Chapter 3 Reforging

Perturabo didn't like his tone.

The boy thought he was experiencing a great humiliation. If the sharp awl in his hand could pierce Morse's throat, then Morse's throat should have been torn out by it quickly, just like a wild dog tearing apart its prey, breaking the neck bones and dissecting the internal organs.

Morse had no doubt of this; he only thought that perhaps Perturabo would have acted more civilly. A person who is proud of his level of knowledge is often constrained in his actions.

Perturabo's shoulders rose nervously, the dark pupils of his blue eyes dilated slightly, and his brows furrowed in an undisguised frown.

He glanced at the sharp, roughly forged awl in his hand, then looked around at the living circle made of stone and soil, and suddenly relaxed.

"You are jealous of me, Morse." The boy said triumphantly, throwing the pointed cone to the ground. "You are jealous of my knowledge and my ability. Look at your primitive way of life and your failed crafts. Your earthen house is far inferior to the high walls and castles I will build; in front of me you are a backward barbarian, wearing a Ridiculous fabric, messy hair, torn clothes, you are nothing but your inexplicable strength."

Perturabo raised his hand and raised his voice without permission: "Where is your manor? Where is your workshop? Don't tell me that you are still beating branches and trunks with sticks to get fallen olives, and don't tell me You only use your feet to crush the grapes into the basin. Is that why you use black cloth for shoes? Where are your books and scrolls? Are you still using papyrus? Long stems cut into thin slices, laid out flat on boards, and the thin strips laboriously pressed into paper with a hammer? Morse, you can't even build a perfect sewer."

Morse lowered his head, covered the lower half of his face with his palms, and exhaled softly.

Perturabo interpreted his small gesture as hitting a sore spot. His fighting spirit became stronger, and this expression made his demeanor finally unified with the childishness of his body.

"You humiliate me like this, don't you want to successfully use me by suppressing my self-confidence? This is everything an ignorant person like you can do to me.

Morse wasn't sure how long he could keep his shoulders from shaking.

"You ask me what I'm afraid of, are you trying to manipulate my fear? Then I'm going to tell you that what I know is a higher thing that you can't see."

Morse saw a proud and cold head rising continuously. Perhaps in Perturabo's eyes, the vortex of stars deep in the clouds were converging and gathering.

"It is a whirlpool of stars, a bruise and scar in the sky. My great destiny awaits in the stars, and my power and potential are certain. I was born for a realm far greater than Olympia. You can never touch it. to my height."

Perturabo became calm and proud. "I know all this," he said.

Morse raised his head, repeated a fixed breathing rhythm, and waited for the smile to disappear from his face.

Perturabo's counterattacks were filled with attacks on nonexistent weaknesses, sounding as if the child couldn't live without contempt for others.

He was so afraid of the whirlpool of stars in his mouth that he had to overwhelm it with false self-comfort.

But Morse would not ignore the praise he felt for Perturabo—not for Perturabo himself, but for his creator.

How did the craftsman create such a work of art that combined human and inhuman features?

Morse didn't know.

At the same time, he was sure that he would keep Perturabo.

"It's different from what I imagined." He didn't hide the teasing in his tone.

Perturabo was close enough to him that he could put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Then, press down.

"you!"

Perturabo's exclamation was blocked by psychic energy, but he had no time to care. All the boy's strength was used to fight against the heavy pressure on his shoulders. His feet were spread apart to bear the weight, and the frost that had condensed on the land that had not seen rain for a long time was melted by the heat of his skin. He tried his best to raise his head and look directly at Morse, his face turned red from the force.

"Do you know what you remind me of?" Morse shook his head slightly, stretched out his left hand, and the pointed cone flew into his palm.

He pressed the awl against one side of Perturabo's maxilla, exactly where he had shattered the face of the statue of Perseus.

His control is precise enough, and he knows the shortest distance without hurting anyone. If Perturabo had the guts to rush forward, he wouldn't mind repairing it afterwards.

"Reminds me of kids from four to twelve. They develop their first value system in their families, where they say, 'You are one of a kind,' and they believe it. And when they come into contact with each other, they Try to keep that thought."

"The first child said: I know more than you all. I know that fruits can be grown on trees, clay pots can be made in handicraft workshops, and salt comes from sea water."

"The second child said disdainfully: What do you know! I also know that those who disobey the prophets of God's religion will be thrust into the spiral by dark judgment, and slaves will grow from the opposite city-state."

"The third child laughed loudly: There is one thing you can't do with me. My parents were all executed by the tyrants. How about you!"

He put away his smile and said coldly: "Which one do you think you are, Perturabo?"

Suddenly, Perturabo raised his hands and wrapped his fingers tightly around Morse's forearm, like a tightening iron ring. The boy's strength was amazing. After Morse removed his guard, the crisp sound of bone cracking immediately sounded. A hot burning sensation rose from the inside of his arm, and the black cloth became damp.

Energy crackled at Morse's fingertips, part of it directed at Perturabo, the boy groaned in pain, the iron-like palm loosened, and the other part spiraled up along Morse's arm, repairing the broken bones.

"You are a combination of all the above phenomena." Morse said in a low voice, "You think you know more and understand more."

A drop of blood oozed from the top of the cone and flowed down along the edge.

"You think you are above mortals, so you despise mortals."

"When you find that the first two are not necessarily true, you have to say: Look, I am a combination of misery and nobility! How great I am!"

Perturabo's tough expression was broken, like a statue of a hero that could not be maintained. A sound that sounded more like a scream than a roar came out of his mouth.

"You don't understand me at all!" he shouted, "You know nothing!"

Morse's palm on his shoulder was flattened more gently, and he rubbed the side of the boy's neck soothingly, indicating that he should relax.

"Next, I want you to stay awake, Perturabo. Although I will not hurt you." The spike flew from his hand, and he did not answer Perturabo's question.

Mors held Perturabo's neck with both hands, forcing him to look into his eyes.

Perturabo was right in one thing, he did not know the boy in front of him; but it was not important.

"I will reforge you." Mors said.

Psychic energy gathered in his body, and he mobilized such a huge power for the first time in countless years. The electric shock tremor surged and burned, and the deep blue and golden light points operated alternately in front of his eyes, and the non-existent flames burned together with the ashes of the snow.

He dived into the depths of his mind, mobilizing the echoes of power and emotions from the bottomless vortex, and the multiple noises overwhelmed the beating of the pulse in the eardrum.

Mors could vaguely hear the tearing hunger and thirst howling in the storm more than a hundred years ago. As usual, he ignored it to avoid the invisible things from accidentally casting a glance.

He vaguely guessed the truth of the vortex of stars that Perturabo had mentioned. Before the specific thought took shape, he pinched it off.

The first lock was like a veil covering his eyes, separating Perturabo from the things he feared. A golden thread broke, and four filthy chains rusted.

This was more difficult than Morse had imagined at first. If this was the work of Perturabo's creator, then the range of candidates could be further narrowed.

The second lock was like a thread wrapped around his body, suppressing the boy's growth instinct and extraordinary body.

Morse had no intention of letting Perturabo return to being a mortal completely, so he did not touch his genetic spiral. Within ten years, the growth rate of this magical creation will return to normal.

He took a hard breath, and his skin was cracking under the black cloth.

The third lock was a mist, obscuring the excessive knowledge in Perturabo's mind. If the accumulation of knowledge precedes the maturity of the mind, it is no longer a gift, but a curse.

Similarly, this lock will be broken with the fluctuation of time.

The more he understood Perturabo's structure, the more surprised and delighted Morse was. He used great power, but he could not touch its essence.

If he did not pay more, his psychic power would still only be able to change Perturabo's appearance.

Fortunately, it was enough.

Morse retreated until his back was against the wall. The murals on the wall were bleeding.

"Your creator did not complete his work. Perturabo, you are not a qualified tool."

He smiled sincerely.

"And how should a qualified craftsman deal with the steel that failed to forge? I choose to melt it back into molten iron, quench, hammer, cool, and repeat the cycle."

After being released by Morse, Perturabo staggered to the ground, and his palm was scratched between the sand and stones.

He stared at the scratches on his palm that had not healed for a long time in disbelief, and real fear easily captured him.