Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

The attendants left with the crowned one, leaving only the workers who were dismantling the platform to begin their work.

When Callifon showed such obvious respect to an ordinary citizen, Perturabo seemed to finally realize something. First he subconsciously let out a sigh of relief, and then his anger suddenly rose. He crossed his arms nervously to his chest and concentrated. He stared at Morse with his mouth pouted.

If Callifon and Andros were not still here, Morse felt that the child would pounce on him with all his teeth and claws at the next moment, interpreting the vivid shape of the statue into reality.

"Please continue your story, citizen," Callifon said to Morse, her eyes flashing.

Mors faced Perturabo, his eyes were lowered, and his tone was somewhat unpredictable and mysterious: "It is said that once upon a time in Lydia, there was an incredibly talented girl named Arachne, whose brocade craftsmanship was famous throughout Olympia. When she wants to embroider clouds, the clear sky will stop for her; when she wants to weave springs, the fairies will also admire her. "

"Yet the girl often said that her skills were more exquisite than those of the goddess of wisdom. The goddess came to persuade her not to be arrogant and to forgive her arrogant words. Arachne would not give in, and they had to compete."

"Arachne not only refused to admit defeat, but also provoked the goddess with embroidery, weaving patterns of contempt and rebellion." Perturabo glanced at his double stone statue at this time, "so the goddess became angry and destroyed the embroidery. He touched her forehead with his hand and asked her to repent. Arachne couldn't bear it and committed suicide. After her death, the goddess let her spirit ascend and turned her into a weaving spider with mercy. From then on, she became the same kind as the beast. Weaving her web day by day ˜”*°•.˜˜.•°*”˜”

Perturabo's pent-up anger gradually transformed, and more panic accumulated on his face. His high-speed thinking was enough for him to compile a complete story for himself. When Morse finished speaking, he had already determined in his mind the answer to the question on the thin white paper a few days ago.

He has compared himself to Morse's frail little insect that is stubbornly resisting the gods.

"I..." Perturabo's lips and teeth were raw, as if there were rough gravel in his mouth, "But this is the question you set..." He whispered in defense.

Andos had another understanding. Although this prince was alienated from society, he and the incomprehensible were completely opposite ends of the same tree.

He asked curiously: "Citizen, are you saying... that my contest with Perturabo is just like the contest between this weaver and the goddess?"

Then the prince shook his head, his words full of gentle disapproval: "Our competition... is just an exchange between two people, and Perturabo... he will not turn people into animals. He is a good person."

Callifon almost choked on her brother's last few words, while Morse smiled straightforwardly and generously, leaving Andros confused as to where he had gone wrong.

"But I heard another story, citizen."

The princess reluctantly found the rhythm of her words. Her eyes communicated with Morse's, and her eyes flashed with a smile.

"I saw another statement in a letter. Although it is similar in general, there are many small differences."

"The immortal god heard the rumors of this mortal skill, and her wrath will rise against the earth. The goddess will not let others despise her with impunity. The goddess's hand moves on the machine, weaving the shapes of the gods in the sky, to use the god's The feathered helmet and golden shield symbolize her power; she embroiders the images of arrogant mortals being punished on the four corners of the pattern to show her glorious majesty.”

"Arachne compiled the four disasters created by the gods: the first woman was burned to death, a young girl was deceived by an eagle, a woman turned into an ox and wandered around, and the noble queen was defiled by evil."

"When the goddess saw that she was weaving well, she tore the scandal of the god into pieces and struck the girl on the forehead with the shuttle. Arachne couldn't bear it and committed suicide. The goddess was still angry and cursed her race to be punished for generations. From then on Hanging forever on the web spinning their yarn.”

Callifon paused and asked kindly: "Whose story is it that you want to tell, dear citizen?"

Perturabo fell into more confusion. He sometimes looked at the young man in blue robe, and sometimes looked at Callifon.

【

】

Rather than not understanding what Morse was playing, he didn't understand when Morse and Callifon had such an unspoken understanding.

How come they know each other?

Morse shrugged his shoulders, and the blue cloth robe rippled like water, condensing together with his fake skin color into several icy trickles, rolling away into the void along the outline of his body.

The real pale cheeks and his constant black clothes and cloth strips are washed and reappeared, and the ironic arc of his lips remains unchanged.

Andos let out a small oh in surprise.

Perturabo immediately approached Morse and looked up at him intently.

"What the hell do you mean, Morse!" He clenched his uneasy fists, weighing the weight of his own words. "What is the answer to the mystery you devised?"

"My answer?" Morse put his palm on Perturabo's shoulder and patted the boy. "I won't provide answers because I'm not prepared."

He half-crouched down, with the edge of his black robe lying on the ground. His eyes were level with Perturabo's, looking at the boy's face.

As he said, he has never devised a precise answer to the story itself; he has no intention of setting a standard for who is the weaver in the story and who is the supreme god in the story.

"When I wrote this question, I was not thinking about who was in the story, but who wrote the story and who came up with the puzzle." Morse said, "After all, in the real past, Neither Minerva nor Arachne existed. So, who made the characters in this story change between good and evil?"

Kalifon nodded slightly.

"Tell me," Mors said to Perturabo. "You're a smart boy."

Perturabo thought for a few seconds and then said, "The one who writes stories."

His clenched hands relaxed, replaced by a complicated expression and a sad silence in the face of absurd and false things.

He said: "Your story is written by the Halkon, and Callifon's story is written by the Citizen."

“The story of God tells the four sufferings of man, and the story of man records the four evil deeds of God.”

Morse nodded calmly.

The boy continued: "You have to tell me that only those who can speak can be heard. You have to tell me that false glory is always false."

He turned his head stubbornly, unwilling to accept: "But I didn't let the citizens flatter me. They still elected me, and I'm still a little better off."

Morse decided not to tell him now that subsequent voting tendencies were closely related to the choice of the first person to take office.

"And..." Perturabo's question had a follow-up, "And even if the glory is fake, you still haven't told me what my statue is like! You never lie to me, and I will tell you frankly, you How about the statue I carved?"

Morse sighed and praised warmly: "Very good, Perturabo, I commend you."

You must talk about his shortcomings on the spot. If you don't have the time limit of three hours to talk about it, why don't you go back and talk to him in detail.

What's more, this child is going to collapse soon.

Perturabo pursed his lips to suppress a smile.

The next second, the boy fell into Morse's arms and fell into a coma.

"Look, even if you don't want to think about it, you are already in this vortex." He whispered.

He had chosen to tell the boy too much of what he knew.

Then, Mors held Perturabo in his arms and stood up straight. He used all the gentleness he had today with the boy.

"I want you to tell me which city-state the official who presented you with the gold jar came from." He threw the empty box on the ground and ordered, "His accomplices have been snared and go to the streets to find his ice statue. "

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