Chapter 8 The Dream of Building a City
Morse raised his head slightly.
Early morning, the stars are winding into an infinitely huge python in the sky, and every flash is the reflection of the snake. The atmosphere of Olympia is a frosted giant ball, and the pythons circle and shrink outside the giant ball.
A hundred years ago, he raised his head and witnessed the birth of the soul-resonating cry projected in the material universe, and he has often had this illusion ever since.
He raised his legs and stepped on the high stone steps. This twisting path on the edge of the cliff was unmaintained. When the Lokos guards passed by, they waved their weapons to kill the enemy. Part of the earth and stone, the dust succumbed to the iron tools forged by craftsmen, and the trail was gradually dedicated to humans by the cliff.
Above, on the relatively flat road, the guard named Miltiades and his accompanying team were waiting silently, their white-gold armor losing color before the dim morning came.
Hidden along with the colors are the voices of the guards. Out of unknown respect and admiration, these spear-bearers who enforce laws in city-states and countries are dissatisfied with the slow and backward Morse and Perturabo. Dare to have a thought of urging.
Morse turned around and observed Perturabo's every move with a research attitude.
Even after transforming from a complete manufactured weapon into a flawed mortal, the boy's learning and growth rate is still outstanding.
Half an hour ago, Perturabo had secretly frowned at the rugged road and the height difference that was too large for the boy's size. Now he has learned to skillfully find every convenient place to stay. Hold on to the stone wall, firmly grasp each protruding rock with your fingers, and use the least amount of effort to move forward.
But he still wasn't fast enough.
Morse leaned down, stretched out his arm downwards and diagonally, and put his helping hand in front of Perturabo's eyes.
The boy glanced at him. "Move away," he gasped.
"You are too slow, Perturabo." Morse said smoothly, "The Lokos Guards are waiting for you."
"Then let them wait." Perturabo Labo moved his lips and spit out a string of Gothic words.
"I'm waiting for you too."
Perturabo didn't say a word, just lowered his eyes, and heavily grabbed Morse's black cloth-wrapped palm, allowing Morse to gently push him away. Lift it up. Then, Morse kicked his feet lightly, and the two of them flew upward against the gravity of the planet's center.
Morse let go of Perturabo before he could regain his balance. This made the boy almost fall in front of the Lokos. He shook and said nothing, anger flashing in his eyes.
Morse blinked and nodded to the Lokos.
These soldiers seemed to be relieved, and they all nodded slightly to Morse, then immediately turned around and led the way in an orderly manner, perhaps even more neatly than when they were being read by the tyrant of the country.
Morse put his right hand on Perturabo's shoulder and accepted the courtesy of the soldiers.
The mist in the mountains rolled in the half-light darkness, sliding silently over the edge of the road covered with thorny vegetation. Perturabo raised his chin high, only to be crushed by it. When the sharp edge of the blade scratched the edge of the sole of his foot, the expression on his face briefly twitched.
A chill pierced Perturabo's shoulder from Morse's palm, and then the boy heard a sarcastic voice.
+They respect me. +
Psychic energy agitates and a private call channel opens.
Perturabo glared at Morse, and learned by himself how to let two minds begin to communicate and collide in the psychic circuit. Of course, he doesn't know how to use psychic powers, and it was Morse who temporarily gave him permission to use this ability.
+Because you are an extraordinary craftsman. I told them. +
+What are you angry about? Do you want this respect too? Do you want Olympians to love you with adoration? +
+No! I don't need the love of mortals. + Perturabo said proudly.
+Oh, not needing it and not having it are two different things. You're so honest, kid. +
Perturabo frowned quietly, hoping that the vast darkness of the night would make the shadows gathering between his eyebrows less noticeable. + Of course I can get it, as long as you give me my ability back. You took away a part of me that I was born with, and you laughed at me for not being able to satisfy you now. Do you enjoy the satisfaction brought by the status gap from me? +
+I feel even more satisfied with this: In your mind, the only value you can gain from others' love is your superhuman talent. Once you lose your extraordinary appearance, you will easily believe that with your own character and mind, it is impossible to gain the respect of others. What an interesting realization! You know who you are and I appreciate you, good boy. +
Perturabo felt a stream of hot blood rush to his cheek. He twisted his body and got rid of Morse's hand.
The psychic connection was quietly disconnected. He looked up and met Morse's scrutinizing gaze for only half a second, then hurriedly looked away while avoiding the person in front of him. The mortal guards let their eyes fall on the hazy night scene around them.
At the end of the mountains, where the edge of the dead mountains meets the pale night, a majestic city-state looms. Vaults and spiers occasionally emerge from beneath the earth.
This is where they are going, Perturabo thought silently. He will travel long distances, through cold mountains, to a city where he will gain nothing.
He continued to look around. The valleys were cracked and the terrain was undulating. The planet itself relied on mountains and rocks to divide countless plains.
And humans themselves have once again divided the regions with the help of weapons and power.
Perturabo saw farmland, and the village lights were a warm color opposite to the stars, creating bright yellow spots under the gray sky. The flowing stream water stabilizes in the man-made reservoir and is transported to the fertile land via mechanical waterwheels.
He couldn't help but try to conceive of some more elaborate layouts and machinery in his mind to improve the efficiency of water supply and allow the food in the farmland to grow better; he also tried to conceive of a gentle, spacious, and continuous road. , erasing the influence of the mountains, allowing for a more fluid industrial exchange between villages and villages, city-states and city-states.
He couldn't help but imagine a more mechanized and advanced era.
He thought of drainage systems, building zoning, fast transportation and residential structures that are both beautiful and practical.
Housing will be a machine for living. It may be possible to liberate the building facade from load-bearing, use more advanced structural design to make the plane more convenient, colorful and dynamic, and reconstruct the blocks and inner courtyards. The concept allows roads to be redistributed between buildings in a grid pattern, allowing three-dimensional transportation to run through the entire city like lines of precision instruments, and extending the distribution of public services and collective operations to the entire planet and even more regions...
Then he failed. This knowledge flashed through the depths of his mind like a stream of light. He wanted to grab it, but he could only hold a handful of mist in the mountain wilderness.
Perturabo suddenly felt a sense of emptiness, and the dislocation between desire and reality truly came to the depths of his soul, making it difficult for him to get out.
However, unlike the anger and annoyance caused by forgetting knowledge in the past, this time, Perturabo even forgot the patience and self-recognized shame he often thought about.
The place he is heading to is Lokos, and perhaps his construction will begin there. The tyrants of the country would welcome him, he could be sure. Didn't the man named Damex send soldiers to meet him?
From towers and fortresses, to workshops and fields...
Immersed in the grand ideas of the project, he felt in a daze that the broad road had been completed under his feet. The non-existent people are welcoming the coming daylight in clean and tidy houses.
Until a sharp arrow pierced in front of his eyes was shattered by the defense of the psychic shield.
"Be careful, someone is attacking." Morse said calmly, raising his hand to point to the hidden shadow of the mountain. There, some murky shadows moved quietly.
Perturabo finally woke up from the fantasy world. He first looked up to see Morse's reaction.
The strange thing is that on that boring cold face that he has become familiar with in recent days, there is a trace of smile and encouragement directed at himself.
The Lokos team surrounded the two of them at some unknown time. The two in front and the two in the back took a fighting stance to firmly protect Morse and Perturabo in the center.
(End of this chapter)