The Silent King completely overheated with rage; even the mechanical synths inside his Living Metal body were smoking from overload.
That showed just how furious he was.
"Your mental fortitude's lacking. We've only just started, and you already can't take it?"
Ron looked at the Silent King's red-hot, smoking state and felt rather delighted, nearly laughing out loud.
The other side often used the Herald Phaerakhs to disgust people, so this counted as giving him a taste of his own medicine.
Didn't you, Silent King, have two Herald Phaerakhs? Then I, the Lord of Hope, would find thirteen mouthpieces and see who could outcurse whom.
Clearly, the other side had been utterly defeated in this exchange of insults, publicly drenched in abuse until all dignity was lost.
Zabok and the other twelve Phaerakhs had gone on a killing spree, cursing more fiercely the longer they went, angering the Phaerakhs of Radiance and Shadows so badly they nearly keeled over.
Then they focused fire on the Silent King, deploying every version of Gouzi Literature in turn, even questioning whether the legitimacy of his rule had come from selling his ass.
"You—"
Under the extreme fury and scorching heat of data logic, the Silent King's ghostly green eyes darkened in waves, and even his CPU was starting to overload.
He had never faced such pure verbal filth and ultimate humiliation before, and because his two Herald Phaerakhs were being beaten back step by step, he did not even have the chance to talk back.
Especially when the Lord of Hope's mouthpieces vividly described the unofficial history of how he had sold his ass to the C'tan in exchange for support and Biomancy Conversion Technology, causing the Necrontyr to be deceived.
It nearly made him pass out from rage.
In this unofficial history,