The victory in the underground war was like a boulder cast into a still lake, sending towering waves through the enslaved masses of Nuceria.
Angron's name no longer stood merely for the arena's "champion who would not kill." It had become a symbol of liberation and hope. Countless oppressed miners, gladiators, and servants rose in revolt, answering his call.
The flames of rebellion surged from the deepest underground chambers, burning inexorably upward toward the lofty High Lords and their strongholds above the clouds.
Through these battles, Angron grew at an astonishing pace. He no longer needed Liu Zhipeng to guide him through every step. He learned to devise tactics, inspire morale, and achieve the greatest victories at the smallest cost. Through his empathic abilities, he forged this ragtag rebel army into an unstoppable torrent of steel.
He personally closed the eyes of his fallen brothers, shared his rations with the youngest warriors, and cheered alongside everyone else after each victory.
He was no longer merely a "spear." He was becoming a true "king." A king who belonged to the slaves and fought for them.
Liu Zhipeng watched it all with deep satisfaction. He knew his task on this land was nearing its end.
On the night before they brought down the High Lords' last airborne fortress, the Crown of the Firmament, Liu Zhipeng found Angron tending to the wounded.
"Old man." At the sight of him, Angron immediately set down the bandages in his hands and broke into a hearty smile. "Tomorrow, we'll drag those high-and-mighty bastards out of the sky."
"Yes. Tomorrow." Liu Zhipeng nodded. He went over and sat beside Angron, stretching out his mechanical prosthetic leg out of habit. "You've done well, lad. Far better... than I expected."
Angron scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed, like