Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

Although they were badly wounded, they all survived.

The arena was completely silent, except for Angron who forced himself to stand.

He just stood there.

No middle finger raised, no roar, not even any extra expression.

He simply raised his burning eyes and stared at the maggot eye in the air.

Then, he grinned and laughed.

That smile tore his dry lips, revealing bloody teeth. There was no sound, no movement, but every subtle arc was telling:

"You lost."

At the bottom of the auditorium, a dirty teenager suddenly clenched his greasy apron. Years of suppressed sobs rolled out of his throat, eventually turning into a hoarse, "Okay!"

The shout was like a spark splashing into a haystack, and the audience, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly burst into deafening cheers, and every wave of their applause slapped the high-ranking knight in the face.

"You lowly slave, how dare you look at me like that?" The announcer's maggot eyes screamed shrilly and suddenly rushed towards Angron, wanting to torture him with electric current, but another silver metal ball suddenly intercepted it.

"Claudia, what are you doing?"

Claudia's voice emanated faintly from the silver sphere, a lazy electronic cacophony of noise: "Oh, you probably forgot he's not a slave."

"He's just a dog at best!"

"Even if he's a dog, he's still my puppy. Only I can punish him." Claudia snorted coldly and announced in a brisk voice, "Attention everyone, a new champion has been born. The winner is Angron!"

"Angron!"

The crowd's cheers erupted like a volcano, and the sound waves almost blew off the dome of the arena.

……

Chapter 89: Within the spider web, only the spider can remain safe (5.5K)

"When a brave man is angry, he draws his sword against the stronger; when a coward is angry, he draws his sword against the weaker."

Wop dipped his finger into the ointment and carefully applied it to Angron's wound. The boy's tense muscles trembled slightly at the cool touch, and he let out an involuntary whimper like a young animal.

"Am I a hero then?"

"In my heart, you will always be a brave man."

"Compared to my brother?"

"You are all heroes."

Although the paths of the Primarchs diverged, their direction was the same: to save humanity and to be proud of it.

During the Great Crusade, nearly all Legions protected mortals, with the exception of the World Eaters and the Iron Warriors.

The World Eaters are because of the Butcher's Nails, and the Iron Warriors are because they only care about the efficiency of conquering cities and territories. If they don't even care about their own lives, don't expect them to care about the lives of mortals.

But now that the Butcher's Nails were gone, Worp believed Angron would become the best version of himself.

In fact, the Primarchs are very malleable. Even Angron, who was branded as the Butcher's Nail in the official history, did not completely become a puppet of anger.

Angron was grieved after accidentally killing his adoptive father.

And even when dominated by anger, he can still lead the gladiators in uprising.

Although the uprising ultimately failed, the love Angron showed for the gladiators during the process proved that there was more than just anger in his heart.

He would grieve over the deaths of gladiators, give them his food when he was hungry, and even feed them with his own blood when he ran out of ammunition and food.

It wasn't his fault that he was branded with the Butcher's Nails. It was just that Nukeria had too much black technology.

Just like Colchis, Prospero, and Barbarus, Nuceria definitely has four gods.

But even with the Butcher's Nails, Angron still possessed a rich humanity.

Perhaps all the hormones in his body have been converted and the only emotion his brain can produce is anger, but his soul is still strong.

He would tear the imperial guards apart with his bare hands out of anger, and would also brutally kill his own offspring.

But he also often missed his gladiator brothers and sisters and always longed to die in battle.

How he wished he could have died in Nukeria with his siblings instead of being forcibly taken away by a man claiming to be his father.

Nothing the World Eaters did during the Great Crusade was in accordance with the Emperor's wishes.

Because Angron never fully carried out the Emperor's orders, when the Emperor asked him to conquer a world, he would bring massacre to that world.

Not only is the efficiency of conquest very low, but the cost-effectiveness is also even lower, and its role in the Great Expedition is infinitely close to negative.

Even so, the Emperor insisted on letting him lead the Legion, and would rather punish Lorgar than Angron.

It can only be said that Huangpizi's train of thought is always unexpected. Sometimes Wop really wants to pry open his skull to see what's inside.

Hajiron was undoubtedly a coward in the past. He could tear his own offspring to pieces in a rage, but he could only breathe in front of the Emperor.

It was not until Horus's rebellious flag dyed the galaxy red that he joined the battle like a lame dog that had been kicked awake, dragging his festering self-esteem.

He rebelled not out of courage, but because he finally realized there was a taller figure standing before him, bearing the Emperor's gaze. Even his hatred was secondhand, a rage borrowed from others, like a beggar stealing a general's battle robe, hanging wrinkled on his stooped back.

“Have I failed to live up to your expectations?”

Angron's head hung low, his voice hoarse and almost broken, each word sounding like blood foam squeezed from deep within his chest.

Wop's hand suddenly froze in mid-air, having forgotten that Angron could hear him.

All the thoughts that had flashed through his mind were now exposed, lying naked between the two of them.

"Don't overthink it. That's not the real you, and it won't be your future self. Look at yourself now. Aren't you rewriting the trajectory of your destiny with your own hands?"

Wop wiped the crusted blood between Angron's brow with his thumb, as if erasing some invisible scar.

“History won’t repeat itself because I’m here, don’t you believe me?”

"No one believes in you more than I do!" Angron's roar suddenly exploded in the silent air, like a heavy hammer smashing the solidified silence.

"I believe in you, too, so you must believe in yourself. Don't worry about the dark clouds that haven't yet arrived; they will only hinder your progress. The storm I foresee may not be your path to return; it is merely the darkest hypothesis among countless possibilities."

Wop's palm rested lightly on the top of Angron's head, his knuckles running through his messy hair.

Angron was right, no one trusted and understood each other more than they did.

Although Wop was equally frank with all his brothers, only with Angron could he achieve a state of soul resonance, and their hearts were completely open to each other without reservation.

Angron was unique, possessing gifts that no other Primarch possessed, not even the Emperor.

Angron: "Those people, what happened to them?"

Worp heard Angron's concern. He was not a slave, so he could return to the palace after the game and have Worp apply the ointment to him.

But not the slaves.

They should have died in the deep pit, and even if they survived now, they would not be able to escape death because the high-ranking knights would not let them go.

High-ranking knights will not kill them directly, but will definitely arrange a duel to their death for them in the next game.

"I bought them." Claudia's voice was filled with a hint of lazy pride, and the ending tone rose slightly, like a cat's claw scratching silk. "Now you can train them and make them your warriors."

Wop: "They agreed?"

"Why not?" Claudia tilted her head, her red lips curled into a perfect arc, and her fingertips gently tapped her chest. "They can make a fortune from this, so who would doubt me? Would I betray my class?"

Even if the truth were known to the public, no one would believe that Claudia would betray her class.

Slaves and commoners will betray their class because they always fantasize about climbing up, even if it means kneeling down to lick the toes of the boots of the powerful, even if it means being their dogs.

But the powerful have reached a point where they can no longer rise, and betraying their class is tantamount to sending themselves to the guillotine.

How many people can have such awareness?

As far as Wop knew, very little.

There were many such people in the turbulent M2 era, all of whom had lofty ideals that were far above their class.

But there were no such people in Nuceria, and Claudia betrayed her class not because of lofty ideals, but because she lusted after Wop's body.

"Women who are obsessed with love are really scary."

Wop conveyed his thoughts to Angron without reservation, and Angron nodded silently. Although Claudia was helping them, his father was right, she was indeed terrible.

But no matter how scary it was, neither Wop nor Angron had any intention of hurting her. After all, others had given everything and risked losing everything to help you. If they repaid kindness with evil, would they still be human?

Even an emperor wouldn't do such a thing!

“My poor child.” Claudia’s voice suddenly softened, and her fingertips touched Angron’s cheek like a feather. Her movements were so gentle that it seemed as if she was touching a precious piece of porcelain that was about to break.

"Look what they did to you..." Claudia whispered, her voice trembling like broken crystal.

Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, like dewdrops in the morning light, about to fall. A teardrop slid slowly down her porcelain-white cheek and landed on Angron's hand, leaving a small, clear trail among the mottled bloodstains.

Angron was silent. He could read minds, and she knew he could, but she still expressed her concern for him.

There was genuine concern for him in her tears, and it was not feigned, but it was a concern born of Wop's love for him.

Her goal remained the same, she wanted to fuck his father, and this desire was becoming stronger and stronger.

Her tears fell just enough to not ruin her delicate makeup, yet enough to make each drop sparkle with a heartbreaking glimmer.

"Angron, my child," she whispered, her sobs rising and falling in a measured rhythm, and she suddenly fell forward like a puppet with its strings cut, burying her face in Wop's chest.

"do not Cry."

To prevent Claudia from falling, Wop had to reach out and catch her and comfort her.

He was really overwhelmed now, having to take care of Angron and Claudia's emotions.

You are already so old, why are you still so nagging?

Angron knew she was acting, and Wop knew she was acting, but even if they knew, what could they do? Could they just slap her?

This is not how a Sigma man behaves!

"My heart aches. How dare they treat our children like this?"

Claudia's shoulders trembled violently and she whimpered like a small animal. The expensive perfume mixed with her tears soaked into Wop's clothes.

But Angron clearly saw that at the moment she lowered her head to wipe away her tears, the corners of her tear-soaked lips were curled up in a fleeting, triumphant arc.

Angron shut up and said, "Never mind, this has nothing to do with me."

She had no ill intentions, she just wanted to be careless and lose the opportunity.

Even if she took a couple of bites of Wop, it wouldn't cost him a single piece of flesh. At most, he would have two younger brothers and sisters.

Anyway, he already has twenty brothers, so one or two more won't make much.

The father didn't say anything, but as a son, he couldn't yell at her to get out, right?

She just wanted to be his fuck, what's wrong with her?

At least better than his own mother.

……

Beyond the shadow of the palace, past three towering walls, Angron came upon them in a deserted manor.

The moonlight covered the hunched figures like a pale shroud.

They huddled by the fountain to drink and wash their wounds, the new shackles on their ankles scraping against the stone slabs.

Claudia replaced their chains with more delicate ones. The silver buckles glowed softly in the night, like some kind of cruel jewelry.

Angron understood that this was not Claudia's malicious intention, but rather for their safety.

The shackles on their feet proved that they were Claudia's private property, and no one could harm them without Claudia's permission. Slaves without shackles were not protected by the law, and anyone had the right to kill them, no matter where they were.

The girl who was wiping her shackles was the first to raise her head. A pair of eyes appeared between her dry hair, like two copper nails buried in the ashes.

When her eyes met Angron's, her rusty joints made a slight cracking sound, and her whole body seemed to be suspended by invisible strings, being pulled up from the ground one section at a time.

Then came the second, the third... The clanking of chains spread through the crowd like a plague. Bent backs undulated like waves of wheat, and bent knees groaned under the weight, yet remained stubbornly straight.

Someone stood up too quickly, and the shackles tore open the scabbed wounds, but he only pressed his bleeding feet deeper into the dirt.

"Sit down, in any way that makes it easier for you."

Angron's voice spread slowly through the night like a gentle breeze. He did not use his abilities, and there was no fear in their hearts.

They were very calm, and their hearts were surprisingly calm. They could even hear the sound of their own blood flowing, so slowly and heavily, like an underground river washing the foundation of the chains.