and he himself was clearly not aware of it.

"No, I'm not going to laugh."

"I mean it - but I want you to close the door."

Carlil nodded, and slowly closed the door.

From the outside.

After another half a minute, he walked in with a serious face, and the dagger and helmet were completely gone, and the coffee table and sofa had returned to their original appearance, and sat quietly on the carpet.

Angron sat upright on one of them, dressed in a hospital gown, staring at Robert Killiman, who stood in front of him with a heavy book and told him something.

“.”

Carlil quietly walked into the study, closed the door with his back to them, and slowly exhaled a cloudy breath.

In the next second, both Angron and Killeman were sure they heard a chuckle.

Carlil turned around expressionlessly: "Good day, Robert, Angelon." ”

“.”

The gladiator silently glanced at his brother - in the past, in the gladiatorial arena, similar things did not happen. Although he couldn't find a specific picture in his broken memories, he could clearly remember the emotions that stirred in his chest at those moments.

That mood is not much different from now. It's a rare joy that should be cherished.

Feeling his gaze, Robert Killeman silently put down the book in his hand. He lowered his head, flipped through the heavy tome, from front to back, back to front, and finally settled on a chapter that had little to do with what they had said before.

There is a tradition of cooperation between the legions." Kiriman said solemnly. "I mean—maybe one day, there will be a collaboration between War Dogs and Ultramarines."

"Uh-huh." Angron nodded quickly. "No problem, brother."

That's the end of today's lesson." Kiriman said this with the calm of a politician, and then he turned his head and applied another skill of a politician.

"Good day, Instructor Carlil." He greeted solemnly with a blank face.

Karil didn't answer his greeting in words, he was silent for a while, nodded, and then looked away with a smile. Laughter finally began to circulate around the room, but not from Carlil, but from Robert Killiman's brother.

Killiman sighed deeply, and then laughed too.

After a few minutes, the atmosphere finally returned to normal. The serious conversation finally began to continue.

——

It may take three to five months for your legion to reach Nukeria. It's up to them to get the news on the premise that everything goes well in the subspace voyage, and they need to leave for Nukeria, anyway—"

Killiman paused, then sat behind his marble table and gestured.

"—You've got plenty of time to think about the whole thing, brother."

Angron nodded at him, his rough face covered in scars.

At this moment, a slow and serious thought was taking root on this mutilated face.

This made the Butcher's Nails tremble again, and instead of wriggling and digging down, they only began to punish Angron with pain, but the gladiator himself did not care about it.

Carriel, who was sitting on the sidelines, glanced at them and didn't speak.

It was a few minutes before Angrand spoke again: "Whatever orders I give, will they obey?" ”

"Yes."

"Even if I ask them to slaughter the unarmed?"

“.” Killiman pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. "Something like this is not without precedent, and sometimes, sacrifice is a necessity."

"Even if I ask them to attack each other?"

"It's not uncommon for the Primordial to consider the fighting skills of the Legion's soldiers."

"No, I mean killing each other." The gladiator said in a low voice, breathing heavily like a beast. "Take the unending of one side as the standard."

Robert Killeman lowered his head, then lifted it again. He was aware of what his brother was saying, what he was alluding to, but he didn't know how to refute it.

So he had to nod his head sullenly.

"I see." Angron said calmly. "So, my biological father arranged a group of slaves for me when I was born?"

"They're not slaves!" Kiriman instinctively retorted. "They are your heirs, and they are connected to you, Angrand, if you see you with your own eyes, you will understand!"

"But I can't see it now." Angelon said. "I can only speculate on what they look like according to your description, and if it is as you say, Robert, I would rather they all stay away from me, and not listen to a word from me, not a word."

"However, the Legion cannot be without the Primordial."

"Really? So, what were you doing before you met your Ultramarine? ”

“.”

"What are they doing, brother?"

"It seems that I can't outdo you in a mere verbal confrontation."

Killiman smiled wryly and glanced at Karil, who shook his head calmly and rejected his offer, so he had no choice but to continue.

"But, Angeland, I want you to understand that although they will obey all your orders, that really does not mean that they are your slaves."

"Are they free?" The gladiator frowned. "Do they have the right to disobey before me? Or do they have the right not to accept me? ”

"No legion will reject their primordial formalities."

"Well, that's a form of slavery." Angron said solemnly. "I still don't know the details of the relationship between the Legion and the Primordial, brother, but I know another thing, another thing you know very little about."

"What's the matter?"

"Slavery."

Angron spoke slowly.

"I have been in the Colosseum for more than ten years, and I have seen first-hand countless ways of enslaving others. The simplest of these is brainwashing, which requires only hunger, darkness, and fear to make a person an unconscious and numbing accomplice after a few days. Now, you say, there is such a large group of people who will obey any of my orders unconditionally. Not limited to dying for me, or slaughtering innocent and unarmed people—even if I want them to kill each other, what is that, brother? ”

Robert Kiliman was speechless—his brother had offered him a new, new way of seeing the world that was completely alien to him.

It's like a person who knows that a monster exists, but has never seen it with his own eyes, and on his way home one day, he bumps into that monster, and the bloody victims under him are as terrifying.

"If you don't mind, Angelon—" A voice rang out in the silent room. Carlil slowly stood up and smiled at the two primordials who looked over: "—I can tell you about the special relationship between the primordials and the legion on behalf of Robert. ”

"All right, but before I do that, I have something to say to you, Carlile."

Angron stood up equally slowly, like a stretched mountain.

(End of chapter)