Chapter 48 So He Left

Morse withdrew his will from where Perturabo was. His situation no longer allowed him to be distracted.

The sharp dagger cut through the black cloth covering his palm. The material made of solid thread and linen was cut one after another under the sharp concept beyond the mortal world, and the layers were loosely peeled off, revealing what was really pierced by the dagger.

A void.

More black cloth strips disintegrated from the surface of his arm and scattered on the wet ground.

The contents wrapped in the black robe seemed to disappear out of thin air, or perhaps they had never existed.

Morse closed his eyes, and the black cloth without support collapsed inward, falling to the floor under the call of gravity, wrinkled into a pile of carbon black, soaked by the blood of the evil creature.

The delicate little dagger fell on the top of the cloth, as if to announce to everyone its feat with extreme mockery.

Then, a figure that could not be observed in the real universe opened its eyes and stepped out of his false body.

Each lost disguise represents more exposure of his essence. From fingers to shoulders, from soles to chest, golden spells prop up a void that resembles a human body.

Every bite of food he had taken turned into nothingness, and every drop of blood he shed was an illusion created by runes.

After stripping off the robes and bandages covering his entire body, and ending the simulation and depiction of his face, what remains now is his remaining true core.

Morse tried to smile, and he felt that the position of his head should have fluctuated.

Usually he would not exist in this form unless he had to.

This was not because he was particularly dissatisfied with his inhuman state, but because this appearance was indeed a bit rough and unpolished compared to the body he once had.

He raised his left hand, and countless flowing spells reflected golden light under different lighting conditions, outlining his general appearance.

Even the most inconspicuous small spell less than an inch long was a supreme command that directly communicated the underlying rules of the real universe.

Spell.

This is how runes are called, a system different from psychic energy, which directly shakes the foundation of reality.

As for the right hand, the part of the stored spell was lost behind the curtain about fifteen thousand years ago; returning to the original form, his right hand no longer exists for the time being.

When thinking of related events, he had to mention a certain bandit who he didn't know how to describe. After connecting that incident with the existence of Perturabo, Morse found that he finally accidentally figured out what kind of mysterious technology that man was tossing around in the past.

That guy never told people what he wanted to do.

When he stepped on the ground, the whole scene changed further. The room he was in turned into a small gold and silver cabin, and outside the cabin was a vast ocean with countless colors swirling endlessly.

In the deep and endless space, there are endless things devouring each other every minute and every second. Fixed time and space, and even conventional physical laws are meaningless here, only chaos is eternal.

He left the cabin, and the gorgeous sail formed by the stitching of mammal skins flew above his head. The boat was heaving, and from time to time there were waves mixed with scornful and sweet laughter, telling him the direction of the boat.

Mors simply sat down and let the waves of the warp guide the boat.

Then, a short half-length wooden arrow was hit by the waves on the board and fell in front of Mors. A vague conversation followed.

"This is my arrow, I shot the deer!"

"Our arrows are exactly the same, don't lie, brother, this is my deer."

"But I engraved a mark on the arrow shaft..."

Mors picked up the broken arrow and found a horizontal engraving on the wooden shaft near the arrow sword. The curse climbed from his empty skin to the broken arrow, annihilating it in an instant.

He heard the sharp laughter become more piercing, and a large blue-feathered bird flew to the top of the mast, chirping and making an unpleasant laugh.

A string of runes flew up, scorching the bird's feathers and electrocuting it back into the ocean.

The second thing that flew onto the deck was a piece of iron, and the sound from it became clearer. Some hazy reflections were intercepted and stored from time and space, and re-appeared at this time.

Those rather illusory things passed through truth, illusion and reality, and across tens of thousands of years, they caught Morse again. He had another name back then.

His first forging, some psychic energy was used to control the temperature of the furnace. There was no mentor, no companion, and his brother had other important things to do - he was receiving education from a mentor who came from afar, education in building a city.

He studied all the changes in steel by himself and listened to the sound of the flame. His experiment was of course a failure, and the iron sword broke into several deformed pieces of iron. He could hear his own sighs and distress.

When he held the failed product and was about to secretly roll it into a small ball with psychic energy and throw it away, a cold and magnificent force supported the failed piece of iron.

A narrow beam of light shone through the crack of the open door, piercing into the dim room after the fire went out. The wind came from outside the door, bringing the smell of trees and cold sun.

The illusion ended here, the subspace was unable to simulate things that did not belong to them. Morse shrugged his shoulders, picked up the broken iron pieces, and threw the illusion back into the depths of the sea.

He stood up and supported the edge of the boat with one hand.

The next illusion was no longer based on specific things, nor was it so friendly.

He saw his own body - the first and only one - lying in the moat of the half-built city, his dim eyes still open, looking at the great city. The city will be named after his brother, and the reason for his defeat in the brother's struggle can only be described as absurd.

The heavy rain swept over the bricks and the eagle emblems on the bricks and poured into the canal. Someone walked towards him from the depths of the rain curtain, and a flash of lightning made the whole picture appear grim and pale in an instant.

The changing image condensed into a blue bird feather and fell on his shoulder, conveying its words before being destroyed: "Your death has happened a long time ago... How can you still live peacefully? You can't live like this... Do you know what happened next?"

Morse impatiently threw a handful of feather ashes back into the sea.

He just lived a long time, he didn't have a degenerative disease of the central nervous system that caused progressive cognitive and behavioral impairment.

"He reshaped my inner being with lightning, bricks, and thunder, continued me with the spirit of sorrow and green olives, washed me and made me whiter than snow."

"He made my skin with the dust of the ground, and filled my flesh with the curse."

"My spirit and the curse are combined into one, I am a dead person, a permanent monument, a living book."

He is a collection of curses, a moving storage.

Morse looked at his missing right arm.

When he assisted the fire thief under the rock of Lupacalia to open and close the door to the nightmare and the immaterial realm, went deep into the sea of ​​​​the gods of destruction and disorder and retreated unscathed, part of the curse was permanently lost during use, and all related memories were taken away.

He still doesn't know which instructions he lost to manipulate reality back then, but there is only one thing he will not forget even after ten thousand years.

And he doesn't even know whether to describe it as "this matter will be remembered until the end of life", after all, since his first death, he has not lived again.

"Your duty is over for now."

The wind of Morro blew away, and the incandescent flames drifted away. There was burnt blood and distant thunder in the voice of the Forerunner, which was the final cold revelation.

"You should leave."

So he left--

So he left.

Morse jumped out of the boat and stepped on the turbulent surface of the waves. The tide receded immediately, leaving only a chaotic golden sand plain. Looking at his feet through his transparent body, every grain of yellow sand was the most precious and dazzling gold coin. Gold and jewels piled up like mountains, and whole pieces of blue sapphires reflected endless gorgeous light.

He had reached the edge of bliss.

Morse raised his left hand and cursed the sea of ​​chaos to give birth to a big sword. Then, he walked into the depths of gold.