Chapter 44 The Night of Fate (4k)

Cruz had never begged so urgently to come out of his room deep in the countless corridors.

The tyrant Damex listened to the reports of his attendants, first the first, then the second, who knelt in rows and conveyed the urgent desires of the banished mad prince.

His fingers were on the golden staff, and the golden staff gave him only heavy coldness. In his memory, Cruz still looked the same as he had many years ago: his smart and clean blue eyes curiously circling under his thick eyebrows, following behind his two eldest brothers, holding the little boy who had just learned to walk. My sister’s little hands.

He didn't know when things went wrong.

Perhaps since Cruz suddenly asked him one day if he had seen eyes in the sky, the child became increasingly gloomy and his temper became particularly violent. Sometimes he shouted that the rain of fire would burn down all the trees, and sometimes he shouted To kill the night moon.

When Cruz said his sister was dead, Damequez ordered him to be given a small house.

The only time he saw his third child afterwards was at his naming ceremony.

It was already late at night, and the reason Damex was still awake was because he had received news that his eldest son had been injured in an accident and was returning to the capital.

Based on his understanding of Harkon, it didn't take him a second to guess the truth behind this so-called injury.

He didn't understand what he had done wrong, or where his education had repeatedly gone astray.

The eldest son’s whole mind is devoted to being trapped in the struggle for power; the second son is obsessed with art and has been living in the workshop for the past few days; the third son is crazy; the only daughter, although capable and intelligent, has nothing to do with her. He was not close, and there was always a gap between the two.

Under the mold of Perturabo and his craftsman mentors, Lokos developed at an astonishing speed into a realm like the abode of the gods that Damex had never imagined before.

However, every time he thought of his children, Damex felt endless sourness and pain in his heart.

Another attendant ran over and told how Cruz shouted not to let the birds die, broke his bones on the door of his room, and blood flowed out from the crack in the door.

The tyrant closed his old eyes tiredly, asked the doctor to bandage the mad prince, and asked Cruz to come to him.

——

Andos has always been uneasy in his heart. He has not fallen asleep since meeting the girl last night, as if the sweet sleep has left him.

He felt a kind of blind panic and a backlog of emptiness all the time. These complicated emotions almost blocked his thinking. He could only feel that things were extremely weird and nothing was running on the right track. .

At the same time, his perception of the world around him became extremely vivid, so vivid that it reached a bleak state.

Countless information poured into his thoughts every minute and every second. All the colors he could observe automatically matched themselves to thousands of unborn paintings. No matter whether he saw people or objects, whether it was wind, , the sun, the moon, the lake, or the human scenes of the city's bustling crowds, all of them are squeezed into his material storage, and they can't wait to be artistically re-created by him and come into the world.

He had to stay awake, eat or drink, and carve, paint, write, and smear endlessly from then on to shape one thousandth of his thoughts into shape.

Before this, Andos never imagined that he would be driven crazy by artistic inspiration.

Andos knew something was wrong with him. This was not the state he really wanted.

He really loved craftsmanship and creation, but he especially valued kindness and tolerance between people. In his opinion, this was the most natural and beautiful thing in the world.

But in the daytime today, he accidentally discovered that the first time he saw his maid, he actually wanted to seal her in plaster and keep her forever.

Such thoughts deeply tortured his conscience, and he couldn't believe how he could be so obsessed with illusions. However, when he came to his senses, he was already holding the newly forged sword and walking on the road to kill the maid.

He immediately ran away from the road and locked himself in the workshop, throwing the key far away from the window and shaking uncontrollably.

There was a moment when he suddenly wanted to believe in the existence of the gods, hoping that they could bless his soul and purity of mind: everything he was facing was obviously far beyond what mortals could handle.

Then he thought of a man, a craftsman, an all-powerful mysterious hermit.

Can that craftsman be forgiven of the sins that he may be born at any time, or has already been born?

Andos didn't know. He wanted to leave the workshop to find him, so he looked everywhere for his key.

He found the key to the workshop in the small sailboat with a gold background and silver edges and inlaid with blood jade, and felt as if a big stone had fallen to his heart, feeling forgiven and comforted.

He held the small sailboat, pushed open the door of the workshop, and walked towards the brightly lit Royal Palace of Lokos in the deep dark night watched by the stars and moon. The mast on the small sailboat was shining beautifully, shining brightly, and couldn't be more exquisite.

Then give this small sailboat to Morse, Andos thought.

He was about to ask Morse to help him, and it was better to give such a brilliant handicraft to the true creator of art. How could he himself be entitled to it?

——

Perturabo was awakened by artillery fire falling from the sky before he was awakened by the sentries.

A bright red light burned under the dark night sky. The earth shook with artillery and war cries, dust particles bounced up and down on the ground like beans, and the half-asleep army spontaneously responded to the enemy's attack. Each machine released the destructive power of fuel and energy conversion, and shot shells and gunpowder into the ranks of the night attackers.

Enemies continued to fall under the pouring of firepower. No one could safely survive the rain of fire created by Perturabo himself, not to mention that this was just the automatic defense before the entire army began to operate. With the rapid spread of invisible radio waves in the position, every cell that made up the giant of the Lokos army was activated one by one.

One by one, the soldiers got up from their sleep, grabbing their guns, and silently and quickly joined their positions in the defense. The defense line was further consolidated, and the identity of the attackers was becoming more and more invented.

This was not only due to their rumbling calls that they were unwilling to stop even in night raids, but also the remnants of some of their iconic technologies inherited from ancient times that proved where they came from.

"Axen." Perturabo supported his hands on the table, quickly reading the reports sent from all over the situation. While he was multitasking and sending various instructions to different teams, he cursed the familiar stupid enemies.

It was indeed unexpected that the Caldis chose to join the Axen coalition, but it was also reasonable.

He remembered very clearly that ten years ago, on the way to Lokos with Morse, it was this group of howling and sinister warriors who attacked. At that time, the deputy commander Miltiades who led the team swore that although the Lokos were not good at fighting, they would never let him get hurt.

Thinking of this, his anger began to surge.

After the first round of artillery fire weakened, accompanied by louder and more fanatical roars, some of the warriors who survived the long-range attack relying on the unique protective shields of the Axen climbed up from the pits and rocks on the ground and began a fierce charge.

They reorganized their formation, gathered into groups, rushed to the defense zone from various shelters and directions, and engaged the guards in the outer circle in close combat. Once they got into close combat, the armor that protected the long-range lost most of its effect.

The anti-infantry melee weapons that Perturabo carefully designed for his warriors were put into actual combat for the first time, and they played a brilliant effect.

Most of the blades easily hit and cut into the enemy's armor, pulling blood and flesh from the human body. The Lokos were faster and more powerful than the Axes, and took the initiative in attacking on the defensive side.

Whenever a part of the group of enemies was eliminated, the entire defense line would move forward in the opposite direction, the troops quickly reorganized, and then raised their guns and aimed at another group of enemies in the distance.

There were also a few Lokos teams that were in a bitter fight, and Perturabo ordered them to retreat temporarily and reorganize their fighting posture.

Under the attack of long-range firepower and a new generation of melee weapons that far exceeded the imagination of the Axes, a few of the Axes almost fled. Commander Axe directly cut off the heads of those fugitives to support the morale of the legion.

In a short time, the offense and defense began to change.

Perturabo noticed that the vehicle where Kaliphon was still not attacked, which made him feel relieved.

The next moment, some clever soldiers jumped in from the center of the line, intending to cut into the center of the Lokos army-the characteristic troops of Caldis, especially good at rear assault.

The team that specializes in dealing with this situation immediately began to act, ensuring that no one could fall to the ground within a certain distance. As for the enemies who successfully landed in a few blind spots, they gained more entanglements and multiple responses. When a team was lucky enough to get close to Kaliphon's chariot, the tracks solved them.

The battle situation had a clear bias. Even if Perturabo deliberately calculated for the other side, he could not find the chance of victory for the ambush troops of the coalition.

Obviously, the Olympian countries still only had a general estimate of the technological development of Lokos, or underestimated it.

He sat down on the steel chair, savoring the sweetness of victory and saving energy to prepare for other unexpected accidents.

After such a precise attack, it became too obvious that there was internal information leakage in the army.

After thinking, Perturabo dialed Kaliphon's communication.

"Where is the team escorting Harkon?" he asked directly.

"According to their speed, they should have returned to not far from the city of Lokos." Kaliphon's tone was extremely rare for her.

"He left at the right time. And I... I tried just now, I couldn't contact him."

Perturabo's chest rose and fell violently, and unprecedented anger was swelling. He could hardly believe that such a thing could happen. "How dare he!" He roared loudly. "This greedy coward, this lowly and disgusting traitor!"

"Do you want to continue the attack?" Cariphon asked, "Kaldis should have become a huge trap."

"Continue!" Perturabo slammed his palm on the table, "It's better to attack than to defend!"

In between, his nose was filled with the smell of sulfur and rust, and the clash of swords and axes seemed infinitely far away, and seemed to be close to his ears.

——

Halkon lifted the camouflage sheet and carefully wiped off the dried blood on his face, making his facial skin white and soft again. He changed into a luxurious robe, put the silver crown symbolizing the prince back on his well-maintained hair meticulously, and then used some makeup powder to fill the wrinkles on his face due to aging.

He didn't like beauty, or rather, he never cared about his appearance.

What really concerned him, to the point that even a slight mention of it would make him full of resentment, was his gradually losing status.

As for appearance, it was only the most superficial of the symbols of status.

Harkon looked out the window, the dark and boundless night still held the land in its boundless palm.

Under the cold gaze of countless stars, Lokos appeared small and helpless.

However, even such a small kingdom, a kingdom that should have belonged to him, was gradually leaving him under the indulgence of his stupid father.

This should have been his! And Damex, he was going to give the country of the Lokos people to two monsters who came from nowhere!

Harkon could feel the jealousy in his heart like boiling poisonous wine, emitting malicious steam all around. However, this little bit of moral corruption was far less important to him than the loss of power.

Character was just a fun thing to laugh at in front of the golden scepter, and he wanted much more than this worthless thing.

He longed for others to bow before him, and longed for achievements to be accomplished under his hands. He wanted gold and gems to roll from his fingers, and crimson grapes to become an endless pool of wine. He wanted the praise of the people to resound through the sky, but all these were out of reach.

He once blamed himself for his suspicion and jealousy.

Now, he no longer cares.

White and clean fingers gently stroked his shoulders, and the dark fragrance lingered around. He closed his eyes in enjoyment and whispered: "The Church of God returns to Lokos, my respected priest. No one will dare to defile your holiness again."

"And you will become a ruler, my dear prince." The priest said happily. Her beautiful light-colored eyes were full of gentle piety, and her upturned lips were like blood-red roses.

"We have all heard the goddess' instructions. Yesterday I presented the boat to your brother. Oh my god, the goddess actually spoke to us. This is the first time in thousands of years--"

The next moment, the blood of the priest spurted out from the broken neck, and the arterial blood splashed directly to the sky, and the fragrance immediately turned into a disgusting and corrupt stench.

Halkon felt that the world was hanging upside down, and the severe pain from his limbs at the same time took away his fragile consciousness.

The eldest prince rolled to the ground in embarrassment, and rolled into a twisted ball of dirt with the blood-stained cloth.

Morse grabbed a corner of the sheet, packed up the unconscious Harkon and held it in his hand, and stuffed the beautiful head of the priest into the bag.

He took a breath and put the last condensation of filthy concepts into the black bag.

The remnants of these powers were far more stubborn than he expected, indirectly telling him that the twisted and dark existence personally and generously invested her gaze and attention.

In any case, after the matter was over, he would spend some time to purify the pollution of the High Heaven.

Runes flickered on his black robe, resisting the joyful and expectant chants of the hungry.

The starry sky's blink was intimate and resentful. He controlled his will to ignore it, picked up the huge package, and walked through the gap between spaces, rushing to the core where the fragrance gathered.