In the city-state's council chamber, Peter sat on the Consul's marble throne. His sheer weight collapsed the seat, which had boasted a "long history" of 200 years. Anthony and Marco stood guard at his sides, while the other brothers temporarily kept watch outside the chamber.
The meeting hall was packed, and whispers filled the air. Nearly a thousand nobles, elites, and their families had gathered there. The room was never meant to hold so many people, but Skaman hadn't dared to twist the angel's words: "Gather all the nobles and their offspring."
Skaman noticed that the younger sons and collateral relatives of some families had come too. He himself wouldn't have dared disobey the angel's orders in the slightest, so even the young women of his family had been brought along. Skaman now sat in his seat, nervously watching the Consul, who was about to meet the angel.
Peter sat on the throne, gazing at the Consul before him. He wore a traditional white linen chiton and a splendid purple cloak, with leather sandals on his feet. He looked utterly ordinary. The mortal had graying hair and was no longer young, but his muscles suggested he hadn't given up exercising.
The Consul bowed before the angel to show his respect.
"Angel of the God-Emperor, you have returned from the stars. Have you come to deliver the God-Emperor's will?"
"Hmph!" Anthony snorted in displeasure beside him. In his view, a mortal shouldn't merely bow before the Forged Steel Lord. At the very least, he should kneel on one knee to show proper respect.
Peter raised a hand, signaling Anthony not to take offense.
"We are not angels of the Emperor, nor have we come to deliver any decree. I came to rule over you. From now on, you will obey my orders."
"Rule over us!" The seasoned Consul felt a pang of unease at the words, so he decided to probe further.
"Do you mean that you will become the Consul?"
Peter shook his head.
"I have no interest in becoming Consul. You may keep the title. To put it in terms you'll understand, you will all become my slaves and obey my orders."
The Consul swallowed. The dread he'd been holding at bay finally became certainty: the angels had descended to seize his power. It was simply unthinkable. Still, he tried to remain calm, silently feeling for the object beneath his cloak. It was an artifact handed down by his ancestors, which he had brought along just in case. He anxiously weighed the risks. If he could deal with the angels' arrival in front of all these nobles, his family might keep the Consul's throne for many more years.
"Then what would you have us do for you, my lord?" The Consul asked a meaningless question as his mind raced. He recalled how many angels he'd seen and silently calculated. He also raised his eyes a little, gauging the thickness of their armor and the positions of their heads.
In a flash, the Consul drew the artifact from beneath his cloak with a speed that belied his age and pulled the trigger. The angel's head darted aside, avoiding the first shot, then he raised an arm and blocked the second with his bracer. The third shot struck the angel's chest, leaving only a black mark. The angel had already risen and was standing before the Consul.
Hearing the gunshots, the warriors outside burst through the door and leveled their Bolter Guns at everyone in the chamber.
"Holy shit, that's awesome."
Filon had entered the hall too. Seeing the mortal holding a Laser Pistol and pointing it at their leader, he couldn't help exclaiming in admiration.
The Consul was completely stunned. This artifact had helped his family carry out assassinations countless times, and he had tested it himself on slaves wearing iron armor. All he had to do was heat a Black Block over a fire and insert it into the artifact, and it would unleash a red death ray. They had once possessed more Black Blocks, but the blocks designed for use with the artifact gradually wore out, and only four usable ones remained.
As far as he knew, no matter how heavy the iron armor, it couldn't withstand this deadly beam. He had planned to use two or three shots to kill each angel. He still had three Black Blocks on him, with more in reserve, and the three angels before him weren't even wearing helmets. But reality had surpassed the Consul's imagination. The angel had not only dodged the death ray but had also risen so quickly that the Consul hadn't even reacted.
"Brave warrior."
Looking at the Consul, Peter offered the praise out of respect, then casually sheathed his Combat Knife. The Consul seemed to realize what had happened. He reached for his neck as arterial blood spurted from his carotid artery. His vision spun, and his head fell to the ground.
"Ah!" Several women fainted at the sight. One of them was the niece standing beside Skaman. He already regretted bringing the women here.
Peter paid it no mind and looked at all the nobles present. In the local language, he said, "We are taking over this world. Who's in favor? Who's opposed?"
Silence. Long, drawn-out silence. No one dared answer. They didn't even dare look up at the angels.
"Good. Then let's move on to the next step. Those who speak Gothian, stand on the left. Those who don't, stand on the right."
The crowd immediately moved. They had seen what had happened to the Consul and had no desire to be next. About five minutes later, the crowd had split into two groups: roughly five or six hundred on the left, and more than three hundred on the right. Skaman and his brothers had just set down their niece and exchanged glances, struggling to make sense of the situation. Everyone was at a loss, unsure what fate awaited them.
"This is the last time I'll speak to you in the local language."
With that, Peter released the magnetic locks and took the Bolter Gun from his thigh. Bang, bang, bang—the warriors all fired together in a single volley! The reports of more than ten Bolter Guns thundered through the hall, turning the more than three hundred people on the right into corpses.
Peter switched back to Gothian and replied coldly, "I don't have time to wait for them to learn. Congratulations. You're now the nobles of this world."
Most of those present merely covered their ears. They hadn't expected such a sound; it felt as if someone were twisting a needle inside their ears. But among those covering their ears was one girl who stood out from the crowd. She stood perfectly still, staring fixedly at Peter.
The young girl was also dressed in a white chiton. She had golden hair and emerald-green eyes, and her hair was tied up with a ribbon, her bun adorned with peridot and pearls. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily. She seemed... she seemed furious. Her eyes were locked on Peter and never once looked away. She simply stared at the Iron Angel without saying a word.
"What are you looking at?" Peter had noticed the girl watching him earlier, but other people had occasionally glanced his way too, so he hadn't paid it any mind.
But when the girl heard Peter's question, her body trembled. She realized death was drawing near.
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