Chapter 52 Fantasy Mentor (4k)

Perturabo threw himself into his busy work with his still endless questions.

Why did Andos become like that?

What happened to the realm of brass and blood that he fell into at that time?

Is Morse's current indescribable state related to the tearing of the sky curtain of that realm that day?

Will Olympia suffer such a serious crisis again in the future?

Will Kaliphon go with her relatives one day?

From these main questions, Perturabo's mind automatically helped him expand countless related details, and he could almost foresee the answer he would get from Morse: Can't say, don't ask, guess, maybe, mortals will die one day...

He lowered his head in frustration and tugged at the loose robe he had made in a hurry.

He grew a little taller in the past two days, and now he is about one foot to three meters.

The tailors who had to make at least four sets of clothes a day dared not speak out until Perturabo ordered to increase their compensation. Only then did he get a group of happy craftsmen who were smiling and could give him five sets of dresses every day.

He carefully pinched the door handle of Morse's room with his huge fingers, and held a pile of documents in the other hand, ready to tell the other party a strange news.

Perturabo gently knocked on the door panel that would become extremely fragile under his hands, and after getting Morse's response, he bent down and squeezed into the room.

Morse was busy in all aspects. It seemed that since he got rid of the human body-Perturabo later recalled the past and found that Morse really had not exposed any inch of skin except his face-after that, he also completely let go of the use of extraordinary abilities, so that Perturabo began to think whether he needed to persuade him to be cautious.

He ignored the harp that was playing noisy noises automatically and looked at Morse's desk.

In the past, the workbench, which was ordinary except for a pile of exquisite semi-finished works of art, now floated with several brushes dipped in paint.

A long scroll depicted a series of stories similar to the style of ancient murals, which seemed to depict the life of a king wearing a laurel crown and conquering all over the world.

Strangely, the scroll seemed to use some kind of angry and free brushstrokes to vividly depict the king's untimely death.

When Perturabo looked closely, some special runes appeared to interfere with his visual nerves, making him unable to see clearly no matter what.

He lowered his head to look at other objects.

A miniature castle frozen in frost, a black and white chessboard with chess pieces that move automatically, a new model of the palace of Lokos, a mysterious parchment scroll being filled with ink from a feather pen...

Each exquisite work has its own damaged parts. The spire of the castle has been flattened, the chessboard has deep cracks, the palace is intact, and the end of the parchment scroll is covered with stormy black ink circles...

This room has its own life, a terrible life full of resentment and powerful creativity.

Finally, in the corner of the room, Perturabo found that the remade statue that had intrigued him for a full ten years was finally completed.

This may be one of the few things in the room that was not seriously damaged. Other similar items include the wallpaper that was fortunately not damaged and the portrait of Andos with half-dried paint that was not damaged at all.

The statue was wearing a loose robe, a golden laurel wreath on its head, a flaming sword in its right hand, a silver-edged ribbon with a burnt and molten emblem on its left finger, and a blank mask on its face, making people curious about the statue's true appearance.

As soon as he saw the finished product, Perturabo immediately felt a strong shock and intoxication from the depths of his soul.

No matter from which angle he looked at it, this unique and painstaking work showed flawless perfection and beauty. Its existence was a combination of power and beauty, majesty and gentleness.

With his fully recovered knowledge, he only saw an unfathomable gap in his skills. He didn't even know where to start catching up with Morse.

Not only that, he immediately fell into the strong emotions contained in the statue, intoxicated by the creator's strong and complex emotions, and almost resonated with a dizziness and shaking all over his body.

The only reason this work did not make him ashamed was that it was made by Morse. Perturabo couldn't help wanting to get closer to it, and his remaining rationality was his last limiting valve.

"Give it to you." An extremely plain voice came into Perturabo's mind.

A piece of black linen appeared from the air, and there was an illusory human body outlined by countless golden spells on the linen.

Perturabo woke up from his immersed thoughts, moved his eyes away from the statue, and used his restored rationality to find his confusion.

"I don't need him, Morse."

Accepting such a priceless treasure as a gift made him feel a little subtle fear.

The person wrapped in linen seemed to tilt his head, and Perturabo heard a chuckle.

"You really don't need it?" Morse raised his tail tone and asked in an intriguing tone.

Perturabo didn't understand: "Do I need it?"

Morse made a "tsk", and a string of spell runes flashed, and he continued to ask: "Are you sure you don't need it?"

"I'm sure I don't need it..." Perturabo hesitated. There must be a trap here, but he had too few known parameters to help him deduce the true appearance of the trap.

Morse chuckled twice, and the laughter quickly grew louder and turned into a hearty belly laugh.

His abnormal behavior made Perturabo, who was three meters away, feel cold all over. He almost forgot the strange incident he was going to report today. He just wanted to escape the unknown threat brought by Morse's rare laughter.

"Morse?" Perturabo tried to stop Morse's long laughter by calling his name. This method worked.

Hei Shibu stopped smiling and found his usual slightly sarcastic tone.

"You really made me feel good again, Perturabo. I hope that in the next few days, when you face anyone, you can remember the resolute tone of your refusal today."

"I will." Perturabo regained his composure.

He found that Morse had not called him "child" in recent days. Could it be that Morse finally recognized that he had grown up and matured?

This recognition made him satisfied.

Morse's room did not have a chair suitable for his body size, so Perturabo decided to stand and make his report with the confidence of an adult.

"The recorder has compiled a notice for the public to see about this incident. I hope to confirm the rationality of this notice with you. Afterwards, the notice archive will be sealed as a historical record, recorded in the history book of Lokos in the first official historical revision after Kaliphon came to power, and kept until the destruction of Lokos."

"Or kept until a tyrant decided to burn the library." Morse said, "Tell me about it."

"The last historical revision was about twenty years ago. After discussing with me, Kaliphon decided to let me be responsible for the compilation of this part of my history in Lokos."

"I broke down the task into chronology, records, miscellaneous, seasons, geographical environment, personnel changes, government records, and important biographies, and distributed them to various talented clerks to write and compile them in turn. Now they are submitting draft materials to me in turn, most of which only need limited reorganization and revision to eliminate contradictions and conflicts and ensure authenticity as much as possible."

At this point, Perturabo paused.

Earlier today, the biography clerk's report to him and the heartfelt advice that followed made him feel for the first time what it was like to be shocked by a thunderbolt and feel uneasy for a long time.

He handed over a pile of documents in his hand, his nerves tense, and prepared himself as if he were being interrogated.

"Perhaps you would be better off reviewing this part yourself, Morse."

The papers flew into the air and were arranged in an orderly manner to form a thin wall of paper. An idle pen flew from the table and took the diluted red paint to circle and outline on the paper.

From the transparent back, Perturabo easily turned the pattern over in his mind and read the changes made by Morse in real time.

This biography began to record the earliest events after Perturabo arrived here.

Before ordering the large-scale collection of information, Perturabo himself did not have his first small memory.

Now he still relies on the statements and memories of others to feel the shadow of his childhood behavior in this world -

Arriving at a village, asking for iron, carbon and tools from the blacksmith, leaving on his own with the forged iron sword, killing basilisks, killing multi-headed dragons, abandoning the rough gifts of the locals, and unconsciously creating cold oppression and panic as if by nature...

For the first time, he completely identified his own behavior from the perspective of others, and summarized his own character and real achievements from it.

Morse's reading can be described as relish, although his face, which was empty except for curses, could not make any expression.

Perturabo tasted Morse's mood from the light and jumping pen that adjusted a few words from time to time.

Sometimes he felt that such indirect observation was more valuable and interesting. Of course, most of the time, he hoped that as soon as he opened the door, he would see a familiar guy lying on a rattan chair, holding up a finger wrapped in black cloth, and lazily greeted him.

Soon, the revision of the biography reached the period of Perturabo's growth, including his self-presentation and debate when he first entered Lokos, the subsequent competition with Andos, and the comprehensive planning and construction of the entire country of Lokos from agriculture, transportation to military.

The civil servants initially used excessive praise and even partial exaggeration to emphasize his great contribution. He ordered all of this part to be rewritten, and the authenticity must be prioritized.

He also found Cariphon and discussed with her the relevant part of Andos in the biography, re-highlighting Andos's amazing talent, noble character and regrettable hidden potential.

Perturabo knew that he had never really defeated Andos, and there would be no chance after that.

Morse did not make many changes to this new version of the account that had been sent back for retelling, but only used a brush to correct the data in various places.

The accuracy and comprehensiveness of his data made Perturabo unable to help but use his upper and lower teeth tightly pressed together to suppress his surprise.

Perturabo had never known that Morse had kept a private and precise record of all his involvements, which made him feel a sense of confusion and complexity.

He could not tell the origin of this emotion, but he felt that the blood in his body was bringing him more warmth.

Finally, as the brush gradually moved to the vicinity of the last few pieces of paper, Perturabo could not help but look at Morse - he only saw a piece of black linen, of course.

The brush hovered for a long time, and the gradually solidified paint deformed the tip of the brush.

Suddenly a chanting voice came from the black linen: "Perturabo and Calliphon rushed to the palace. At this time, due to the foolish and evil deeds of the rebel Harkon, the tyrant Damex and the prince Andos were already dead. die."

Then there was a cheerful chuckle, and a sudden recitation full of emotion: "In addition to the corpses at the scene, the blood-stained and severely damaged regular clothes of Perturabo's mentor Morse were still left. Considering that many citizens had witnessed Morse that day, Morse marched towards the palace, and since then Morse has not left any trace of his appearance elsewhere. It is reasonable to conclude that the craftsman Morse has died in this rebellion. "

As I read this, the brush dipped in more paint and drew a squiggly line of praise beneath the sentence.

Perturabo's toes began to point toward the door, while Morse's passionate recitation continued.

"Perturabo was deeply emotional, worried too much, and blamed himself for not being able to return to the capital in time. From then on, he was often seen wandering in a trance, talking alone, and seemed to be engaged in conversations with people in the air all day long."

"With his vivid expression and solemn attitude, it is very possible that he has conceived a mentor in his imagination who has not sacrificed himself."

"This sad phenomenon not only confirms Perturabo's high moral character and his deep friendship with his mentor Morse, but also worries the entire Lokos."

Perturabo felt his stomach tighten.

"I hope that Perturabo, the young war lord of Lokos, will come out of the haze of the past as soon as possible and accept the cruelty of reality, so that he can face his grief, get rid of illusions, accept himself, and realize his ambitions... How well said! For the expectations of the citizens who love you so much. Change, great Perturabo!”

Perturabo covered his face in annoyance and said hastily: "So Morse, when will your body be ready again?"

"Miss me so much?" Morse said leisurely, the ends of the golden black linen floating happily.

"They say I'm like a lunatic. Morse, can you go to those historians quickly?"

Perturabo spoke faster in excitement. The words on his tongue had obviously undergone cyclotron acceleration repeatedly and flew out one after another like high-speed flying particle cannons.

Heimabu shrugged maybe part of his shoulders, "Try telling them that I'm not dead?"

"How do you explain this? You leave behind a blood-stained robe, and I grab every citizen who is worried about my mental state and emphasize that you are safe and sound?"

"Isn't this just confirmation of your noble moral character of empathizing with emotions?" Morse said unhurriedly.

Perturabo had never felt so embarrassed. Without Morse's personal testimony, the more he refuted, the more he proved the rumors circulating among the citizens.

What made him most helpless was that the last few reports about the fantasy mentor were handed over to him by Callifon himself.

Perturabo took a deep breath and recited the first fifty-one perfect numbers in his mind at once to help him regain his composure.

He peeled off the hanging papers one by one, stacked them and put them away, while asking: "When will your body be ready? I hope you can be there with me at Califon's coronation ceremony."

"You should learn to find excuses, Perturabo." Mors said softly, and the golden light from the characters appeared on the black linen cloth.

The next moment, his pale face and disheveled hair reappeared in the world. Slender black cloth wrapped the outline of his body, and the linen cloth also turned into a loose and wrinkled toga-style robe.

The craftsman snapped his fingers with satisfaction.

It was actually difficult to make a sound through the cloth, but under Perturabo's deliberate observation, he finally noticed with his extraordinary eyesight that Morse's snap of his fingers was accompanied by an almost invisible flash of a special spell that shook the air.

"You'd better hope people don't say you built a humanoid intelligent machine in just a few days, Perturabo. That would be too dangerous."

Perturabo would never admit that when Morse reappeared completely, the boulder that had been heavy and oppressive in his heart these days was instantly removed. He had never felt so light and relaxed.

He remained serious and said quite seriously: "Olympians don't have such advanced imagination."

Morse lay back, and the familiar wicker chair appeared automatically to catch the black-robed craftsman.

His voice floated leisurely: "They all imagine that you have a fantasy mentor. Everything is possible."