Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 28 Who is Arachne?
The attendants left with the crown wearer, leaving only the workers who dismantled the high platform to start working.

When Carliphon showed such obvious respect to an ordinary citizen, Perturabo seemed to finally realize something, first he subconsciously let out a sigh of relief, then his anger suddenly rose, his arms were tightly folded on his chest, and he focused He stared at Morse intently, and pouted his lips.

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.

"Go on with your story, citizen," Carifon said to Morse, her eyes twinkling.

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. The boundary of the land; when she wants to embroider clouds, the clear sky will stop for her; when she wants to weave springs, the fairies will also praise her."

"But the girl often said that her skills were more exquisite than 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 was not only unwilling to admit defeat, but also provoked the goddess with embroidery, weaving patterns of defiance and rebellion." Perturabo glanced at his double stone statue at this time, "so the goddess became angry and destroyed the embroidery. He also 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 again and turned her into a weaving spider out of 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, and his words were 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."

Carliphon almost choked on her brother's last words, and Morse smiled bluntly and generously, leaving Andos puzzled, wondering where he made a mistake.

"But I heard another story, citizen."

The princess reluctantly regained the rhythm of her language, her eyes met with Morse's, and a smile shone brightly in her eyes.

"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 plumed 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 ugly thing of the god into pieces, and the shuttle hit the girl's forehead. Arachne couldn't bear it, and committed suicide. Hanging on the net forever to spin 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 understanding what kind of tricks Morse was playing, he didn't understand when Morse and Carifon had such a tacit understanding.

How come they know each other?

Morse shrugged his shoulders, the blue cloth robe fluctuated like water, and together with his fake skin color condensed into a few cold trickles, rolling away into the void along the contours 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 soft oh in surprise.

Perturabo immediately approached Morse, looking up at him without turning his eyes.

"What the hell do you mean, Morse!" He squeezed his restless 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 don't provide the answer because I haven't prepared it."

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 designed 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 didn't think about who is the person in the story, but who wrote the story and who gave the puzzle." Morse said, "After all, in the real past, Neither Minerva nor Arachne existed. So who made the characters in this story switch between good and evil?"

Callifone nodded slightly.

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

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 Harkon, and the story of Carifon is written by citizens."

“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 chose me, and I'm a little bit better."

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 continued, "And even if the glory is all fake, you still haven't told me how my statue is! You never lied to me, so I'm going to say it bluntly, you How about the statue I carved?"

Morse sighed, and praised gently: "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, the child is about to collapse.

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 whirlpool." He whispered.

He had chosen to tell this child too much he knew.

Afterwards, Morse stood up straight with his arms around Perturabo, and he used up all the tenderness he had today with the boy.

"I want you to tell me from which city-state the ceremonial officer from whom you present the pot of gold comes." He threw the empty locket on the ground and ordered, "His party has been snatched, look for his ice statue in the streets. "

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(End of this chapter)