Chapter 165 Listening to Dorn's Bedtime Story

Silence permeated, and the night fell like the last embers of a bonfire in a cave being blown out by the cold wind. His body was tense, his heart was beating fast, resisting the illusion of death, and another gladiator fell into the deep pool of sulfuric acid below him, their skin and flesh were peeled off and dissolved layer by layer, and their smiles died under the gaze of maggot eyes...

The buzzing current flowed through the surface of the components in the electronic clock of the Iron Blood, and Angron's subconscious tried to slide away from the countless uneasy memories and phantoms along the steady sound of the current, allowing him to get a stable sleep.

But a few minutes of peace were quickly broken by a strong uneasiness. His eyelids trembled constantly, his breathing became rapid and irregular, and the hard board bed that was too soft for a gladiator was soaked with sweat.

The memory of each battle tore him in all directions, and he stood on the red sand again, tightly pressed against dozens of relatives. Bloody competitions followed one after another. A wretched witch suddenly appeared with her skinny body and buzzing collar. Blood and tendons were twisted and torn. Uncontrolled black fire flowed from the witch's palms. Screams were strangled in his palms that were broken into burnt firewood. The blood of his companions melted into the triumphal rope around his waist...

Suddenly Angron woke up, escaping from the continuous nightmare. He stared at the ceiling, the iron-gray cabin ceiling of the Iron Blood wrapped around him. His heart was still beating rapidly, and his breathing and heartbeat were not stable at all.

He lay on the bed, and his trembling hands became too heavy to rub his wide eyes to help him return to reality. Angron looked around quietly and found evidence of safety in the cold furnishings that had nothing to do with the bloody smell of the arena.

He gradually realized that he was indeed away from the arena, no longer forced to kill enemies or companions one after another, and no longer lost in the flowers scattered all over the sky and the high emotions of the audience.

He calmed down, taking deep, thorough breaths again and again, just as Onomamos had taught him. "Breathe in, Angron," the old man said, wiping his newly issued sword and shield, "Breathe out, you are the most outstanding gladiator."

And now he no longer needed to participate in the gladiatorial battles. Angron thought. It was all over, he should not continue to be caught by the shadow of the past, he should not show weakness.

However, Angron also knew that decades of killing had left a permanent mark on his soul, and suddenly attacked every moment of his subconscious relaxation.

Killing had made him extremely painful, and the blood spilled in the red sand was used to fill the endless bloodthirsty gully of the Dessia people. He reluctantly told himself that the honor of a gladiator also had value, and once accepted the meaning he gave himself, until he rushed to the high platform and drank the blood of the high-ranking rider into his mouth. That moment announced the end of his self-deception, and it should have been the end of his painful life.

But his brothers came. Descending from the sky, imprisoning the lord and liberating the gladiator.

Angron sat up, fumbled and turned on the lights in the room, turned his palms up, and stared at his washed hands silently under the light.

Perturabo and Rogal Dorn, they saved his mentor and were never angry for the misunderstanding when he first woke up. The two primarchs came here with the faith and smile that they had brought to countless planets in the galaxy, and will accompany Nuceria through a period that will be difficult.

Slowly, he lay down again. Not the bumpy rocks, not the prickly hay. The quilt and cushions on the bed supported his body and brought him more peace.

He relaxed his consciousness, not sure if the nightmare would come again. In any case, Angron knew that these nightmares that entangled him could no longer hurt his loved ones in reality.

——

"The first property required of concrete is strength. When we measure the strength of concrete, we usually measure the strength after three, seven, and twenty-eight days of mixing the mortar. After adding appropriate water and other materials to the concrete, construction will begin immediately, so the setting time after mixing is also an important consideration... Don't touch my cloak, child. The eagle is embroidered, not painted, so don't try to wipe it off with your hands."

"... The grinding rollers and grinding discs squeeze and grind the raw materials. The crushed raw materials are dried by the hot air blowing up from below and rise up , when passing through the powder selector, the coarse powder will be knocked down and crushed again. To prevent the friction between the grinding roller and the grinding disc when the mill is idling, a certain gap will be left between the grinding roller and the grinding disc. The powder selector on the mill body can adjust the fineness of the material by changing the number of revolutions of the rotor...Are you sleepy? Okay, good night, Ferguson. What? No, I don't need to sleep. "

Rog Dorn stopped patrolling and reciting bedtime stories in his preaching tone, stopped and leaned over, holding the Imperial Materials Science Series in his hand with one hand, and gently and steadily pulled the quilt for the little gladiator Ferguson with the other hand.

In Invert, children are required to cover themselves with quilts before sleeping to resist the severe cold of the natural environment. When he was not so tall, his grandfather did the same thing for him, so Dorn thought it was normal for the elderly to cover the younger ones with quilts.

"My Lord, my Lord!" A figure appeared at the entrance of the hall. A female gladiator whose leg was replaced by a steel spear called him softly. The tip of the spear touching the ground was skillfully used to support the center of gravity of the body. Sigismund stood beside the gladiator and silently completed an escort.

Dorn walked towards her. "Kleist." He said.

"My Lord," the female gladiator raised her head and looked at the tall Dorn reluctantly: "Angron and Onomamos... where are they? When can we see them?"

"They are receiving treatment on the ship." Dorn said. "They will return to the ground as soon as possible to discuss the next plan for Nuceria with you."

Crest pursed his lips. In front of Rogal Dorn, the female gladiator did not show any timidity, but she did have a kind of shock and hesitation.

"We all miss him very much," Crest said, "We trust you, but we miss Angron very much... I know we haven't seen each other for only three days, but here, as long as the companions have not returned by sunset, we are no longer sure whether he is alive or dead. Can we at least see Angron?"

Dorn nodded and sent a communication to the Iron Blood. Half a minute later, his hand dropped from the headset.

"Perturabo refused to let you talk to him now." Dorn said calmly, "Because Angron fell asleep."

Crest was surprised: "He... can sleep?"

"Sleep." Dorn affirmed.

The female gladiator suddenly covered her face with her hands, and wiped away the tears that were flowing down with her thumb.

"Thank you..." Kleist's voice was broken, and she almost burst into tears. Even the day she lost her legs, she never cried. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Dorn said, "You can go and rest."