Chapter 10 Tyrant Damex

Morse admired the fortress in front of him with polite curiosity.

Palace, fortress, whatever you want to call it.

If every wall of this building is painted with smooth and slightly shiny paint, and the golden spire echoes the sun in the sky, then it is no longer important to use the term "fortress" to highlight its original function when it was built.

He tried to compare it with the palace of Rokos more than a hundred years ago in his impression, and then he concluded that this palace is a new level compared to before the renovation.

A thing that has lasted longer is more brilliant and dazzling than when it was young, and has richer humanistic connotations. This is a rare attribute that objects made by craftsmen often contain.

He stood in front of the gate inlaid with gold and silver reliefs. The remaining three members of the Rokos Guard looked at each other. Although they were puzzled, no one dared to urge him.

Morse lowered his head, and Perturabo also looked up at him. He was still unconsciously holding the long knife tightly. The handle of the knife that had just been engraved was imprinted on the fragile skin of his palm, but the boy was completely unaware.

Some pain is often helpful to relieve tension and stay awake. Morse actually has some experience in this.

Perturabo asked: "What's wrong? Look at me like this?"

Morse patted the boy's shoulder lightly: "It's okay, but you remind me of something at the beginning of a long time."

For example, meeting a ruler, with ambition, expectation, vigilance and sword, ushering in questions, surprises and disappointments.

He turned to ask the three warriors: "Is your tyrant a naive person who allows others to meet him with knives?"

The leader named Miltiades suddenly realized, and then he put the two guests back in mind that they must not meet their great tyrant without changing clothes or abandoning their knives.

Instead of speaking out against the tyrant to protect his reputation, the soldier became uneasy: "The tyrant Rokos is not..."

Morse did not make things difficult for him. The psychic energy was withdrawn with his thoughts, and the sharp long knife in Perturabo's hand that had existed briefly immediately turned into smoke and dust.

"I'll give you a better one later." Morse said to Perturabo casually.

Perturabo looked at the palm of his hand, "Can I change it to a hammer?"

Morse smiled and said, "Are you going to open a blacksmith shop?"

As the two talked, the gorgeous palace door opened to both sides, as if the luxurious palace with ancient Terra style inside took off its veil.

Gold, silver and white armor were neatly and evenly distributed in the gaps between the marble columns. The faces of all the guards were hidden under the deep shadows of the helmets, erasing the specific facial contours to highlight the magnificent majesty between the artifacts and the living humans.

All the courtiers present also became components of the picture. They were neat, fit, with full foreheads and luxurious clothes. Like the towering hall, priceless decorations and decorative blades, they became perfect props to highlight the majesty of the throne.

Unfortunately, some ceiling lights that destroyed the atmosphere made Morse smile.

He let his eyes extend forward along the perspective vanishing point in art.

In the middle of two huge, exquisite, lifelike statues that embraced metal totems but mixed with ancient Terra cultural elements to the point of being inexplicably funny, there was a huge throne carved from tons of marble.

The huge iron and stone throne wrapped around a middle-aged man with an iron crown of thorns and a golden scepter on his knees. The huge and eye-catching nose, slightly squinting eyes, sparse black hair and slightly protruding belly all reinforced the characteristics of this man as an ordinary human being.

A mediocre body, a lazy posture, an oversized palace, a supreme throne.

A brown-feathered eagle set off by bright peacocks and beautiful parrots.

+He is the broken arm. +

+What? +Perturabo did not know the allusion.

+Imagine a beautiful stone sculpture, she was no more extraordinary than any statue of the goddess of beauty of the same period, until her broken arm made her truly beautiful. +

Morse said happily in the psychic channel.

+You mean, this palace is a beautiful stone sculpture, and the tyrant is the most outstanding feature of the stone sculpture? +

The boy's voice was full of doubt at first, but the doubt evaporated in the middle of the words. Morse knew that Perturabo understood him.

He could also imagine what the tyrant on the throne looked like in the boy's eyes - a life created by a simple mortal and the cold and eagerness that he saw as a wise man.

Miltiades moved his pitiful lips, wanting to remind the visitor to kneel according to etiquette. Soon, he gave up and knelt silently on the side.

A herald in blue cloth came out from among the courtiers' colorful robes.

"Long live Damecus!" The herald raised his head, and even Morse would not deny how elegant and beautiful his well-honed voice was. "Praise to the Third of the Twelve Tirancicus Council, the Tyrant of Locus, the Seven-fold Lord of Croetan and Dominici, the Seven-fold Incarnation of Arca, the Great King Damecus!"

He walked back to the line lightly, and the soldiers stamped their feet and slammed the end of their golden spears on the ground.

+Who is Arca? +

+A divine name fabricated by local beliefs, I guess. +

Perturabo's face flashed with subtle disgust.

On the throne, Damecus spoke in a brisk tone, using a seemingly warm and easy-going tone to cover up his rationality and probing: "Mitaiades, who are we gathering with?"

Miltiades lowered his head: "The boy from Qadisiya, and the unknown hermit, the tyrant."

"You are not back later than you promised, Miltiades. A few weeks ago you said it would take a long time to look through Qadishia. I thought you planned to travel outside for two or three years, and you were thinking about it. Do you want to reduce your gold coins?"

Damex said kindly. His words were like a switch that triggered laughter from the courtiers as soon as it fell.

"Yes, tyrant." Miltiades responded too briefly, lowering his head.

Damex's smile gradually disappeared in the silence. "Where are my other two warriors?"

"Sacrificed in battle with Ax."

More silence fell, and the noble hall seemed to suddenly lose some of its color.

"Those who are brave will be rewarded." Damex sighed. "Anoyinkai will bless them. Their families will each receive a hundred gold coins. Miltiades, you and your two warriors, each of them will receive ten gold coins." "

"As you wish."

Damex finished his stage performance.

His eyes fell skillfully between Morse and Perturabo, so that both of them thought at the same time that the tyrant was looking at them.

"Boy, your legend has been spread all over Olympia. I thought it was some illiterate shepherd who was exaggerating. Now I want to apologize: your legend is definitely far beyond the description in the rumors."

Perturabo looked at him quietly, with calm thought in his eyes. "Maybe."

"And this gentleman, you have hidden your legend very cleverly." Damex complimented jokingly, "I have reason to believe that you are the person who leads this boy's path forward. Are you his father? Or a mentor?”

Morse tallied up his and Perturabo's accounts and regretfully came to a less than pleasant conclusion.

"Actually, he may be my verbal creditor." Morse looked at the boy. "I owe him a hammer as a gift."

Facing everyone's unexpected looks, Morse smiled. "I am a craftsman, now named Morse."