Chapter 6 And You Are Already a Mortal

Mithridates stopped outside the woods.

As the deputy of the 97th Company of Locus, there were very few people who could make him stop his platinum heavy boots, hold the middle of his spear tightly, mobilize all his spirit, and repeatedly think whether his words and deeds could defend the glory of the tyrant.

When he walked through the market of the city-state and enjoyed the gaze of farmers in the fields of the kingdom intentionally or unintentionally, he did not deny that there was a flourishing pride in his heart that spread to his limbs.

But today, his pride was infinitely reduced.

Like ordinary habitable places on the planet Olympia, the forest under this cliff is primitive and dense. Leaves and branches rubbed against each other, unknown birds whispered in the ears of the guards, and the smell of land and grass quietly penetrated from the gaps in his armor. Nature is always trying to tell strange stories in a language they don't understand, and Miltiade enjoys these hidden experiences.

However, his worries are gradually condensing as the guards explore deeper.

For the Lochos region, there are too few living things here; the hoof prints and traces of survival of animals gradually decrease from the outer edge of the forest to the inner layer, and the birdsong becomes more and more distant, as if there is an invisible dam or rift that blocks other spiritual lives from the outside. Only the trees themselves that cannot pull out the roots and escape on their own, and the guards who are foolishly and recklessly going deep into this untouched place.

The air became heavy, and Miltiades would rather believe that this is an illusion.

Through the gaps between the narrow dark green short leaves above his head, the vertical gray-black smoke in the blue-gray sky became obvious again.

These days, they went down to the dense forest at the bottom of the cliff where few people went according to the order of the tyrant Damex, following the possible traces of the life of the wild people and looking for their target.

Miltiades lowered his head slightly, hoping that the shadow of the helmet would block the expression in his eyes. He waved forward, and the Lochos guards continued to move forward.

The thorny dwarf ferns and the fragile shells of nameless insects in the forest were succumbing to their hard iron boots, which made Miltiades feel better psychologically.

With his new courage, he ignored the thin cut marks that began to appear on the surrounding tree trunks, which could only be caused by an extremely sharp blade passing at high speed, and the charred dead branches that could not be restored after being burned by flames without a source, and tried his best to ignore the broken animal bones that were being decomposed and devoured by nature.

"No problem," Miltiades said to himself, "A boy who can kill Epidaeus can do all this."

He began to control his breathing, because he knew that if he didn't do so, he would definitely fall into a shameful fainting due to the high breathing rate.

He turned around and whispered to the soldier beside him: "How far are we?"

"I don't know, sir." The soldier answered honestly, and suddenly, he widened his eyes and opened his mouth like a new servant who had just started, "Look! Sir!"

Miltiades turned forward suddenly.

The woods were separating to both sides.

The interlaced branches in the air no longer overlapped, and the light gray sky poured out from the holes in the leaves. Whether it was the twisted and tangled vines or the straight and strong trees, they all slid open to both sides of his body.

In the huge roar that was heavier than thunder, the land twisted and undulated like waves, the rocks sank and moved, and the dry and hardened soil on the surface was stretched, broken, and peeled off by the moist brown-black soil rising from the ground. A black road guarded by trees grew in front of the guards.

Then, the fine ice crystals came late, from the tip of each leaf and the end of each broken root, spreading to everything in Miltiades' eyes.

The bright blue was like fine particles, filling all the unevenness and imperfections of the whole world in front of him, and finally formed a pure, brilliant, and gorgeous icy scene.

Even the highest snow-capped mountain in Olympia did not have such a clean area.

If this was done by human power, Miltiades could foresee that he would never encounter a case where a living craftsman surpassed the divine nature again in his life.

————

Morse retracted the shining light from his fingertips and shouted to the forest, "Your steps are as slow as those of mollusks that rely on soft muscles to crawl on the mucus they secrete," and let the wind carry this sentence to the ears of the Rochos Guard.

Perturabo almost finished grilling the fish, but these professional soldiers were not there yet.

What were they dawdling about in the forest? Who crushed fewer leaves?

Someone poked his arm, and Morse took two skewers of grilled fish that exceeded his expectations. Before he took the first bite, Perturabo interrupted him.

"Do I need to avoid your conversation?" he said.

"Our conversation?"

"Your conversation with those Rochos people."

Morse tore the fish meat with his teeth. At this moment, he suspected that Perturabo was researching the seasoning ratio on his own, otherwise he could not explain the birth history of this salty, bitter and sweet dry thing.

He chewed the food in his mouth and said vaguely: "Why should I talk to them? These people come to you, of course you should talk."

He took another bite. Eating this strange-tasting thing occasionally can help expand the boundaries of body and mind and love life again. "I will save space for you after I finish eating the fish."

"Can't you be there?" Perturabo's voice was calm, and his fingers were slightly curled.

"What should I do there? Use the leaf flute to play epic music for the first meeting between Lokos and Perturabo?"

"I will go with them."

Morse narrowed his eyes. What was Perturabo thinking?

He waved at Perturabo, and when the boy came over, he patted his shoulder affectionately, his tone very insincere: "Goodbye, Perturabo. I wish you a bright future."

Perturabo stared at him, his black pupils dilated in his icy eyes, his chest rose and fell violently for a few times, and then he reluctantly said: "I don't want it."

"Don't tell me you love sleeping in the grass here with me." Morse's tone suddenly turned cold. "If you don't want to leave, go and refuse it yourself."

"I can't." The boy spoke quickly, his lips barely keeping up with his voice. "You go."

Morse retracted his hand, and his patience disappeared like his smile. "Who do you think I am to you? Why should I speak for you?"

"Then who am I to you!" Perturabo snatched the other skewer of grilled fish from Morse's hand, which he had not yet eaten, and threw it away viciously. "A stranger? A boarder? A tool?"

"You have a clear self-awareness."

"Damn it! So you want to throw me away, you wish I was taken away by the Lokos! What can you get from this? Will the Lokos give you a reward?"

Morse pondered for a few seconds. It is said that if you pick up food within three seconds of it falling to the ground, it will not be dirty, so he let the grilled fish fly into the air and concentrated the light to give it a simple burning disinfection.

The grilled fish flew back to his hand, and then he pointed it at Perturabo who was trembling.

"Take it." Morse said.

The metal rod that pierced the grilled fish seemed to pierce Perturabo's anger, and the boy's momentum relaxed like a balloon with a hole.

He stretched out his hand slowly, at a loss, and suddenly accelerated when he was about to get the grilled fish. Perturabo was still in a daze until Morse let go smoothly and gave him the grilled fish.

"Sit down." Morse said.

The boy sat on the ground.

"Take a deep breath?"

Perturabo did as he was told.

Morse shrugged and continued to eat the fish. The fish was almost finished, and the part that was not thoroughly marinated by the strange seasoning was still tender.

He finished the food and clapped his hands. "You are afraid, Perturabo."

"I..."

"No? No, you are afraid of meeting the Lokos. Do you know why?"

Perturabo lowered his head, and the trembling of his body was clearly reflected in his shaking hair. He let the awkward silence last for a long time, until every second he wasted brought the Lokos one step closer.

"They are not looking for me." The boy whispered, "They are looking for an all-powerful prodigy, a heroic character who has accomplished great things."

Morse stared at him, thoughtfully: "And you are already a mortal, Perturabo."