Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

The loud music coming from the high platform made Morse take a few seconds to look for a hidden loudspeaker nearby.

He found these technological artifacts disguised as wood and bricks under the ceilings of some houses. After lamenting the abnormal technological development brought about by the strange technological era, he finally paid more attention to the stage.

It was not Damex himself who was conducting the contest, although he was there.

A man wearing a light yellow silver-edged robe stood up and, as one of the twelve advisers of Lokos, announced that under the witness of the citizens of Lokos, the prince would compete with the "genius from afar".

It seems that Damex's relationship with the Queen of the Cult is over.

Morse wouldn't say this was necessarily a good thing, but he couldn't help but feel relieved about this development.

On the stage, Damex touched his hands, smiled kindly at Perturabo, and then nodded appropriately to his child.

Morse noticed that Perturabo was not amused by the details of the tyrant's actions until Calliphon took the lead and looked back at Perturabo.

"Look at that boy's expression."

Morse said casually to the stranger next to him, his tone as light as the wind blowing over a bird's wings: "He no longer even frowns his eternally unhappy eyebrows."

"Can you see clearly?" the stranger asked.

"Of course." Morse nodded and led the stranger to a farther corner in the sea of ​​people.

People laughed happily and whispered to relatives and friends next to them. Many of them weren't even talking about today's upcoming matchup.

After they talked about art and aristocratic life, which they knew little about and heard from hearsay, they dryly praised the two today's protagonists for what a genius they were, and then silently said in their hearts that they deserved to be big shots, and then they had a tacit understanding. Looking at each other, they quickly dived into the topic of a more relaxed and free life, talking about the new stall owner in the market and the sunny day that lasted for a long time recently.

"If they could hear everyone's voices, Perturabo would spend an entire planetary cycle of depression commemorating the day he was not loved by everyone," Morse said, "unless he came up with something refreshing. Something, but can he do it?”

The stranger pessimistically tried his best to ignore the crowd around him who were chatting, laughing and joking, while changing the ground for the two of them to stand on and making way for them. At the same time, no one was aware of their existence.

"I don't know how you do it..." he said nervously. "Are you a messenger of any god?"

"If I am, then Perturabo probably is too. But neither of us are, right?"

The stranger stared blankly at Morse.

And Morse just planned to find a wooden stake to chat, just like he occasionally did with the tree in front of his house, or his handicrafts, or his psychic lamp.

So he didn't mind the lack of an answer.

He led the stranger to a house where dried fruits were not drying on the roof. He stepped lightly on the ground and jumped to the edge fence of the two-story top-floor open-air balcony. He walked slowly and lightly along the narrow fence as if there was nothing in it. With.

The stranger followed under the eaves, walking in sync with Morse. He may or may not hear it.

The clay pot was still in the stranger's hand.

Morse stared at the high platform, enjoying the unobstructed walking experience, stopping and walking on the rooftops of one house after another.

On the high platform, Staff Officer Lokos asked Perturabo and Andos if they had anything to say to the citizens.

This caused Perturabo's patience to slip quickly again. He shook his head angrily.

"I still don't understand why so many people came to watch. Am I your exhibit?" The boy's voice was carried by the wind.

Callifon gently advised in Perturabo's ear: "According to what you said, everyone on the stage is an exhibit for the citizens."

Then, in another piece of pretensely grand music, the soldiers' spears and halberds struck the ground, escorting the two works carefully carried by the cleansing officials to the stage.

The two tall statues were covered with black cloth, woven from the best wool in Lokos. The sheep were washed before being wooled, and then in the right season, workers cleaned their hands when the wool was loose. Then collect the wool to make it easier for the wool to form a coherent felt. Although expensive and troublesome, Morse dared to say that the people at the top who obtained such resources knew nothing about the entire process. To obtain a treasure, all they have to do is let words become commands.

"These two works were created by Lord Perturabo and Lord Andos respectively." The host said, "But please allow us to keep it secret for the time being. Which Lord the two works belong to. Please give your citizens a fair evaluation."

The ceremony officer silently stepped forward and neatly removed the black cloth from the two sculptures.

The statue of the goddess Herphony in Andos, and the combined statue of "Two people drawing swords and facing each other" recreated by Perturabo, are presented in front of everyone. The crowd under the stage was quiet for a few seconds, then became noisy again.

Morse had reached the roof closest to the dais.

In his opinion, the two players were equally skilled; if he had to choose a winner, he would choose Andos.

The reason is simple. In a duel between two statues, the statue of the boy with the hammer seems to have the upper hand.

The ministers, scholars and foreign dignitaries on the stage began their evaluations one after another.

"Want to comment with those citizens?" Morse said.

The stranger spoke mechanically: "The statue of Herphony is the work of Andos, and the nameless statue containing two people is the work of Perturabo."

Morse nodded, not asking where the stranger got the inside information.

"He came to me a few days ago and I gave him a good night's sleep and made sure he didn't learn anything anywhere."

"Of course, I have a lot to teach him, but it's not knowledge he needs, never. Sooner or later, knowledge will come back to him, and before that happens, he will find the gaping hole left by his loss."

He paused and stopped talking, "Who do you think will win?"

"Perturabo," answered the stranger.

"Then the outcome is decided." Morse's voice was sarcastic.

"I'm a little cold." The stranger said numbly.

"Well, because you're freezing," Morse said.

He sat down on the edge of the house, took out a piece of wood and a knife from nowhere, and carved an unfinished gadget.

On the stage, except for a few members of the royal family and the visitors who were just visiting, the remaining people cautiously praised the outstanding features of the two works alternately.

Sometimes they admire the polishing skills of one piece, and sometimes they admire the texture and layout of another piece. After each sentence is spoken, there will be a burst of eye contact within the small circle.

When they wrote the number of the work on the pottery and presented it to the host, the eyes that came and went were as entangled as silk glue.

Tyrants, princes, boys, everyone is being observed.

Andos lowered his eyes gently and acquiesced to all this happening, while Perturabo curled his fingers into his palms and clenched his fists.

The boy knew that the praise he received was on par with the prestigious Prince Andros, but this was not what he wanted.

He suddenly stood up from the cushion, walked to the front of the commentators, and began to comment loudly on the statue of Andos.

"What material does this stone imitate, gauze or cotton and linen? Why is it neither as elegant as yarn nor as thick as cotton? Has no one seen such an obvious flaw?"

Before Andros and Callifon had time to be surprised, Perturabo looked at his own statue again, gritting his teeth, and his anger was stronger than when directed at others: "There is also this statue, no one can see the two sculptured subjects. Isn’t the composition so sloppy? Isn’t the posture of the two people holding weapons against each other boring enough? If you can’t even criticize it, is any of your praise true?”

His move finally silenced the crowd for the first time today. Everyone stared blankly at the boy on the stage who ignored the rules. Perturabo achieves real limelight in another form.

Perturabo didn't care.

He snorted coldly, waved his hand, and pointed angrily at the last person who was about to put down the pottery shards tremblingly, "The registration is over, so show me the results!"

After receiving a hint from Damex, one of the attendants immediately presented him with a statistical board. Perturabo glanced at it and almost smashed the board to the ground.

Then he raised the board high and showed it to all directions.

"Look, so many people are recording their preferences...so many citizens are giving their evaluations 'fairly and impartially'. It turns out that among so many fair people, exactly half of them think Andos's work is excellent, and the other half Did one more person think I should have won? Did I win exactly one vote? I need an explanation!”

"Perturabo, we Lokos are fair. You deserve this honor. Your sharp words and courage to speak out are proof of your talent."

Someone spoke to persuade. Perturabo called out. He has not met the other person, but he knows this person.

Standing beside the tyrant, richly dressed and generous - no other person in Lokos fit this description.

Harcon.