Warhammer 40: My Fiancée Fulgrim.

Chapter 140 How come this Angron is so weak!

Nukaria.

The young man only remembered being thrown into this enormous, all-encompassing cage, along with many other slaves like himself.

He felt the clamor erupting from all directions.

That was the cheering of a blood-soaked spectator behind the high walls, in the multi-tiered circular arena surrounding them, layer upon layer, with no end in sight.

A small flying instrument made of some kind of silvery metal followed him.

Perhaps he would later hear from others that this thing was a tool used by the local "high knights" to create a lively atmosphere and observe the slaves' behavior.

They call it the "maggot's eye".

He didn't understand their language, but as if by some special skill from within, he was able to understand their meaning instantly.

In front of him was a towering trapezoidal pyramid, its surface pitted and uneven, seemingly bearing traces of acid corrosion.

".start!"

The announcements and cheers from the crowd came from all directions of the pit almost simultaneously.

Immediately afterwards, a huge circular drain built on the high wall opened by rotation, and a liquid emitting a foul odor poured out, gradually submerging the entire deep pit.

If not dealt with in time, the foot of a slave next to him quickly corroded and festered from being soaked in the liquid, causing him to scream in agony.

A new round of cheers and shouts erupted from the stands.

The acid level continued to rise.

The base of the pyramid had been submerged, and the space he and the other slaves could stand in was constantly shrinking.

Eventually, all the slaves began scrambling for the few remaining places to stand.

The higher you go, the greater the gradient of the steps, and the more physical effort and difficulty it requires. One wrong step and you could fall off these smooth surfaces soaked in acid.

pain.

As more and more slaves cursed and killed each other, he felt an extreme pain.

As if he himself had fallen into the water, he seemed to truly empathize with those defeated slaves.

Acid can melt a person into blood, but not very quickly.

With the help of the Maggot Eyes, they could clearly see how the hair, skin, flesh, and bones of the slaves who had failed and fallen into the water reacted with the foul-smelling liquid drop by drop as they struggled desperately.

Burning, rotting, peeling off, melting.

And eventually it completely merges with the acid.

"no, do not want"

He felt all the pain and sorrow.

But despite all that, he still wanted to live.

In battles with others, he tries his best to minimize the pain he causes, ensuring that his opponents lose consciousness before they fall into the acid.

But he could still feel the bitterness of death.

Finally, he stood at the very top of the final pyramid.

"Watch closely, people of Desia!"

The maggot eye that had been floating around him emitted a hoarse sound.

"Your copper coins and the harvester of happiness, this young boy, he unexpectedly won the Devil's Tears!"

"Which family bet on the boy's victory and won him as a slave?"

"Tark! The Tark family won this slave!"

“Answer me, you little brat.”

"what your name?"

But he has no name.

He was just a boy found by the high-ranking knights of Nukelia atop the northern mountains, from among a strange pile of corpses by the slave-hunting party.

"no name?"

The silver machine spun a few times in mid-air before returning to its original position.

These moving maggot eyes named him "Angron," which means "son of the mountains" in an ancient language.

"Angron Tark—this new gladiator slave is about to join our upcoming epic game!"

"game.?"

He said, his voice trembling.

So tragic, so sorrowful, so painful
How can this be a game?

How can people find amusement in the suffering of others?
he does not know.

But the audience's excited cheers were never fake.

The Colosseum of Nukelia.

After numerous gladiatorial victories, Angron's fame gradually spread throughout the place called Desia.

The gladiator, shackled, sat in a damp room reeking of mold and stench, roughly and awkwardly sharpening a short knife in his hand—a knife whose owner he did not know, but which must have been there for a long time.

However, as slaves were the private property of their families, the actual death duels that took place in gladiatorial combat only occurred on certain major holidays or sacrificial days.

Otherwise, they couldn't withstand this level of strain.

It wasn't out of human nature, but solely out of consideration for the loss of property.

But ultimately, it gave Angron a chance to catch his breath.

"What's wrong, Angron? What are you thinking about now?"

An older man sat beside Angron, his face covered with overlapping old scars and sporting a stiff, gray beard.

This elderly gladiator had often taken care of Angron since he arrived here.

"Onomamus, who are those people?"

"Angron said indignantly."

He stared at the cave ceiling, as if he could see through the cavern all the way to the arena above. "What kind of humans would take pleasure in the suffering of others? Are these guys monsters?"

He couldn't understand this way of thinking.

Whenever he inevitably killed his opponent in a gladiatorial combat, Angron could feel an intense pain emanating from his very core.

"Monsters? No, they are not monsters."

The old soldier only gave a bitter smile: "You are a child of the mountains, right? You don't know that these people also live extremely painful lives."

"But why—"

“It’s complicated. But I’ve seen those people’s lives; I was born there, in a slum filled with despair.”

“Every day I wake up to fight with others for fewer resources than yesterday.”

"There is no way out, only bottomless despair—just like we are now."

"And their only solace in this life is the bloody thrill of seeing us fight each other to the death, which gives them a little psychological comfort."

"So, Angron."

Onomamus paused.

“Those people are not monsters; their situation is just as miserable as ours. Don’t blame them.”

“There are monsters that are more ferocious and vicious than them; they are the ones you should be angry at.”

The old gladiator spoke, his eyes fixed on the silver machine that floated back and forth in the arena.

In this arena, Angron and Onomamus fight side by side.

The two gladiators, with their exceptional skills, defeated one after another the beast hordes released by the high-ranking knights.

The mutated goat-headed monsters roared and galloped, their mutated hooves pounding the red sand and kicking up clouds of dust.

But before Angron, they all turned to dust.

His skillful fighting prowess elicited another burst of loud screams and applause from the audience.

This is just the beginning.

The heavy, bronze-colored door was pulled open with difficulty by a group of slaves, followed by two giant-like Oglin warriors.

They were two fierce warriors clad in heavy brass armor, their height nearly matching that of Angron. Human skin hung from spikes covering their armor, and human skulls were strung on dangling chains.

One of the two men wielded a pair of giant power axes, while the other had an iron chain wrapped around his left arm and wielded a terrifying flail hammer.

They all wore "Butcher's Nails"—a type of crest resembling Khorne's rabbit ears—and beneath the crests were data cables—said to be steel braids hanging from the back of their heads.

This device can amplify a person's aggressive desires and wash away all emotions in the mind except anger.

Once this thing is connected to your mind, every thought except for the desire to kill will be subjected to endless torment.

Yet another twisted creation born from humanity's desire to kill each other.

Why would such a device be developed to incite people to fight each other, and what is the point of it?

What is the point of letting people fight each other?

Beneath Anglong's solemn expression lay a deep sense of bewilderment.

But now is not the time to ponder these philosophical questions.

As the audience's enthusiasm grew, Angron raised his sword and shield high.

The battle lasted a full seventeen minutes.

That's right.

One fucking Primarch, and two fucking Oglins, fought for a fucking seventeen minutes.

Seventeen minutes!

This is all under the premise of having a skilled and combat-capable gladiator named Onomamus as an assistant.

Alas, Angron.

But in any case, after seventeen minutes of intense fighting, sweat, screams, and bloodshed, the two towering Oglin warriors collapsed under Angron's skill and strength.

When everything came to an end, only Angron and his mentor Onomamus remained standing.

Even though the Primarch fought Oglin for seventeen minutes.

It was a bit embarrassing, but we still won.

"Angron!"

"Angron!"

"Angron!"

The cheers from the audience grew louder and louder as they chanted his name.

Since entering the arena, Angron has only ever possessed the red thread that the victors could obtain.

A fighter who has never faced defeat, a star of Nukelia, has achieved another victory.

Too many victories have also bored some viewers – new ways must be found to liven things up and prevent them from getting tired of the constant Angron wins.

"The audience in Desia doesn't seem to be having enough fun! What should we do?"

"You are both great warriors, beloved by our audience. So, my people, wouldn't you like to witness, in a duel to the death, who will be the greater warrior?!"

Duel to the death!

This battle, which the audience has been eagerly anticipating, is not just a battle, but a life-or-death duel between two long-time partners who have known each other for a long time!

In any duel to the death, only one person can ever leave alive; that is the dignity of a death match!
(Except for Irebus)
The countless spectators in the stands erupted in the loudest roar, like a thunderous tsunami.

Countless people began to speculate and make judgments about whether the final victory would belong to the elderly but experienced gladiator Onomamus or the undefeated rising star of the arena, and some even placed bets on one of them on the spot.

Who will emerge victorious? Who will become the glorious King of Gladiators, enjoying the adoration and worship of countless spectators?

And who will fall from the arena and become unknown mud and dust in the future?
"I won't fight him!"

Just as everyone was excited to witness the duel between Desia's two strongest warriors, a roar came from the deep pit.

Angron was resolute; he swung his axe with disgust, scattering the surrounding maggot eyes.

"Oh--"

The audience was disgusted by Angron's cowardly and disappointing behavior, and they booed in unison.

"Angron"

Onomamus reached out to him, trying to stop him.

"No!" Angron roared, "Onomamus, it's time to end this! I've spent my whole life killing these beasts who took everything from me, and I won't let them take you away too!"

He then raised his weapon high, pointing it directly at the gilded viewing platform atop the stands: "If you're so eager to witness a thrilling battle, then come down and fight me. Or are you bunch of cowardly high-ranking riders all spineless cowards?"
Laughter, seemingly enjoying the spectacle, could be heard from the crowd.

This is the first time I've ever seen such an interesting and strange thing as a slave insulting a high-ranking rider in a deep pit.

"A lowly stray dog."

The silvery-white maggot-like eyes seemed to have been provoked, revealing an impatient rage.

"You are nothing but a dog, born to shed blood for those more noble than you."

"Your life is worthless and has never had any value," it repeated as if venting its anger. "How dare you, you slave, you stray dog, presume that a great high knight would lower himself to approach your filthy and squalid mud?"

"It's ridiculous."

The fact that the authority of a high-ranking knight had been challenged by a lowly slave made him, as the ruler of the city, extremely unhappy.

Since Angron, as a slave, is unwilling to obey, then to correct him, we will have to use Nukelia's mysterious gadget—

Fortunately, we all know how to deal with a disobedient slave.

"Just people of Deccia—"

The Maggot Eye flew out of the arena, circled all the seats, and then shouted loudly.

"What should we do?!"

Every spectator sitting in the arena had the answer to this question.

"nail!"

"nail!"

The audience in the stands erupted in a roar.

"nail--"

call out--

Just as the stands were being submerged by the orderly waves.

In the distance, in the sky where almost no one paid attention, a ball of light, like a shooting star, with a long trail, descended into the arena in the next instant.

boom!
As the landing module touched down, several loud explosions erupted, kicking up a thick cloud of smoke.

The audience, who had been in high spirits just moments before, fell into a silent hushed silence upon the sudden appearance of this visitor from outer space.

No one knew what it was, and no one had considered that extraterrestrial visitors would join the battle at this time.

"Guard! Guard!"

An impatient, mechanical tone emanated from the maggot's eye.

"Get those people out of here! No one is allowed to disturb the epic gladiatorial match that our audience has been eagerly anticipating!"

Following its command, the mechanical guards swayed forward and circled the high-tech, silver-bone-glowing airdrop pod.

puff.

The airdrop pod remained unchanged despite the high-ranking knight's words.

The hatch opened the next moment, revealing a compartment that had just been repainted and stripped of the conspiratorial decorations.

A human warrior emerged from this bizarre extraterrestrial machine.

He was clad in heavy, purple-gold armor, which was as beautiful as a work of art compared to the armor on Nukelia.

His helmet turned toward Angron, and he stared at him, speaking in a language Angron was familiar with, but he couldn't recall when he had learned it.

"Fortunately, I caught up."

Kasgar let out a sigh of relief.

Just in time, they arrived at the scene before Angron was about to become Nailman.

But the problems that followed seemed even more serious.

How will Casgar confront the terrifying machinery and anesthetic power capable of capturing Primarchs?

There are troublemakers!
This was almost everyone's first reaction.

Countless people in the audience were furious at the strange man who had suddenly interrupted their enjoyment.

"Guards! Seize him!"

He watched as the mechanical guards gradually moved into the center of the arena, towards the mechanical guards surrounding Casca and the slave hunters wielding tranquilizer darts and dragging electric fences.

I felt somewhat uneasy.

If, by any chance, this Nukelia is really that powerful, with emperors everywhere and principalities as insignificant as dogs, then he—

The mechanical guards, armed with stun batons, lunged at Casca.

"careful!"

Behind him, Angron shouted.

"They're very fast! Don't get hit!"

Angron frequently uses the stun baton on the mechanical guards.

While this high-powered weapon won't kill, it's enough to leave someone lying on the ground, unable to move or fight.

Moreover, the mechanical guards are fast.

Compared to human reaction time, the speed of a machine's action is absolutely—

very slow.

Perhaps Angron reminded Casca that this thing is fast.

But in Casca's eyes, he was just very slow.

The kind of slow that's impossible to describe.

Click.

Kasgar easily dodged the attack with minimal effort, then effortlessly pulled it away with his hand—

The mechanical guard snapped easily in two with a tearing sound, and the cable connectors flew away into the distance, leaving Casca with a puzzled look in its eyes.

broken.

I used too much force and couldn't stop in time.

The next slave hunter who was about to step forward saw that things were not going well and tried to retreat, but Casca's explosive pistol was already aimed at his head.

In an instant, the entire row of slave hunters were charred into charcoal by this beam of rays.

"Something's wrong!"

Faced with Casca's formidable fighting prowess, the high-ranking knights finally regained their composure.

But at the same time, Casgar lost his composure.

Damn it, how can it be so weak? I just wanted to ask you something.
Kasga was left with only endless questions.

He turned back to look at Angron with an incredulous gaze.

The other side also seemed surprised by Casca's formidable fighting power.

"Friend, you're amazing."

He swallowed hard as he spoke.

wrong.

It's not that I'm too strong, it's that you're too weak!
If it wasn't an emergency, Casca would have wanted to beat Angron right now.

When that Fire Dragon Lord, Vokan, was only three years old, he was already able to smash through a large Dark Spirit Clan slave-hunting team with two giant iron hammers!
And you, Angron!

You, Angron, could easily defeat a bunch of charlatans and white bean sprouts, leaving them exhausted and severely injured!
Even killing the White Bean Sprout Squad turned out to be his most valuable battle.

After the bean sprouts were given to the slave-catching team, after the slave-catching team was given tranquilizers.

Then they hammered in the nails, and now they had no chance of losing.

They've really lost all sense of shame!

When I first planned to come here, I really thought this place must be different from the ordinary world. A place that could make even a Primarch admit defeat must have something unique about it.

But who knew that after experiencing it firsthand, I would realize...
Is Nukelia really just an ordinary feudal world?

It's a shame that Kaska had prepared for so long, yet he was still skeptical of the information sent by Yrel.

Is it really these feudal-level knights who managed to train Angron, the Primarch, to the point where he can't live without nails?
Even fearing that he himself might be under the influence of the drug, Casca arranged for the angels to remain hidden in the cabin as a backup plan, without showing themselves.

As for Nukelia's powerful minor anesthetic that can paralyze the Primarch...
Casca picked up the tiny needle that had fallen beside him.

That was the last bullet the slave hunter fired in his death throes.

But it seems they were unable to penetrate his own terracotta armor.

Kind of funny.

"Who are you? Why have you come here?"

Angron communicated with Casca using the language he had suddenly learned.

"There's no point in saying all this. If you don't want to be treated as a slave by these self-proclaimed nobles for the rest of your life, then follow me."

Casca raised his hand, indicating that he would handle the situation.

Then, he raised the incendiary pistol high into the sky.

He aimed at the VIP seats of the high-ranking knight who had just dared to speak rudely to him, without uttering a word.

After demonstrating his fighting prowess to the audience in Nukelia, all the arguments seemed to lose their meaning.

These viewers have always admired the strong.

And now, Casca is the strong one.

It may be hard to believe, but Casgar is now stronger than the Primarch!
When the audience saw this bizarre, fully armored warrior easily trample on the authority of even a high-ranking knight, the shouts and boos instantly fell silent.

People might look down on gladiator slaves like Angron, no matter how skilled they are.

But they harbored deep fear of mysterious and powerful unknown beings like Casca.

"Esteemed guest, may I ask where you come from? As a high-ranking knight who rules Desia, I mean no disrespect, but I would like to know what your purpose is in coming here?"

Faced with the ray weapon that Casca had never seen before, Desia's high-ranking knight said somewhat flusteredly.

His initial arrogance followed by obsequiousness is rather laughable.

Kasga smiled as he looked at the automatic translation of the sound array system in front of him.

All I want to say is that this farce should end.

Casca gave a cold reply.

Then, at a speed that everyone could only see as a blur, he crushed the silver camera floating in the air, which gladiators usually called the "maggot eye."

(End of this chapter)