Leticia's face turned deathly pale in an instant.
The blood drained from her flawless cheeks, which usually radiated a divine glow, like winter petals covered in a harsh frost.
She let out a muffled groan, her slender body swaying slightly in mid-air, as if struck head-on by an invisible heavy hammer.
That was not a psychic attack.
It didn't even count as mental corruption.
It was a more pure, more primitive, and absolute pain, devoid of any impurities.
Billions of red-hot steel needles, mixed with countless shards of broken glass, were forcibly injected into the depths of her soul in an instant.
Every nerve ending screamed in agony, and every thought was brutally torn into chaotic fragments.
"Big Sister!"
A pleasant voice, filled with anxiety and concern, rang out.
Fogremia's figure appeared instantly beside Leticia, extending her jade-like arm to support her.
This Perfect Sword Princess wore a simple pink-purple silk dress, her moonlight-like silver hair moving with the wind, but her stunningly beautiful face was now filled with gravity and determination.
Her amethyst-like eyes gazed down at the Colosseum below, watching the red giant who was still rampaging, revealing a trace of undisguised disgust and cold rationality.
"Give up, Big Sister."
Fogremia's voice was soft, but her judgment was as hard as diamond.
"He is no longer our brother. His brain, his soul, have all been completely destroyed by those barbaric creations called the 'Butcher's Nails'. He is now just a living weapon, a beast that possesses nothing but rage and slaughter. Any attempt to communicate with him will only invite indiscriminate attacks."
"He... is no longer worth saving."
This was the most rational and correct judgment. It was the only logical conclusion that Fogremia, as a Legion Commander, could reach based on reality.
Terrania, standing nearby, was already trembling with fear. Her small face was buried deep in Leticia's black robe, not daring to look at the hellish scene below. The tangible pain radiating from Angron made her pure soul feel waves of stabbing, knife-like agony.
Leticia slowly shook her head.
She pushed away Fogremia's supporting hand and steadied herself. Although her face remained pale, her pure black eyes regained their luster.
"No."
Her voice was soft, but carried an unquestionable firmness.
"Weapons do not feel pain."
Having said that, she ignored Fogremia's worried look and hesitation, and once again, slowly closed her eyes.
This time, she did not invoke the deep blue power of [Intellect], which resembled a profound nebula.
A completely different radiance lit up from her body.
It was a verdant green light.
Like the first sprout emerging from the frozen earth in early spring.
Like the first sweet rain falling upon a long-parched desert.
It was the radiance of the [Vitality] authority, symbolizing "rebirth" and "resilience".
She no longer tried to analyze or deconstruct the root of that pain using the rational [Intellect]. That would be like trying to understand a tsunami with logic, or measuring the sun with equations.
She chose another path.
A path that was more dangerous, yet more compassionate.
She would use the authority of [Vitality] to resonate, to feel, and to bear it.
She extended her perception, like the softest feather, carefully probing once more into the violent red ocean below, composed of endless pain and overwhelming rage.
This time, there was no agonizing pain of being pierced by billions of steel needles.
Instead, it was an eternal, undying torment, like being flayed alive and having salt and fire poured upon the wounds.
Her consciousness felt as if it were strapped to an unceasing engine named "Rage," forced to feel the intense heat capable of melting steel and the vibrations capable of tearing a soul apart.
This was the essence of the "Butcher's Nails".
It was not creating pain; it was stripping everything away.
It stripped away peace, joy, sorrow, and love. It crushed all subtle emotions within the soul, leaving only the coarsest, most primitive "rage" as the sole outlet.
Fogremia watched Leticia nervously.
She saw Leticia's slender eyebrows knitted tightly, cold sweat beading on her smooth forehead, and her clenched fists turning white at the knuckles from the exertion.
She knew that her goddess was experiencing everything that the beast was enduring.
But Leticia did not retreat.
She gritted her teeth and sank her perception deeper, penetrating the noisy surface made of pure rage, diving into the deeper, darker seabed.
There, beneath the endless roars and thundering.
She saw it.
It was not data, not information, but scenes branded deep into the core of that broken soul.
In the scenes, there was no blood, no slaughter.
She saw a tall, shirtless gladiator. His face had no hideous metal tubes, only a hearty, heartfelt smile.
He stood on a towering mountain peak covered in snow, surrounded by a group of men and women who were similarly scarred but had bright eyes.
They were his brothers, his Sisters, the family he had traded his life and glory for.
They drank strong liquor in large gulps and laughed loudly, their laughter seemingly capable of shaking the snow off the mountain peak.
"Family..."
Leticia's heart was gently touched by this scene.
The scene shifted.
The sky was gloomy, and the cold wind and snow turned into deadly artillery fire.
The gladiator was forcibly dragged from the ground by a golden light, hauled toward a magnificent warship anchored above the clouds.
He struggled and roared frantically, but could not break free from the ruthless shackles representing "fatherly love" and "destiny."
He could only watch helplessly, looking back down.
Watching his brothers and Sisters, his family, everything he had sworn to protect, being brutally slaughtered one by one, like livestock, by a group of "High Knights" riding mechanical steeds and wearing ornate robes.
He saw the look in their eyes before they died.
There was no fear in those eyes, only deep despair and confusion at being abandoned.
At that moment, Leticia clearly "heard" it.
It was not a roar, but a silent, sorrowful cry from the deepest part of his soul.
It was the sound of the entire world collapsing before his eyes.
Leticia finally understood.
She completely understood.
"What the 'Butcher's Nails' truly stripped away was not Angron's sanity."
"It was his ability to feel that profound, etched-in-the-bone love and that heart-rending sorrow."
"His rage was not because he hated this world."
"His rage stemmed from the fact that he could no longer embrace his fallen comrades, nor could he shed a single tear for their deaths."
"All his love, all his loyalty, all his sorrow and regret had been twisted and compressed by those cold metal tubes, ultimately transforming into this ceaseless, world-destroying rage."
"This rage was a deformed and desperate monument he had built to that lost love."
"I understand."
Leticia slowly opened her eyes.
Her face remained pale, but her pure black eyes were as clear as a sky washed by rain.
A crystal-clear teardrop slid silently down her perfect cheek.
It was not pity.
It was understanding.
She looked at the lonely, raging giant below and said softly, in a voice bordering on a murmur:
"To save him, one cannot remove the nails."
"Instead... one must let him regain the ability to feel love."
This soft sentence, like an oracle, clearly reached Fogremia's ears.
The Perfect Sword Princess's amethyst eyes contracted sharply.
She looked at the crystal tear track on Leticia's cheek, at the compassion in her eyes deep enough to encompass everything, and her entire soul received an unprecedented, massive shock.
Violence, conquest, slaughter... these she could understand.
But to use "love" to save a beast consumed by rage?
This philosophy, this courage, this divinity... had completely exceeded her cognitive scope as a Primarch.
At this moment, her adoration for Leticia ascended from awe of a "Creator" to a prostrate piety toward a "Supreme Truth."
However, just at this moment—
In the center of the Colosseum, the endless destruction stopped without warning.
The red giant, Angron, suddenly lifted his head, which was wrapped in metal and pain.
His crimson eyes, scorched by pure madness and void of anything else, crossed the distance of a thousand meters, pierced through the murky air, and like two blood-colored searchlights, locked with pinpoint accuracy onto... Leticia and her group floating in mid-air.
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