1447: Chapter 420: Beating the Master with a Frenzied Bludgeon 1447: Chapter 420: Beating the Master with a Frenzied Bludgeon The vast Kalimdo Plains, where the Mikrolonsa City shimrs with brilliant lights.
If the Frans Kingdom is considered the artistic heart of the human realms, then without a doubt, Mikrolonsa City is the art capital of the Frans Kingdom.
Featuring picturesque scenery with verdant mountains and clear waters, the city draws countless human and Elven masters, who devote themselves year-round to the study of topics related to art and beauty.
Any matter closely tied to art can only receive its true and perfect evaluation here.
Tonight, Prince Leman of the Frans Kingdom has exhibited a newly acquired rare flower – the “Green Pouch Flower” – at the National Art Gallery of Mikrolonsa City and invited all the art masters of the city to appreciate this peerless beauty together.
The “Green Pouch Flower” is a rarity in the world, said to bloom only on the full moon night of midsumr every year, wilting in just a mont; its color and fragrance are unsurpassed in this world.
What is even more remarkable is that every ti the “Green Pouch Flower” is in full bloom, a delicate and extra-ordinary Phidian poem naturally erges on its petals, leaving a lingering taste in one’s mouth.
The currently circulating poem, “I once was a horse, alas, I never could catch up with you, now I am a flute, playing that green plum, fresh as if dripping with dew,” was transcribed from the “Green Pouch Flower.” Thus, it has led the world to affectionately call the Green Pouch the “Poetry Flower.”
This rare flower has long been extinct in the Aegean Continent and, paired with the renowned Qilu Grass, which dances to the music and sings its own heavenly tones, is considered one of the unparalleled beauties.
The fact that Prince Leman could find this rare and precious flower has greatly shocked the art world of Mikrolonsa City.
So much so that even the most famous painter of all human lands, Master Titian, has abandoned his magnum opus “Saint” to travel tirelessly miles to Mikrolonsa City National Art Gallery just to witness the legendary “Poetry Flower” with his own eyes—such compassion from heaven!
For his art, Titian has secluded himself in the deep mountains for nearly two years, declining nurous cordial invitations, including from Pope Paul Mardini!
Like all masters, it was only with great restraint that Titian endured Prince Leman’s incessant boasting about how he bravely led his Knight companions, how he defeated fierce Magical Beasts, and how he climbed cliffs to dig up this rare flower.
When the “Green Pouch Flower,” planted in an expensive vase from the Far East, was lifted onto the exhibition stage by four beautifully dressed young girls, the masters’ anger vanished in an instant.
Only the supre main god of the indefinable beyond could create such a beautiful flower!
Even the sight of the budding petals made the masters feel as if they were desecrating this divine flower!
As the moon reached its zenith, the peerlessly beautiful bud unfurled in tranquility, like a beauty awakening from a nap, lusciously lazy; the entire National Art Gallery suddenly beca silent, so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.
After an unknown length of ti, nurous pairs of fervent eyes had even spotted the dark characters on the petals, but the slowly blooming Green Pouch bud suddenly began to scatter its rich fragrance as it withered, the petals gently falling to the ground one by one.
In a wave of shock, Master Titian stood up, his hands trembling as he picked up a petal.
Even in the rapid withering of the beautiful, large petals, one could still make out the clear, beautifully written Aegean Universal Text— “Eternal reign of Flower King.”
A slowly moving dewdrop fell from the petal upon Titian’s palm, its clarity cold.
“This must be the tears of the Green Pouch.” The art master, with tears welling up like springs, even in his contemplation, was so artistic.
The snow-covered Tel Aviv.
Snowflakes mingled with the howling winds, raging across the vast white expanse; this is the hotown of coldness.
Across the limitless snowfields stand towering ice houses resembling three-ter-tall graves, constructed from giant ice blocks each weighing a thousand pounds; without the strength of the Northland Berserkers, building such a house would be nothing but a dream.
Sword-like thick ice ridges hang down from the eaves, ri thickens on the sleds, and rich Snow Lard, along with moss, fuels the fires that burn bright like embers, undaunted by the winds or wild snows, glowing persistently.
The Berserkers of Tel Aviv, wearing heavy white bear skins and baring chests as robust as rock, gather on the vast icy riverbeds, braving the blinding snow and icy winds, looking up reverence at the massive bolts of lightning crashing down from the distant southern skies through the clouds, as bright as swords piercing the heavens.
“This is the rage only the Thunder God possesses!” An old Berserker, blinded, leaning on a cane adorned with feathers and bones, gazed towards the south with his shriveled pupils as if he could see, his tone of voice as admiring as his look would have been, “Odin’s ssenger is summoning the loyal Berserkers of Tel Aviv to aid!
We must find our own ssenger!”
Bimon Kingdom, Sabak Royal City.
His Majesty Grecke Sal looked up at the vast expanse of stars with an ashen face.
A gigantic Thorn Bird, its entire body emitting a dreamlike blue glow, trailed a long tail of dimming sparkles across the sky of Xiang Pa, scattering more, like a rain of stars.
The Thorn Bird cried out in a heartbreakingly plaintive song that finally dissipated under the moonlight, turning into strands of fernting blue stardust, as if the Milky Way of Haibo had descended into the Aegean.
In the history of Beamon, only when the Dragon Priest Kochis died in battle did such a phenonon appear, and in the Hippo Epic, this is what’s referred to as—”The Thorn Bird’s Final Song.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)