Chapter 12 Self-Directed Learning

Morse leaned back in the rattan chair and slid down slowly along the backrest to adjust his perspective and take in the exquisite frescoes on the ceiling.

He tasted the flavor of olive branches and Attic temples from the frescoes in the palace of Locus.

Damex arranged the best guest rooms for his distinguished guests. When Morse was bored, he used his psychic power to glance at Damex's living room and found that it was even more simple than here.

Then, the rattan chair above his head creaked, and a pair of young hands with moisture pressed down the rattan chair, attracting his attention.

"What will it take for you to teach me forging, Morse?" Perturabo asked. He took a bath, got a new gray brocade robe, finally put on sandals to save his weathered toes, and stubbornly cut his own hair - his black hair was a little too long, and Perturabo was unwilling to accept that he had more in common with the person in front of him.

It took him a lot of courage to spit out this question, and Morse could read the clues from the boy's uneasy eyebrows.

"You are testing me. The reasonable price I can get from you is too little."

Morse said lightly. Halfway through, a boring idea popped into his mind, and he casually told a joke that he understood: "You have to provide some surplus value."

Perturabo obviously felt that there must be some mystery in the wording of this sentence. He frowned and said dryly: "I don't want you to give me a hammer. You teach me to forge iron tools.

Morse said sharply: "You use the gift I am about to give you in exchange for my knowledge? "

Perturabo held on to the top of the rattan chair. His persistence gradually became fragile and pale under Morse's gaze, just like a thin piece of iron, seemingly silver and indestructible, but actually not that difficult to bend.

"I..." His words were stuck. People who have nothing are not afraid of challenges, but only afraid of giving.

Morse continued to look at his ceiling. When he almost rearranged all the patterns on the ceiling and made a unified style design drawing in his mind, he still didn't hear Perturabo's next sentence.

This child's brain sometimes deviates, not slow, but unable to turn.

He no longer used Perturabo's performance to torture his patience, which was as scarce as the morning mist. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers in front of Perturabo to make him come back to his senses.

"That was a question." He said. "It's not a rhetorical question, not a question, but a general question. Do you want to change? "

Perturabo's eyes lit up. To be fair, his eyes were more beautiful than the gems on the decorations in the Palace of Dammecus. It was difficult for people to stop their sincere admiration for the craftsmanship of his creator.

"It's settled. I'll exchange." He immediately agreed, without any nostalgia for the hammer that Morse promised to give him. This straightforwardness made Morse sigh.

After the deal was settled, Perturabo relaxed a little, threw the cushions of the seat in the Palace of Lokos aside, sat on the hard chair, and straightened his back in the most comfortable way.

He was still a little confused: "Morse, do you think this deal is fair?"

"Why not?" Morse was curious about Perturabo's thinking.

"I didn't take anything to exchange for your gift first."

"Gifts are special terms independent of the law of fairness. The giver has no right to ask the recipient for a price. "Morse grinned, sliding up against the back of the rattan chair strangely until his eyes were level with Perturabo.

"What about the return gift?"

"It depends only on the conscience of the recipient. I don't mind if you don't have it." Morse said, putting his hands on his chest and clapping his palms together, "Okay, I'm going to throw you into the training workshop. My personal craftsmanship is not suitable for the general public with weak psychic skills, and the lack of creativity in teaching forging will damage my mental health. "

"Wait..." Perturabo's voice was not finished, and his mind was immersed in the space constructed by psychic energy.

The dense darkness outlined the cave of the stone chamber. A ray of fire was cut into several bright fragments in the depths of the darkness, which in turn split the dark vision.

While cursing Morse inwardly - for no reason, just because of the accumulated anger in his heart, he walked towards the light source.

Statues of different sizes fell in all corners of this spiritual space. Some were skilled, some were clumsy, and some works showed another set of artistic styles that were somewhat incompatible with Morse's style. The desire to explore pushed him to lean over and reach out, but the darkness rose and spread like mist, turning into a fluid to intercept and hinder.

Perturabo had to give up studying Morse's secrets for the time being and came to the side of the light source.

The blacksmith's full set of equipment was breathing out hot flames and scorching winds with great vitality, waiting for Perturabo to come to the light source. Rabo activated it.

Next to it, a strange black metal cube was suspended in the air. As Perturabo approached, the surface of the object lit up.

He curiously touched the bright surface with his finger, and a small cube spread out and expanded, occupying the entire rectangular bright surface; a small thing imitating a human figure appeared out of thin air in the rectangle, facing him and speaking human language, talking about some basic knowledge of forging. He also found that when he asked questions, this thing could even give answers, as if it had life and thinking.

Perturabo stared at the silver gadget that looked like a human, gave up thinking about what kind of strange creation it was that went beyond conventional forging knowledge, and concentrated on listening.

In the real world, Perturabo's body fell to the side, overturning the entire chair with a crash, and then crashed into a clay jar next to it, pressing down on several document rolls in the jar with a majestic momentum, and the chain reaction almost affected the heavy bookshelves several layers high next to it.

The cold spread rapidly, and ice crystals took away the moisture in the air. In the blink of an eye, all the chaos was stopped as if time had stopped, and then everything returned to its original position spontaneously.

Except for Perturabo, who unfortunately fell to the ground and no one cared about him.

Morse didn't think that lying in an uncomfortable position would affect the normal development of such a delicate creature.

He walked around the boy who was blocking the way on the ground, took away the clay pot, took out the paper scroll in the pot and began to read.

It is worth mentioning that although these things are paper scrolls, they are more like a soft screen that automatically emits light, not really made of tree fibers.

On the paper scroll are some novels and poetry selections popular in Lokos. Compared with the local not so backward technology, the selection of materials is particularly ancient: it is nothing more than discussing the heroes at sunset, warriors blessed by gods, and wrong love that goes wrong. Morse found the number of the festival drama at the beginning of the scroll, indicating in which years these stories were performed in the Lokos Theater for what kind of celebration.

After reading the scroll, he returned to his home in the forest, first stuffed the finished silver plate into another secret storage room hundreds of miles away that no one cared about, then found the re-carved statue of Perseus and carried it on his shoulders, and then took out the small double-person stone carving that Perturabo had recently developed from the corner and took them all back to the palace of Lokos.

Before leaving, he snapped his fingers, and the whole house collapsed.

Back to the palace. Morse used his imagination and stared at Perturabo's unfinished work for a long time, thinking that this might be a carving of a boy showing his magical powers and twisting a man's head off.

As for where these stones that suddenly appeared in the palace wall came from, Morse believed that the tyrant Damex would come up with the answer himself.