Heart-Shaking Pharmacology

The Primarch was still young, but physically, he had little in common with a child—only mentally was he still one.

A humanoid tank, taller than Qin Xa, charged across the red sand.

The remaining Servant Knights were smart enough not to cluster together as they fled, scattering instead.

But this escape method didn't work well, because Angron could easily catch up, running several times faster than a horse, then backhand a mounted knight with a punch.

Angron would even deliberately block the Servant Knights' path, letting the warhorses crash into him, then grab both horse and rider and slam them hard to the ground.

The other gladiators quickly caught up, hacking the thrown knights to death with their blades.

Their weapons weren't great—they had to first pry off the armor, then strike the reinforced bodies many times.

Screams of battle filled the air.

In the arena's stands, every spectator turned their formless excitement and admiration into tangible shouts, the roar shaking the arena so hard that people standing on the ground could feel the tremor.

Amid the overwhelming cheers, the fight continued.

"Spare me..."

Qin Xa walked toward a lone Servant Knight and heard the pitiful plea.

"I'm not a noble—I'm just a slave to those noble kids. They took a liking to me and let me join the arena..."

"I'm no gladiator or noble; I have no quarrel with you..."

Hearing these pleas, Qin Xa stopped, looking down at the knight whose horse had vanished.

"Tell me how many people you've killed," Qin Xa asked.

"Not many... just some lowlifes... some ordinary folks," the knight stammered.

"I can tell you're actually proud of being a slave, because you're not like us arena slaves—you share in your master's glory." Qin Xa slowly closed in on the knight, his voice turning icy. "Don't come back to Nuceria in your next life. This place is a hell."

With that, as the knight stared in terror, Qin Xa reached out and gently touched his forehead.

Frost spread, and a psychic shock burst from Qin Xa's fingertip.

The knight, touched on the forehead, was torn apart from the inside out by the force erupting within him.

As blood mixed with gore was about to splatter onto Qin Xa, an invisible barrier stopped it midair. When the barrier faded, the blood fell to the ground and quickly froze.

"All dead!" Kleist ran over to report to Qin Xa.

Qin Xa scanned the field. Besides the gladiators, no Servant Knight on the red sand had a whole limb left. The four Golden Armor Knights lay sprawled on the sand like discarded trash no one cared about.

"Well done, gladiators." Maggot Eye descended from the air, its voice trembling slightly—the announcer behind it was clearly afraid of something. "Very good, but that's enough. The fight is over."

"Enough?" Qin Xa grabbed Maggot Eye and pulled it in front of him, demanding, "Everyone's dead—how is that enough?"

"They're not that easy to kill." Maggot Eye wobbled twice.

Then Qin Xa heard a noise and turned to look.

The ancient golden armor's functions had been running all along, but the chaos earlier meant no one paid attention.

Just now, when the head was twisted around, various devices inside the armor had instantly pierced the wearer from top to bottom, turning him into a sieve. Countless cables and mechanisms, like a human nervous system and biological structure, linked the wearer's flesh to the armor. The physiological functions and neural structures damaged by the 180-degree neck twist were immediately replaced by the armor.

So the wearers weren't brain-dead, but they could never take off the armor again—they had fused with the ancient suit.

Now, a bulge on one Golden Armor Knight's back opened, revealing a vial. A tentacle extended from the armor, grabbed the vial, and plugged it into the wearer's neck, now twisted backward.

After a series of creaking bone sounds, the knight, whose neck only looked normal visually thanks to the vial, stood up like a zombie. He wasn't controlling his own body—he was using neural signals to command the armor's structure, which then moved his body.

"I... I..." The Golden Armor Knight was dazed, looking around at the corpses everywhere.

The gladiators tensed instantly, expecting retaliation.

But then the knight burst into a wail, amplified many times by the armor's built-in speakers, deafening: "I want to go home! I'm done with this damn arena! I want to go home!"

The other Golden Armor Knights slowly got up too.

"That works?" Qin Xa, who hadn't gotten close enough to dismantle and study the armor, assumed it was just the vial's effect.

He really hadn't expected these people to have a potion that could fix a neck twisted 180 degrees.

Nuceria's pharmacology was truly mind-blowing.

And when Qin Xa later truly understood what the golden armor was, he'd realize Nuceria's pharmacology wasn't the only thing that was mind-blowing—every ancient biological relic was utterly staggering.

"The arena has its own rules." Maggot Eye floated in front of the Golden Armor Knights. "Whether you live or die depends on whether the audience is satisfied with the fight you put on."

"I'm from the fucking Tark Family! My word is law on Nuceria! You dwarf hiding behind a steel drone, call the Security Automata to protect me and my brothers! You goddamn pig-dog!" The Golden Armor Knight was nearly broken, roaring in fury.

But Maggot Eye gave an answer that instantly chilled him.

"The word of the Tark Family is law on Nuceria."

"But within your family, is your word more powerful than your uncle the patriarch's?"

At the word "uncle," the Golden Armor Knights all lowered their heads, clearly filled with fear.

"Let's vote, audience." Maggot Eye flew toward the stands.

Among the spectators, nobles and those who'd bought premium arena tickets could vote to decide a gladiator's life or death.

The first to stand looked like the parents of those Golden Armor Knights.

The noble couple of the Tarko Family looked proud of their children, so they had come in person to watch the gladiatorial combat. They never expected things to reach this point, and tears streaked both their faces.

When the vote came, they stood without hesitation, raising the gleaming Knight Silhouette Crest of the Tark Family, while their other hand went up, thumbs pointing skyward.

"Damn it all." Qin Xa cursed, sweeping his gaze over the other gladiators.

Angron didn't understand.

The gladiators said nothing, waiting quietly. They were clearly used to being controlled by others—not just their fates, but even their victories.

"What's going on?" the Primarch asked those around him.

"A vote," Oeno replied. "In the arena, what truly decides life or death isn't us or our weapons, nor the opponent—it's these spectators. If they like you, even if you're hacked to pieces, they can vote to have you pumped full of massive cybernetic modifications and brought back to life."

"And we just watch?" Angron's brows furrowed like swords. "This is our victory. How can they be the ones to decide it?"

Oeno clearly shared Angron's frustration. He too didn't believe that a victory belonging to the gladiators should be put to a vote by the audience.

But calling for a vote was the Maggot Eye's right, and casting it was the spectators' right.

The gladiators had no choice but to bow their heads under the circumstances.