The Legend of Fatality

Foam springs gurgled from the narrow tube carved into the mouth of a fish, then splashed back into a wide stone pond. The proud young man called this a "fountain" and explained that the principle was that there were water pipes underground. Roger De Floy felt a little dizzy when he thought of the underground river crisscrossing his feet and washing the foundations of this Fatalin city.

The square is very large. It is a large flat ground made of flat stone slabs, surrounded by cliff-like white buildings. These hollow cliffs are filled with beams and reliefs, and the tall windows gleam with people. There seems to be strange things happening here today.

The far end of the square is using wooden beams to build a huge sloping building. Numerous carpenters are beating around, waving hammers and nails, and roaring each other from time to time.

Surrounded by mountains of wooden boards and logs, barrels of nails and various tools, enough to build ten magnificent halls, perhaps more. They lifted the shelves from the ground, as if the mast of a large ship rushed to the sky, and the height was comparable to the huge building behind.

Roger de Flo stood on the spot with his hands on hips, staring blankly at the huge wooden skeleton. He walked to a muscular dwarf wearing a leather apron, and he was violently sawing a plank of wood. "what is this?"

"Uh?" The other party did not glance at him.

"This is under construction, what is it for?"

The saw cut the wood, and the cut wood fell to the ground. The carpenter put the sawn wood on the pile of boards next to him. He turned around and looked at Roger de Floy suspiciously, wiping the sweat off his shiny forehead.

"The stands." Roger de Flo looked at him blankly. "What stands?"

"The grandstand!" The carpenter yelled at him. Roger de Floe stepped back slowly. He couldn't understand it at all, so he turned around and hurried away, away from the huge wooden shelf and the people above.

He stumbled into a large road, which was like a deep canyon among white buildings. In the distance, a huge palace-like building rises. The pure white walls cover the surrounding rug-like buildings, and the dazzling sunlight shines on the brilliant dome at the top. Roger De Floy couldn't dream like manpower could create such a magnificent, proud and reliable building. In the distance behind it, there is a tower that is particularly towering. It overlooks everything, like a smooth black beam column supporting the sky dome.

The gate of the palace-like building has countless people in and out of them wearing colorful robes. There are more people on this street than Roger saw on any street in Fatalin City. The people here are clamoring, and from time to time they will greet each other loudly.

Both sides of the road lay opposite statues. They are much larger than living people, frowning closely, staring at the heads of pedestrians. The recent statue has a wonderful sense of familiarity. Roger de Flo is preparing to take a closer look, and when he turns around, he meets a small man in a black hat who hastily walked past, with a thick book under his arm.

Then Roger noticed that the man was behind a Goblin in a red robe. The Goblin also turned back and said something to the little man from time to time, as if the man was the Goblin's follower.

Roger-De-Flo had originally speculated that these statues should be rulers of the Fatalin Association, similar to the statues of kings in other places, but when Roger looked closely at these statues, they did not seem to be the case. First of all, none of them took the crown.

Even though some of them do hold swords, some hold scrolls or ship models. But there is also a statue with a dog at the foot and a bundle of wheat under his other arm. Apart from that, they are no different, and have similar severe faces. It's hard to imagine that they said a stupid thing and did a stupid thing-they couldn't even imagine that they would eat and drink Lhasa.

The rapid footsteps sounded behind him, and Roger de Flo turned around and saw a proud young man running along the road, sweat soaking his shirt. Roger de Flo is curious about his urgency, but the weather is so hot that the madman will chase after him. Anyway, there are many mysteries here.

A small road leads to a lush and vast space, as if two giant hands dug out the wild scenery and cultivated among the tall buildings, but this is different from the village Roger de Flo has seen. The trimmed grass is short and flat, like a fresh green carpet. The flowers are arranged in straight lines, circles and more wonderful ribbons. There are also lush shrubs and big trees, but they are all stretched, trimmed, and circled into unnatural shapes. There is also water here-the gurgling water flowing down the stone steps and a calm lake surrounded by listless trees.

Roger de Floe roamed in this square green space, stepped on the road paved by small gray stone. Many people gathered here and huddled together to enjoy the sun. Or swinging a light boat, they sat in a small boat on the small lake, paddling gently circle after circle, turning around needlessly. Or maybe they lie lazily on the grass, eating, drinking, and chatting non-stop. Some people will yell at Roger de Flo, or whisper, or just avoid him.

They all look strange, especially women, with their skin pale and ghostly, their bodies wrapped in complicated dresses, their hair piled up tall, filled with hairpin wooden combs, made into weird shapes, and wearing weird big feathers Useless little hat. They were like the big vase Roger de Flo saw before going out—too slender and exquisite, they could do nothing, and the beauty was ruined by too much decoration.

Fortunately, there are not many people in this group. Roger de Floy suspects that these women are the wives and daughters of local government officials or the families of rich local businessmen. They have become accustomed to a life of nourishment and superiority, but they haven't really cultivated the quality of a superior person. However, Roger de Flo has not seen a woman in a long time, so she still smiled happily with a fluke. Some of them were terrified, and some gasped in fright. Roger de Floy sighed. His charm is really undiminished.

Roger de Flo continued on, stopped by another wide square, watching the soldiers drill. These soldiers looked very strong, wearing heavy armor, carrying spears on their shoulders, breastplates and shin guards polished like a mirror. They are equipped with the same equipment and stand together to form four squares of about fifty people each, motionless like a roadside statue.

A short man in a red jacket-Roger de Floe presumed to be their leader-made a roar, all the soldiers turned around, flattened their spears, and advanced on the square, and the heavy boots stepped out of a uniform rhythm . The same weapon, the same armor, the same pace. This is indeed a very spectacular scene, the shining metal composed of a gun array slowly advancing, the spear tip flashing, like a giant hedgehog with two hundred legs.

There is no doubt that on a flat large square, they are enough to wipe out any imaginary enemy directly in front of them, but if it is on the gravel ground, under the rain and in the tangled woods, how does it work? Roger is not sure. Because they are heavily armed, they will soon be exhausted, and what will they do after the phalanx is broken? Can those who only fight side by side still fight alone after being dispersed?

He went on, passing by the wide courtyard and exquisite garden, gurgling fountains and proud statues, neat paths and wide avenues. He walked up and down the narrow stairs, crossing the bridge across the streams, roads and other bridges. He met a lot of guards, dressed in all kinds of gorgeous uniforms, guarding a variety of gates, walls and wickets, they looked at him with suspicious eyes. When the sun rose to the highest point of the sky, Roger de Floe was still traveling through the building complex, tired and numb, and things were difficult to distinguish, and his neck was sore because of his head-up.

The only constant is the black giant tower that overrides everything and overlooks everything, standing high above everything, dwarfing other buildings. It is always there, staying in the corner of the eyes, covering the most magnificent building in the city. Roger de Flo was involuntarily led to it a little, and came to a deserted corner in the shadow under the tower.

There is a big dappled house here, and an old wooden bench is placed on the messy lawn next to it, covered with moss and ivy. Roger De Floy sat down, gasped, and frowned at the huge figure. The giant tower is like a mountain of dry, bare, lifeless stones.

There are no plants attached to the dry, barren, dead artificial stone mountain, and there is not even moss decoration between the giant bricks. It is different from the buildings Roger de Flo has seen. Roger couldn't see the top of it, and there were no windows or doors on the bare wall. It seems to be a majestic and angular stone. Why make such a majestic building? Who is the builder? Has he only made this? This towering black tower?

"Do you mind if I sit down?" A woman looked down at Roger de Flo-Roger thought she was more like a woman than the strange ghosts in the park. She is very beautiful, wearing a white dress, black hair scattered around her face.

"Mind? Of course not. Ridiculous, no one wants to sit next to me."

She sat at the far end of the chair, her arms on her knees, her hands against her jaw, and looked at the giant tower tastelessly: "Probably afraid of you."

Roger de Flo saw a man in a mage robe hurried by with a bundle of documents, and always looked at him with wide eyes: "I'm afraid that is the case."

"You look a little dangerous."

"You mean I'm ugly."

"Say whatever I want, I say you are a little dangerous."

"Uh ~ www.wuxiaspot.com ~ appearances will deceive people."

She raised an eyebrow and carefully looked at the scars exposed by Roger de Floy: "You mean you love peace."

"Hah ... not all." The two of them faced each other, and the woman seemed not afraid, nor contemptuous, or even curious. Roger asked subconsciously. "Are you afraid of me?"

"I'm from--, I know those who want to escape from home. And--" She tilted her head back and rested on the back of the bench. "No one spoke to me. I'm bored."

Roger de Flo extended his hand and stared at it for a while, thinking about the other person's words, and then said: "No wonder. I'm Roger."

"It's nice to have a name, I'm nobody."

"Everyone has a name."

"I don't have any. I'm nobody. I'm a transparent person."

Roger De Floy frowned and looked at her beside her. She leaned against the back of the chair and leaned towards him, her slender and smooth neck bathed in the sun, and her chest gently undulated. "But I can see you."

She looked up at Roger de Flo: "You ... are a gentleman."

Roger de Floe smiled. There were countless titles in his life, but he was never called a gentleman. The young lady had no mood to laugh with him. "I don't belong here." She said to herself.

"me too."

"I see it. But here is my home." She got up from the chair. "Goodbye, Roger."

"Goodbye, transparent person." He watched her turn and walk away slowly, shaking his head. Audlik-Kaosus is right. This place is strange, but the people here are even stranger.