Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

Angron disliked dueling, even though he was always victorious.

But he had to take into account the feelings of the rebels. They followed him in the uprising in order to take revenge on the high-ranking knights and regain their freedom.

The fruits of victory were within reach, but a darker emotion was surging in the hearts of the rebels.

It was the confusion of a wild beast that had been kept in captivity for too long and suddenly bit through its chains. Their palms, stained with the blood of nobles, trembled unconsciously, not out of fear, but because the wound deep in their souls caused by the branding iron was still aching.

Angron could smell the unease in the air. These souls, shackled from birth, now trembled on the edge of freedom: they tasted not only the sweetness of revenge, but also the suffocating emptiness.

If it ends like this, they will never be truly liberated. This is not the revenge they desire, nor is a simple execution what they need!

They spent their entire lives in the arena, dedicating their lives to duels, honing their skills with blood to please the high-ranking knights who ruled them.

They have nothing but the duel.

Only by letting these high-ranking knights duel with the once lowest gladiators and strangling their masters with the shackles that enslaved them can the restless darkness in their hearts be quelled.

He could hear their voices, even when they didn't speak, so he knew how to comfort his warriors.

His father understood him, so he helped him and ended the fight early.

It started with a duel and will end with a duel.

……

The arena opened again with great fanfare, packed with tens of thousands of spectators.

"Fellow countrymen! People!"

"Don't cheer, don't shout!"

"This is not an execution, but a fair duel!"

"Everyone, whether a royal guard, a high-ranking knight, or a gladiator, has the right to choose their enemies! Regardless of victory or defeat, the winner will be spared death!"

In the red sand, on one side are the high-ranking knights and their remaining guards, and on the other side are the gladiators who survived the melee.

In this blood-soaked arena, hatred is like two dark rivers rushing towards each other, colliding violently at the fault line of history.

Behind the shattered gilded visors of the high-ranking knights lay the most vicious curses against the gladiators for their treason. They would rather set the entire city on fire than see a slave's hand touch the scepter.

And beneath the cracked soles of the gladiators' feet, every inch of sand was soaked with the blood and tears of countless slaves.

Oenomamos walked to the center of the arena, his blood-stained axe pointed precisely at a high-ranking knight, "Tark, I challenge you to a duel!"

Tark pushed aside the guards who were supporting him. He turned his head to look at Angron instead of his opponent. "If I win, I can avoid death?"

Angron: "That is his right."

Turk scoffed, "Even if I kill him?"

"That is his right," Angron's reply remained unchanged. "No matter who wins, there shall be no slaughter."

Oenomamos spun his battle axe in an arc of death. "Have you finished your last words?"

"Do you really think you can beat me? Pariah!" An angry scream burst out of Turk's throat.

"Is this your idea, or theirs?"

Angron looked at Wop, his fingertips tracing the still-dry blood on his axe. "I granted them their wish."

He knew what his father was worried about, his ability was too strong.

He would empathize with the rebels and absorb their pain, but their pain would also be reflected back upon him.

If the rebels become too vocal, Angron might even be influenced by them.

But Angron will stay true to his heart and stay on the right path.

If this voice was correct, Angron would grant their legitimate demands.

This is not a compromise with tyranny, but a recognition of procedural justice.

The gladiators did not understand the law, and the people would not recognize the law of the defeated high-ranking knights.

High-ranking knights used arenas and duels to rule the people, and duels became the only language the people could understand.

The gladiators' lives were all about duels, so they judged their enemies in the way they were most familiar with.

Angron pursues true liberation. He will not allow slaves to become new tyrants, but will make justice the cornerstone of the new world.

"Ono-Mamos!"

The bloody remains of Onomamos stood like a banner.

As Tark's head with the gilded helmet rolled on the sand, the old warrior's severed left arm was still gushing red blood, but he could not suppress the tears from the corners of his mouth.

The gladiators cheered for him. They envied Onomamos for having gained true freedom, and now it was their turn!

Ryan's spear drew a cold silver light in the air, "Crassus, come out and face me!"

Every slave has his own master, and these masters are the objects of their revenge.

A man staggered out from among the high-ranking knights. His face was pale and his fat body was almost as big as the announcer. He was pampered and was definitely no match for Ryan.

……

When the last high-ranking knight spilled his blood on the red sand, the red sand soaked in the blood of the gladiators finally tasted the blood of the high-ranking knights for the first time. Those rulers who once took pleasure in torturing slaves finally met their end in a gladiator-like way.

Angron did not strip the high-ranking knights of their implants, but only forbade them from using firearms and flying.

But after all, they were not as brave and skilled in fighting as their ancestors who defeated the Fauves, and no one could defeat the gladiators in a duel.

"This is the first time, and I hope it will be the last time." Angron's voice thundered through the Desia Arena. "Let this day be a turning point in history, and let this trial be the last!"

"From now on, Desia will completely bury the shackles of slavery. The privileges of high-ranking knights will become history forever, and the bloody arena will be closed forever!"

"In this reborn city, blood is no longer a criterion for distinguishing between noble and humble. We are all equal Nucerians, sharing the same blood, speaking the same language, and sharing the same dignity and freedom!"

Chapter 94 Anger Donkey (5K)

The wildfire of revolution swept through the entire city like wildfire, and the blazing flames illuminated every dark corner.

The once magnificent palace twisted and collapsed in the flames, symbolizing the high walls of slavery being washed away by the waves of anger.

When the first rays of dawn penetrated the smoke and shone on the blood-stained flag of the rebels, the whole city was burning - but this was no longer a flame of destruction, but a baptism of rebirth.

Every dancing flame tells the story: the shackles of the old era have been broken, and a new order will be born from the ashes.

When Angron's rebels stormed through the palace gates like a raging tide, its master had long since disappeared, leaving behind only servants who were also enslaved and oppressed, and women and children huddled in the corners.

“Please, let my child go!”

A noblewoman in disheveled attire held her young child behind her, her silk skirt sweeping across the gold-inlaid floor tiles. Her trembling back pressed against the carved columns, trying to use her frail flesh and blood to create a shield for her child.

"I won't hurt you." The warrior slowly lowered his bloodstained sword, but his face, scarred like ravines, still made the mother and son shrink back. A hoarse sneer rolled from his throat. "Are you afraid of me because of this face? This is the work of your father and husband. But don't worry, I won't vent my anger on you. We are different from your husbands. We are human."

"The blade cuts only chains, not innocent blood."

This sentence was engraved like a brand in the hearts of every rebel. Angron always reminded them again and again in the intervals between battles. It was like an iron rule that could not be crossed, firmly locking up their humanity.

When the rebels' blades severed the heads of the high-ranking knights and broke the last chains, hatred burned out.

If they allow the butcher's knife to run rampant, they will eventually become the monsters they once vowed to destroy. True freedom does not require the sacrifice of blood.

"Let's go." The warrior stepped aside to make way, the blood-stained blade of his sword lowered towards the blood-soaked carpet. He deliberately turned his head to let the shadow cover his hideous scar.

"Where...to go?" The lady hugged the child tightly in her arms, her trembling voice filled with despair.

"The square, where all the noble families must gather." Seeing the noblewoman still desperately protecting the child, he sighed, a weary tolerance emerging from his scarred face. "We swore an oath to our leader never to kill innocent people. You will be treated like everyone else in this city. This palace and everything else, your property will be confiscated. But you will also be given new accommodations, and you'll earn your living by the labor of your hands."

"Confiscate?!" the noblewoman's scream exploded beneath the gilded dome, echoing harshly in the empty hall. "Every floor tile is engraved with the oath of the Turk family's ancestors, and every tapestry is soaked with the painstaking efforts of dozens of generations. Now you want to make it public property with just two words?"

"That's why the nobility is disgusting." The warrior's voice was filled with suppressed anger. "No longer. There will be no high-ranking knights, and there will be no House Tark! We won't kill you because of your bloodline, but because we are different from your cruel husband. We still have humanity!"

"I don't want to use force, but if you insist on not cooperating..." The warrior's knuckles tapped lightly on the hilt of the sword, and the lady's lips trembled violently, and she swallowed back the argument that had not yet been uttered.

She grabbed the child's wrist tightly, staggered back two steps, and finally turned and left, her skirt sweeping through the dust like a peacock with its feathers wet by the rain.

"He actually managed to resist killing people." Wop looked at the soldier's back, with a hint of emotion in his tone.

"What would they have done if it were my brothers?" Angron asked.

"When faced with injustice and oppression, all Primarchs will take up arms like you and fight for the weak." Wop's voice was low and firm. "But if it were Curze, he would execute them without hesitation, unless he could glimpse a glimmer of possibility in these people."

Angron knew that Curze's prophecies were a gift bordering on a curse.

When Coze gazes at a person, his future unfolds like a scroll, and his destiny is revealed in every detail.

Curze will convict the families of high-ranking knights as guilty as the high-ranking knights themselves, and their future possibilities will determine whether they have a chance to atone for their sins.

Angron is not Curze, and even if he possessed the same power as Curze, he would not follow the same path as his brother.

But he would not deny the path his brother chose. The outcome of every path is unknown until it reaches the end.

"Father," Angron said, gazing at the city-state still shrouded in smoke, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "How shall I rule these souls who have just broken free from their shackles?"

"What are you afraid of?" Wop looked into Angron's eyes and read deep confusion in his eyes.

"I don't know how to rule a free people."

He had been preparing for this uprising since the first day he was born in Nuceria.

His determination is so firm that no difficulties or obstacles can shake his faith.

However, when the dawn finally arrived, he stopped at the threshold of freedom and fell into unprecedented hesitation.

The Primarch knew it all by heart, and Wop had shared much with Angron.

Angron was well aware of the pros and cons of every political system in human history. He only needed to pick up any system to govern Nuceria in an orderly manner.

What really made him hesitate was not the rule itself, but the unpredictable future.

Wop: "In ancient Terra in the 14th century there was a donkey called the Buridan Ass."

Angron bowed his head and held his breath, listening to his father's teachings almost reverently.

"This skinny donkey was starving. It stood between two identical bundles of hay, but it couldn't decide which to eat first. As a result, it starved to death."

Angron was stunned. "I am the donkey?"

Wop: "Some donkeys are stubborn, like your father. Some donkeys are Buridan's donkey, like you."

human nature.

This word is so simple, yet as profound as the abyss.

The essence of all human choices and behaviors can be traced back to the fundamental source of human nature.

When faced with an either-or decision, most people can tell right from wrong if the options are clearly distinct. But when the options seem both acceptable, indecisive people often fear making a choice.

When you choose A, the shadow of B follows you everywhere; when you choose B, the afterglow of A is lingering.

So, they often choose 'or' between A or B.

This kind of hesitation over gains and losses will eventually trap people in the quagmire of choice and make the situation even more difficult.

This is not stupidity, it is human nature.

Angron's dilemma stems precisely from his overabundant humanity. Like every ordinary father in the world, Wop knows Angron's character very well. He can even guess what Angron is struggling with.

Although the governance models of human society vary, they can essentially be divided into two major paradigms: a democratic system based on collective will, and an authoritarian system characterized by concentrated power.

Angron's human nature instinctively leaned towards option A, which was a democratic system.

The essence of democracy is that the majority’s rule over the government is absolute, because in a democracy no one can stand up to the majority.

However, due to the weakness of human nature, majority decisions cannot ensure the legitimacy and justice of the will, that is, the majority is not always right, and thus the tyranny of the majority will arise.

The other Primarchs almost unanimously chose B, the authoritarian system.

Koz's authoritarian rule has demonstrated astonishing efficiency. His justice is the only order. The people do not need to bear the burden of choice, but only need to become precisely meshed gears in this grand machine and follow his unquestionable justice.

Angron longed for A's democracy, but his mind told him that B was also correct.

The fundamental flaw of the democratic system stems precisely from its democratic nature: the will of the majority can degenerate into tyranny, and collective decision-making is inevitably inefficient and short-sighted;

The fatal weakness of the authoritarian system is also rooted in authoritarianism itself. Absolute power will inevitably corrupt the absolute, and autocratic rule will ultimately stifle social vitality.

Both will become alienated due to the extreme nature of their own characteristics, forming an institutional paradoxical cycle.

Of course there are solutions.

To overcome the difficulties of democratic politics, it is necessary to ensure the justice of the majority.

Avoiding the flaws of authoritarianism relies heavily on the moral integrity of the ruler.