In the early morning of the ninth day, the snowstorm that had been blowing for eight days stopped.

Bright sunlight shines through the gaps in the lead-gray clouds onto the snow-white ground, and the entire snow-covered white reflects the sky and the earth very high and clear.

Kleist, Jochuka, and the others woke up early in the morning, and no one needed to wake them up, and they were happy to have a full day of food, and the freed slave gladiators wrapped themselves in rags and sharpened their weapons with stones one last time.

"It's a great day to bleed the slave owners as much as they can before we die." Klomacchi said.

Angron Petra didn't say anything about it, he stood at the very front of the gladiators' ranks, like the Adamantite Bow of the Queen of Glory.

He calmly watched as his enemies entered his line of sight—far beyond the human eye, and they should not be able to see him yet.

These bustling teams, although clustered, were clearly divided into four broad categories.

It's clear to a commander like Angelon.

In addition to the so-called "Guards" of tall riders that he had seen yesterday and had been implanted in their heads and bodies with mechanical augmentations of ancient dark technology, he had also seen mercenaries, private soldiers, militiamen, and others whose armor and weapons were significantly inferior to those of the Guards, who were being driven, pushed, and piled up in front of the line or under the cliffs by money or power.

He assessed as the orniths in his power armor began to make more lists of stats for him—again thanking his brothers, especially the Hairy One, and his body for preparing him for a rainy day when they heard about the threat to Ironheart.

Closer to the moment, the new scanning array began to circle him with a number of red warning boxes and instruction labels that indicated that he needed to pay attention.

That's a lot of good stuff.

The Twelfth Primordial narrowed his eyes.

The quantity and quality are as high as the extravagant anti-gravity engine, and the degree of miniaturization and energy conversion efficiency are amazing.

These beautiful and stable mini-engines could be built and used so much in the tribal and slave environment of the planet that they could be used as a means of transportation for nobles and to be used to modify a female gladiator—although he had deduced it when he saw Kleist's strange spear yesterday, he was even more aware of the amount and extent to which these ancient technologies were actually being used.

More than 95 percent of the time, there is a probability that there is at least one or more complete standard manufacturing templates (STCs) that are still functioning, and one of them must be about the anti-gravity engine technology.

His gaze swept over the Nukerian high riders, who were held up above the driven army by extravagant golden movable sculptures, large silver wings, and gleaming floating silk sofas.

The flabby and sickly bodies were so exaggerated and extravagant that all sorts of precious stones were set on the surfaces of their masks and cars, and the morning sun shone with such a dazzling brilliance that each one looked worth an entire kingdom, and each nobleman looked like a cloud god surrounded by ivory, gold, silver, and silk, clouds, halos, Pegasi, winged lions, or some other animal.

Maybe that's one of the effects they wanted.

If a child is exposed to it like this from an early age...... Angelon Petra calmly observes his opponent's weapon.

Hardly any of the tall riders of the clan use the same weapons, but each one is shown in helmet vision as extremely dangerous and can definitely truly threaten the life of a primordial: high-frequency sonic directional weapons, microwave radiation high-energy restraints, material dimension-shifting rays......

I see, I can probably guess a little.

He thought to himself.

Scold.

At the same time, Angron Petra was once again aware of the great and incredible things that his adoptive father and teacher had done in Nukeria for his final war of conquest.

"Truly great victories can never be castles in the air, they are all based on small and ordinary perseverance."

He chewed on the words, thinking about his adoptive father and brother again—and at the same time turning the young face of one of his younger brothers in his mind so as not to feel embarrassed.

And now this Nukeria is full of malice towards the original Angelon!

But luckily, a miracle has arrived.

He held back his loose thoughts, and turned to the huntress and swordsman beside him to confirm that he had told them about them, and they all nodded.

"Good." Angron said, turning on the reactor of the power armor to its maximum output and pressing the stand button of his axe.

Ozone-to-metal scents began to waft through everyone's noses.

"Let them come. I will take their heads, their blood, and their fear for you. Complete Anglon's Oath. ”

Before the tall riders and their team could enter range, a massive golden and silver figure roared down from the sky and rushed into their ranks.

His axe was so sharp, his strength was so great, his skill was so high, and his speed was so fast that the vast majority of the smug, smug riders had not yet had time to react and turn on their ancient technological guards.

Frozen in surprise and fear, the heads flew into the air one after another like uncorked champagne bottles.

Blood followed.

The blood that spurted from the neck of the head was red, and puffs of white smoke rose from the cold air of the snow-capped mountains, and finally exploded in the air like a brilliant fireflower, and the rain of blood poured down from the clouds of gold, ivory, and precious stones, dyeing the pure white snow a deep crimson and pink, as if someone had sprinkled thousands of roses of different shades on this grand venue.

The crowd below was silent for a few breaths and "admired" the first batch of Blood Rose Flowers falling on them, and exploded with a "boom" like a frightened herd of beasts.

Many people, especially the militiamen, turned around and walked away with their legs wide open and crawled towards the woods below.

The remaining tall riders shouted in panic, shook in the air, picked up their weapons and tried to aim at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Angron caught a glimpse of an unlucky ghost who had been struck by his own person's material dimension transformation ray after he swept away, and the whole person turned inside out from the inside out, and the colorful contents of the cavity were steaming on the snow.

A fat, greased-pasted nobleman was just in the way of the Iron Heart Angel of Death's path, and he narrowed his eyes—based on his previous observations, this should be the leader.

The creature was almost sickly fat, which made it impossible for him to nimbly avoid the ferocious swing of the Twelfth Primordial as it swept past him, even as he desperately stepped on his gravity-defying boots and gilded cherubs in a panic.

With the slight flash of the decomposition force field, the fat man's fearful and shrill screams came to an abrupt end with the pouring of flesh and blood.

Before he could hit the ground, his axe was just big enough to slash through a Celestial Cover that was ready to attack his Nukeria rider when he landed.

Then it all froze.

Time and body condensed.

But the mind and senses do not.

He saw the attacker's brain glistening through the gap he had cut open, heat and brains coming out of it, holding the posture of a congealed white death rose above the dying's head.

Angelon Petra's knowledge made him immediately realize that he was locked by some kind of psionic stance and teleporter.

What did they do to you? 】

There was a voice in his head that spoke in his head, both familiar and unfamiliar.

The voice didn't sound as grand as he was used to, but instead it made him feel uncomfortable and tingling, like someone was slicing his brain with a scalpel.

"You're—" Angelon frowned at the cold, sharp pain as he spoke slowly, "Yes—"

[I am the emperor, you will come with me. 】

(End of chapter)