Chapter 19 Have a good sleep
The sun rose as usual, just like every day in Olympia, rising from the end of the rocks and jungles, shining its light on everyone on the empty morning streets. A wisp of wind combined together, passing through the majestic city wall made of sand and stone and the bronze gate, blowing over the heads of workers who had finished the night shift, and finally entered the ordinary grid window of a Lokos room, matching the bright light in the room. The electric lights all night combined quietly.
Morse holds the scraper, holds a piece of clay in front of his eyes, and concentrates on shaping the smooth surface of the clay.
The brown clay took on the shape of a miniature sword blade in the palm of his hand wrapped in black cloth, and the blade was engraved with ancient and natural runes.
A blazing flame burned at one end of the blade, and several painful skeletons rolled out of the flames. The skulls that were not proportional to humans deformed together with the heat wave, as if they were about to be destroyed by the smoke ignited by the flames. Expelled and dispersed.
It had been a long time since he was so devoted to the carving process.
Morse put down the scraper and replaced it with a razor blade, removing a bit of the clay from the recessed areas and enhancing the shadows where the flame dimmed.
He was chasing those hazy echoes in his memory, thinking about that year - he still remembered that year, when he didn't know that he would live forever in the world - the man holding the sword wore a green and green leaf crown, The fur of the beast covers his shoulders, and the dazzling gesture of the sword in his hand rising into flames. I recall his endlessly radiant face and the sharp dividing lines between light and darkness around his body, and then reproduce the mottled memory video in reality like broken gold.
The prototype of the flaming sword was a gift forged by Morse himself. Even if dozens of millennia flew by, he could still remember the nervousness he felt in front of the forge, sweating all over his body, his heart pounding against his chest, desperately calculating the strength and landing point of each hammer.
Morse blew away some debris of soil and closed his mouth again, only to find that the corners of his mouth were being raised upwards.
He moved his cervical spine, temporarily letting the clay sculpture float in the air, and turned to observe the stone statue beside him.
The clay sculpture is a draft of the steel blade, one of the two components of the stone statue.
He had to let the finished product of the sharp blade fall correctly into the uncarved hand of the stone statue and hold it well.
Then someone knocked on his door. The knocking was heavy and short, and the rhythm was faster than usual, which revealed the hidden anxiety of the person outside. Morse glanced out the window and realized that it was dawn.
He continued to make the clay sculpture float in the air without any unnecessary external force and maintain the appropriate humidity. He said to the door: "Good morning, Perturabo."
"Morse." The door was pushed open immediately, and the lubricated door shaft was so smooth that it had no covering effect on the boy's eager footsteps.
Perturabo tried to walk in a straight line to hide his top-heavyness.
In addition, although the material of his robe has been forcefully straightened many times, it has only been stretched to the point where some of the cotton threads have become deformed and loose, unable to cover the wrinkles of the clothing itself.
Not to mention that this is the same one I wore yesterday.
"When can you teach me how to make stone sculptures?" He stared at Morse and said forcefully but uneasily.
Morse put the tool aside lightly and looked at Perturabo: "I saw the sun today only ten seconds ago. I thought you would at least leave me time for breakfast."
Perturabo immediately took out a tightly wrapped piece of bread from the cloth bag he was carrying, stretched out his arms, and wanted to hand it to Morse's eyes.
Morse sneered, took the paper bag and opened it. Perturabo continued to reach out and look through his small bag, and lowered his head and asked: "Do you want fruit?"
Morse took one last look at his stone sculpture. A thin piece of cloth floated over and gently covered it.
Then he pulled a wicker chair and lay down comfortably, eating the bread that was completely undamaged due to the perfect packaging. He used a wagging finger to signal Perturabo to stop stuffing him with greaseproof paper. Bag.
Perturabo threw another round paper bag aside, and then took the tools one by one from the table in Morse's room. What finally appeared in the center of the table was a new, intact stone.
When he did these things, he frowned and gritted his teeth, as serious as if he wanted to eat the whole table alive.
But his hands were shaking.
"You have to teach me how to trim stone sculptures, Morse. I will compete with Andros in one week." Perturabo put his hands on the table and tried to make himself taller.
“Oh, I thought you had learned your craft from the local masons of Lokos.”
"I went!" He suddenly raised his voice and quickly regained his senses. The knuckles of his fingers turned white when pressed on the table. "But they are not better than Andos. Everyone knows that Andos is A talented craftsman, everyone secretly said that he should not be a prince, because a stone sculpture can always outlive a family. "
"Am I better than Andos? "
"Isn't it!" "Have you seen the stone sculptures I completed as evidence?"
Perturabo opened his mouth and glanced at the soft cloth beside him The nameless half-finished statue was covered, and then he glanced at the miniature clay model floating in mid-air, obviously overwhelmed by this question.
He took a breath and said: "When I first met you, you once had a finished stone statue."
After Morse finished the bread, he clapped his hands and shook off the bread on the black cloth. Before Perturabo was knocked unconscious by panic, he said sarcastically: "Now it has turned back into raw material. Guess why?"
"Because you want to carve new ones. Stone statue. You strive for excellence."
"It's completely wrong because the quality of the previous stone statue is by no means superior to the top work made by the best craftsmen in Lokos."
"No. , Morse, you are better than them!" said Perturabo. "This is absolute, no one can deny it!"
Morse covered his mouth and yawned.
He was not very curious about when Perturabo began to regard his image as so mysterious and tall; nor was he very curious about what Perturabo had done with the empirical philosophy he read yesterday. To some forgotten space that does not exist.
"Okay, Perturabo." Morse tapped his heel, causing the wicker chair to rock back and forth. "It seems that you are not confident that you can defeat Andos with your own learning."
"I am your apprentice, Morse. My learning is to learn from you."
Perturabo raised one hand and clenched it into a fist, unconsciously grasping it like he was crushing an egg that couldn't be broken at all.
Mors stared at Perturabo until the boy looked unnaturally annoyed.
Perturabo does not accept defeat.
Especially the failure when competing with mortals.
But he didn't think he could win.
Morse spoke, adding a husky softness to his commanding tone.
"Find a chair and sit down, Perturabo."
Perturabo did as he was told.
“Now, close your eyes and imagine that your body becomes heavy and your feet are on the ground. Do you feel the weight of the land? Good, your body is relaxing and more relaxed. Chair support Hold your back, your legs, your body. You start to breathe, take a deep breath, inhale, exhale, inhale the fresh air, and the depression floats away with the exhale..."
Perturabo opened his eyes suddenly and jumped up from his chair: "Morse! Are you hypnotizing me?"
He sounded a little aggrieved.
"Exactly. I think that instead of chasing me nervously asking questions to get a set of carved standard explanations from me, you might as well lie down on the ground and take a nap to recuperate your energy."< br>
Morse said, mercilessly tapping Perturabo's nerves with his psychic energy.
The boy fell to the ground and soon snored.
This child has no habit of snoring, unless he cannot close his eyes for more than ten seconds for two days in a row.
Morse helped him adjust his sleeping position, flattening his awkward legs, feet and arms, placing a three-layered carpet under him, and throwing a white cloth over him to keep warm.
After finishing it, he calmed down and continued to think about his clay sword.
(End of this chapter)