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Looking at the tiny Iron Warrior, and then at the miniature Archangel, Ignis felt absurdly normal.
The older generation clearly had more flair for antics—at least he wouldn't dare do something as extreme as turning the Master of Humanity into a Bangboo. Cerakos really…
He thought for a moment about how to describe this behavior and could only come up with bloody hell.
The three Bangboos quickly became familiar with each other, and the Archangel easily assumed command. The little trio exchanged movements, even rehearsing tactical formations. Judging by the Archangel Bangboo's wings, they were likely just decorative—probably couldn't actually fly.
"By the way, has Grace been busy lately?" Cerakos asked about the Steel Witch's current state. "I had something I wanted her help with."
"She's been busy modifying the equalized plasma cannon, trying to improve the heat utilization. Otherwise, when firing, I'd just have to stand there like a dummy. I heard she's looking for new insulating materials and planning to add some heat recovery devices." The old veteran thought for a moment. "Ah, I don't really understand all those terms, but she looks pretty exhausted lately."
"Then I guess we'll leave it for later," Cerakos said, pursing his lips. "I was originally hoping Miss Grace could help make a jetpack for the Bangboo."
"Wait a minute!" Ignis' face froze in shock. "A Bangboo jetpack? What are you planning? You really want that Archangel to fly?"
"What's wrong?" Cerakos looked at the Salamander's reaction, clearly confused. "It asked for it itself, just yesterday when I was preparing the jetpack. Though, my Bangboo seems to have some issues with its speech system—it rarely speaks and mostly uses body language."
"I asked that wolf-brother to help with maintenance, and after inspection, the speech system was fine. He said the Bangboo's intelligence system is under a lot of stress and suggested not to be too harsh—just try to meet its requests."
"But every time it speaks, I feel like I can't argue. After all, it's a Bangboo fighting alongside me—having a jetpack would help it keep up."
Hasn't it ever actually been in a real fight, and yet it already knows it needs a jetpack to keep up with me?Wait, could there really be a fragment of Sanguinius inside that Bangboo? That's terrifying…
Legend has it, after the Archangel fell aboard the Vengeful Spirit, his soul shattered into countless fragments. Perhaps one of those fragments resides inside this Bangboo?
Perhaps noticing Ignis' gaze, the Archangel turned its head and sent him a meaningful look.
An inorganic object sent a look? The Salamander felt like he was losing his mind… Even though Bangboos have low intelligence, can those display-panel eyes really convey an expression?
And the expression was clear: mind your own business. The Gene-Primarch, Archangel Sanguinius, wants him to stay out of it…
Good grief. Cold sweat broke out instantly.
"What's wrong? You look like you just saw something unbelievable," Gotthardt said, noticing Ignis suddenly freeze.
Because I did see something unbelievable! That Bangboo might really be a fragment of the Gene-Primarch, or even part of him!
But this kind of thing can't be revealed. The Archangel already gave me a look—I'd better act like I don't know. Whatever this guy is planning, it can't be too malicious… right?
"I'm just amazed by this scene," Ignis said, steering the topic elsewhere. "An Iron Warrior, a Salamander, and a Primarch… all playing together so harmoniously. Truly an incredible sight."
The old veteran shook his head, grabbed a soda from the shelf by the sarcophagus, twisted off the cap, drank most of it, and burped.
"For you young ones born ten thousand years later, this is indeed an incredible sight," Gotthardt said, crushing the bottle. "But before that shameful rebellion, this scene was not uncommon. It's just that the Primarchs rarely participated in inter-legion friendly events."
"That was a time worth remembering—brothers united in purpose, striving together toward great goals. Then one day, suddenly, they became enemies and fought each other."
He hurled the crushed bottle at Jarax, the Iron Warrior-painted Bangboo. The little guy collapsed onto the ground, clearly wronged by the hit.
"You're too slow, kid!" the old veteran shouted at the small Bangboo. "You won't survive on the battlefield like that!"
Embo quickly came over to pat Jarax's head, while the Archangel Bangboo turned to glare at Gotthardt Stahlgriff with some annoyance.
Even the Wrath of Terra, fearless before anything, seemed intimidated by this tiny fragment of the Primarch. It muttered, likely because of the paint scheme, and averted its gaze.
Ignis could understand the old veteran's behavior. As a Terran-born, he carried countless memories of a golden age, and plenty of bitterness over brotherly strife. He'd imagined a future where the galaxy was unified and he could rest—but the rebellion had erased all that.
Brother fought brother, enemies encircled them, and under the walls of the Terran Palace, many former friends were buried. He had loved them, yet could not hate them. His emotions were complex.
Perhaps Jarax's paint wasn't just about Gotthardt's strictness—it was a spiritual tribute to the Iron Warrior, and maybe a small homage to the past.
The sudden action of the old veteran made the atmosphere tense. Ignis suddenly missed Billy Kid, that robot whose presence could disperse gloom in just a few words or gestures.
Maybe I can imitate him…
The Salamander opened his mouth, about to make a playful remark, but Gotthardt cut him off before a sound escaped.
"Don't speak. I know I'm furious. But who can I hate? I thought my mission was over, that losing consciousness on Saturn City ended it all. But I woke up in another world, and there are still all kinds of troubles to handle."
"There are Ethereals inside the Hollows, and Chaos outside. I thought I could finally relax here, on vacation. But I still have to face those damn opponents."
"And this time, I don't even have my weapons! My gear was destroyed! Only the plasma cannon Grace barely restored can be used—what was all that junk I used before?"
Ignis always assumed the old veteran was optimistic and carefree, but the Son of Dorn had been bottling all of this inside. He was the eldest here, responsible for guiding two juniors—yet who guides him? Painting the Bangboo as an Iron Warrior and yelling at it is just a form of venting.
The Salamander and Cerakos exchanged glances—they had faced similar dilemmas, but unlike the old veteran, they had found reasons to fight, new lives, new families, new friends. New Eridu teetered on the edge of apocalypse, but it hadn't ended yet. It wasn't beyond hope.
These people were striving to recover from Hollow disasters and fight back against the threats that sought to destroy them.
Two warriors could walk the streets, see all this, feel it—it was alive and vivid. But the old veteran could not. His Leviathan Dreadnought restricted him; he could only move within the construction area, unable to personally experience the world or forge deeper connections.
That armor was both a memorial to past glory and a restraint on the future. Buried in the sarcophagus, he was a living corpse.
For the first time, Ignis vividly realized that the old veteran envied, even slightly resented, him and Cerakos. He had someone to confide in, someone to turn to—but who could the eldest brother rely on?
He is a Son of Vulkan, yet still flesh and blood.
The Salamander didn't know how to comfort him—his own experience was too limited. The old veteran's problems were beyond his ability to solve. Trapped in a metal shell, he could only observe the world through viewports, pretending to be an intelligent engineering machine to avoid panic.
"Sorry…" the old veteran lifted his head, looking at the two juniors. "I don't mean to complain, it's just…"
His words were cut off as the Archangel Bangboo approached his mechanical leg. The sub-one-meter plump rabbit robot reached out a tiny hand, touching the five-meter-tall Leviathan. In the Salamander's view, a golden energy flowed from the Bangboo into the steel giant.
Gotthardt fell silent. The golden glow traced the Leviathan's mechanical body, outlining its form.
The process lasted less than three seconds. The Archangel Bangboo withdrew its hand and plopped onto the ground, showing low battery.
"Ah!" Cerakos rushed over to pick up his Bangboo. "Why did it suddenly run out of power? I fully charged it before leaving!"
Gotthardt, recovering from silence, approached his Bangboo. He extended a power claw, and the little guy visibly flinched.
"Sorry, I was too strict with you. You're not really an Iron Warrior, but I hope you become an excellent fighter, no less than them."
He patted the little one as gently as possible with the massive claw—an awkward motion, as the claw was usually used to crush enemies, not express affection.
Not the first time, though—it had once been used as a transportation device, carrying Ignis with a hole in his stomach.
"I don't dislike you," Jarax said, and as the cockpit lift rope released, the miniature Iron Warrior grabbed it, ascending in front of the sarcophagus.
The old veteran gently hugged the little one. It wasn't as rigid as expected, even had some bounce. It quietly apologized, and Jarax accepted.
Whatever the Archangel did, the old veteran's spirit seemed much lighter. The Son of Dorn was not truly a stone—beneath the stubborn exterior, he had flesh and blood.
Perhaps after today, the old veteran would open up to others at Belobog Heavy Industries. He needed to form real connections with the world, just like the Son of Vulkan once did.
Embo tugged on Ignis' pants—he wanted a hug too. Who designed Bangboos, really? How can they be this adorable? The Salamander picked up his Bangboo and placed it on his shoulder.
"Brother, do we still have training when we get back today?" the little one asked.
Right—Embo hadn't trained before leaving; they'd have to continue when they returned.
"You need more training. You don't want to get hurt, right?"
"Mm, getting hurt isn't fun. Then I'll train more." The little Bangboo nodded. "After training, can I have a few batteries? I want to share them with Amillion."
"Of course." Ignis had never been a stingy guardian, and Embo was a very reassuring little guy.
Once Jarax was back on the ground, it eagerly picked up the custom assault rifle and started practicing with Embo again.
After the two little ones ran off to practice shooting, The Salamander spoke first.
"Maybe I should apply with Public Security to let you go out on the streets?"
"Huh? Me, go out? Are you serious?" Even Gotthardt froze.
"Look, the Public Security already knows this machine is operated by someone. Why not just give you an ID?" Ignis pointed at Cerakos. "He even has an ID and a job as a fitness coach now. Don't you want to walk the streets?"
"I do, but have you thought about what it'd look like for me to walk down the street?" The old veteran pouted.
That's a real problem—a five-meter-tall armor strolling the streets would be surreal, even in New Eridu. Is there another way to let the old veteran experience walking outside?
The Salamander's gaze fell on Jarax.
Doesn't Phaethon have a way to sync a Bangboo with a human? Maybe Jarax could sync with the old veteran, and he could 'walk' through the city via Jarax.
"Have you considered using the Bangboo's body?" Ignis cautiously asked.
"What do you mean? You're planning to slice me up and shove me into the Bangboo?" The old veteran's expression was one of seeing a ghost.
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