Chapter 17 The Trial of Steel (5k)
No one understands Perturabo's thoughts, Damex thought.
After Perturabo made a confusing move, the habit of being a king made Damex immediately observe his ministers: he could not help but worry about whether his authority would be affected by Perturabo. Turabo was hurt by being a spoiler.
He saw the priest raising his head high and looking up at Perturabo in a kneeling position, almost breaking his neck. He looked horrified, murmuring in his mouth, and his lips and tongue were trembling.
He saw the soldier's lips parted up and down under the upper half of his face covered by armor, and his breath of surprise was sucked into the human body protected by the iron helmet.
He saw the courtiers tugging at the sleeves of their robes, or their bodies tensing up like fish caught in the sea. Some lowered their heads to avoid trouble, and some raised their heads to look at him.
He finally looked towards the center of the crowd. In the center of the ring, envoys from other countries maintained their hypocritical etiquette, standing upright, with elegant and steady expressions.
No one questioned Perturabo for his offensive and abrupt behavior, so Damex excused himself for his brief panic.
Then he discovered that the pauses Perturabo gave in his speech were intended to allow others to make eye contact with each other in surprise.
Damekes sighed in his heart: This may be the talent of the Almighty Son.
If his biological son, the ambitious Harkon, the child who will succeed him, has such innate abilities; or if his second son, the weak Andos, a craftsman obsessed with art, has such courage, then how great will Lokos be? Lucky?
How can other tyrant countries defeat the solid city wall of Lokos that has not been changed for six hundred years?
Although he himself does not mind war, he also knows that peace is what the public wants.
As for Callifon, his only daughter. Although she possesses the rare common sense of a leader, the Olympians will not let a woman become a tyrant, at least not yet in Lokos.
"I forged a blade," said Perturabo.
When the truth comes out of the boy's mouth, it adds a decisive dimension of divinity. He simply stood there with the forging fire burning behind him and became part of the ancient myth of Olympia.
“I give shape to steel, and make the metal bend to me. I listen to the song of gold and iron, let creation find their place in my hands, let sharp tools come into the world. This is what a craftsman teaches My, I put it into practice today; and, I succeeded.”
Morse listened quietly, with his messy black hair covering half of his pale face. When Perturabo mentioned him, his eyelids closed and then rose again, blinking.
Perturabo's voice gradually became lower: "I am here today to prove that I am exactly who you think I am. And from the eyes of each of you, I see that you have given Give me a proof.”
“Although you didn’t speak, I heard everyone saying that I am a descendant of God, a boy who came from the top of your mountains, and an extraordinary person. ”
Mount Telefus, Damex thought, he was talking about Mount Telefus, which is covered with ice and snow all year round and has an unreachable summit.
For so many years, the Olympians have persisted in conquering each other, occupying other people's lands, seizing, and defeating them, but no one has ever conquered Mount Telefus.
That is no longer the realm of mortals.
“But!” Perturabo suddenly raised his voice, and his voice struck Damex’s heart hard.
"What did I use to prove this rumor? With a hammer, a furnace, a bellows? With a sharp blade that any craftsman can make as long as he works hard? Is this the evidence I produced? ? Is this all you want? ”
He looked around, and there was some unbridled sarcasm on his serious face. If anyone had talked with Morse, they would find that this sarcasm was exactly the same as the expression Morse often showed.
"My body, my strength, my knowledge, and my memory are all beyond the reach of mortals." Perturabo said coldly. "I am a mortal now, just like anyone else here, with two arms, two eyes, one... a heart."
"And now you tell me, I can do what I can do with a mortal What happened proves that I am not a mortal. Think about it again, everyone, is this what you are thinking?"
He let the words swirl lightly in the hall.
The priest's head was raised higher, and Perturabo noticed him, so the boy looked at the priest with a cold determination that any human being could sense in this was deep mockery and powerful disappointment. .
"Is this how you prove that gods are gods? Tell me, priest, is this how you steal the achievements of mortals as evidence of the existence of gods?"
Then he looked up again.
"You have proven your beliefs, and I have proven mine." Perturabo said. "That is, your god is indeed a figment of imagination."
Dameix eagerly grasped the wooden railing with both hands, even forgetting that there was a golden scepter in his hand.
Perturabo's performance allowed the boy to use the stage he built to step on the heads of all the Lokos, which made Damex eager to defend his subjects.
The tyrant must defend his subjects, otherwise he will lose face from today on.
Then, the golden staff that fell from Damex's palm and was about to fall to the ground suddenly floated strangely, and a layer of frost climbed onto the grapes placed on the low table near the tyrant's seat, coating the surface of the fruit. Delicate and beautiful frost yarn.
Morse let the scepter fly back to his palm, playing with it boredly, rubbing the golden bird carved on the top of the scepter with his fingertips.
He spoke in a low voice, "Look, my father! How warm the sun is, and how clear the water is." Icarus sang, hovering at a height that has never been reached in this life, enjoying the beauty of the past and present. There is such freedom. He sees everything on the earth at a glance, and sometimes he thinks that the sun wheel frame of Helios is at hand."
Dameix has no time to analyze Morse's works. , even though his wisdom was telling him that what Morse said was the condensation and artistry of what was happening.
He had to concentrate on dealing with Perturabo, who was looking into his eyes.
"Perturabo," Damex struggled to maintain his dignity and dignity.
He said kindly: "Faith will only contact you when you are inspired in your heart. The gods do not force the respect and love of their subjects."
"If you think so. "
Dameix felt the weight of the iron crown on his head and drew strength from it: "Everyone here has witnessed your talent, and talented talents deserve some proud privileges. Anyone who is smart. That’s what a monarch should do, right?”
"No matter what, Lokos will always keep the door open for you and Artisan Morse. Although you were extremely determined when you threw the blade into the furnace, I still want to get your answer as to why you destroyed your work, Pettu Labo?"
He quietly changed the subject.
Perturabo looked back at the stove, then looked around the hall, from the electric lamps decorated like candles on the ceiling, to the steaming automatic gears around them, to the soldiers under the tall stone pillars. The shields held, the armor worn, and the clothes and accessories of the courtiers.
Then he spoke: "You are a rational person, tyrant, so I want to communicate with you."
Dameix didn't know whether he should be happy about this.
The boy said: "There are many things I don't know. I want to know where the power for electric lights comes from and whether there is a better design for steel machinery. I need to learn. Of course, I am not a rude person."
"Morse told me that one gain is for one effort, and the price should be given by both parties." The boy's expression was a little subtle when he said these words, "I will learn everything I can learn in Lokos , but I will also give my labor."
"Will you forge more weapons?"
"No, this is not my talent. I will burn the blades. This is what I mean. I have no intention of making weapons for anyone. I am a craftsman. Waterwheels, wooden plows, roads, stone mills, sculptures, paintings, ritual vessels, bronze statues...this is what I will do in Lokos. Leave it behind." At this point, the boy paused. "If I had known how to forge sickles and plows, I would have reforged the blades into tools in the hands of the people. But I do not."
"What about war?" Damex asked cautiously, "Boy, war is necessary. The peace of the Lokos country will not purify the soil of other countries craving violence like the rain on the snowy mountains."
Boy His indifference was even worse, "Fortresses, walls, machinery, weapons. I don't like this, but I may not be good at it."
Damex was about to speak again, to appease Perturabo with good words , listening to the priest in the audience tremblingly working his limp tongue: "Lord Perturabo, if you are a mortal, where did you learn your forging knowledge? It is the Mor in your mouth. Did Mr. Si teach you this? "
"Maybe Mr. Morse is an apostle of God. God sent him to be your mentor, but he just didn't tell you. "
Dameix felt a burst of anger in an instant. He was unable to hit the ground because the golden scepter was being manipulated by Morse, so he had to slap the wooden fence with his palm: "Priest Phaedra, stop. Don’t you find your behavior extremely ridiculous by making such indiscriminate remarks in front of the guests invited by Lokos?”
He shouldn't have listened to the religion today. He was blinded by Phaedra's obedience and invited this group of obstructive religious liars here to maintain what kind of tradition!
Perturabo immediately glanced at Morse. Morse tapped his lower lip lightly with his fingers and looked down calmly. Not only was he indifferent, but he was also unwilling to pretend to be an encouragement. .
This was all the answer he gave that could not be regarded as an answer. Damex began to guess what the conflict between the two was - he couldn't guess. Or is this the way craftsmen get along with craftsmen?
Perturabo looked away and moved forward. For a moment, Damex thought the boy was about to lift his leg and kick the priest.
Thinking of the consequences of doing this, Damex was worried at first, and then found that he was actually looking forward to it.
In this way, he had a reason to have a small friction with the priests of the cult who always spread panic prophecies, and in turn became closer to the Nine Wise Men of Pelecontia.
Perturabo did not do that.
“If you always pathetically hold on to the tragic mythical sacrifice in your mind and want to rigidly install a divine cause on everything in the world, then reason cannot save you—— You cannot be saved by something that does not exist in your heart."
Perturabo said, stepping past the priest, not wanting to waste any more words.
His energy was more focused on Morse.
Morse's silence has a more real weight in this moment. His eyes and waiting have become an entity that cannot be ignored, and his attitude no longer needs words to describe.
Language itself is a ruler constructed by humans to quantify the world, a converted module.
Perturabo gritted his teeth and gave up any more hesitation.
“Morse is an excellent craftsman. I have never seen the complete works he left in reality, but his skills undoubtedly surpass the sum of Olympian achievements. What I have seen so far , is enough for me to comment like this.”
“He taught me about forging, taught me about life, and he changed me. However, there is really no unnecessary relationship between the two of us. We just often appear together. , he is about to leave at any time, not because of the guidance of gods, but because of his own will.”
He paused and continued: "I will never veto his help to me, nor will I recognize him as a mentor against his will. I am qualified to respect him in this way, but who are you to speculate on him and belittle him? As a messenger of God?”
Dameix quickly let his voice drown out the possible comments of others.
"Perturabo," the tyrant said, "you have proven yourself, both in talent and ability. The city-states and fortresses of Lokos will await your designs, and craftsmen and scholars will also gather In front of you. Whether it is knowledge, bricks, or earthly honors and flowers, as long as you want it, as long as you can bring glory to Lokos."
"What about Morse? asked Perturabo.
"How should we deal with your relationship with Artisan Morse, Perturabo?"
In Perturabo's eyes Damex saw some echoing hollows, some trivial tremors, some low dull colors, some vague pain; these emotions were not separate, but like The lump of solidified molten iron uniformly aggregated into shades of gray. He experienced emotions, not by reason, but by shared feelings - which reminded Damex of his own father, whom he quickly forgot about again.
"He has nothing to do with me, tyrant. Although I have expectations for him," another pause, "and dependence."
The next second, Morse suddenly appeared in The center of the round platform.
No one saw how abruptly he changed his body in the spotlight. He just flashed there, as if he had been standing there for a long time.
"Perturabo is one of my apprentices," Morse announced haughtily, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders, "and I am a craftsman."
His behavior was severe and rude, and he lacked inquiring about other people's opinions, but Perturabo happily accepted Morse and allowed the black craftsman to trap him in his arms, as if he had been waiting for a long time.
Morse lowered his head slightly: "Do you want to stay here, Perturabo?"
"Yes," the boy said.
Morse smiled and said, "Tyrant, you heard me."
Dameix cheered up, suppressed the unexpected panic, and immediately dealt with various affairs in an orderly manner. .
He ordered his soldiers Patroclus to prepare to take away the annoying priests, announced new decisions to the courtiers one by one, used hearty laughter and occasional gloominess to consolidate his authority, and bravely withstood Morse. With half-smiling eyes, he was thinking about how to deal with the multinational alliance of wise men in Olympia in the future...
These things cost him a lot of thought. Although he was still considered to be in his prime, he could not be called young in any way. Today The ups and downs in mood are really tiring.
When everyone left and the lights dimmed, Morse and Perturabo left together - Perturabo actually kicked the priest very interestingly when he left, Damex Only then did he relax until he was soft, breathing the sweet air in the empty palace with ease, sighing at the mental fatigue of the past two days.
Then he saw a soft note pressed under the carved fruit plate containing grapes still dripping with crystal ice water on the low table with soft sides.
It should be noted that he was just following the function of this "paper" and temporarily found the noun that best suited its characteristics from the knowledge base to interpret it.
On this thin, pure white creation, which is seamless, extremely smooth and light, and beyond the imagination of the world, is written the ending of the story described by Morse.
While reading, Damex tasted the fruit of the abundant and abundant emotion of surprise from the bottom of his heart. After he finished reading the story, the juice of the full fruit slowly flowed out. A touch of wonderful sweetness.
He imagined several of the most common tragic endings in all dramas on the planet Olympia, savoring the artistic beauty of disaster from the shortcomings, inferring the fate of the two people from the previous clues, but did not Even once, he expected to see a complete story from Morse's pen.
"I'm going to touch the sun, and my wings are on fire. But I'm going to touch the sun, and I don't have many wishes anymore. Are you going to abandon me? Then say goodbye, I Father, this is not the first time you have left me. Father, I am about to fall into the sea!"
"Don't panic, my son, there is an island in front of us, my wings still allow us. Land here. Rest on that isolated island. I will name it after Icaria, and your name will be the symbol of the place of creation."
"Since then, craftsmen have enjoyed paradise. Although they have been far away from the world and have lived on isolated islands for a long time, hunting, building, and planting on the islands; but their works have transcended the scale of mortals, making stone statues made by human hands as if they were mythical. Step into eternity. "
"When people describe the work of craftsmen Daedalus and Icarus, they are often said to be the origins of artists who gave creation souls."
"The master carvers of the past. When the stone statue was made, the statue could only close its eyes, lower its hands, and its body fell into a soft sleep. It was not until the two of them touched the stone chisel for the first time that the statue opened its gilded eyes and stretched far forward. Take action and open your legs, as if you are eager to embrace the world."
Finally, at the end of the note, there is a line of small words written in thin strokes.
“I didn’t create the story. I just let it return to the world.”
Thanks to the wallpaper guy orz
(End of this chapter)