Technoblade was led back to L'Manburg after being forced to give up his items. They tied Carl to a post, then instructed Techno to get inside of an iron cage. There was no choice for him, not really. His horse would not revive if killed. He would, theoretically.
But that didn't mean he wanted to die. After all, why should he let them bully him? Some people had weapons, some people didn't. It didn't really matter in the end.
The resistance from Punz didn't really matter. He didn't have the threat. He didn't have the connection.
The butchers did.
And butchers they were. Destroying his life, threatening his horse, everything he had built up. All of the walls against it, they were being torn down. Did they want a war? Because if not, Technoblade didn't see why they were doing this.
Besides, Punz couldn't stop them alone.
But it didn't matter. If they wanted a war, they would get one. L'Manburg should not have sought him out again. Their deaths would be the only thing to come of this. If they tore down his walls, he would tear down theirs. All of their homes, their city, their nation, it would all be gone. He would tear it down to the foundations, and then remove those as well. Nothing but a smoking crater would be left in L'Manburg.
Technoblade looked up, his eyes blazing, as the anvil fell. He would no longer be passive.
And he felt fire.
Instead of the cold embrace of Death that Phil always assured him was waiting, power shot through his veins, energy coursing inside of him as he was crushed.
Techno grabbed the edge of the glass pane in front of him and vaulted over, pushing off of the anvil. His muscles burned with power, and his heart pounded like a wild drum, pushing him faster.
He snatched Carl's reins from Dream and leapt onto the horse's back, then drove him down into a tunnel that Dream pointed him to. When he reached the end of it, he emerged into a blackstone brick room. There were chests all around with names on them. The original members of L'Manburg. And nestled among them was a chest bearing his name. It contained iron armor and a netherite pickaxe, along with a few golden apples and potions.
But as he turned around to dig out the rest of what would become his escape tunnel, he heard a sound. To him, it was unmistakable.
The scuff of netherite on stone.
Techno whirled around to face Quackity.
Not all of them, just Quackity. Punz and Dream must have stopped the others.
"How did you do that?" he asked. Instead of being aggressive, he still seemed stunned. "How did that anvil not kill you?"
"Did you really think it would be that easy?" Technoblade responded. "You think that Death can stop me? She never has before."
"I just don't understand," Quackity said, and as he continued to speak his voice slowly morphed into anger. "I don't understand how you can just throw this away like it's nothing. This isn't nothing, okay? I mean, look at what we've built here! Look around you, look back up that tunnel, you know what that is? That's a country, that's a nation, a whole nation!"
Technoblade didn't wait any longer.
"No, you listen to me," he said hotly. "I'm done playing along. I tried to convince you guys that government wasn't the way, I tried everything! I fought alongside you, and you still tried to set up a government! Then I tried to use force, but you just reformed a government anyway! Then I decided to leave. I left, and I left you alone. I retired, okay? I swore off of violence, that I would never harm someone else ever again. Now look at what you've done. You ruined that, Quackity, you and your group. Why? Because of government!"
"You still don't understand!" Quackity exclaimed, almost as fed up as Techno himself. "You don't see what we're trying to build here! Nations take power, nations take authority, order. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes! I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to kill you, Technoblade. I'm going to kill you, and nothing can stop me!"
"Do you really think you can kill me, Quackity? Do you really believe that?"
"Oh, I do," Quackity responded, his grin almost feral. "Look at you. Unarmed, no weapon. What are you going to do?"
"I have a pickaxe, Quackity."