Lucius stood on the side of the gladiatorial cage, trying to move his armored limbs, wrists, shoulders, waist, and legs.

Even Pride knew that it would be a complete faux pas to not be able to cover up the past with the excuse of confidence and pride without using the aid of his own power nail electronic muscles to fight against a genetic protogen.

And he didn't want to be rude to His Highness Angron.

On the contrary, Lucius wanted to get as much attention as possible from His Highness Angron to himself, and it would be even better if he could get the talkative Highness to relax and allow him to run to his side as often as his Queen of Glory around. Well, it's those unfriendly cousins on the Ark of the Desert, well, it's not a big deal! As long as His Highness Angron is still watching me.

His damaged Mark IV Power Armor had been urgently repaired by the Iron Blood Armory—after he found a Hoop and yelled for them to take him to repair his Power Armor—Saul Tavits, who had feared it would cause some unnecessary trouble, but the Emperor's Sons from Istavan III found themselves overwhelmed.

One of the two masters of this place was apparently adept and accustomed to dealing with the vexatious fuss of some pretty little things, and one of them, the half-body of Master Perturabo of the Fourth Legion, had at least been told to them by someone in a stormy indoctrination of truth, "You just need to know that, just as the Twentieth Legion, the Fourth Legion, the Silver Skull Warband—whatever it may be called, but the Iron Warriors are now under the command of two primordial Commanders, named His Highness Ramizane and His Highness Perturabo, You should treat any of them with due respect and courtesy—no matter what you see him look like! Remember! ”

Of course, the emperor's sons soon learned why the former imperial regent had added that last emphasis.

Two minutes after Lucius shouted his request at the hoop, everyone present saluted the two comers who strode forward: a dreadnoed daunted with the name "Kadomo" written on it, probably as beautifully decorated as the ancient sage of Raanor, except for the different colors, and beside Daring Do was a living demigod walking on the ground.

The unparalleled demeanor of the original genome was irrefutable, and when his ice-blue eyes looked at him, Lucius felt a sharp icy sensation rising from his soul. Ruthless to the point of inhumanity, that was his first impression of this primordial.

After about fifteen minutes of conversation and the time the power armor and weapons that had been quickly patched up in the meantime were brought to him, Lucius had become very happy and thought that "this one" Fourth Primordial was the most amiable and well-spoken noble Highness he had ever seen—probably only slightly less coquettish than the mighty Highness Angron and the perfect Highness Fogham.

There was also an indescribable, eerie sense of inhumanity about "this one" Fourth Primordial, as if Lucius was talking to anything but not human.

Lucius was also happy to be honored to know this, as if there was a strange and secret feeling of finding a companion, well, and the dessert that His Highness the Iron Warrior had brought to them was also full of energy and delicious.

He licked his lips subconsciously, and after finally escaping from Istavan III, all of this felt great to him, but—none of them compared to the feeling that Master Anglon's power had been poured into his brain.

It was so warm, so scorching, so unquestionably pure and powerful, that power spread inexorably like a promethium flame to all his limbs, his soul, his heart, his most secret desires, the darkest corners of his soul that he was not aware of, and burned the meanness, arrogance, vanity, and arrogance of the boy named Lucius to the extreme, and could not stand the slightest frustration and criticism, nor could withstand the slightest temptation of the human pretense burned to the ground, he had no place to be ashamed, he had nowhere to stay, he was completely unable to ...... Revolt.

Ah, what a terrible feeling, that he was forced to refuse to face and yet had to face his own nakedly inferior and despicable feelings, that he could not even close his eyes and deceive himself, and that he watched according to his soul as those things which had been tightly bound to him, lived and died together, and belonged to a part of his essence, were burned to the ground by the great power of gold and silver, in the extreme pain of burning his soul away.

Lucius almost shuddered at the memory.

But he only had to glance to the other side of the arena to immediately grab all his attention from the presence of the Twelfth Primordial, and in Lucius's eyes, the emotions, hopes, and souls of everyone in the entire hall seemed to be attracted to the magnificent red-haired Primordial Form, and it was incinerated into glass ashes in the blazing final flames.

Angelon sighed softly visibly, his face filled with a deep tiredness, like a tired middle-aged man who found himself responsible for monthly child support for a child he had already adopted.

Lucius drew his fine silk and gold sword one last time and swung it in the air, its long blade buzzing with joy.

"Let's get it done as soon as possible."

Before the end of the sentence was still floating around the gladiatorial cage, and before the sound waves could reach the outermost part of the audience, Angelon attacked—it was clear that the Primordial was not entirely unaware of Lucius' unwarranted offenses against him.

For a giant of such astonishing physique, Angelon Petra fought at a terrifying pace, and when he struck the first blow of the axe, the oppressive feeling of compressing even the air made it almost impossible for Lucius to breathe when he faced him.

It felt like facing a Sikaran battle tank that was running over with double speed sprints.

No, it is impossible to block an attack with a sword, such overwhelming power! Unstoppable! My sword and my man will be shattered at once!

Lucius's blood was boiling, and with a great sense of joy he dodged the sound of the deadly axe breaking through the air, narrowly dodging the high-speed slash of the original body like a butterfly in a storm. His footwork is incomparably exquisite, his movements are completely thoughtless, and they have nothing to do with the martial arts footwork edited in the Astarte gene, and those things are simply not able to resist the speed of a genetic protologist! And a part of his brain now is even detached from watching his own-

In the midst of all the attention, the emperor's son of the swordsmanship rookie wore power armor, but he walked out of the crumbling and fluttering feeling, purple and gold swaying and floating on the gladiatorial ring, as if there was no weight.

Lucius had nowhere to dodge, though, as the gladiatorial cage was only these sizes, and Angelon's arms and axe were incredibly long, and his longsword was completely too long to make any counterattacks.

No.

He smiled at the genotype.

But that doesn't stop me from being close to you.

The helplessness on Angelon's face was almost palpable, and his axe swung again, forcing the swordsman into the railing.

But Lucius was soft, almost impossible to be as soft as a snake in power armor, leaning over, the axe and the railing crashing into the material, straight into the material made of adamantite alloy, like a shackle, and it was found that Lucius's neck was stuck at the intersection of the blade and the handle, and a wisp of blood ran down his neck.

But the Emperor's son's frenzied joy grew, and he cried out with joy, and stabbed the sword in his hand into the weakest lower abdomen of the original armor by the way it had finally narrowed the distance.

The blade shattered.

Then Angelon punched Lucius in the chest with a bang.

The purple-gold cuirass visibly dented to the naked eye, and the broken gold ornaments splashed and rained down.

Amid the audience's exclamations, Lucius struggled to breathe twice through his chest cavity in the broken ribs, coughing up more blood.

Smiled contentedly.

——————

Addendum: According to unreliable sources, Lucius may have looked close to this (

And: Da'an was really innocent, he just felt sorry at the time, he didn't have time to speak, so he caught an officer and forcibly brainwashed him, and he didn't think much about it at all. However, it may have something to do with the fact that the original material provider of the emotional personality template he uses is named Karn

(End of chapter)