Chapter 32 Reminiscences (The reason for the update is in the words)
Morse realized that there were two things that he could not carve. One was due to the wanderings of his private heart, and the other was limited by his skills. upper edge.
The flaming sword has fallen into the palm of the statue. For safety reasons, the runes on it were replaced with another beautiful ancient language to prevent the heat wave caused by the fire from shaking Olympia. A soft, crystal curtain between reality and the highest heaven.
The ethereal firelight is temporarily forged by the spiritual power of the craftsmen. Mortals can only see the delicate stone patterns that can be captured by the naked eye. Only those with an extra spiritual mind can see the harmony of shadow and energy. Lu Goulian experienced the trembling of his soul, as if a fire was burning out of the filth, leaving only a golden piece of cold cleanliness.
However, apart from this long sword that was carved with care, there are two remaining flaws that greatly detract from the overall sculpture. On the one hand, people want to urgently urge the author to complete them as soon as possible. On the one hand, I doubt whether the author is really capable of making up for it.
This statue has no left hand and no face. The left hand is the hand holding the sacred object, and the face is the face of the saint.
Morse gently pressed the sides of his eyes to relieve the psychological pressure caused by the carving process.
He has spent countless hours on this carving, and the excessive investment is enough to make an eternal man fall into worry and introspection.
In the end, he never figured out how he made the decision to carve that man's statue. He attributed it to some inspiration and a momentary inattention.
He sighed and looked out the window.
Night has come again, and the hustle and bustle on the streets returns to their homes with most of the industrial and commercial workers, leaving only the lights of the night shift and the occasional whisper-like sound of wind that breaks the silence, coming from very far away. , passes through human ears, and then falls to an extremely distant place.
Morse put down the work he had assigned to himself and came to the edge of the window. Through the diamond-shaped window, he saw that the lights on the ground were gradually dimming. First, in the distance, under the plateau where Lokos was located. The Stratoitis Plain fell into a pure deep sleep, and then every family in the city slowly fell into drowsiness.
He is now in this city of people, but he is not always here.
Occasionally he would think of his house in the woods, where every sound from human beings would die, and then natural and eternal life would play the music of the cradle, using subtle rustling sounds to compose the music of lulling sleep. .
His spiritual energy lights up his own light, where he reads all the stories, pictures, and statues he has recorded, and becomes part of his spiritual sustenance in the older, older nights, becoming what his existence itself represents. A tangible manifestation of the deepest aspects of value.
Then he thought of the child who fell off the cliff.
He knew very well at that time that the child would be extraordinary, and he kept the child with a feeling that he could not explain, so he knew that the child's name was Perturabo, and he himself I got a brand new name, and I am not completely cut off from the past.
He knew that his new name symbolized the legendary god who had the power of death in Rome in the old night. This specialness coincided with his dislike of Rome itself. Perhaps it was a coincidence that it was his past hatred of Rome. Current struggles and responses.
The moment he happily accepted his new name, he accepted the reality that he was approaching the human world and a new life again.
Morse closed the curtain that blocked the light and heard a low voice knocking on his door.
He paused and said: "Come on."
The boy opened the door and walked in without any delay: "Dameix invited me to participate in the construction of the project."
"Military industry? "
"Yes." Perturabo said, looking a little uneasy and restless.
Morse stretched out his hand to invite Perturabo to sit down. He stood by the window, stroking the wooden window frame with one hand. The window frames were an exercise in repetitive patterns carved by Perturabo.
"I won't stop you," Morse said, "if you make your choice."
Perturabo looked at him with stunned surprise in his ice-blue eyes; The lips pursed, and the two rows of teeth fit tightly into each other.
"I did agree." The boy's hands grasped each other, "but I..."
Morse waited for him to think. Perturabo quickly completed the process.
“But I don’t like to get involved in the struggle,” he said forcefully. “I don’t want to provide weapons for the feats on their walls.”
"I don't like watching the weapons I made kill another person. I don't want Olympia to mention that I can only think of a vendor who produces war. I don't want them to blame me for the bloodshed..."
Perturabo took a deep breath and vented all the disgust from his body through the circulation of gas. The gloom left a mark on his eyebrows. "Their struggle is not for unification and development, but for the advancement of power with the regression of civilization."
"Go on."
Perturabo stared at Moore uneasily Morse, every word that came out of his mouth was a reflection of his hesitation: "But unification requires war." Morse nodded: "Continue."
Perturabo gritted his teeth hard, and the next words were no longer difficult. He relaxed his clasped hands with relief, as if a worried nightmare had finally let go of him.
"I hope Lokos will win the final victory, Mors. Lokos is something we can control, but other city-states cannot." He announced his plan arrogantly, "Dameix's Ambition meets Olympian rightness. Diplomacy is the first option, war is the second option, and if they are to succeed, they do need us." br>
Morse was noncommittal. "Have you thought it through?" he just asked. "Does talking to me about this make you feel better?"
"Yes," Perturabo said. He pursed his lips and said, "I want a city-state that belongs to me."
"You have changed a lot."
"Because the citizens chose me, you told me so." As he said this, the extremely astonishing long letter Morse wrote to him came to mind, so the corners of his mouth turned up or down. No, he was frozen there in a weird way.
Morse's fingers suddenly tightened, and together with his arms, a pungent heat coursed through his body. He heard his blood flowing, part of it rushing inside his body, and the other part spilling out of his once-broken skin like a phantom, intersecting with each other to form nameless shackles, almost comically following gravity in his consciousness. The command fell into the soil.
He lowered his eyes, and after half a second, the regular sarcastic smile returned to his face.
"Very good, you have learned to build a stage for yourself." He gently patted the palm of his left hand with the four fingers of his right hand together, "I want to remind you in advance that I have no intention of directly joining any party. Go into battle and don't expect help from me in the depths of the battlefield."
"I don't need that much help," said Perturabo.
He was confident that he would not get to that point, and he had done the math before coming and found that he could not afford to pay the price of Morse's admission anyway.
"In what capacity will you participate in the struggle?"
"Considering my talent, I hope it will be the commander-in-chief."
"Oh." Morse smiled Laughing, leaning on the window frame, "Our little young commander."
"Don't call me that - I want to build cities and swords and guns first, and when I grow taller, I will get my Army.”
"Have you ever thought of a name and a slogan for the army?"
"We don't need that falsehood."
"I suggest you think of one, Perturabo. Wait until they are here Please come on stage to boost morale when taking the oath before the battle. You don’t want to lose a high-spirited ending.”
Perturabo imagined the scene in his mind, and then nodded reluctantly. "I will think of a slogan, and the name can be whatever. It is not my army anyway."
"You can call them Aventing."
"What? Does that have any meaning?"
"That sounds good." Morse shrugged, "It doesn't have any meaning. Anyway, I'm going to continue studying my stone sculptures."
"I named it like that, can you come and help me fight?"
"Are you sleepwalking?"
Perturabo wanted to roll his eyes when he looked at it.
Morse peered through the hazy cloth and peered into the light from the diamond window. "I guess you don't have the patience to watch the sunrise with me again."
"I'll leave right away." The boy turned around, and before leaving, he added triumphantly: "This way Harkon will be there Participated in the battle under my command.”
Morse had to start thinking about where their relationship with Lokos would go after the death of the tyrant’s eldest son.
The author's Seven Hundred Stones and Thirty Talisman No Five Star Princess sunk, I hope everyone knows
(End of this chapter)