Chapter 40 Can’t find it
What nonsense is that fool talking about! Damn, cursed, life-threatening, gibbering mad prince, he deserves to be dragged into the lake of drowning by the supreme and corrupt heaven, stuffed into the boat without sails, and put him Throw him across the sea and fall forever, never speak a word again, never utter a prophetic syllable, cut off his hand, tear his paper, and prevent him from making a pattern worthy of death!
Morse took a breath, calmed his breathing, and put the pen that had been hanging for a long time back on the pen holder. The pen holder collapsed due to stress.
He knocked on the table, and the ink, the broken pen holder, and the broken quill automatically recovered one after another.
Andos didn't know what to do, and he even regretted taking Morse to meet his crazy brother.
Although he didn't know what crazy words Cruz and Morse said, the craftsman couldn't control his emotions. Not to mention he hadn't seen it, I'm afraid his apprentice Perturabo had never seen it either.
“Mr. Morse,” he said hesitantly, controlling his volume carefully. Perhaps he didn’t have such concentration when carving the smallest objects. “My brother is a Madman... No matter what he said, please... don't take it to heart."
"Do you know what he said?" Morse leaned back and the wicker chair suddenly fell back. , and after a few shakes, it stopped worryingly.
His eyes were staring straight at Andros, which made the prince feel nervous.
“Did he say something offensive?” the prince asked worriedly. “Cruz is always like this. He has a set of prophecies that he claims to have? He will say a few things that are impossible to happen upon hearing them. For example, if the wolf wants to eat the heart of the Wolf God... please don't take it too seriously, Morse."
Morse quietly placed his index finger on the center of his eyebrows, placed his thumb on the side of his temple, and placed the other three fingers along the bridge of his nose in sequence, with his little finger resting on the tip of his nose.
After a long time, he opened his eyes, and he seemed to have regained his former calm and even coldness.
"He said something very offensive, Prince." Morse said coldly, "Something that deserves to be cursed a thousand times. His prophecy negates everything I have done."
His hands dropped from his face, hanging down naturally, along the edge of the desk and drawers to his knees. Stored in one of the drawers are the fleeting records he has written over the years.
"I don't think there is any possibility of what he predicted happening, prince; any unauthorized speculation about the future is a clear insult to my craft."
If that was the future, did he die in the process?
Would he do nothing if he allowed his apprentice to be taken away, defeated, and corrupted?
Or in that historical section, he was never resurrected after his first death - that would be great!
"Since it is his hysterical nonsense, there is no need to pay attention to it." Prince Andos persuaded him kindly.
Morse exhaled again, maintaining his superficial rationality.
Yes, he didn't have to be consumed by rage.
This is not the first time he has met a prophet; how to extract potentially effective information from the prophecy and ignore those irrelevant branches of events should be something he has long been familiar with.
"You are right, Andros." He tasted a trace of unresolved anger from the depths of his words, "Nothing is going to happen."
Andros still Can't settle down. His ability to empathize tells him that Morse still has a lot of burning anger in his heart, but his noble sense of morality does not allow him to leave just now.
Even though he knew very well that it was Morse who first questioned the ceremony they were hosting, and it was Morse who asked to see his mad brother.
"Let's talk about something else, Mr. Morse."
Andos persuaded softly, his eyes roaming around a small non-private area in the room, and finally picked out one that he thought he would never see again. A tangled topic.
He looked at the bottles of paint on Morse's desk: "What craft work have you been working on recently, Mr. Morse? There is so much content in this meeting that I rarely guess it correctly."< br>
“Some miniature models.” Morse picked up a small sculpture about one finger high from the table.
The color on the sculpture was only half painted, and was left aside by the creator according to his impatient routine, so that the model was only distinguished by the main colors of each area, whether it was light and shadow or Material effects have not been processed yet.
"Do you want to take a look?"
Andos took the model with both hands and observed it carefully.
Even if the creator is particularly good at giving up halfway, Morse's own basic skills, which are so profound that they can make anyone amazed and ashamed, still fascinate Andos.
The prince smiled and asked sincerely: "Can you allow me to try to finish the coloring process?" "Have you finished the draft I gave you last time?"
"Not yet, I always feel that I can't handle the intersection of waves and rocks in that painting cleanly..."
"Forget your inherent color, prince. Think of the environmental color. Give me a hint, left The shadow of half of the rock is purple, and the shadow of the right half of the rock is green."
Andos's eyes lit up, feeling very happy about the new artistic inspiration: "I will try it when I get back, thank you. . ”
He was holding the slender little model and was already anxious to go back and finish the exercise that he had been worrying about for a long time. However, his mood did not get much better when he saw Morse, and he really couldn't leave.
If Perturabo were here, Mr. Morse should be able to regain his mood soon: when they are in the same place, they can often achieve a natural harmony through two-way sarcasm and dislike-but The Perturabo people were outside the city walls and were about to fight for Lokos. Andos knew that he could not win over this savior.
In the spirit of giving it one last try, Andos set his sights on a new piece he hadn't seen before.
It looks like a semi-finished coat of arms. The zigzag-shaped city wall made of iron is surrounded by a gapped circle, with gold gears, steel hammers and emerald mountains inlaid in the middle. .
The most noteworthy thing is that there seems to be some mysterious characteristic in the work. He can't tell what it is. He only feels that the coat of arms seems to be covered with fascinating sacred power. Although it is cold, But clean.
Morse did not stop his observation, which gave Andros the courage to ask his question.
He tried his best to be polite and not overly pretentious and asked: "Is this your latest idea, Mr. Morse?"
Morse's intriguing look gave him a chill.
"You are indeed obsessed with art, prince." He said, picking up the coat of arms with his fingertips wrapped in black cloth, and handed it to Andos personally.
"Touch him, prince."
Andos did as he was told without knowing why.
The moment his hand came into contact with the coat of arms, a cold but pure power suddenly penetrated his whole body. He bathed in it and felt that his body and mind were purified, and there was not much in it. All distracting thoughts are burned away.
When he came to his senses, the drop of water dripping from the water clock told him that not even a second had passed.
He handed back the coat of arms and asked curiously: "The feeling just now... was it a gift?"
Morse nodded, and his attention finally made people feel the normal feeling. The temperature: "Just take it as it is, Prince."
Morse chatted with the prince for a few more words and then sent him away.
Things finally confused him completely.
If Andos, who is addicted to art, has not been contaminated, and Cruz, the crazy psyker, is safe and sound, then who will suffer the catastrophe?
He picked up the coat of arms and played with it in his hands, Cruz's prophecy still weighing heavily in his heart.
The prophecy itself is not true. Regardless of whether the content is reasonable or whether it will happen, he only does what he should do.
Morse propped up his chin and placed the coat of arms on the table.
The real problem that needs to be taken seriously is that he has smelled too many irritating dirty evils from everywhere.
The essence of prophecy is the erosion of reality by the vast ocean. This is the most important piece of information among all.
The curtain of evil thoughts has quietly been lifted, and he must find the damn gap.
(End of this chapter)