With the click of magnetism and the clasp, Angelon Petra snapped his helmet, his blue eyepiece lit up, and the ever-changing data around him began to be enumerated in his vision—thankfully it hadn't been lost during that strange, long, short hike.

He moved his hands again to check the weapon's energy, and the original scarlet wool cloak was left on the surface before they descended to the bottom of the sea, but the blizzard didn't bother him.

The Brilliant Power Armor, which had just been tuned by his brother himself, provided enough temperature and power, and its beautifully forged surface was now covered with thin layers of frost and snowflakes, turning into a blurry grayish-white, just the right amount of frost to affect his movements, but in this weather and environment, as long as he didn't act violently, it would be a good temporary camouflage.

The King of Nucheria learned very, very much from his adoptive father and teacher, the ambition of a lion, the pride of an eagle, the cunning of a wolf, the wisdom of survival, the courage of a warrior, and the benevolent love of the stoic earth, but certainly not some unnecessary vanity.

Walking alone in the mountains of No Man's Land now reminded him of a wilderness hike he had with his teacher, and he had learned a lot from that trip and hunt, but it was not a good time to remember.

He looked up at the sky, it was still snowing, and the lead-gray clouds were thickly stacked overhead, and the angles of the stars behind the clouds could not be seen by the naked eye or optical observation, but the enhanced helmet vision band could.

He identified the position of the star, then walked in a direction, the wind and snow quickly burying the footprints he had left behind.

——————

"I swear! If I can't get him back, I'll take responsibility for his disappearance from the entire galaxy of alien blood. Lothara Sarin's image hissed, her anger figurative into blood-colored electric light crackling in all circuits, the Ark of the Desert let out a deep wail, and the captain's chest shone with the scarlet mark of the Blood Oath, "And the Iron Heart will become a hound looking for him, tearing apart anything that dares to stand in our way!" Whatever it is! No matter where you go! ”

Company Commander Sklar's somber voice echoed similarly under the dome of the bridge, with a certain boiling heat, as the commotion began to spread, and many of the Iron Heart warriors had been recalled to the flagship—the mood of the mortals in their place had also been affected, and the incidence of violence and murder had suddenly skyrocketed, and it was worth noting that the dead were all bloodied and beheaded.

"We want to get Tess Da Sadra. My lord. ”

"He's still in the infirmary." Lamizan replied, frowning in a rare way in the stereoscopic still projection, where one could see the horns of the green robe and the fearless figure beside him.

"What do you want him to do? He couldn't answer any questions now, the psionic blast was too strong, and he needed time to recover - in fact, if he hadn't used the last of his sanity to desperately bring the rest of the people and the submersible back to the surface, it would have been a long time before we figured out what had happened. ”

"I don't deny that. Your Excellency. Divine Fearlessness replied, his words filled with lingering blood, as if he were not soaked in artificial amniotic fluid, but in thick blood.

"But Endred Hal was there too, and he was unconscious, and it was even worse, Hal was one of the most powerful warriors I had ever seen, and he had never suffered such a serious mortal wound in his life—it was as if a sword had pierced him, and his flesh was still aging rapidly, and our apothecary had done his best. Of the entire squad, only Tess Dasadra was the least injured. ”

"Physical injuries." The body of the Lord of the Fourth Legion on the opposite side corrected, "Our war blacksmith has very badly injured brains and souls. And do you need me to point out, Skantor of the Iron Heart, Endred Howl's power armor is full of Spirit Clan soul stones, and there is a high probability that there is an ancient Spirit Clan network gate, and it is logically logical that he will be subjected to an invisible attack there, in his power armor. ”

He turned his head to look around again, as if he was communicating with someone next to him, and as if he could observe the current bridge of the Desert Ark, but the sharpest iron-hearted warrior could really vaguely feel that under the illusory gaze of this noble man, something seemed to be roaring dissatisfied, and it was "stuffed" to the fullest, temporarily dormant back to the deepest part of the abyss in the hearts of the warriors.

Then he seemed to hear something, sighed, and slowed his tone, "Send Endred Hal and the others here, Skral." Your pharmacists and others can come along. ”

"The iron-blooded infirmary can take him in, as well as the other wounded warriors, all of whom are suffering from varying degrees of physical aging and injury as far as I know, right? First of all, at least I have enough stasis positions here. ”

——————

Angron Petra walked alone in a snowstorm for a long time.

This towering, snow-soaked mountain isn't fit for most creatures, but Power Armor can tell him more than the naked eye.

Fresh snow hides rocks and lichens on stone surfaces, shoots in alpine meadows, hibernation burrows dug deep by rodents and small carnivores, shrubs and pitted traps dormant under the snow – and blood and battle remains hidden by snow.

He was sure that there had been too many undulating battles and a few encounters in the vicinity, but the weapons of the two sides seemed to be completely unequal, and there was a fairly powerful killer in it who added a lot of success to the weaker side, but he was still not enough to balance the fighting power of the two sides, he was not strong enough, far from enough.

He followed the traces in circles, groping his way through, and he saw the traces of the struggle of the people for pure killing, where life became unleashed only for some kind of freedom without a future, and the specter of vengeance drifted faintly over every corpse and bloodstain.

There were other things he didn't like even more, such as the remnants of the silvery mechanical transformation tentacles that would appear on certain corpses. Angron had never seen them before today, but these seemingly harmless inorganic creations literally gave the Twelfth Primordial a burning urge to chop something from the depths of his mind.

Angelon pursed his lips.

Bitter apocalypse, known taste of desperate fate.

He was standing in front of a cave where the smell of burning ash from the flames had lost fuel, the smell of sweat that he hadn't bathed in a long time, the musty smell of dirty fabrics, and the metallic smell of old and new blood.

A scan of his helmet ornithography told him that there were no more than fifty-six mortal men and women inside, most of them with rudimentary primitive weapons in their hands, and one or two small, odd-looking anti-gravity engines still working, but not very much combat.

To the Emperor's twelfth noble heir, the Genogen of Iron Heart, all the skill, courage, blood, and vision that these people could possess were nothing more than a thought of him.

But.

The Conquest King of Nukeria, the Chosen One of Both, the owner of the Desert Ark and the leader of the Ironheart Warband, Angelon Petra wears a full set of Primordial Power Armor.

In front of this defenseless cave.

Extremely rarely, deterred.

(End of chapter)