Humble, rude, ignorant, clever, savage, and well-educated.
It was difficult to find so many contradictory traits in one person, yet in the eyes of the crowd, Angron was exactly that.
He could discuss psychic abilities with Magnus, talk about art and war with Perturabo, and even humbly seek advice on planetary construction from Guilliman. And when he sensed dissatisfaction from others, he could subtly turn to Perturabo, seeking the Iron Warriors' help while offering praise.
For example... helping to build several fortresses. Or art venues
This was neither flattery nor sucking up; the moderately restrained rhetoric, at the very least, made everyone quite satisfied with this newly returned brother.
"This son of yours... is somewhat strange."
After scrutinizing Angron for a long time, the highest authority finally spoke this sentence.
"Yes, he is very peculiar. Perhaps he can become the link among these Primarchs."
The Emperor of Mankind's high praise surprised Malcador, whose eyes were bright as he resolutely looked at Angron again.
"I thought you would say Horus was their link."
Malcador teased.
"Horus... Horus... No, he will be the key to our success and failure."
Malcador noticed a strange shift in the Emperor of Mankind's demeanor; he could sense a change in the Emperor of Mankind's attitude towards Horus, but he did not know if this was good or bad.
"Which sector do you plan to send him to?"
Malcador pondered for a long time before asking.
"All of them..."
The psychic light in the Emperor of Mankind's eyes began to flicker; he was also curious about how far Angron and the Butcher's Nails could go.
The plan still needed to continue, but now they could implement a small change.
"Oh! Angron! My new brother."
As a loud voice rang out, Angron saw a man as tall as him, possessing a silver arm, walking over. He approached with a wide smile, pushing through the crowd, and his silver metal hand reached directly out.
"Ferrus Manus! I am Ferrus Manus!"
Angron smiled and shook the hand, but soon realized that the metal hand gripping his own was completely still, even as it secretly exerted force. Angron blinked.
Was this considered a way to express friendliness?
While thinking, Angron forcefully squeezed Ferrus Manus's hand.
"Enough! Ferrus Manus, stop playing your boring handshake game!"
Guilliman spoke, attempting to dissuade Ferrus Manus from embarrassing Angron upon his return.
"Hahahaha! Not bad! If you have time, you can come to my ship; I've built a massive octagonal cage there."
Ferrus Manus laughed heartily and patted Angron's shoulder, his words causing everyone present to shake their heads.
It started again, this started again!
The Primarchs watched Ferrus Manus boast about the octagonal cage he had built, although none of them had ever actually gone up there to give it a try...
"Sounds good!"
Angron flexed his bicep.
"I'm very good at fighting!"
Angron laughed.
[You can go if you get the chance. I need to collect some data on your brothers.]
The Butcher's Nails prompted him at this moment. The Butcher's Nails was currently roaming the Terra Imperial Palace; it certainly wasn't being sneaky! After all, how could networking be considered sneaking around? It was openly exploring the Emperor of Mankind's little secrets within the palace.
+ Have you seen enough? +
When the Emperor of Mankind's voice rang out, the Butcher's Nails was silent for a long time before withdrawing its data.
[Cheapskate!]
The Butcher's Nails complained.
The banquet continued as usual. Amidst the high-spirited cheers of the Primarchs, they began to compete in drinking. When the mead unique to Fenris was brought out—by whom, perhaps the Emperor of Mankind or someone else, it was unclear—Angron clearly couldn't handle the potent drink.
As expected, he chose a proxy drinker.
When the Butcher's Nails came online, the Primarchs saw Angron rolling his eyes and starting to gulp down the mead can after can. In the end, the Butcher's Nails looked at the crowd who had been drunk into unconsciousness by it.
"Roar!"
It roared.
The Emperor of Mankind looked at Angron, who had passed out on the ground. He signaled for the surrounding people to carry the drunken Primarchs back to their respective rooms.
Afterwards, he looked at Angron lying on the ground... In the silent operating room, the Emperor of Mankind walked in alongside the white-bearded old man beside him.
"Arkhan Land, how are the preparations coming along!"
Tech-Priest Land stroked the nimble little monkey on his shoulder, nodding slightly, and then shaking his head.
"Are you sure you want to place this object inside Angron, Sire? This is overly dangerous."
"No, you are mistaken, Land. It is not going inside Angron, but inside the Butcher's Nails."
The Emperor of Mankind raised his eyes. Lying upon the pristine white operating table was Angron, whose slight chest movements proved he was currently having a pleasant dream.
[Emperor of Mankind, are you finally going to make a move against your scions?]
The voice of the Butcher's Nails boomed from a golden loudspeaker on the operating table, giving the Emperor of Mankind the feeling that he was operating on a conscious patient, which was not ideal.
"I am merely helping Angron check his physical condition."
The Emperor of Mankind lowered his gaze. He and Arkhan Land came to the front of the operating table. When the lights came on, Angron, covered by a white sheet, only had his head and the Butcher's Nails exposed.
A gleaming surgical scalpel cut open Angron's head, following the pathways of the Butcher's Nails.
"This is impossible!"
Arkhan Land showed a trace of astonishment. Amidst the flesh and the fine metal cables interspersed within, the Tech-Priest carefully observed the Butcher's Nails.
"His limbic lobe and insular cortex have all been excised, but... how did you manage this!"
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