Chapter 8 The Dream of Building a City

Morse looked up slightly.

Before dawn, the stars in the sky were winding into an infinitely huge python, and every flicker was the reflection of the snake scales. The atmosphere of Olympia was a frosted giant ball, and the python was circling and shrinking outside the giant ball.

A hundred years ago, he looked up and witnessed the birth of the soul-sounding cry in the projection of the material universe, and since then he often had such an illusion.

He raised his legs and stepped on the high stone steps. This twisting path on the edge of the cliff was unrepaired. When the Lokos Guard passed by, they swung the swords used to kill the enemy to kill part of the soil and stone. The dust succumbed to the iron forged by the craftsmen, and the path was gradually dedicated to mankind by the cliff.

Above, on a relatively flat road, the guard named Miltiades and his entourage were waiting silently, and the white and gold armor lost its color before the dim morning.

Hidden along with the color was the voice of the guards. Out of unknown respect and even admiration, these spearmen who enforced the law in the city-state and the country did not dare to have the slightest thought of urging Morse and Perturabo who were lagging behind slowly.

Morse turned around and observed Perturabo's every move with a research attitude.

Even though he had transformed from a perfect crafted weapon into a flawed mortal, the boy's learning and growth speed was still outstanding.

Half an hour ago, Perturabo was still frowning at the rugged road and the height difference that was too large for the boy's body size. Now he has learned to skillfully find every convenient place to stand, holding on to the stone wall, his fingers firmly grasping every protruding rock, and moving forward with the least effort.

But he was still not fast enough.

Morse leaned over, stretched his arm downward and diagonally, and placed the helping hand in front of Perturabo.

The boy glanced at him. "Move." He said breathlessly.

"You're too slow, Perturabo," Morse said evenly. "The Rokos Guard is waiting for you."

"Then let them wait." Perturabo moved his lips and uttered a small string of High Gothic.

"I'm waiting for you too."

Perturabo said nothing, but lowered his eyes and grabbed Morse's hand wrapped in black cloth, letting Morse lift him up lightly. Then, Morse kicked his feet lightly, and the two flew up against the gravity of the planet's center.

Before Perturabo could stand firm, Morse let him go. This made the boy almost fall in front of the Rokos. He staggered, said nothing, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes.

Morse blinked and nodded to the Rokos.

The soldiers seemed to be relieved, all nodded slightly to Morse, and then immediately turned around and walked in front in an orderly manner, perhaps more orderly than when they were being read by the tyrant of the country.

Morse placed his right hand on Perturabo's shoulder and accepted the soldiers' courtesy.

The mountain mist rolled in the semi-darkness, sliding silently over the edge of the road covered with thorny vegetation. Perturabo raised his chin high, and his expression would only twitch briefly when the edge of his foot was scratched by the edge of a tiny sharp leaf.

A chill pierced from Morse's palm into Perturabo's shoulder, and then the boy heard a voice full of sarcasm.

+They respect me. +

Psychic energy surged, and a private communication channel was opened.

Perturabo glared at Morse, and learned to let the two minds communicate and collide in the psychic circuit without any teacher. Of course, he didn't know how to use psychic energy, and Morse temporarily opened up the permission to lend him this ability.

+Because you are an extraordinary craftsman. I told them. +

+Then what are you angry about? Do you also want this respect? Do you want the Olympians to love you with an attitude full of worship? +

+No! I do not need the love of mortals. +Perturabo said proudly.

+Oh, not needing and not having are two different things. You are so honest, child. +

Perturabo frowned quietly, hoping that the darkness would make the shadow gathered between his brows inconspicuous.

+Of course I can get it, as long as you give me my ability back. You took away a part of me that was born with me, and laughed at me now that I cannot satisfy you. Do you enjoy the satisfaction of getting the status difference from me? +

+I am more satisfied with this: in your mind, the only value you can exchange for the love of others is your superhuman talent. Once you lose your extraordinary appearance, it is easy for you to think that you can't get the respect of others with your own character and mind. What an interesting realization! You know what kind of person you are, and I admire you, good boy. +

Perturabo felt a hot stream of blood rushing to his cheeks, and he twisted his body to get rid of Morse's palm.

The psychic connection was quietly disconnected. He looked up and met Morse's scrutinizing gaze for only half a second. He then hurriedly looked away, avoiding the mortal guards in front of him and letting his eyes fall on the hazy night scene around him.

At the end of the mountains, where the edge of a dead mountain meets the dark night, a magnificent city-state is looming. Arches and spires occasionally emerge from under the earth.

This is where they will go, Perturabo thought silently. He will walk a long way, through the cold mountains, to the city-state where he will get nothing.

He continued to look around, the valleys were cracked, the terrain was undulating, and the planet itself relied on mountains and rocks to divide countless plains.

And humans themselves used weapons and power to divide the region again.

Perturabo saw the farmland, and the village lights were a warm color opposite to the stars, creating bright yellow spots under the gray sky. The flowing stream water stabilizes in the man-made reservoir and is transported to the fertile land via mechanical waterwheels.

He couldn't help but try to conceive of some more elaborate layouts and machinery in his mind to improve the efficiency of water supply and allow the food in the farmland to grow better; he also tried to conceive of a gentle, spacious, and continuous road. , erasing the influence of the mountains, allowing for a more fluid industrial exchange between villages and villages, city-states and city-states.

He couldn't help but imagine a more mechanized, advanced era.

He thought about drainage systems, about building zoning, about fast transportation and residential structures that were both beautiful and practical.

Houses will be machines for living. It may be possible to liberate building facades from load-bearing, use more advanced structural designs to make planes more convenient, colorful and dynamic, restructure the concepts of blocks and inner courtyards, and restructure roads. It is distributed between buildings in a grid pattern, allowing three-dimensional transportation to run through the entire city like lines of precision instruments, extending the distribution of public services and collective operations to the entire planet and even more regions...

Then he failed. This knowledge flashed through the depths of his mind like a flash of light. He wanted to grab it, but he could only hold a handful of mist in the mountain wilderness.

Perturabo suddenly felt a sense of emptiness, and the dislocation between desire and reality truly came to the depths of his soul, making it difficult for him to get out.

However, unlike the previous anger and annoyance caused by forgetting knowledge, this time, Perturabo even forgot the patience and self-recognized shame he often thought about.

The place he was heading to was Lokos, and perhaps his construction would begin there. The tyrants of the country would welcome him, he could be sure. Didn't the man named Damex send soldiers to meet him?

From towers and fortresses to workshops and fields...

He was immersed in the grand ideas of the project, and he felt in a trance that the broad road had been completed under his feet, and his people who did not yet exist were welcoming the coming daylight in clean and tidy houses.

Until a sharp arrow pierced in front of his eyes was shattered by the defense of the psychic shield.

"Be careful, someone is attacking." Morse said calmly, raising his hand to point to the hidden shadow of the mountain. There, some murky shadows moved quietly.

Perturabo finally woke up from his fantasy world. He first looked up to see Morse's reaction.

The strange thing is that on that boring cold face that he has become familiar with in recent days, there is a hint of smile and encouragement directed at himself.

At some point, the Lokos team surrounded the two, with the two in front and the two in the back, taking a fighting stance to firmly protect Morse and Perturabo in the center.