Anglon's conversation with his genetic father, the Emperor, ended quickly, as neither side wanted to know anything further with the other at this time.

The Emperor seemed a little surprised by the son he had acquired, but then he was satisfied with his answer and the way he had looked, and the Twelfth Primordial's emotions were hidden behind a polite social mask, and there was no way to know - it was Angelon who swore that he would definitely hear a hint of "how good it had been since it had been" and "I was a little embarrassed now" in that voice.

Of course, he was the only one who could feel this tiny emotion of the soul, and the awe of the newly returned son who could talk to his imperial father had quietly risen on the Emperor Dream except for the forbidden army.

Angelon Petra was not immediately sent to join his legion.

He was told that the 203rd Combat Cluster, led by the flagship of the Twelfth Legion, still known as the Resolute Resolve, was heading around the clock.

Despite the fact that the Lord of Iron Heart sensed some kind of prying eyes from someone's gaze, Angelon decided to pretend not to notice it.

And the man who spied on him didn't seem to be aware of the fact that within the confines of the Imperial Dream, there was always a grander and radiant eye watching over everyone.

It was not a good time for him to board someone else's ship, so the Emperor decreed that the newly found heir should be allowed to stay in the guest room that had been opened for him on the Emperor's Dream.

An old man dressed in a splendid robe, with the mark of a two-headed Aquila on the back of his head, proudly and humbly introduced him to the furnishings of this sumptuous and huge room, and finally he succeeded in overalling Angron with the patience of mortals with a high-pitched son-line chant that began with the words "You are the second child of my lord to stay overnight in many years."

The red-haired giant politely and firmly stated that what he needed now was to rest alone, and then "invited" the old servant, who seemed to want to say something, out of the splendid golden bedroom.

Oh my God, my father, there's so much gold here, he thought to himself, the Twelfth Progenitor's eyes and head were hot and swollen and aching from the glittering gold everywhere.

His adoptive father and teacher had taught him that if he was in such a situation, he might as well sit down and take a shower, have a hot drink, and then go to bed comfortably.

"Since you can't make any big decisions for the time being, there's nothing better than sleep to soothe your mind. Take things as they come. This is one of the most useful teachings I've ever heard from my genetic father and warband leader. ”

So he did so, taking a hot bath in the bath of the super-large marble cherub with which hot water poured hot water from a golden vase, then dried himself, wrapped himself in his dressing gown, put his axe, pistol, and other objects neatly at hand and under his pillow, and blasted out all the unnecessary men and servants of the room one last time before going to bed, and finally fell to sleep peacefully.

Day and night aboard the Emperor Dream streaked past the zero point of Terra.

Angelon Petra found himself standing near naked – thankfully with a hood – at the very bottom of some massive pit-shaped building.

Again. What's this time?

The smell of death sacrifice and ignorance in his nose instantly made him frown into non-existent frowns.

But the protagonist here is him, not him.

He's overlapping with someone.

It was some ghost floating over Nukeria.

A ghost is indulging in a dream from the past.

The massive, headless bodies of the two pit fighters lay in the red-stained sand, all life, vitality, name, good and evil had passed from their bodies, and only the wriggling living metal "nails" that had been pounded into their skulls and filthy scalps were still gnawing at the brains of the deceased, as if wishing they would still get up and continue to satisfy it with pain, blood, and killing.

A pair of iron horns representing the endless slaughter and the berserker lost in the violence are stained with the blood of their masters and fall across the roasted red sand.

The gaze of Angelon's body did not linger too much on the corpses of the vanquished, as if he had seen them many, many times, so that they were nothing more than the sand under his feet in the usual daily life.

But out of the corner of his eye, the Ironheart Merciful Man was able to perceive the evil lurking on the nails and something deeper that had been endowed them.

Damn it. He thought to himself, I remember He was quite displeased...... Or even those who hate playing with psionic energy and witchcraft? Why, the one who sent it to the door is not responsible, does not admit or refuse, right?

Then he saw a voice coming from the anti-gravity silver monitor floating in front of him—a bit like a servo skull with only eyes—with a tone of malice and control, playing with dogs raised in the mud—

"The people of Deshei want more! Angron who has not tasted defeat! Ulciam's old bear, Oinomouth! Today let's take a look at these two great warriors of the arena, the beloved generals of the audience, who among you is the real greater warrior?! ”

The crowd sitting around the Colosseum erupted in a tsunami of ecstasy and screams to express their complete approval of the bloodthirsty proposal.

The blood of the Beasts, the Beastmen, and finally the Berserker Champions is no longer enough to satisfy the bloodthirsty desires of the people.

The subjects who were killed became more and more human, so they wanted more.

They wanted the blood of the stronger of the human race, and they wanted to feast on the blood of one of Angelon and Oinomouth.

Angron Petra was silent, and in the ghost's body he was heard puffing up his chest and trying to say a word for the first time.

He thought he would get at least some support.

After all, he is a great warrior in the arena and a favorite of the people, isn't he?

"Nope."

The word was so rare and so loud that the huge gladiatorial arena suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

Encouraged by the silence, Angron Tark did not hesitate to repeat the word again, saying it aloud from the pit of slaves and reaching into the clouds where the godlike tall riders sit.

Oinomouth's hand rests on Angron Tarke's arm, the child he raised, so he will accompany him.

"No?!" The monitor—as Angelon Tark mentally called it the "Eye of the Maggot"—began to sneer at the speaker, and they gathered and swirled around him, making mocking and threatening noises.

"Who allows you to say no? The property of the Tarke family, Angron Tarke! Now dedicate us to a wonderful and blood-spattered battle show and his head, and perhaps we can be merciful and forgive your disrespect! ”

So who gave you permission to do this to other people? Angron Petra chewed, and he found that even the teeth of the body had been extracted and replaced with black steel teeth, just to make the young man look more intimidating and ornamental, like sharpening the canines of a fighting dog.

…… Hell, I really don't understand how things got to this point, and there's no reason or logic in this place. Again, he silently recited his teacher's teachings, planning before acting, and he continued to observe through the eyes of the young gladiator.

He saw that the young gladiator still had a faint and naïve hope in his heart, thinking that he could believe in the favor of the people—at least in exchange for the life of the old gladiator? — Just the life of a gladiator—all they had to do was cheer in unison to the tall riders—

He also heard the gladiators say, if you want more blood, you can come down and fight us yourself, and the collective emotions of the humans surging around him are almost—almost to a certain tipping point, but Angron Petra has learned more from within him of fear, selfishness, and dark meanness - hell!

Damn it! Angron Petra felt the heart of Angron Tarke, a strong demigod fighter who had only lived in a dark dungeon under the arena since he was a child, and he was simply - he was not enlightened at all! No one has taught him how to really use his powers! - He had no idea and could not know what a powerful, terrible, bloodthirsty, and fickle thing the "heart of the majority" was!

No one, no one can make those truths and knowledge clear to him, take him to stand up from the mistakes that can be repaired and corrected, and experience those truths again and again, as a slave gladiator who fights for his life, he has no chance of trial and error, because the price of mistakes is life!

At this moment, Angelon Petra truly began to appreciate where the gap between himself and the ghost was, and how rare and precious the truths and teachings he had received were.

He observed the tall riders and their guards communicating privately among the anti-gravity mechanisms and implants, showing a level of isolation from the arena audience.

Finally, the maggot's eye that had been talking floated down again, and its voice became loud and high-pitched, ensuring that his words could reach the ears of every living person present.

"You're nothing but a dog! Angelon Tarke! You is here to watch you kill other things or get killed! It is your life to entertain our people with your blood! Who do you think you are? How dare a domestic dog rebel against his masters! ”

The voice of the high rider agitator seemed to be singing a beautiful aria of malice, "A domestic dog who dares to resist should be beaten to good obedience, until he obediently offers his master daily entertainment, and is the good dog we like, my lords." ”

His laughing epilogue echoed across the blood-stained, hot sand of the arena, and Angelon Tulc felt the crowd begin to grow cold to him. And Angron Petra had fully foreseen what was going to happen, and he gritted his teeth in this body and stretched out his hand as hard as he could to the boy who was staring at the butcher's nail in the severed head on the ground as it began to melt—

"O wise and just people of Deshei, we ——?!" The host of the arena deliberately prolonged his voice in order to stir up more despicable and dark snickering revelry in the hearts of more mortals, "Alas! Let's talk about it, how can we teach our beautiful puppy who has become disobedient?! ”

A short sentence hummed across the arena seats and began to be lifted and recited to each other, and the only word was shouted excitedly in Nukeriyah.

Angron Petra understood the meaning of the Nukerian word perfectly, but the word made him feel two kinds of anger, one like ice, falling into his stomach, it was Angron Tarke, his hands and feet were cold, and his heart was cold; One like a spark that will burn everything here is Angelon Petra, and only the land that has been burned by the fire of the prairie can sprout new shoots.

"Nail him!" The populace, who had fallen into the ecstasy of sacrificing stars, shouted to the voice of the high rider host, "Nail! Nail! Nail! Nail him in the coffin! ”

Angron Petra felt that he had truly completed his transformation at that moment, and at the same time understood a truth that Angron Tarke, a child named Angron, who had the body of a giant and could only see the sky of the arena and the blood of the dead for as long as he could remember.

Except for those who are as lowly as I am.

The enemy of the world.

So......

(End of chapter)