Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 10 Tyrant Damex
Morse admired the fort in front of him with polite curiosity.

Palaces, fortresses, whatever you want to call them.

If every wall of this building is painted with smooth to slightly shiny paint, and the golden spire echoes the sun high in the sky, is the term "fortress" still used to highlight its original function when it was built? , is no longer important.

He tried to compare it with his impression of the Lokos Palace more than a hundred years ago, and then he concluded that this palace is a new level compared to before the renovation.

A thing that has lasted longer is more dazzling than when it was young, and has richer humanistic connotations. This is a rare attribute that artifacts made by craftsmen often contain.

He stood still in front of the gate studded with gold and silver reliefs, and the remaining three Locus guards looked at each other in blank dismay. Although their faces were puzzled, no one dared to urge them.

Morse lowered his head, and Perturabo also looked up at him. He was still gripping the long knife unconsciously, and the handle of the knife that had just been engraved was printed on the new fragile skin of his palm, and the boy didn't notice it.

Some pain is often good for relieving tension and staying awake.Morse actually had some experience with this.

Perturabo asked: "What's wrong? Looking at me like this?"

Morse patted the boy on the shoulder: "It's okay, but you remind me of something from the beginning of time."

For example, meeting a master, with ambition, expectation, vigilance and sword, ushers in questions, surprises and disappointments.

He turned to the three warriors and asked: "Is your tyrant an innocent person who allows others to bring swords to him?"

The leader of the team named Miltiades suddenly came to his senses, and then he refocused on the fact that the two guests had not changed their clothes, had not dropped their swords, and must not meet their great tyrant.

Instead of speaking out to defend the tyrant's reputation, the soldiers became uneasy: "Locos Tyrant is not..."

Morse didn't make things difficult for him either, the presence of psychic energy was removed with the thoughts in his heart, and the sharp long knife that had existed briefly in Perturabo's hand immediately turned into smoke.

"I'll give you a better one later." Morse casually said to Perturabo.

Perturabo looked at the palm of his hand, "Can it be replaced with a hammer?"

Morse smiled and said, "You want to open a blacksmith shop?"

While the two were talking, the gorgeous palace doors opened to both sides, as if the luxurious palace with ancient Terra style inside had taken off its veil.

Gold, silver, and white armors are neatly and evenly spaced among the marble columns, and the faces of all soldiers of the guard of honor are hidden under the deep shadow of the helmets, and the specific facial contours are erased, so as to highlight the Between the artifacts and the living human beings, there is that glimmer of majesty that seems human but not human.

All the courtiers present have also become components of the picture. They are neat, fit, with full foreheads, and luxuriously dressed. Like the towering halls, priceless decorations and decorative sharp blades, they have become perfect props to highlight the majesty of the throne.

It's a pity that some zenith lights that ruined the atmosphere made Morse couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth.

He let his gaze extend forward along the vanishing point of perspective in art.

In the middle of the two huge, exquisite, lifelike statues, surrounded by metal totems, but mixed with ancient Terrado cultural elements to the point of appearing inexplicably funny, is a huge throne carved from tons of marble.

A huge iron stone throne wraps a middle-aged man with an iron thorn crown and a golden scepter placed flat between his knees.The large and eye-catching nose, slightly narrowed eyes, sparse black hair, and slightly protruding belly all strengthen the characteristics of this man as an ordinary human being.

A mediocre body, a lazy posture, an oversized palace, and a supreme throne.

A brown-feathered hawk is set off by brightly colored peacocks and beautiful parrots.

+ He is the broken arm. +
+What? +Unknown allusion to Perturabo.

+Imagine a beautiful stone sculpture. She is no more extraordinary than any statue of beauty of her time, until her broken arm achieves her true beauty. +
Morse said happily in the Psionic channel.

+ You mean, the palace is beautifully carved in stone, and the tyrant is the most outstanding feature in the carved stone? +
The boy's voice was full of doubt at first, but the doubt evaporated in the middle of the sentence.Morse knew Perturabo understood him.

He could also imagine what the tyrant on the throne would look like in the boy's eyes—a life created by the combination of a simple mortal and the coldness and eagerness unique to the wise in his eyes.

Miltiades moved his poor lips, trying to remind the visitor to kneel down according to etiquette.Soon, he gave up and knelt aside in silence.

A herald in blue cloth stepped out of the courtier's colorful robes.

"Long live Damex!" the herald raised his head, and even Morse would not deny the elegance of his well-honed voice. "Praise be to the third of the Twelve Councils of Tiransix, the tyrant of Locus, the seven-fold lord of Cloytan and Dominica, the seven-fold incarnation of Alka, the great king Damex!"

He returned to the queue lightly, and the soldiers stamped their feet in unison, hitting the ground with the end of their golden spears.

+Who is Alka? +
+A divine term invented by local beliefs, I guess. +
An obscure look of disgust flashed across Perturabo's face.

On the throne, Damekus spoke briskly, using a seemingly warm and easy-going tone to cover up his reason and prying: "Miltiades, who are we gathering with?"

Miltiad bowed his head: "The boy of Kadisia, and the unknown hermit, Lord Tyrant."

"You didn't come back later than you promised, Miltiades. You said a few weeks ago that it would take you a long time to go through Kadeshya. I thought you were going to travel for two or three years and were considering Do you want to reduce your gold coins?"

Damex said kindly.His words were like a switch that triggered laughter from the courtiers as soon as it fell.

"Yes, Lord Tyrant." Miltiades responded too briefly, lowering his head even lower.

Damex's smile gradually disappeared in the silence. "Where are my other two warriors?"

"Sacrificed in the battle with Ax."

More silence fell, and the noble hall seemed to lose some color suddenly.

"The valiant will be rewarded." Damekus lamented, "Anoyinkai will bless them. Their families will each receive a hundred gold coins, Miltiades, you and your two warriors, ten gold pieces each. A gold coin."

"As you wish."

Damex finished his stage performance.

His gaze fell skillfully between Morse and Perturabo, so that both of them thought at the same time that the tyrant was looking at him.

"Boy, your legend has been spread all over Olympia. I thought some illiterate shepherd was exaggerating, and now I want to apologize: your legend is definitely far beyond the description in the rumors."

Perturabo looked at him quietly, with calm thought in his eyes. "Maybe."

"And this gentleman, you have hidden your legend very cleverly." Damex complimented jokingly, "I have reason to believe that you are the person who led this boy along the way. Are you his father? Or a mentor?"

Morse crunched his and Perturabo's books, and regrettably came to a less than pleasant conclusion.

"In fact, he may be my verbal creditor." Morse looked at the boy. "I owe him a hammer as a gift."

Facing everyone's unexpected looks, Morse smiled. "I am a craftsman, now named Morse."

(End of this chapter)