"Boss, you really are something else. You fought a monster like that and still didn't lose any arms or legs—just broke a few ribs." Warfarin grumbled as she cleaned and bandaged Bruce's wounds. "That's insane!"
"Less talking…" Bruce hissed through clenched teeth, then asked, "Alfred, did you pass the message back to the Remilia?"
"Yes. Everything has been relayed," Alfred replied respectfully.
After witnessing Bruce trade blows with Angron in person, the World Eaters now treated him with extreme reverence. Not only had they generously handed over the med-bay for his use, they were practically fulfilling every request before he even finished making it.
Especially those World Eaters who still had some reason left. After seeing Bruce transform into the Emperor, they had basically come to the same conclusion on the spot:
The Emperor has come to save the Twelfth Legion! The Twelfth Legion is finally saved!
Bruce chose to ignore those blatantly worshipful looks for now, because he had more important matters to deal with. First priority: get a fresh batch of supplies from the blue chubby one.
Within these thirty-one hours, he had to persuade Angron to abandon the idea of destroying Nuceria, and preferably make him understand clearly that the one egging him on—Lorgar—was absolutely not to be trusted.
If Bruce succeeded, the traitor side would lose a major powerhouse, and Lorgar would be left truly isolated. He'd like to see how the Word Bearers planned to keep jumping around after that.
Most importantly, it would prevent Horus from having to fight on two fronts, letting her focus fully on the Word Bearers. Otherwise, if Angron and the World Eaters came crashing into her face, the Isstvan hunting plan might as well collapse back into the original timeline.
"By the way…"
Bruce glanced left and right, made sure the med-bay had really been cleared out, then lowered his voice and asked Alfred in Nostraman slang, "How are those two girls doing?"
"They weren't feeling well, so they've already gone back," Alfred answered.
"Good…" Bruce nodded, then pulled out a tube of ointment from a storage compartment. The moment he smeared it over the wound, the pain eased at once.
This had been stuffed in by the blue chubby one too: Pain-Halving Ointment. Just like the name suggested, no matter what the injury or the agony, it cut the pain in half instantly.
Why not use something that removed pain completely? There was one: the all-purpose medicine. One pill, and it would cure anything on the spot.
The problem was that Bruce only had two of those left.
Too expensive to use.
"You all should head back. Unless I call for you, don't come looking for me. And smooth out the report while you're at it—don't let Father worry."
"Falsifying a report… that…" Alfred, being the honest type, hesitated.
That was no small crime. If Sevatar found out later, there was no way he'd get off lightly. At best, he'd be stripped of rank and thrown into a penitence company.
"Leave that to me!" Warfarin slapped Bruce on the shoulder and said, "We'll just say Boss transformed into Father and beat Angron senseless. A perfect display of your bond with Father!"
"Isn't that taking things a little out of context?" Alfred muttered, deeply uneasy.
"You tell me whether it happened or not," Warfarin shot back.
"Let Warfarin guide you on this one. That's enough for now." Bruce looked to the three Blackshields and added, "I know you'll eventually report the truth to Father, but at least for now, help keep it under wraps."
"I'm confident I can persuade Angron. But I need time. Thirty hours and twenty-one minutes will be enough."
The Blackshields didn't say yes, but they didn't object either.
After all, you always leave yourself some room.
Their direct commander right now was Bruce, not Sevatar. She was a superior's superior.
"Alright, if there are no objections, head back." Bruce got to his feet, his power armor suddenly feeling much heavier than before.
"But, boss…" Warfarin scratched her head and said, "There's one problem."
"Mm?" Bruce turned at the doorway and looked at the five of them.
Not one of you can fly a shuttle?
Come on.
But then he thought about it and realized it was actually reasonable. Flying wasn't that hard if you'd been trained. But with Nostramans averaging barely primary-school literacy, there was little reason for non-technical marines to learn shuttle piloting.
Bruce, being Terran, had gotten that training as part of his recruit program.
So in the end, it was still the recruitment base's fault.
"Hmph!" Megumin planted her hands on her hips and declared proudly, "I'll fly it! I've wanted to for ages!"
A bonus, really. She'd get to show off and satisfy the urge to fly a plane. Double happiness.
"You can?" Bruce asked suspiciously.
It wasn't that he doubted the Thousand Sons' education level, but… could those bookworms who obsessed over psychic research really pilot properly? He had his doubts.
"Maybe I can't," Megumin said with a serious expression, "but my familiar spirit can!"
"Uh…" Warfarin turned to Alfred. "Should we just get someone else to fly? Or recruit somebody on the spot?"
"Warfarin, what exactly do you mean by that? Don't trust me? Or don't trust my familiar spirit?" Megumin bristled in offense.
Aren't you looking down on me, Acting Commander?
"I've heard you can pilot Titans, all because of your spirit!" one of the Blackshields demanded.
"That's right! And? Isn't that amazing?!" Megumin proudly puffed out her chest.
If she could handle a Titan, what was a shuttle?
The Blackshield who asked immediately exploded.
"So you're the one who piloted that Titan?!"
She'd finally found the culprit.
If not for that Titan, their treasured Baneblade—painted in the special Remilia livery—wouldn't have been vaporized by one shot from her!
"I'll kill you!"
"W-Wait! There's been a misunderstanding!" Megumin panicked as the three Blackshields closed in around her.
"Misunderstanding? You destroyed our Baneblade, damn it!"
"But… but… didn't your Primarch already compensate you for the loss?" Megumin asked weakly.
"I spit on that! We don't care about the tank itself! That one had a unique paint job and special serial number! There were fewer than three in the entire legion!"
They were furious.
It wasn't the tank that mattered.
It was their father's personal aesthetic.
"Then… then I'll think of a way to replace it! I'll even wiggle my hips at the acting commander if I have to!" Megumin cried. "Just don't kill me!"
"You think we care about the tank?" a Blackshield said coldly.
Then she added, "Alright. How do you plan to steal one—no, acquire one?"
"Using familiar spirits!" Megumin answered at once.
If she could use familiars to control a Titan, then getting one of the World Eaters' tanks moving was easy. The machine spirit had merely seen a brighter future and switched sides. Perfectly reasonable.
And besides! She'd be persuading a Baneblade to transfer into the glorious Eighth Legion. A happy ending for everyone.
At the same time, Bruce, blissfully unaware of what insanity his people were scheming up, had already reached the bridge. The one leading him there was a World Eater he'd grabbed halfway over.
With his current absurd level of prestige, everyone Bruce passed—Astartes and mortals alike—saluted him. This was nothing like the merely formal courtesy from when he first boarded the ship.
His victory over a primarch had spread through the Conqueror completely.
These World Eaters, who respected strength above all else, now treated Bruce as a guest of the highest rank. Theoretically, he could do whatever he wanted here.
Because Angron had already given the order:
For the next thirty-one hours, Bruce's orders were absolute.
Anyone who disobeyed would be personally executed.
"Lord Bruce, this is the place," the World Eater officer said after escorting him to a broad, empty chamber.
Then, more carefully, he added, "However…"
"Go on."
"Lord Angron's condition is… not good. You should be cautious. Even Lord Khârn was beaten and thrown out."
Although Angron had acknowledged his defeat, defeat was defeat and his temper was his temper.
So he'd locked himself away and beaten or killed anyone who came near.
"I see." Bruce nodded. "You can leave the rest to me."
"It is my honor."
Once the officer left, Bruce continued inward alone.
Inside, in a half-enclosed chamber lit only by a viewing port, Angron sat by himself in a corner piled with cargo crates.
He was grinding the edge of his axe in silence, his breathing rough, occasionally letting out low growls that sounded half in pain and half in savage pleasure.
That was the effect of the Butcher's Nails: ceaseless torment scraping at his nerves and soul.
When he heard footsteps, Angron stopped at once and glared over.
"I said already! I don't want to see anyone right now!"
"Relax, Lord Angron. It's me."
Bruce stepped into the room, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight.
Around Angron lay World Eaters sprawled in every direction.
His own sons.
Now all corpses.
They had fed the rage of this mad beast with their lives.
Bruce found the sight revolting.
This animal kills his own sons too?
He had to suppress that disgust. Compared to that, he had more important things to do.
And besides, this was a Twelfth Legion domestic matter. One side hit, the other side asked for more. As an outsider, Bruce really wasn't in a position to sermonize.
The Emperor himself hadn't managed to restrain Angron's violence. Who was Bruce to think he could?
"Hah. Done licking your wounds, and now you're here to laugh at me?" Angron asked darkly, forcibly restraining his urge to attack.
"I'm not that petty." Bruce beckoned. "Come on. We're going somewhere."
"Where?" Angron asked, clearly unwilling.
"Somewhere."
"Not good enough. Where?"
Bruce sighed. "I could keep it secret, but if I tell you, you're definitely going to refuse."
"You think too little of me." Angron snorted. "I hate you, clown. But I keep my word. For thirty-one hours, if you don't provoke me, I'll obey your every order."
"Even if that means ordering me to leave this star system!"
"Alright then." Bruce pulled out a small pink glass bottle filled with liquid and handed it over. "Use this first."
Angron frowned, accepted the tiny bottle—which looked like little more than a thumb-sized trinket in his enormous hand—and stared at it.
"What is it?"
"Sprinkle a little on yourself. It'll help."
Still suspicious, Angron uncorked it and splashed some onto himself.
A gentle fragrance instantly overwhelmed the smell of blood on his body. At the same time, a strange freshness swept through him.
The irritation and foul temper that had been gripping him eased. He became noticeably calmer.
But only briefly.
The Butcher's Nails in his skull and spine soon began stabbing at him again, sparking rage all over.
Then the perfume's effect washed over him, cooling him down once more.
"What was that?" Angron asked.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the pain tormenting him had diminished. His head felt strangely clear.
"This is Mood Perfume. It'll last exactly thirty-one hours, so use it sparingly. Now sit down."
Bruce approached only after seeing that Angron was no longer boiling with murderous fury. He took out the ointment and started applying it to Angron's wounds—and around the Butcher's Nails.
"What are you doing?" Angron asked.
"This ointment will reduce your pain. Sit still."
The moment the cool medicinal paste touched his skin, Angron's agony immediately lessened. The maddening pain gnawing at him from within dropped sharply.
That sensation—of finally, finally not being devoured by pain—
It was almost surreal.
"Where are you taking me?" Angron asked again, much calmer now.
Maybe to Terra?
To face the Emperor's judgment?
Or perhaps into some carefully prepared trap?
"We're going to Nuceria," Bruce replied.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 155)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter200)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter110)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter230)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 200
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 180
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass Volume2/5
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 230
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 220
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 154
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player Volume4/30
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 120
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 135
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 110
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
Summoning an Evil God, but the 70
Supernatural Multiverse 100
My Harem Is Indescribable 90
Jujutsu Kaisen: Heroic Spirit 95
"I'm just a Valkyrie passing through." 68
Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 105
Still playing traditional Honk 69
The Most Filial Son Under Heav 80
What Should I Do After Switchi - Volume2/3
Reincarnated as a Demon, Skill 70
Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 75
Checking In in Demon Slayer 80
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 85
I Refuse to Become a Heroic 70
My Best Friend Into a Slime? 65
A Saiyan Stands Above Marvel 70
What Do You Mean by Using a Lab Mod to Be the Hero? 70
Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 65
Why did they assign me to Uma 65
MYGO Beauties 65
DanMachi: Emiya the Giant Hero 55
The Gacha Merchant Who Started 65
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 45
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 45
The Uma Musume Who Became 40
I'm Definitely Not the King of 45
After Maxing Out Every Class 45
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