Chapter 11 Atheism

"Artisans? Lokos welcomes craftsmen, we can guarantee that. We respect those who maintain their skills, and Lokos will always be the best place for craftsmen to display their talents." Damex said.

"So, Morse, is this boy the legendary divine son from the mountains?" He looked at Perturabo.

Mors didn't need to say anything, Perturabo took a half step forward.

His clothes were still stained with the enemy's blood, and underneath the scratched, blood-stained cloth was new, delicate skin. Neither the dust on his cheeks nor the torn clothes detracted from his appearance.

His calmness and composure, as well as the slightest trace of unexplained scrutiny, are evidence that he is extraordinary.

No one can deny what a wonderful and exquisite creation Perturabo is. This is an objective fact.

"I know not whether I came from the mountains, or whether I ever slew wild beasts in Qadithiya."

"You really don't know?"

"I don't remember, these memories are not in my mind."

Perturabo looked down at his hands. The skin on his palms was still bloodshot red.

He remembered again the many failures he had experienced under Morse these days, the carvings that had failed again and again, the talent he had been deprived of, his weakness and impulsiveness, his failures again and again, and Morse's cold expression. Gift.

Is this such a person who once came from the mountains and left a reputation in the mortal world?

Morse sneered more than once. After losing his powers, he was as weak as an ordinary mortal.

He made a fist and brought his hand back to his side.

“But I am not a divine child.

A small commotion broke out in the crowd, the soldiers remained as still as statues, and the courtiers began to whisper among themselves.

+Guess what they are talking about? They say you don't even want to call Damex your King. +

Perturabo followed the good example and looked directly at Damex: "And you are not my king. I am not subordinate to anyone."

A high-ranking court official spoke up for Damex: "How can you be so rude!"

Damex moved the scepter between his knees and raised his hand gently: "It doesn't matter. If he doesn't remember anything, how can he force the guests to abide by our polite rules? We don't teach etiquette either. Inviting our god-born boy to study, isn’t it?”

"I am not a boy descended from the gods either." Perturabo spared no effort to correct him, the determination in his words being stronger than steel.

He looked forward, "I don't even know what a god is. I don't know Alka or Anoyinkai you mentioned."

The voices of the courtiers talking became louder. This time, Morse was not needed as a psychic microphone. Perturabo himself could hear their arguments, which were nothing more than "arrogant and rude", "ignorant" and "disrespectful to God". cliché.

He let the words sink into his eardrums and found that he didn't even feel the heat of anger rushing to his brain.

Perturabo looked into his mind and made some assumptions, and found that even if these people cursed him, the irritation he could feel was nothing more than Morse's simple sarcastic grin at the stone sculpture in his hand. One-tenth of.

He roughly dismissed Morse's pale face from his mind and continued to confront Damex.

Damex's scepter turned in his palm, and Perturabo knew that every little movement this man made was a sign of authority.

The king made a footnote on the existence of God: "The gods are on the mountains and in the clouds. That is the Lord of creation who is higher than us. He looks down from the top of the Terraphos Mountains to judge the existence of all living things. He is not a non-human being." The Holy Spirit can be reached, the world can disobey, and the people can reject it.

The tip of the golden scepter points to the side of the throne. "The twin god-kings gave authority to the city-state. This is the image of Gorzik and Kalafais."

+I thought they were Anubis or something like that. They looked really dark-skinned, and their looks were retro to those before AD. +

Morse's characteristic cold tone, never forgetting to be sarcastic, crawled over Perturabo's ears like a snake.

+ Last time I came to the city, I should have asked more about their legends, so that I could use them as a bedtime story for you. +

Perturabo suppressed the thought of turning around and glaring, and returned his attention to the conversation with the Lokos.

"Have you seen these beings, Tyrant?" he asked.

The tyrant's scepter struck the armrest, making a crisp sound.

"I do not have this honor," said the tyrant.

"So, has anyone seen these existences?" Perturabo chased. He didn't need to make any unnecessary physical movements. The words themselves had enough power.

Among the courtiers, another gorgeous robe squeezed out from the courtiers of different colors, and then Perturabo saw his shaved, smooth head, and the ceiling lamp reflected in the sweat drops on his head.

A priest, or a priest, or a stargazer—Perturabo did not know what he was.

"How can we see the majesty of the gods?"

The voice of the visitor was shrill and high-pitched.

"Mortals are not part of the great plan of the gods. The gods reside outside the celestial sphere. We can only glimpse their glory through the various reflections of the gods' kindness in real life. How can you question them like this? Is your heart so filthy and closed that you have never been inspired by the gods?”

He has only experienced the creation of a creator and the destruction of a mad craftsman.

"All human knowledge should begin with experience." Perturabo said.

Before he spoke, countless thoughts were automatically woven into ropes and cables, forming an orderly intertwined network in the vast space of thought. He lets words travel along this web.

"No knowledge can be born before experience. We connect and separate the ontology of the object from the image projected by the object's stimulation of all our senses, making perceptual cognition become knowledge about the object. Intellectuality, sensibility, category, time, space …Can you find any clear evidence of the existence of gods from any experience?”

"Of course!"

The priest's anger used the remaining energy in his thin body as cotton thread and wax, burning in his cloudy eyes. “Looking at all the coincidences and fates in life, isn’t it enough for us to realize the brilliance of God?”

"All coincidences have causes and consequences, and things are inevitably related to each other. When you admit coincidences, you deny the reasons behind the appearance, and presuppose the conclusion in the premise, so that you are unwilling to obtain confirmation from experience."

"Of course things are connected. This rule is established by our God."

"I doubt it," said Perturabo simply.

"I don't accept making such metaphysical presuppositions about feelings, or even assuming that there is some objective entity behind the feelings, so I doubt it. And you never use reason to reflect on your speculations."

The priest took in a sharp breath and almost choked on his own breath. He punched his chest violently until his face returned to its normal red color.

"What qualifications do you have to doubt us? Can you prove your qualifications?"

Perturabo could no longer hide his sneer.

"Boom."

The golden scepter struck the stone chair.

Damex stared at Perturabo, a small smile on his face, "Tell me your name, child."

"Perturabo."

"What's the moral?"

"I'll give it meaning."

Damex's smile widened. "Perturabo, forgive my subject. Perhaps at this moment, there is indeed no more effective way of persuasion than proving your identity."

Perturabo looked at Damex until the other man's fake smile could no longer be maintained. They all knew that Perturabo had won a victory, and they all knew that Perturabo would not be satisfied with just one victory.

"You want to test me?"

"if you are willing to."

"What do I gain?" said Perturabo. "One effort in exchange for another gain. What are you willing to exchange with me?"

"It depends on the situation. I am not an unscrupulous person. If you pass the test, just ask, and I will not be stingy." Damex promised.

Perturabo nodded. "Tell me about the test."

Damex raised his hand and introduced at the same time: "We will provide you with the best casting table, the most outstanding bellows and quenching pool, the latest anvil and the best steel."

The door on the side of the hall opened with the king's raised hand, and someone had to carry the tools into the hall on the spot.

Perturabo's nails dug arcs into her palms.

+Look, you asked for it. +Morse said, crossing his legs on the wicker chair.

Perturabo finally turned back and glared at him, not wanting to know where Morse took out the wicker chair or how he made the whole room turn a blind eye to his slumped chair and rocking back and forth.

"I can't start forging now." The boy said bravely, but fortunately his confidence was well disguised. "Like I said, I'm not a god. I need to learn."

"How long will you study for?" Damex looked solemn.

"One day is enough."