Chapter 22 False Victory

The loud music from the platform made Morse spend a few seconds looking for the hidden loudspeakers nearby.

He found these technological creations disguised as wood and bricks under the ceilings of some houses. After lamenting the abnormal technological development brought about by the strange technological gap, he finally paid more attention to the stage.

The person who presided over the competition was not Damex himself, although he was there.

A man in a light yellow silver-edged robe stood up and announced as one of the twelve advisors of Lokos that the prince would compete with the "genius who came from afar" under the witness of the citizens of Lokos.

It seems that Damex has no chance of meeting the God Cult.

Morse would not say that this is necessarily a good thing, but such a development made him feel physically and mentally comfortable.

On the stage, Damex clapped his hands, first smiled kindly at Perturabo, and then nodded to his child in a proper way.

Morse noticed that Perturabo was not pleased by the details of the tyrant's behavior until Kaliphon took the lead and looked back at Perturabo.

"Look at the boy's expression."

Morse said casually to the stranger next to him, his tone so light, like the wind blowing across the wings of a bird: "He doesn't even frown his eternal unhappy eyebrows anymore."

"Can you see it clearly?" the stranger asked.

"Of course." Morse nodded and led the stranger to a farther corner of the crowd.

People laughed happily and chatted with their relatives and friends next to them. Many of them were not even talking about the competition that was about to take place today.

After they talked about the art and aristocratic life that they knew little about and heard from others, they dryly praised the two protagonists of today for being geniuses, and then silently said in their hearts that they were worthy of being big shots, and then they looked at each other tacitly, and quickly went deep into the more relaxed and free life topics, talking about the new stall owner in the vegetable market and the sunny days that lasted for a long time recently.

"If they could hear everyone, Perturabo would definitely spend a whole gloomy planetary cycle to commemorate the day when he was not loved by everyone," Morse said, "unless he comes up with something refreshing, but can he do it?"

The stranger pessimistically tried to ignore the crowd around him who were chatting and joking, while changing the ground for the two of them to stand on their own and making way, and no one was aware of their existence.

"I don't know how you did it..." he said nervously. "Are you a messenger of some god?"

"If I am, then Perturabo is probably too. But we are not, right?"

The stranger stared at Morse blankly.

And Morse just wanted to find a wooden stake to chat, just like he occasionally did with the tree in front of his house, or his handicrafts, or his psychic lamp.

So he didn't mind not answering.

He took the stranger to a house with no dried fruits drying on the roof, stepped lightly on the ground, jumped to the edge of the fence of the two-story top-floor open-air balcony, and walked slowly along the narrow fence as lightly as if nothing.

The stranger followed under the eaves, walking in sync with Morse. He might or might not hear.

The pottery jar was still in the stranger's hand.

Morse stared at the platform, enjoying the unobstructed walking experience, walking and stopping on the roofs of one house after another.

On the platform, Staff Officer Lokos asked Perturabo and Andos separately if they had any words to announce to the citizens.

This made Perturabo's patience decline rapidly again. He shook his head angrily.

"I still don't understand why you call so many people to watch. Am I your exhibit?" The boy's voice was brought by the wind.

Kaliphon gently advised Perturabo in his ear: "According to you, everyone on the stage is an exhibit to the citizens."

Then, in another piece of pretentious music, the soldiers' spears and halberds hit the ground, escorting the two works carefully carried by the ceremonial officers who washed their bodies to the stage.

The two tall statues were covered with black cloth, which was woven with the best wool in Lokos. The sheep were cleaned before wool was taken, and then in the right season, when the wool was loose, the workers cleaned their hands and plucked it to make it easier to form a continuous felt. Although it was expensive and troublesome, Morse dared to say that the upper class who obtained such resources knew nothing about the whole process. They got a treasure, and all they had to do was let the language become an order.

"These two works were made by Lord Perturabo and Lord Andos respectively." The host said, "But please let us keep it secret for the time being which lord the two works belong to. Please give fair evaluations, citizens."

The ceremonial officer stepped forward silently and neatly removed the black cloth from the two sculptures.

The goddess Hephoni of Andos and the combined statue of "Two People Drawing Swords and Facing Each Other" remade by Perturabo were presented to everyone. The crowd below the stage was quiet for a few seconds, and then it became noisy again.

Morse had walked to the roof closest to the platform.

In his opinion, the two players were equally skilled; if he had to choose a winner, he would choose Andros.

The reason was simple: in the battle between the two statues, the statue of the boy with the hammer seemed to have the upper hand.

The ministers, scholars and foreign guests on the stage began their comments.

"Would you like to make some comments with those citizens?" Morse said.

The stranger spoke mechanically: "The statue of the goddess Hephonia is the work of Andros, and the unnamed statue containing two people is the work of Perturabo."

Morse nodded, not asking where the stranger got the inside information.

"He came to me a few days ago and I gave him a good night's sleep and made sure he didn't learn anything anywhere."

"Of course, I have a lot to teach him, but it's not knowledge he needs, never. Sooner or later, knowledge will come back to him, and before that happens, he will find the gaping hole left by his loss."

He paused and stopped talking, "Who do you think will win?"

"Perturabo," answered the stranger.

"Then the outcome is decided." Morse's voice was sarcastic.

"I'm a little cold." The stranger said numbly.

"Well, because you're freezing," Morse said.

He sat down on the edge of the house, took out a piece of wood and a knife from nowhere, and carved an unfinished gadget.

On the stage, except for a few members of the royal family and the visitors who were just visiting, the remaining people cautiously praised the outstanding features of the two works alternately.

Sometimes they admire the polishing skills of one piece, and sometimes they admire the texture and layout of another piece. After each sentence is spoken, there will be a burst of eye contact within the small circle.

When they wrote the number of the work on the pottery and presented it to the host, the eyes that came and went were as entangled as silk glue.

Tyrants, princes, boys, everyone is being observed.

Andos lowered his eyes gently and acquiesced to all this happening, while Perturabo curled his fingers into his palms and clenched his fists.

The boy knew that the praise he received was on par with the prestigious Prince Andros, but this was not what he wanted.

He suddenly stood up from the cushion, walked to the front of the commentators, and began to comment loudly on the statue of Andos.

"What material does this stone imitate, gauze or cotton and linen? Why is it neither as elegant as yarn nor as thick as cotton? Has no one seen such an obvious flaw?"

Before Andros and Callifon had time to be surprised, Perturabo looked at his own statue again, gritting his teeth, and his anger was stronger than when directed at others: "There is also this statue, no one can see the two sculptured subjects. Isn’t the composition so sloppy? Isn’t the posture of two people holding weapons against each other boring enough? If you can’t even criticize it, is any of your praise true?”

His move finally silenced the crowd for the first time today. Everyone stared blankly at the boy on the stage who ignored the rules. Perturabo achieves real limelight in another form.

Perturabo didn't care.

He snorted coldly, waved his hand, and pointed angrily at the last person who was about to put down the pottery shards tremblingly, "The registration is over, so show me the results!"

After receiving a hint from Damex, one of the attendants immediately presented him with a statistical board. Perturabo glanced at it and almost smashed the board to the ground.

Then he raised the board high and showed it to all directions.

"Look, so many people are recording their preferences...so many citizens are giving their evaluations 'fairly and impartially'. It turns out that among so many fair people, exactly half of them think Andos's work is excellent, and the other half Did one more person think I should have won? Did I win exactly one vote? I need an explanation!”

"Perturabo, we Lokos are fair. You deserve this honor. Your sharp words and courage to speak out are proof of your talent."

Someone spoke to persuade. Perturabo called out. He has not met the other person, but he knows this person.

Standing beside the tyrant, richly dressed and generous - no other person in Lokos fit this description.

Harcon.