Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

For a moment, the dust billowed, the sound of horses' hooves and the roar of chariots intertwined. At the front of the column were elite cavalrymen riding mechanical war beasts, their bodies covered in heavy armor, their sharp fangs flashing coldly.

In the center were mercenaries armed with energy spears and shields. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes brimming with murderous intent. In the rear were armored vehicles equipped with heavy weapons, their guns pointed directly at Angron and his men.

As the encirclement force surrounded Angron and his companions, a suffocating tension filled the air.

The slave owners stood on a luxurious command chariot, looking down at the slaves in the encirclement, shouting loudly, demanding that they surrender immediately, otherwise they would be killed on the spot.

But it was obvious that it was impossible for Angron and his men to get a breath of freedom and surrender.

Angron and his companions showed no fear, clinging to their crude weapons that would free them.

Angron slammed his bloodstained chain hammer into the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. The dull thud resonated like a war drum, resonating in every heart. "Brothers, freedom is not won by begging for mercy!" His roar echoed across the wilderness, stirring the slaves' fighting spirit.

Oinomaus brandished a serrated long sword, the blade still stained with blood from the previous battle, and rushed towards the cavalry first. He was nimble, weaving between the gaps between the war beasts, and every swing of his sword would make a cavalryman fall with a scream.

Ono Mamos raised a huge metal shield and formed a defensive line with several slaves, resisting the energy beams shot by the mercenaries and buying offensive opportunities for his companions.

Cassius, a hatchet in each hand, charged into the enemy ranks like an enraged bull, his attacks haphazard yet powerful, each blow opening a gap in the enemy's defenses.

Mano controlled a combat motorcycle that was simply modified by Angron, and rushed back and forth on the edge of the encirclement, continuously strafing the enemy's flanks with the mounted machine gun, disrupting the enemy's formation.

Elise stood high above, an ancient sniper rifle in hand, calmly observing the battlefield. Her finger steadily pulled the trigger, accurately dispatching those enemies who posed the greatest threat to her companions, clearing the way for the resistance.

The slave owners were furious when they saw their men being beaten back step by step by this group of poorly equipped slaves. They kept urging the mercenaries and private armed forces to launch more fierce attacks.

For a time, the battlefield was deafening with explosions and shouts of killing, and blood dyed red this land that was once full of oppression and suffering.

Seeing the situation reversed, the slave owners became furious and their faces turned blue, with their facial features twisted in anger.

The leading slave owner waved the jewel-encrusted whip in his hand frantically and roared hysterically at the mercenaries and private armed forces below: "A bunch of trash! Charge, kill all those untouchables, or you will all die!" His voice was hoarse with anger, and the veins on his neck bulged, like a vicious beast ready to devour its prey.

Under coercion, the mercenaries showed despair and unwillingness on their faces, but they dared not disobey orders and could only bite the bullet and launch round after round of crazy charges.

A burly mercenary with red eyes and a desperate roar was seen rushing towards Angron's defense line alone, holding an energy heavy machine gun, completely ignoring his companions who were hit by the rebels' weapons and fell down.

Dense energy beams shot out from the muzzle of his gun, raising dust and lifting grass wherever they went, leaving behind charred traces.

On the private army side, a group of young soldiers were driven forward, their steps stumbling, their faces filled with fear. One young man, his weapon trembling, was forced to step towards his death as the supervisor behind him pointed a laser rifle at his back.

They formed a tight phalanx with their shields linked together, trying to resist the attacks of the rebels. However, under the tenacious resistance of Angron and others, the phalanx was like paper and was quickly torn into pieces.

Armed vehicles rushed forward recklessly, their tracks spinning wildly on the ground, stirring up clouds of dust. The drivers' eyes were filled with madness, and they stepped on the accelerator to the bottom, completely ignoring the danger ahead.

One of the chariots crashed directly into the rebel fortifications and turned into a fireball with a violent explosion. The huge impact force blew away the surrounding slaves and mercenaries, and broken limbs flew everywhere. The bloody scene was shocking.

On the battlefield, flames shot up into the sky, and the sounds of explosions, shouts, and screams intertwined into a melody of death.

The blood continued to flow, gathering into streams and dyeing the dry land red.

Angron, his companions, and many slaves resisted with unwavering determination under this frenzied attack.

The eyes became increasingly fiery, and the flame of freedom burned brightly on this cruel battlefield, never to be extinguished.

On the battlefield, Angron, tainted by the rebellious spirit of the slaves, resembled a demon god born of blood and fire, emanating a chilling aura. The chain in his hand whirred like a nimble and deadly python, instantly entangling a mercenary who attempted to break free.

This chain was made of a special material and was extremely tough. Even someone as strong as Angron, the formidable Lord of the Red Sand, could not break it with all his might.

The mercenary, chained around his neck, had his eyes wide open, his face filled with terror and despair. He desperately pulled at the chain with both hands, his nails breaking from the excessive force, blood trickling down his fingertips, but the chain was like a thorn in his flesh, tightening ever tighter.

His body instinctively struggled and twisted, and his feet kicked wildly, trying to break free from the deadly restraints.

As breathing became increasingly difficult, the mercenary's struggles gradually lost strength, his movements becoming slow and powerless. His face turned from red to purple, his eyes bulged, and he let out intermittent, painful sobs.

Angron watched all this with apathy, his eyes devoid of any pity. On this cruel battlefield, pity was the most useless emotion. In his heart, only his dedication to freedom and hatred for the oppressors drove him to fight continuously, to eliminate these accomplices one by one.

"Big slave owner, such a one-sided situation, with no evenly matched confrontation, is extremely boring and not worth watching at all." A slightly hunched slave owner standing next to the big slave owner said with a dissatisfied look on his face, curling his lips, his eyes full of disappointment with the current battle situation.

The great slave master frowned, a hint of displeasure flashed in his eyes. He turned and stared at the person beside him, and asked coldly, "Then, in your opinion, how can we make this battle more exciting?"

The great slave owner spoke with the dignity peculiar to a superior, as if warning the other party not to make unreliable suggestions lightly.

"Use those iron men!" The slaver licked his dry lips, a glint of greed and anticipation flashing in his eyes. He continued, "If this continues, this place will become a slaughterhouse for Angron to slaughter at will. We can't let those untouchables succeed so easily. Besides, you know I even gave you a piece of territory for this good show. You should at least listen to my advice."

As he spoke, he rubbed his hands, as if he couldn't wait to see the bloody scenes brought about by those iron men entering the battlefield.

The great slave owner was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons in his mind.

But the situation on the battlefield was indeed somewhat out of control. He gritted his teeth and finally squeezed out a word: "Okay."

Following the order from the great slave master, three tall iron men slowly walked out from behind.

Unlike before, this time they no longer held dull electric batons, but were equipped with exquisitely designed long swords.

The sword is slender and sparkles with cold light. The hilt is inlaid with gems of various colors, which shine brightly under the sunlight. It is obvious that it is very expensive.

When the slave owners around saw this scene, they whispered to each other excitedly.

"It's going to be a good show now. The iron man holding a sword is exciting just thinking about it!" An obese slave owner was so excited that his face turned red, and the wine glass in his hand trembled slightly.

"Yes, no matter how much those slaves resist, they will only be slaughtered in front of this beautiful and deadly sword." Another slave owner with a pointed face echoed, his eyes full of anticipation for a bloody scene.

The Iron Men marched onto the battlefield with heavy, mechanical steps. Each step they took caused the ground to tremble slightly. They exuded a cold, metallic aura, like killing machines returned from an ancient battlefield.

The long sword in his hand swayed gently in the breeze, as if he couldn't wait to drink the enemy's blood.

Angron, his companions, and the slaves all looked grim upon seeing these three new enemies. But there was no sign of retreat in their eyes, and the belief in freedom burned like a flame in their chests.

Angron gripped the chain hammer tightly in his hand and roared, "I will fight these iron men."

The long swords wielded by these iron men are the knight swords passed down from the ancestors of Nukelia, but the truth is that after the rise of mankind, they found that most of the existing weapons were difficult to fight against the Eldar, and then began to research anti-psychic weapons and psychic weapons. These are all obsolete weapons, and were finally repaired by entertainment companies to make them more beautiful, so as to sell them for money and be used as cosplay.

Chapter 254: Resistance, Glory, and Killing

When the Iron Man swung his three swords at Angron, Angron instantly abandoned his opponent and swung his chain hammer to block. The three swords were so powerful that they left three deep cuts in the chain that Angron could hardly tear apart.

Angron then used chains to tightly wrap the three swords, resulting in a brief stalemate with the control robot.

After a struggle, Angron managed to snatch the three swords by brute force, and the Iron Man's hands were suddenly empty.

At this moment, the weaponless Iron Man could no longer pose a threat to Angron. Angron had no fear in his heart, and his body exuded a surging fighting spirit. He rushed towards the Iron Man as if possessed by the god of war.

Witnessing this, the slave owner immediately activated the Iron Man's fighting mode and shouted, "Call back those two Iron Men! Just leave one there!"

After saying that, the two iron men turned around quickly, took powerful steps, ran to the big slave owner, and guarded him firmly on the left and right.

Seeing this, the other slave owners around were dissatisfied, but they kept silent and no one dared to express their opinions easily.

The Primarch rushed to the Iron Man with an indomitable momentum, and the chain hammer in his hand made a whistling sound as he smashed down at the Iron Man like a black lightning.

The force seemed to be able to split mountains and crack the earth, and the air was squeezed by this huge force, making a sharp whistle.

Even though the Iron Man was now unarmed, he didn't show any sign of retreating. With his agility, he dodged to the side and easily avoided the fatal blow from the chain hammer.

While Angron's moves were getting old and his body was not stable, the Iron Man suddenly rushed forward and threw a swift straight punch with the force of breaking the wind, heading straight for Angron's face.

Angron reacted extremely quickly. He quickly raised his left arm and blocked the punch with his forearm.

The moment the fist and arm collided, a dull sound was heard, as if two huge rocks were colliding violently.

The huge impact force made Angron take a half step back, leaving two deep footprints on the ground beneath his feet.

But Angron didn't hesitate. He roared, and with a sudden burst of strength, he swung his chain hammer at a tricky angle, aiming for the iron man's legs.

The sharp barbs on the chain hammer cut through the air, making a terrifying hissing sound.

The Iron Man's metal brain began to think, and he immediately leaped high, somersaulting mid-air and deftly dodging the hammer's attack. Landing, the Iron Man didn't give Angron a chance to breathe. He charged at him like a cannonball, his fists raining down on him like a barrage of blows, a dazzling display of force.

Angron's muscles were tense and veins bulged. Facing the Iron Man's torrential attack, he relied on his amazing combat instincts and strong physique to block with his chain hammer and resist with his arms again and again.

Every time of resistance, there was an air wave generated by the collision of forces, which lifted up the surrounding sand and rocks.

In the fierce transition between offense and defense, Angron seized an opportunity and swung his chain hammer into an impenetrable defensive circle, forcing the iron man to take a few steps back.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Angron let out a deafening roar, and transformed himself into a war machine, swinging the chain hammer in his hand with great vigor, launching a full-scale counterattack against the Iron Man with overwhelming force.

Wherever the chain hammer went, the air was distorted and potholes were created on the ground.

The Iron Man flexibly moved between attacks, looking for opportunities to counterattack.

Suddenly, Angron feinted, and after a feint, he suddenly changed the trajectory of the chain hammer, slashing down from an unexpected angle.

The iron man was unable to dodge and was hit on the shoulder by the hammer. The powerful impact made him fly out and hit hard.

A huge rock suddenly broke apart and debris flew everywhere.

Angron strode quickly, his feet kicking up dust as he raced towards the rubble.

At this moment, the Iron Man no longer had the majestic appearance he had before. His body had been severely injured in the fierce battle, and he lay crookedly half-buried in the rubble.

The metal shell on its body was twisted beyond recognition and severely deformed in many places. From time to time, a few dazzling electric sparks burst out from the broken pipes, making a "sizzling" sound, like the painful wail before death.

Angron rushed forward, his eyes ablaze with the fervor of victory, without hesitation or mercy. He raised his chain hammer high with both hands, and the saw teeth on the hammer whirled madly, making a sharp, piercing buzzing sound like a death knell from hell.

With a roar that shook the heavens and the earth, Angron gathered all his strength in his arms, swung his chain hammer violently, and smashed it towards the iron man's neck with the force of thunder.

Everyone only heard a dull thud, as if a huge thunder exploded in their ears. The Iron Man's head instantly separated from his body, and like a ball with a broken string, it rolled out and landed heavily on the ground not far away, stirring up a cloud of dust.

The Primarch exuded a powerful aura, and every step he took carried a tremendous force, causing the ground beneath his feet to tremble faintly.

The moment he re-entered the battlefield, he was like a blade slicing through the darkness, carrying an unstoppable force. In his hand, the sword gleamed with a cold light, which he had snatched from the Iron Man, he wielded with impenetrable precision, each swing striking the enemy with unerring accuracy.

Beside him, enemy limbs were scattered everywhere, blood was spilling like rain. The Primarch's eyes were firm and cold, and he would not let go of any enemy who threatened his brothers and sisters.

His roar pierced the clamor of the battlefield, like rolling thunder, chilling the enemy to the bone. With lightning speed, he plunged into the enemy's encirclement in an instant. Wherever his sword pointed, the enemies fell, creating a safe area for his brothers and sisters.

The killing continues and becomes more frenzied.

This is what the slave owners wanted.

The battlefield was filled with a strong smell of blood, like a thick fog that almost suffocated people.

As time went by, the death toll continued to rise, and the blood dyed the earth red, like a sea of ​​blood.

However, the frenzy of war has been ignited, and no one can stop easily. The sounds of fighting and the collision of weapons are intertwined, playing a cruel melody of death.

The big slave owner raised his lips in a smug smile, and as he swept his eyes over everyone's faces, he said loudly, "Everyone, hurry up and find some slaves and subordinates, otherwise this exciting and bloody battle will be over!"

As he spoke, the two iron robots beside him began to flash with a strange red light. The light was particularly dazzling in the dim environment, which frightened the other slave owners.

As soon as these words were spoken, the other slave owners understood what was going on. They thought to themselves, "This is clearly a threat! The Great Slave Master wants to use Angron to weaken us, and his High Knights haven't even been deployed yet. It seems we've fallen into his trap from the start."

Although everyone was furious, no one showed it on their face.

A fat and bloated slave owner suppressed his anger, forced a smile and said, "Don't worry, big slave owner, we will do as you say and transfer our slaves and troops here immediately." After saying that, he also laughed dryly twice to please.

The big slave owner nodded with satisfaction, his eyes full of complacency, and then he turned his gaze to the slave owners who were still watching from the sidelines, as if urging them to express their opinions quickly.

Almost at the same time, all the slave owners responded in unison: "We will do the same. We will arrange it right away."

On the surface, their tone was respectful and peaceful, but deep down, they had long been complaining about the calculations of the big slave owners. It seemed that a turbulent undercurrent of competition had just begun.

Almost all slave owners knew that if they were in their own family territory, they wouldn't have to worry about this powerful slave owner. Now, the most urgent task was to quickly notify the family and have them send slaves and soldiers over as soon as possible.

For a time, emergency mobilization was carried out in the territories of various families. Bugles and shouts were heard one after another. Soldiers hurriedly packed their luggage, and slaves were driven to gather and head towards where the big slave owner was.

Meanwhile, Angron was so engrossed in the battle that he lost count of how many men he had slain.

The snatched sword in his hand was like the scythe of the god of death. Even those top gladiators who could fight with him in the arena would be chopped into pieces in an instant if they stood in front of him at this moment.

A strong smell of blood emanated from his body. Wherever he went, the enemies were terrified, but they were also attracted by his bravery. People kept rushing towards him, trying to subdue him.

As time went on, more and more enemies gathered here, some of them even equipped with artillery shells and guns.

The great slave owner, upon seeing this, was immediately displeased. He shouted at the top of his voice, "Everyone, how can we allow them to carry cannonballs and guns? Where's the glory of the gladiators? Quickly make them take these things off and fight with real swords and guns. That's what's exciting, what's fascinating, what's beautiful!"

As soon as these words were spoken, the other slave owners cursed in their hearts.

These are all their own slaves and troops. If they don't use these hot weapons, it goes without saying that even if they succeed in capturing Angron, they will suffer heavy casualties.

But they had no choice. After all, the two majestic iron men were standing next to the slave owner, staring at them covetously. They did not dare to disobey the slave owner's orders at all.

At this moment, they secretly groaned in their hearts and made up their minds that next time this guy mentioned any interesting gladiatorial matches, they would never go again even if they were beaten to death. This was simply an elaborate conspiracy that had trapped them in the quagmire and made it difficult for them to extricate themselves.

Although the slaves and soldiers belonging to other slave owners were very reluctant, they were forced to quickly unload their guns, cannons and ammunition, and armed with their most skilled cold weapons, they launched a frantic encirclement and suppression against Angron and his rebel army.

In an instant, a dense crowd of people came like a tide, countless in number.

Driven by the slave master's tyranny, these people, driven to please their superiors, disregarded their own lives and rushed towards Angron one after another. They roared, brandished their weapons, and their eyes flashed with fanatical and twisted light, like puppets being manipulated, knowing only to carry out the slave master's orders.

However, their frenzied attack was like an ant trying to shake a tree before Angron and his brothers and sisters.

The sword in Angron's hand flashed with cold light, and every swing drew a sharp arc, accurately blocking the enemy's attacks and killing the approaching enemies one by one.

His brothers and sisters were equally undaunted. With their tenacious will and superb combat skills, armed with simple but deadly weapons, they fought a desperate battle with the enemy and built an indestructible line of defense.

On the battlefield, the slaughter continued endlessly. Angron became increasingly frantic in this bloody fight.

In front of him, the enemy's corpses were lying all over the ground, and blood gathered into a river, flowing gently.