Chapter 166 Tomb of Bones
They chose to land from the cold mountains, where they could overlook many city-states under the mountains. Due to his subjective anger towards the Nucerians, Perturabo criticized in his mind that the purity of such a vast night was polluted by the unregulated lights of the locals, like parasitic fluorescent bugs, gnawing at the blood of the earth and sky. .
Thanks to the restraint of the two Primarchs who each led an army, most city-states have not yet realized what the meteor shower meant that day, so Nuceria can still be called a Peaceful, except that the entire city of Desia was shrouded in darkness under a strict curfew, as if it had died from the surface.
Perturabo began to curse in a low voice when he was halfway there.
“What are these people doing?” he said dissatisfiedly. “So much manpower and material resources are wasted in the arena. The whole city is living in useless enjoyment day by day, not to mention the civilians. Ordinary residences, even the palace of the king are built so ugly?”
"They have no enemies. No one will kill these high-ranking riders. Everything is arranged according to their wishes." Angron said, the cold wind blowing his robes.
The mortal servants on the Iron Blood urgently cut a new suit for Angron - the harmonious relationship between the mortal servants and the Astartes warriors in the regular management of the Iron Blood demonstrated unexpected importance at this moment. As a result, Angron trusted Perturabo even more.
"Have you thought about what to do with them?"
"Kill them." Angron said.
In terms of how to torture the enemy, Angron has no creativity, or he instinctively avoids thinking about these things, even though he still hears the restless wind and the fleeting black shadow from time to time. Inside, I could smell the blood and pain soaked in the red sand with disbelief.
Perturabo pulled back the brim of his hat that had been blown off by the wind. He had told Angron about the security of the data cables, hoping his brother would come to accept them. But after installing his carefully designed transmission lines, he walked around the room a few more times, asking mortals to bring hooded cloaks to cover as much as possible the steel cables.
They reached a height that was not high enough for snow to fall. The rocks were gradually exposed, and the edges and corners were cut by the howling wind. White mist evaporates in the breath, blurring each other's expressions.
Perturabo saw some old blood stains on the stones, as well as some fine powder and broken pieces. He tried to avoid these fragments and walked in the gaps.
There is no doubt that these are fragments of bones. Long-term wind erosion has made it difficult to identify the bone fragments, but the number of bones covering a large area of hills like gravel in glaciers shows how many people have bled to death and turned into ghosts in the mountains due to hunger, cold, injuries and other reasons.
"I am not the first gladiator to want to resist," Angron said, "although I am probably the only one who can jump to the high platform. Many more people will try to grab even the smallest If there is a slight chance of escape, some people are caught, thrown into the herd, skinned or hanged. Those who escape can only go to the mountains, and they will only die here."
Perturabo chose to listen.
“I remember the first time I appeared on this mountain.” Angron said, squatting down and gently picking up a fragile bone. It is difficult to discern any information from these broken bones. A person's life is concentrated in this unidentified bone. His past and future, emotions and rationality, struggles and ideals, all disappear with the strong wind.
"It was like I came out of a metal cylinder and I was running around these mountains." He said, "It's hard for me to remember more."
"About me I can't remember anything about the birth," Perturabo said, squatting down next to Angron. "I must have lost my memory one day. When I woke up again, I was climbing a cliff and was frightened by my later mortal mentor Morse and fell down."
Angron There was no smile, his expression was frozen in solemn contemplation. He cried for the first time in his life and stepped out of the metal cylinder at the same moment. When the cold wind rushed towards him and froze the scarlet blood and scars all over his body caused by the injury when he landed, tears fell on the face of that young boy. Perhaps at that time he had already sensed the death of countless people in the future and their inescapable fate. "After I woke up, I encountered some slender creatures." He continued in as calm a tone as possible, "shouting in a language I couldn't understand. They carried metal weapons and attacked without reason. I chased them and killed some of them with wings, but the rest escaped."
"Who!" Perturabo growled, his anger suddenly rising.
He thought that the locals had directly captured his brother - this was possible. He later learned from Olympian records that his young self would also be injured when fighting against the hydra. The Primarch was not invulnerable. But now he suddenly learned that there was something hidden in his brother's suffering.
"I don't know them." Angron said. He paused quietly for a few seconds, then continued: "But the night before you came, I received their heads. The heads that were killed by me and weathered into bones, and the heads that were not killed by me, died that night A fresh head.”
Perturabo frowned.
"That night, I heard some sounds of wind. I knew there were people moving outside the cave, but I couldn't see them." Angron said, thinking about the meaning of the text message. He didn't know if it was a prophecy, or if those unknown beings had actually seen the vast fleet of Primarchs.
“I received a note, nailed with a dart-shaped hidden weapon. The note said... My pain will be over soon, and some demigods will come to save me. Me. They felt helpless about the ignorance of their blood relatives, so they sent gifts."
Perturabo pondered for a moment and shook his head. He had never heard of this alien style, and could the belated compensation make up for even a tiny bit of their sins? A thousand more heads could not make up for the unfortunate suffering of his brother.
“Do you still remember the original text?”
“Not forgotten yet.”
"I'll pass it on to Morse, he probably knows something. He's a living library, even though he's generally lazy and eccentric," Perturabo said.
Angron laid down the bones, and the mountains became the tombs of these wandering souls. When the bones of countless similar people have been mixed in the wind, their souls have also lingered and mourned for a long time as a whole concept.
If his two brothers had never arrived, perhaps his brothers and sisters in the cave would have met the same fate. Kleist, Yochuka, Laberdon who lost an arm due to gangrene, little Asty holding a dagger...their bones may never rest here, eroded by the cold wind, in despair. Looking forward to a bloody revenge that no one can achieve.
He made a decision and found that he was not disgusted with the war he was about to initiate. He thought he had burned to ashes after death, but here, in the burial ground of countless freedom-seekers, his anger was rekindled.
"Leave the rest of the city to me," Angron said, standing up first and reaching out to Perturabo. He became taller at this moment. "Leave Nuceria to me and my brothers and sisters in the pit and cage. Let us strangle the high-ranking riders on the golden platform with our own hands with the chains that once bound us, and our anger will burn Nuceria to ashes .”
(End of this chapter)