Chapter 325 Icon
At the moment when the morning light begins to shine on the ground, Morse wakes up from his slumber as usual - usually at the root of an unknown dead tree, or a flat ground deep in the sand , he didn't care where his cursed body lay.
He walked through yellow sand with high radiation concentration. In the distance, the standing rock wall has become pitted by the erosion of time and any other factors. The poisonous red mist accumulated on the surface like a blood-colored gauze.
Different from the twilight poisonous mist of Barbarus, which was created by the vicious curse of the sorcery overlord and the natural climate of the planet, the red mist of Baal was born from an ancient dispute that once befell this land.
In the past human civil war, radioactive weapons of dark technology artificially changed the climate environment of Baal and its two satellites.
The uninhabited old city of Baal, where the radiation concentration is too high, is a half-dead proof of the bloody history of mankind.
Just above these rock walls, there were some people lying down looking down at him, holding telescopes that could not be said to be advanced or primitive, observing his whereabouts from a distance.
After Morse began to be active in the Baal market, the elders in the city paid attention to his movements.
Is there another prophet? They question it. In their strange stereotype, the only person who can make accurate predictions is an angel whose height can break the roof. , and the angelic brothers of angels.
For Morse, this is actually an interesting thing.
The heavy white robe Morse now wore wrapped around his legs in the wind and sand. This outfit is still the same style that was popular in Prospero decades ago, except for the additional gray and white turban that blocks the wind.
Under this suit of clothing, the only part of Morse that can be seen is the slit between the face mask and the turban, and the black eyes visible in the slit.
He has always known what kind of image fits the prophet and the apocalypse in human thought - the glorious Son who descends from the sky and openly reveals his extraordinary face, or the one who has no origin, is taciturn, and is extremely mysterious. The holy old man.
Morse entered the city-state leisurely, passed through the city gate, passed by the fence where animals were kept, turned in the winding path, entered the edge of the market, and threw a blanket to cover the radiation and blazing heat. Under the sun's rays of metal.
He sat down casually as usual, took out a box of cards from his sleeve, and threw it on the blanket beside him, letting the similar patterns printed on the back of the cards spread out loosely, then lowered his head and continued He slept sitting up.
The first person to come to the market was the water seller on Bawei.
They were wrapped tightly from head to toe, with only one or half of their faces exposed, pushing carts, in which pottery pots filled with water collided with each other in the uneven movement of the wheels. This is a very valuable trade material on Parcel Moon, and it is always in short supply.
The front of the trolley is mostly hung with one or two radiation concentration counters that collide with each other, making a clicking sound.
Soon after, more stalls were set up on the roadside, selling some scones, ready-made clothes and small clay toys for playing.
In normal times, there are not too many stalls or pedestrians, and this is already the result of the arrival of Sanguinius.
But it's been different lately. Very different. They came earlier and in greater numbers, far exceeding the number of people who usually come to the market to participate in trade, and their age groups were also richer. Adults come here with more than one child in their family, which is obviously more than what is needed for help.
Finally, the first man sat down on the sand in front of Morse, his mind wandering and wandering.
He stared at the motionless "Inspired One" and became overwhelmed after sitting down, as if this had used up all his courage.
The visitor swallowed his saliva and said tentatively: "Soothsayer, I should..."
"Take it." The fortune teller wrapped in thick white cloth said, his voice was deep. The hoarseness seemed to come from the collision of frosted iron and stone, making it almost difficult to hear clearly.
Such a voice must have been uttered by an old and wise person, and his face may also be marked with wrinkles and scars that are like the erosion of decades of time, even more so than the rumored mountains or the rift valley that goes deep into the bottom of Baal. Longer and more daunting.
The fortune teller's short words made the visitor feel a penetrating fear for an instant. At this moment, it seemed that what he was looking at was no longer a fortune teller coming from afar, but something more empty. Echoes, waiting to devour anyone's soul.
He stood there blankly until the fortune teller patiently repeated his words for the second time: "Take."
The visitor immediately picked up a card from the floor. For a moment that was invisible to mortals, the front of the card seemed to be blank. Looking again, it was clear that there were thick and colorful patterns on the card.
It was a complex and confusing puzzle. The background seemed to be a city-state in the yellow sand. However, the card surface had been cut with several scattered scratches, and then was roughly reassembled in the wrong way, and blended into a ball. A scene of stagnation.
"The Shattered World. Right." The fortune teller's dark eyes penetrated the back of the tarot cards and read out the name on the card accurately.
The diviner lowered his head again and whispered vaguely and indifferently, with a thick accent. "One person dies. One person lives."
The visitor burst into tears and the tarot cards fell from his hands, obviously comprehending the connotation of this concise interpretation. He walked awkwardly along the road in the center of the market, stumbling slowly away.
The first guest did not pay any reward, and no matter what result he got, his reaction was enough to illustrate the effectiveness of divination.
Soon, the second person squatted down in front of the fortune teller and consciously picked up a card. Before he turned the card over, the fortune teller's hand wrapped in white gauze suddenly clamped his wrist.
"Put it down." A bolt of thunder exploded in the second person's ears. His fingers trembled with fear, and the card fell from his fingers.
The fortune teller looked at him like he was looking at a mountain rock made of sand and stones. He did not need to say a single word. The second person immediately understood that the other person had already learned that he was a subordinate sent by the Council of Elders of Baal. .
A dark coldness followed the fortune teller's hand and climbed up to his wrist, like a cold iron rope, slowly tightening him.
His lips and tongue were blocked, and he could only squeeze out a strangled sound. The only answer his poor thinking circuit gave him was to immediately take out all the valuables from his pockets - specifically, It was the three silver coins he carried and presented to the fortune teller: "I'm sorry, great... master..."
After he did this, the fortune teller let go of him, that cold touch Still wrapped around his arm. The second man quickly got up and ran away.
The fortune teller picked up the silver coin in the yellow sand and tossed it casually. It happened to fall into the hands of the person who was hesitating to step forward among the more and more onlookers around him.
The man froze on the spot, then became extremely happy, and the worries on his face were swept away. He bowed deeply to the fortune teller, and then quickly left the market, obviously going to do something that he had originally planned to do, but was limited by money and was unable to achieve it.
After the third person left, the fortune teller picked up the tarot card left by the second person from the sand and turned it over.
A gorgeous door carved from sterling silver stands in a dark background, as if crossing the silver door can symbolize the change of fate.
"The Silver Door (TheSilverDoor)." The fortune teller whispered, a set of simple words, floating in the red mist that was about to disperse. Under the background of what had just happened, there was an extra An unspeakable miracle.
The crowd surged quietly. Even in the past few times, people who came to the market had heard about the strangeness of this fortune teller. They had witnessed the effect of tarot calculations with their own eyes and the fortune teller's ability to determine fate. It was still something else. A completely different kind of shock.
Destiny. This word often has different meanings in the eyes of people who grew up in different environments and experienced different levels of ups and downs.
Sometimes, it is pursued and pursued by pessimists. More often, it is a language prop used to satirize the course of life. It is used in sentences of lamentation and ridicule. Be truly believed. However, when the prophecy actually happens around a person, in a mysterious and mysterious way, as if lifting the curtain of reality, no matter how much the person claims to be rational, he will inevitably have ripples in his heart.
In this way, in human society that has lasted for tens of thousands of years, there seems to have never been a lack of followers around an unexplored visionary.
At least, that was what Sanguinius saw as he glided from the higher round tower the Baals had built for him and landed lightly beside the bustling marketplace.
With just one glance, he could recognize the admiration and yearning surging in the eyes of his people.
After all, when Sanguinius crawled out of his nursery with his wings still weak, the Baal people almost looked at the mutant who looked like a mutant but was born with an aura. A unique child with such dazzling charm.
Faith. Sanguinius sighed inwardly. Its birth is so simple - people who need an idol to place their spirit will naturally entrust their faith to others at any coincidental opportunity.
As soon as the archangel landed, his tall figure immediately attracted the attention of most people present. His people moved forward to welcome him with joy, but did not dare to get too close, lest they accidentally offend the splendor of the angels who descended here.
"Lord Sanguinius," they called in a pious whisper, and Sanguinius responded with a helpless smile, walking towards the direction of the fortune teller amid the crowd.
Meanwhile, Sanguinius's doubts grew stronger. Who is that? At this point in the Great Crusade, he happened to arrive on his planet with a revelation-like ability?
If he is...
"No." The fortune teller said plainly in the local language, as if he had seen through his heart. The archangel was suddenly startled and stopped in front of the fortune teller.
"Visitors from afar," Sanguinius's words were like a gentle breeze blowing through the still air. As time went by, the red mist in the morning was on the verge of dissipating. At this time, with a gentle flap of the angel's wings, it completely dissipated. "Barr has never seen you. Where did you come from?"
"About fourteen light-walking months from the core of the solar system, there is a planet that focuses on divination and prophecy." The fortune teller's accent became thicker, "All of Ishma's culture is rooted in antiquity. Belief in sacred things, and in-depth analysis of prophecies. "
The fortune teller's habit of being reticent is well known, and this is the first time that the fortune teller has introduced his identity on Baal.
The onlookers all gathered all their attention, half of which was devoted to admiring the beautiful angel, and generally used to listen to the golden words of the inspired person.
“They use palm prints, palmistry, counting, throwing arrows, and even furs, organs, and bones of relics to predict enlightenment about the future. In many cases, their predictions are so accurate that ordinary people find it difficult to Understand, and their technology has steadily moved in a unique direction in the old night, achieving rare progress."
The doubts in Sanguinius's heart grew more and more, like a floating flower. There are light clouds, and more water vapor is gathering into them.
"Is that where you come from, guest?" the angel asked gently. "It sounds so far away from Baal."
"No, angel." The diviner gave an unexpected answer .
"Oh, but you are so proficient in divination," the angel sighed, "Are you from a planet that is better at predicting the future?"
"I can't do divination." Bai The robed man said.
His words fell among the crowd, like stones thrown into the rare water of Baal, creating a criss-crossing ripples.
This is impossible. someone said. Maybe a revelation. Some trivial voices were discussing. Or the fragments of the future that pure blood brings him. The inspired one.
Sanguinius narrowed his eyes, his eyelashes creating a shadow.
"Huh... can't you?"
A huge black shadow quietly appeared from behind the man in white robes. No one understood how this giant several meters high sneaked up. Everyone's vision was blind, but when they discovered that this was the rumored Midnight Angel, their doubts were naturally fleeting.
After all, this is the blood relative of their beloved Blood Angel.
"I really don't know how." The man in white robe changed his slow movements and stood up from the carpet neatly.
His turban slipped off his head, revealing a young face, with half-long black hair that was messily curly, and black eyes set in a sharp-lined cheek. From any angle, he looked like The impression that fortune tellers could bring to people in the past was completely contrary to the previous impression.
The playing cards on the ground floated up out of thin air, and were all unfolded between his open hands. The cards were facing out, allowing everyone to see clearly that it was a blank stack of cards.
His behavior resulted in a number of startled reactions, including but not limited to whispers, movements of feet, and turning of heads.
“Oh.” The angel was at a loss for words, and he didn’t know what to say for a moment.
"Psychic tricks." Curze strode through the crowd and walked to Sanguinius's side. "Tricks to peer into the mind."
"Combined with a little vague wording, sincerity without a clear lie Hints, and excellent observation skills.”
The man in white robe smiled, closed his hands, and put the cards in his hands, and put them back into his cuffs.
“Of course, there is also the diligence of getting up without dawn for a week straight. I don’t even need to say who I am, and this is the practical skill of creating icons, even your elders are almost Believe it, right?"
"You are..." Sanguinius took a step back.
"Morse," the man in white robe said. After he said his name, the thick white robe on his body was also re-dyed, as if soaked in thick ink, becoming completely black. "I think you have heard of me. Now that Conrad is with you."
"Conrad did mention you," the angel said, a little annoyed at being played, but more incredulous. Helpless, "Friends of the Emperor, this is an interesting first meeting."
Sanguinius nodded lightly to the people in the market, and his people immediately left the area obediently. , the water sellers even left their carts where they were.
“As long as it’s interesting,” Morse shrugged. “Among the emperor’s descendants with their own characteristics, you are the only one who is the most typical born icon. Therefore, I am very curious. Is your people's respect for you a gift from the original genetic body, or from their own need for religion?"
He tilted his head: "I. Have I offended you, Sanguinius?"
"I wouldn't say no." Sanguinius sighed.
"That's good." Morse smiled, "I'm glad that I can make a deep impression on you."
(End of this chapter)