Rage

The Skinners were still hunting Yochura.

As Yochura tripped on a rock on the Red Sand and looked back in despair at the Skinners lunging at him, a spear pierced the Skinner's chest.

Klyster stood behind the Skinner, her face fierce, the muscles in her strong arms more defined as she gripped the spear.

A Valkyrie.

A word popped into Yochura's mind.

When Yochura was very young, his mother would hold him and tell him stories of their people, killed and enslaved by the Desians.

Among them was the story of a skilled warrior woman who ascended to godhood for her achievements in battle – a Valkyrie.

Klyster's appearance was clearly different from a Valkyrie; Valkyries had toned, yet gracefully feminine lines, while Klyster was merely robust.

But that didn't stop Yochura from seeing the Klyster who saved him as a Valkyrie at that moment.

"Get up."

Klyster pulled the spear from the corpse, her fierce expression replaced by concern, and extended a blood-stained hand to Yochura.

Yochura took Klyster's hand, and just as he was about to push himself up, Klyster easily yanked him to his feet as if he were a child.

"Angron!" Klyster turned and waved at the Primarch.

The Maggot Eye had already announced the end of the gladiatorial match, and the crowd's cheers had been going on for some time.

But Angron remained in his spot, unmoving.

"We should go back," Klyster said, walking towards Angron.

The next second, an axe flew and landed in front of Klyster.

Klyster was startled, thinking Angron had, at that moment, developed a killing intent towards those who shared his plight.

But when she saw the concerned expression on Angron's face, she changed her mind.

Angron lowered his head again.

The Maggot Eye flew in front of Angron.

"Mr. Angron of House Tal, please give your thoughts on the duel..."

Before the host could finish speaking, Angron suddenly reached out and crushed the Maggot Eye.

When the audience saw this exceptionally talented gladiator crush the Maggot Eye, which was made of the same material as the Iron Man, their cheers abruptly stopped, then became even more fervent.

Angron raised his head, his face a mask of ferocious savagery.

The Primarch pulled a harpoon from his shoulder and hurled it towards the distant spectator stands.

The harpoon instantly crossed nearly a thousand meters and flew straight towards the spectators, but it was blocked by an invisible energy barrier along the way.

Angron pulled out another harpoon from his other shoulder and threw it, with the same result.

The spectators, far from being frightened or angered, cheered Angron on even more enthusiastically.

More piercing than the cheers that shook the arena, an alarm sounded. Ten Security Mechs penetrated the invisible barrier and entered the combat zone in formation, ready to forcibly suppress Angron.

"He's gone mad..." Klyster took a step back, creating distance between herself and Angron, instinctively shielding Yochura behind her.

Meanwhile, Qin Xia and Ono in the cave watched Angron's reaction, simultaneously trying to guess his thoughts.

"He's furious," Ono said nervously. "He shouldn't resist now; resisting now will only result in him being beaten into immobility by the Security Mechs..."

Qin Xia nodded, thought for a moment, then shook his head. "He seems to want to do something."

As he spoke, Angron had already charged towards the Security Mechs.

The Primarch ran at high speed, like a terrifying beast.

Although he was still young, although he hadn't yet reached his peak physical condition, he was still a Primarch.

The first Security Mech had just raised its stun baton when, the next second, Angron tore off its arms with his bare hands and smashed its head with a punch, causing an explosion.

Amidst the flashing flames, metal fragments from the Iron Man's chassis embedded themselves in Angron's face, and his fist was also cut by the metal, but these only made him stronger.

The rage in the Primarch's heart burned like the star that illuminated Nuceria.

The words that roared out in his mind were like fuel, making the rage burn more persistently and intensely.

He didn't want to kill anyone.

He didn't want to be confined to the arena.

He wanted to run freely in the mountains.

But why was everything forcing him to kill, denying him freedom?

Those pointy-eared bastards who attacked him when he crawled out of the amniotic fluid tank, those slavers who subdued him with anesthetics, those who had no choice but to attack him to survive, those gladiators who had fought alongside him before but later harbored hostility towards him...

Confusion, pain, powerlessness – these negative emotions eventually turned into rage that needed to be vented. This was true for mortals, and it was true for Angron as well.

The second Security Mech was impaled through its head by its own arm.

The third Security Mech was torn to shreds by Angron.

The other Security Mechs didn't last much longer either, being smashed one after another by Angron.

But the Security Mechs were endless; destroy ten, and a hundred more appeared.

If a hundred were also torn apart by Angron, though that was impossible, a thousand were already being mobilized on their way to the combat zone.

If all the Security Mechs couldn't stop Angron, even though that was utterly impossible, then specialized combat automatons would be deployed.

And the High Knights' honor guard.

And... Nuceria had plenty of things to suppress resistance.

The slavers were happy to see Angron's rage; it was far more exciting than the gladiatorial combat just moments ago.

Angron continued to destroy more and more Security Mechs, his stamina gradually depleting, and his fury not as intense as it was at the start.

The Primarch stood atop a mountain of debris, about to crush the next automaton, when he was suddenly distracted by a strong emotion that had been influencing him.

This emotion did not come from Angron himself, but from the spectators.

Excitement, admiration, approval...

The crowd's voices shook the gladiatorial arena, and their emotions converged into a flood that washed over Angron.

Angron gradually stopped moving, his gaze shifting to the spectator stands.

He raised his arm.

It was as if something was pulling his hand.

Finally, the Primarch raised both arms, like a victor raising his arms.

The cheers grew more intense, and the positive emotions Angron felt became even stronger, making him feel as if he were bathing in a warm current.

But as Angron saw the crimson sand on the arena floor, his reason gradually returned, and his gaze towards the spectators was filled with hatred.