Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"The last time I saw this scene, I was still very young. No, if my age at that time were compared to mortals in the same proportion, I would be regarded as an infant."

Morse looked at the scene on the stage and said to himself, then he was amused by his own joke and shrugged his shoulders. The knife rotated between his fingers, and the blade cut into the wood like water waves.

He doesn't talk much about his past with others, and he only talks about it to "people".

"They made a circle with wooden boards and left ten entrances on the circumference, corresponding to their ten tribes. Citizens from the same tribe entered through their entrances."

"Citizens have transferred part of their power to him. If he cannot use the power he has gathered to obtain greater power for each citizen, he will have to find other ways to stabilize his position."

The vulture landed and perched at Morse's legs. He raised his hand and combed the white feathers of the flying bird with his fingers wrapped in black cloth. When he let go, there were a few naturally fallen feathers between his fingers.

He observed carefully and verified that there was nothing special about the bird's feathers, so he relaxed, burned the feathers, and continued to watch the scene before him.

In the streets, soldiers were called in to organize and carry out this sudden whim. One by one, the feathered helmeted men combined the iron frame with the wooden panels to temporarily pave a narrow path leading upward. Mors saw Miltiades among them, and it seemed that he was still at his post.

The number of citizens was counted nervously, and every hundred people were counted one by one by the soldiers. The next person was invited to step forward, dizzy to meet the envious eyes of others, stumbling onto the narrow path as if there was a net on the soles of his feet. aisle.

The remaining people retreated as hard as they could when the soldiers counted dozens. When the count approached a hundred, they pushed each other forward, vying to be the first to be summoned by the platform, trying to take the lead. A majesty that is rare in their lives.

They chanted Perturabo's name, and occasionally Morse could even hear "Lord Perturabo bless you" and "In the name of Lord Perturabo", which made him shake his head and sneer from time to time.

There was already someone speaking on the stage. Wearing a one-shouldered robe, he may be a farmer or a shepherd, but he always has the authority to touch the land.

Anyone can see that this citizen is searching for all the elegant words he has learned in his life to add glory to his record. But the distance between his words and simple everyday language is probably only a few swear words and local slang.

"I think this woman is not as good-looking as these two men," he said hurriedly, grabbing his hair, being chased by the fear of embarrassment, "it must be more difficult for two people than one, right? I don’t understand either. And I think it’s a child defeating an adult at this moment. I’ve never seen anything like this, it’s rare.”

He then picked up the pen handed to him by the waiter and carefully added a horizontal line on a piece of pottery handed to him. Four vertically and one horizontally form a small fence-like pattern, representing five bearer votes.

"That's it?" The citizen looked around. After receiving the confirmation, he breathed a sigh of relief and was escorted off the stage by the soldiers. He stared at the finger that held the pen, as if trying to discern some pattern from the knuckles. He was so immersed in the experience of being watched by thousands of people that he could not forget it for a long time.

Accompanied by torrential applause, the next lucky person hurriedly went up to the stage. At this alternating moment, the young people and old people in the audience would shout loudly.

Morse changed two sitting positions and still felt uncomfortable, so he had to stretch his hand into the air and pull out a wicker chair. He stood the wicker chair on the edge of the wall, swaying comfortably.

"Now you have to choose those who will participate in the meeting, and your reputation will increase." He said, "It was different when I was young. They asked six thousand people to choose the detested person, and his name was to be engraved on the pottery tablets; The man was banished from the city and lived in the place designated by the consul. He no longer participated in the game and was an alien to the powerful."

He thought for a while and murmured: "Should I instead call this matter the pottery election?"

Perturabo, Andos and Calliphon were whispering together, and they didn't know where they were talking. The boy's expression was visibly relaxed, and his brows relaxed naturally.

When he looked at the citizens on the stage, whether he saw those who were not familiar with literature or even knew nothing, or those who were engaged in art and talking, they all opened their eyes in shock, as if they were seeing this group of people for the first time.

Morse could guess how Perturabo viewed them in the past. In the boy's mind, he must have chosen a few words to summarize his people, treating them as the same vague and easy-to-manipulate entity. Slates do not contain enough wisdom and power of choice. They have the same nature in all directions and can only be used for accumulation and paving to carry the great undertakings of extraordinary people.

This doesn't matter, he himself has done this before.

Unlike Perturabo, Morse had never been indifferent to admitting his shortcomings.

He listened carefully and heard the conversation between the three people among whom Perturabo was sitting.

"You have been praised again, Perturabo." The female voice said softly, "My brother, you are going to lose."

"Ah, I know..."

"You didn't lose to me, Andos." The boy spoke very clearly, "I didn't really defeat you either. I will agree to compete with you again, but not now."

"Okay, I also need to practice..." the prince said slowly, smiling sheepishly, "They always say that I am very humble, but before I met you, I thought I was already the best in Lokos. artisan."

"You are," the boy said. "You almost won."

"But the people want to elect you," Calliphon said. "They see your masterpiece, and they give more praise to your hands. You hear the voice of the citizens."

"Perturabo, they don't want to get anything from you. Don't they know which one of your creations is yours even if you don't see them? They are just talking about their sincere admiration. If you can make the whole city praise you, I I think even tyrants can’t get it.”

"But," the boy's voice was full of uneasiness, and he tried hard to find an excuse, "Maybe they just thought that the two-person team was more powerful than the one-person stone statue."

"You have touched the interests of the citizens, Perturabo. You should win for this." Callifon smiled.

The boy changed the subject: "Andos, I see inexplicable brightness in your works. Why do your stone statues have skirts decorated with small-petaled flowers? Where did you get this spirituality?"

"When I went fishing, I saw a woman repairing patches to look like flowers, so I engraved them accordingly..."

"Are you going fishing?" the boy said in disbelief. Is it such a simple reason?

"Well, yes... I can fish and bake them. Sometimes I don't know how to create works, so I do other things." Andos said.

"You know how to grill fish?" Perturabo's focus gradually shifted, and he didn't know what he was thinking of. The boy's face darkened, and he immediately turned his head away and did not want to speak.

Mors withdrew his gaze and stroked the feathers of the white vulture. He felt the empty box on the bird's legs, the contents of which had been removed.

Morse took off the small box, tickled the bird's beak, and let the eagle fly away.

"My child, they are all happy because you have done this." Morse looked at Perturabo and talked to himself. "But since when did I get into this bad habit of imitating the playwright's voice? Let me change it. I'm going to say something that people say."

He immediately laughed loudly and let the wicker chair fall upside down into the small courtyard enclosed by the wall on the second floor.

Then walking out of the door of the unknown courtyard was a laid-back young man wearing a blue robe and shawl.

"Ninety-nine...one hundred...you, the last elected citizen today! Would you like to comment on these two masterpieces and write down your vote?"

The young man in blue robe nodded positively: "Of course I do!"