Chapter 6 And You Are Already Mortal
Mitiades stopped outside the woodland.
As the lieutenant of the 97th Grand Company of Lokos, he could stop his platinum heavy boots, hold on to the middle of the spear, mobilize all his energy, and think over and over whether his words and deeds could defend the glory of the tyrant. There are already very few people.
When he walked through the market of the city-state and enjoyed the gaze of farmers in the fields of the kingdom intentionally or unintentionally, he did not deny that the vigorous pride in his heart spread to his limbs.
But today, his pride has been infinitely reduced.
Like ordinary habitable places on the planet Olympia, the woods under this cliff are primitive and dense. Leaves and branches rubbed against each other, unknown birds whispered in the guard's ears, and the smell of earth and vegetation quietly penetrated through the gaps in his armor. Nature was always trying to tell strange stories in languages they did not understand, and Miltiades enjoyed these hidden experiences.
However, his worries are gradually gathering as the guards explore further.
For the Lokos area, there are too few living animals here; the hoof prints and traces of animals' survival decrease from the outside of the forest to the inside, and the birdsong becomes more and more distant, as if there is an invisible layer Dams or rifts have blocked out other spiritual life, leaving only the trees themselves that cannot pull out their roots and escape on their own, and the members of the Guard who are stupidly and boldly going deep into this inaccessible place.
The air became thicker, and Miltiades preferred to believe that this was an illusion.
Through the gap between the long and narrow dark green short leaves above the head, in the blue and gray sky, the vertical wisp of gray-black smoke became apparent again.
These days, following the orders of the tyrant Damex, they went down to the rarely visited dense forest at the bottom of the cliff, following possible traces of people's life in the wild, looking for their target.
Miltiades lowered his head slightly, hoping that the shadow of his helmet would block the expression of his eyes. He waved forward and the Lokos Guard moved on.
The fragile carapace of the spiny dwarf ferns and nameless insects in the forest were succumbing to their hard iron boots, which made Miltiades feel better psychologically.
With his newfound courage, he ignored the slender cutting marks that began to appear on the surrounding tree trunks, which could only be caused by extremely sharp blades passing through them at high speed, and the irreversible blackening caused by the sourceless flames. Dead branches, and doing their best to turn a blind eye to the mutilated animal bones being eaten away by natural decomposition.
“No problem,” Miltiades said to himself, “a god-given boy who can kill Jepidae can do it all.”
He began to control his breathing, knowing that if he didn't he would collapse into a disgraceful faint due to the excessive breathing rate.
He turned back and asked the soldier beside him in a low voice: "How far are we?"
"I don't know, sir." The soldier answered honestly. Suddenly, his eyes widened. Like a fledgling new attendant, his mouth widened, "Look! Sir!"
Mitiades suddenly turned forward.
The woods are separating to both sides.
The intertwined branches in the sky no longer overlap, and the light gray sky pours out from the holes in the leaves. Whether it was twisted and tangled vines or straight and strong forest trees, they all slid open on both sides of his body.
In the huge roar that was heavier than thunder, the land twisted and undulated like waves, the rocks settled and moved, and the dry and hardened soil on the surface was stretched, broken, and peeled off by the moist brown-black soil rising from the ground. A black road, guarded by trees, grew in front of the Guards.
Then, belatedly, fine ice crystals arrived, spreading from the tip of every leaf and the tip of every broken root to everything in Miltiades' eyes.
The crystal blue is like fine particles, filling in all the unevenness and imperfections of the entire world in front of him, and finally forming a pure, brilliant, and gorgeous icy scene.
Even the highest snow mountain in Olympia does not have such a clean area.
If this is the work of human beings, then Miltiades can foresee that from now on in his life, he will never encounter even one case where living craftsmen are better than god-like nature.
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Morse withdrew the shining light from his fingertips and shouted sarcastically toward the forest, "Your footsteps are not weaker than those secreted by your soft body. molluscs crawling on slime” and let the wind carry the words to the ears of the Lokos Guards.
Perturabo has almost finished grilling the fish, but these professional soldiers haven't arrived yet.
What are they dawdling about in the forest? Who tramples fewer leaves than anyone else?
Someone poked his arm, and Morse accepted two skewers of grilled fish that exceeded his expectations. Before he could take his first bite, Perturabo interrupted.
"Do I need to avoid your conversation?" he said.
"Our conversation?"
"Your conversation with those Lokos." Morse tore the fish open with his teeth. At this moment, he suspected that Perturabo was studying the seasoning ratio on his own, otherwise he would not be able to explain the birth history of this salty, bitter, and sweet dry thing.
He chewed the thing in his mouth and said vaguely: "Why should I talk to them? These people are here to make trouble, and of course you should talk to them."
He took another bite. Eating this weird-tasting thing once in a while can help expand your physical and mental boundaries and love life again. "I will leave a place for you after I finish the fish."
"Can't you be there?" Perturabo's voice was calm, and his fingers were slightly curled.
"What am I doing here? Playing epic music on the leaf flute for Lokos' first meeting with Perturabo?"
"I will go with them."
Morse narrowed his eyes. What was Perturabo thinking?
He waved to Perturabo, and when the boy came, he patted him on the shoulder affectionately and said in a very insincere tone: "Goodbye, Perturabo. I wish you a bright future."
Perturabo stared at him, the black pupils in his ice-like eyes dilated. His chest heaved violently a few times before he reluctantly said, "I don't want it."
"Don't tell. You fell in love with sleeping in the grass here." Morse's tone suddenly turned cold. "If you don't want to leave, just refuse it yourself."
"I can't." The boy spoke quickly, his lips barely keeping up with his voice. "You go."
Morse pulled back, his patience gone like his smile. "Who do you think I am to you? Why should I speak for you?"
"Then who am I to you!" Perturabo took the other hand of Morse that had not yet been spoken. Grilled fish on skewers and thrown away viciously. "A stranger? A lodger? A tool?"
"Your self-awareness is very clear."
"Damn! So you want to throw me away, you want it I was taken away by the Lokos! What does this get you? Will the Lokos give you a reward?"
Morse thought for a few seconds, and it was said that within three seconds of the food falling to the ground. It won't get dirty when picked up, so he made the grilled fish fly into the air and concentrated light to perform a simple burning sterilization on it.
The grilled fish flew back to his hand, and he pointed it at the trembling Perturabo.
“Take it away,” Morse said.
The metal pole that pierced the grilled fish seemed to also pierce Perturabo's anger, and the boy's momentum relaxed like a balloon with a hole in it.
He slowly stretched out his hand at a loss, and suddenly accelerated when he was about to get the grilled fish. Perturabo was still in a daze until Morse let go smoothly and handed him the grilled fish.
“Sit down,” Morse said.
The boy sat on the floor.
"Take a deep breath?"
Perturabo did as he was told.
Morse shrugged and continued eating the fish. The fish was almost finished, but the parts inside that hadn't been thoroughly marinated in the weird seasoning were still fresh and tender.
He settled the food and clapped his hands. "You are afraid, Perturabo."
"I..."
"No? No, you are afraid of meeting the Lokos. Do you know why?"
Perturabo lowered his head, the trembling of his body clearly reflected to the swaying hair. He let the awkward silence drag on for a long moment, until every second he wasted brought the Lokos a step closer.
“They’re not looking for me,” the boy whispered. “They’re looking for an all-powerful prodigy, a heroic figure who will achieve great things.”
Morse stared at him, Thoughtfully: "And you are already a mortal, Perturabo."
(End of this chapter)