Chapter 168 Wall of Tears
“Don’t tell me you’re not curious about what Angron and his brothers and sisters are talking about, Magnus.”
Morse waved He waved his hand, and golden runes floated out from his cloth-wrapped fingertips. A complete set of statements was written, and using the framework he built, the complete image response and mirror projection effect were obtained through directional analysis and annotation analysis.
On the white wall of the Terra Palace opposite them, there was an overhead view of the Nukerian King's Palace, and dozens of gladiators sitting in a circle on the ground in the palace. The people in the image have just placed their hands in the Primarch's broad palm, a ritual commitment to each other.
Subsequently, Angron announced that he would begin a free discussion about the death of high-level riders.
Magnus sat sluggishly on a thick book. Even with his current size, it could be seen that there was not much energy left in his gray-black eyes.
Ten minutes ago, he finished his first lesson with the greenskins. The powerful mental impact directly caused Magnus to leave Terra Underground in such a daze that he even forgot to pick up the textbooks. He seemed aimless along the way. He floated silently like a confused ghost, until a tall mortal servant who almost kicked him picked up Magnus and kindly sent him to Morse's room, where he was fluttering. The sentence "I don't recall a bald servant visiting my room recently, Alpharius" successfully evicted him.
Morse observed the scene in the image boredly with Perturabo of Terra, who was sitting on the other side of him - the latter, perhaps in order to fight against the infection of the green-skinned joyful atmosphere, began to increase his speed. Great efforts are made to distinguish between one's own state in the Internet and in ordinary times. The specific manifestation is that the more golden, bigger and waaaagh you are in the Internet, the more serious, low-pitched and calm you are on weekdays.
“A public trial is not feasible,” said Perturabo. "Nukeria has never legislated for slaves. Slaves are the property and accessories of their owners in Nuceria's existing legal system. They cannot obtain their rights that do not exist in the law through public trials."
He knows this, because the laws of Olympia hundreds of years ago also only regarded adult native males as living beings with human rights, and the only trials that would be held for slaves were usually related to the loss of the slave owner's property, theft, etc. .
Morse held his head with one hand: "So the public trial will definitely turn into a pure emotional catharsis led by the gladiators - obviously the ordinary citizens of Nuceria cannot empathize with the suffering of the slave gladiators. It is not difficult to imagine At public trials, the gladiators would be met with widespread silence, which would turn into a prelude to a lynching - unless someone was willing to rewrite the law and lay its foundation stone with the blood of high-ranking knights."< br>
Among the images projected on the wall, Angron was patiently nodding to each gladiator who made suggestions to him.
Contrary to the status of being cared for in front of Perturabo and Rogal Dorn, among his brothers and sisters on his home planet, the primarch who grew up in the red sand is showing his full potential. His inclusiveness and leadership. His movements touched the hearts of every mortal, and their emotions blended with each other.
“A public trial is not easy, because none of us understand the law.” Angron said in a low voice, his voice like a heavy hammer falling on the field, “But we don’t need to understand the rules set by high-ranking riders. They use their laws to protect their own interests, and we should also use our rules to protect ours. Later, we can discuss the initial regulations together, such as those who kill outside the law shall be punished.”
He earned a flurry of mutual nods, and the gladiators all agreed with Angron's words.
"He's quite smart." Morse smiled, "To be honest, he's a little better than I thought."
"Another me and Angron were chatting on the way to Desia. "We learned a lot from each other's will," said Perturabo. "What did you learn from him?"
"He reminded me. Most of the people I've met so far have been overly friendly, and I thanked him and told him that I'd hanged at least three hundred planet rulers all the way to Nuceria."
"Oh, he. He actually reminded you to be vigilant?" Morse sighed, "It seems that you left the first impression on him that he is a weak person who needs to be protected. When you mentioned this, it happened when you first met. What? I missed that wonderful show.”
"We quickly got closer to each other and gained recognition from both sides."
"I'm going to ask Dorn what the hell you're doing."
"Oh, Dorn Driven into the wall," Perturabo corrected himself without a moment's pause. "Because his lemon yellow color makes him look like a high-level rider."
Morse looked suspicious: "Then what are you wearing? You weren't sent into the wall?"
< br>"Maybe it's because my cloth robe is very ordinary." Perturabo said seriously, as if he was really confident in his reason.
Mors decided to ask Dorn when he had time later. His intuition told him that there must be something subtle enough to make Perturabo ashamed to speak out.
He switched to one hand to support his chin, and then switched to two hands to overlap at the same time to support his head. Some hair falling on the back of his hand proved to him the advantage of the non-material body, that is, he really did not need to cut or wash his hair, and the dust would leave him.
"As for the many specific methods of execution, I can see that the gladiators are returning all the punishments they have experienced or witnessed to the high-ranking riders."
Morr Si turned his attention back to Angron. Many gladiators had already stood up unsteadily from their cross-sitting postures, and the will of revenge lit up all the vitality in their disease-ridden bodies.
"They could not possibly be more creative than rulers who devoted their lives to tormenting others," said Perturabo.
"To correct a word, it's not a lifetime, it's generations." Morse said, "If they do this, I can't say whether I object to it or not. I have long lost my patience with bloody things. Even if someone wants to invite me to watch, The only thing I consider is whether it will be a waste of my time to watch an execution that will always seem familiar."
"Sometimes I do doubt that your loud approval of behavior that violates human morality comes from true indifference. It’s still a hat shrouded in indignation.”
Morse twitched the corner of his mouth: “I don’t have an answer, Lord of Iron, a person can’t be complete about his heart. Knowing that he must project emotions into the process of self-knowledge, observation itself is a kind of interference. There may be only one exception, that is, the moment of death without regrets."
Perturabo. He nodded in return and continued to take in the image reflected on the white wall with his eyes.
Angron was still sitting on the ground, and the gladiators around him stood up one after another, surrounding the giant who was sitting on the ground but was still extremely tall. A boy with a bandage on his hand was very close to Angron. He looked up at Angron like he was looking at his biological father who protected him from the wind and rain.
Before this, Morse had never imagined that someone could have such a mortal-like parent-child relationship with the Primarch. This may be because the Astartes who often call the Primarch their father are essentially a group of mature warriors serving the war, and the basis of all their close actions is built on the basic relationship between generals and soldiers. No Astartes dared to cling to the body of the original body like a child who had not grown up. The most extreme intimacy only ended with the caressing, contact and encouragement of the original body.
But all this was easily accomplished by a mortal child.
Morse couldn't help but wonder how the Warhound Legion would react if they really went to Nuceria one day and saw the vast love and tolerance of their genetic father.
“I hear the voices in your hearts, my brothers and sisters.” Angron said, “We all long for a bloody revenge, so now, many of us support Throw all the high-level riders into the arena, and even - we support giving them the butcher's nails of their own invention, and then let them fight each other."
A gladiator covered his severed finger, and his heavy breathing contained deep sorrow: "Let them fight each other until there is only the last person left, Angron. Then allow the last person to walk out of the red sand pit and tell him." You are free', and outside the pit, all of us will wait for him to tear him into pieces with our own hands."
"Let them also...ahem...enter the belly of the beast and struggle. Climb out, Angron, let them, let them experience the feeling of their skin melting away in the acid... cough..."
"Robbie, come here," Angron said gently. The gladiator, whose entire face was dissolved in acid, approached him and gave him a strong hug. Robbie's twisted face was still terrifying, but it no longer contained the hideous pain.
The giant lets go of Robbie, and the power of Silence expands among the gladiators.
The gladiators' hidden anger at the painful memories of the past was relieved, and the Primarch lowered his eyebrows. The torture of his companions stirred up waves in his mind, and he silently calmed it down.
"We cannot continue to repeat senseless atrocities, brothers and sisters. We cannot become new high-ranking riders. If we do, what difference will we make from these once powerful men themselves?"
< br>Angron said sadly.
"If so, we are just relying on another strong background to annex these relatively weak insects. Think about it, if another person tells you that he took him The powerful army threw the last batch of high-level riders into the gladiatorial arena. Will we lament sadly, what difference will a new batch of slave owners make? "
A low voice sounded in the crowd? With a low response, the gladiators quickly synchronized with Angron's thoughts. They resonated with the scenes described by Angron. This was not only the tragic heart of these suffering people, but also Angron's unintentional use of his ability to influence the emotions of others.
The little gladiator next to him patted Angron: "Then what should we do?"
Angron allowed the little gladiator to fiddle with the threads on his clothes and continued: "First, we must conquer Nuceria in the name of gladiators. We must use our own flags and ideas to personally liberate the world and the world on this planet. We who work together must tell the whole world that we are not another group of high-minded rulers. We break free from the humble red sand and stand between the sky and the ground, so that more people can. Stand up and fight."
"Do we have a flag?" asked the female gladiator whose legs turned into spears.
“We have to ask our great painter Yochuka.” Angron said, “Yochuka is the only great painter among all of us, right? I still remember your last time The one painted with stone——"
"That's Sister Kleist! You said you wouldn't laugh at me!" Yochuka hid behind Angron.
The original body turned around and patted the shy boy gently, "I would like to hand over the task of drawing the flag to our Jochuka, is that okay?"
Angron's decision sparked a friendly chuckle among the gladiators, and the atmosphere rose from its low point of silence and solemnity. You must know that when Yochuka completed his work, everyone was praising the sharp-horned beast he painted.
"Okay, okay." Angron said, "The little naughty Yochuka is going to be so shy that he disappears."
He nodded to everyone and said in a solemn tone: " Although I say that we cannot repeat the old path of high-level riders, I will not give up my hatred. I cannot live up to the blood and torture that we all have endured for a glorious and grand truth. I will not betray my brother. Sisters. So, I would like to share my thoughts on how to repay the Tarke family."
The gladiators added another smile, one that was more sincere and profound. , a smile born out of blood and tears.
“Everyone should know that my two brothers who descended from heaven are master builders and decided to rebuild better houses and fields for Nuceria.”
"And one of my brothers, Perturabo, mentioned that in his hometown of Olympia, there was an ancient ruler who wanted to build a high wall. He made criminals and prisoners of war work, and every time a guilty worker died, His blood, flesh, and bones will be ground into a paste to bind the bricks. When the paste seeps out from the joints of the bricks, it is like the wall shedding tears of blood. This wall is called the Wailing Wall. "
The gladiators listened quietly, excited by the hints they took from Angron's words.
“Nowadays, few people know that there was such a wall in Olympia. Because subsequent rulers have been trying to demolish it, but no matter what efforts they made, when the sun rose the next day, this wall The wall will be restored to its original state, bringing the bloodiest and most direct eternal warning to the world."
"Although this wall was still destroyed in the psychic storm of the old night, its record suffered the same fate as itself. Until the erasure of time. But some things are not easily forgotten. All those with sensitive hearts can hear the cry of this wall, and the traces of the bloody wall will remain in the ravings of the mad and the nightmares of the fearful."
"This is your decision..." The gray-haired one-eyed old gladiator murmured hoarsely.
"High-level riders must make amends for the damage they have done to this world." Angron said decisively and resolutely. "What we need is not a trial, but a proclamation. We want to tell the world in the most straightforward way what consequences the dirty behavior of the powerful will bring."
"The high-level riders who were once aloof must They carried mud, tied steel bars, laid walls and bricks, and rebuilt the city with their own hands without rest. They worked all their lives and devoted themselves to all the labor construction that they had missed in the first half of their lives, repaying their scarlet debt to the entire Nuceria little by little."
“When they die, whether due to illness or old age, extra crime or normal decline, their bones will be buried in Nuceria’s high wall of blood and tears, as direct proof of the fall of power and a permanent warning to future generations. People, about the fate that the oppressors deserve."
"This is my decision, brothers and sisters. The wall of blood and tears will stand in all places that have been oppressed."
Something will happen tomorrow. , take a day off orz
(End of this chapter)