Arcane splendor begins with the throne

Chapter 30 The Voice of Reason

The candle flame kept jumping in the darkness, reflecting a little bit of light on the two pure black horns on the forehead of the satyr Mario, and the wax tears flowed on the candlestick like a small waterfall.

Mario sat back in the chair and supported himself by pressing his elbows on the blank paper on the table.

Whenever the poet looked at the blank paper, he would reach out and touch a horn on his forehead, frowning, as if he was worried about something.

With a cloak on his shoulders, Brian sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully wiping the dust off the leather scabbard, listening to Mario's words, and nodding his head from time to time.

Obviously, he was not a qualified listener.

"You often say that your ancestors came from the Unrestrained Wilderness of the Upper Plane, a famous family of bards."

After a brief silence, Brian put the weapon back to its original place, looked at Mario with an intriguing look, and said with a smile:

"Since you like to be proud of being an astral race so much. Then, as an excellent satyr race, you must be very familiar with the panpipe. I don't know if I have the honor tonight. Listen to it Hear the magical music played by this instrument."

Pan flute is a kind of musical instrument that combines several sound tubes of the same material by bonding, binding, or fixing them into a frame.

The inside of the sound tube is blocked with beeswax or cork. When playing, the airflow slides over the mouthpiece, hits the inner tube wall on the opposite side, and vibrates in the inner cavity of the sound tube, producing musical sounds.

Due to the different positions of beeswax and cork, the vibration period of the airflow in the sound tube is different, so the vibration frequency of the airflow is different, thus producing different musical tones.

In his previous life, Brian didn't have much contact with the satyr race. What impressed him the most was the musical instrument that this race was best at: the pan flute.

As a star race, they naturally possess many special talents. Among them, using pan flutes to play various magic that affects the mind is one of the abilities of this race.

It is said that only half-goats who work as bards can learn this kind of rhythmic magic.

For example, the "charming sound" that controls the enemy, the "horror rhythm" that causes people to panic, and the "hypnotic song" that can make those who hear it fall into a deep sleep.

So Brian was very curious about whether the opponent had mastered this ability.

In fact, he already had the answer in his heart.

Because in the past few days in the same company, he has never seen the other party take out a pan flute, but instead holds a harp and plays it around all day long.

"I'll lose it." Hearing this, Mario replied a little frustrated.

He raised his head and saw Brian's black eyes, like a cat's, emitting a faint light in the dim light, as if he could look directly into his own heart, which made him hide away with a guilty conscience.

Brian was still staring at Mario who was trying to dodge, he was silent for a while, and then slowly said: "Could it be taken away by the Duke of Silver Griffin?"

When he said this, even Brian himself didn't know why such a guess instinctively popped up in his mind.

But seeing the astonishment on the other party's face, he immediately understood that he was really fooled.

"You know all of this?" Mario said dryly.

"So, Artes' fiancée was abducted. Although you are not the main culprit, you must have been involved. I'm right."

"That's not true." Mario quickly denied, and explained: "It's just that he was so unlucky that he was angered. After all, a good wedding banquet was disturbed by that damned poet. He can only vent his anger." Sprinkle it on the rest of us poets, and you'd be lucky enough to not hang us all on the gallows."

"Actually, the purpose of my going to Thorn Castle is to find the Duke of Silver Griffin to get back my panpipe." Then, Mario explained his reason for coming, and said indignantly:

"This stubborn old guy, he not only seized my instrument, but also locked me in a dark dungeon for half a month. By the time I was released, he had already gone to Thornburg. There is no other way, I can only catch up all the way non-stop."

Brian chuckled, and it could be seen that the other party did not seem to be lying.

Through this small talk tonight, Brian understood that the poet in front of him might not be as unbearable as he imagined. Apart from his liking for bragging and lying, he was still somewhat principled.

If not, in the tavern, the other party would not take the risk of being beaten and stand up to attract hatred for him.

In fact, that morning, if that little kid hadn't suddenly awakened the blood of a warlock, he would have escaped from the siege of the crowd.

"Please!" Mario seemed to have seen through Brian's thoughts, and immediately emphasized: "I repeat, I am a serious poet, a poet who only devotes himself to art..."

"Okay, let's stop arguing on this issue." Brian didn't want to continue the chat, he stopped the other party's words, and said:

"In my opinion, this kind of argument is meaningless. Sometimes, the more you try to prove your innocence to others, the more people will doubt you. In fact, you just need to remember that as long as you are yourself, rumors will come naturally The land will break itself without attack.”

After speaking, Brian was going to lie back on the bed to rest.

Just as he took off the cloak he was wearing, he subconsciously glanced in the direction of Mario's table.

Suddenly he realized that after so long, there was still a blank piece of paper with not a single word written on it. He couldn't help but ask:

"Do you know? You looked excited just now, like a girl with a yellow flower who was peeped in the shower. What happened? You didn't even have clothes...you didn't even write a single word..."

"Then you have no right to peep!" Before Brian finished speaking, Mario, who had already turned around, turned around again, and he jumped up excitedly as if being stepped on his tail, clutching the quill, His face flushed and he said:

"That's right, I didn't write anything, but that's definitely not a reason for you to peep. If I was naked just now... Bah! If I was so inspired that I wrote the entire paper, then your casual glance just now is No, it means that my achievements will be seen at a glance. You are disrespecting me, and this kind of thing will never be allowed to happen. You must apologize to me!"

"I'm not a poet. Your exaggerated rhetorical techniques and meaningless rhetoric are of no use to me." Brian saw the other party jumping, as if he had stabbed a hornet's nest, but how could he May bow his head, so he retorted stiffly:

"In my opinion, there is no difference between it and a piece of waste paper. After all, no matter how gorgeous the words are, they will eventually be replaced by clichés. Do you think so, Mario poet?"

He is deeply touched by this, just like his real world, many poetry collections left by the ancients have been destroyed in various forms.

The sentence that impressed him the most was: Stop and have sex with Feng Linwan.

The difference between one word and the difference is thousands of miles, and everyone understands it.

After listening, Mario rarely refuted, but pursed his lips tightly, bowed his head in silence, which surprised Bryanton on the side.

I saw him scratching his hair with the hand holding the quill, and then sat on the chair frowning, as if he was worrying about something.

"It seems that you should have encountered a problem." Seeing Mario's appearance, Brian, who was about to give up, flashed his eyes, and couldn't help but continued:
"Actually, I'm curious why a cheerful and lively poet like you becomes so sensitive and irritable when he creates, and often sneaks and hides. It stands to reason that as a poet, when you create, you have to be so sensitive and irritable. You should be happy to be watched by others."

Brian paused deliberately, seeing that the other party was still frowning and silent, and had no intention of answering the conversation as usual, so he continued:
"But judging from the current situation, you don't like other people's attention at all. Your self-closing and disgusting behavior of others' eyes must have something to do with the paper and pen in your hand. So, I am curious about what you are writing Diaries? Narrative poems? Poems? Legendary poems? It can’t be a ditty full of obscenities, can it?”

Although Brian gave so many examples, he had a faint feeling that his guesses were all wrong.

Because he had seen how other poets wrote poems, if Mario was writing poems, he would put the harp on his lap, count the syllables with his fingers, and mutter to himself.

But he kept very quiet, and frowned from time to time, as if troubled by some problem.

He is very familiar with this feeling, which is exactly the same as the appearance of network writers losing inspiration, sitting in front of the computer and meditating for a long time, but unable to type a word.

Although these nonsense things are not his business, but he is a bit bored, but he has a little curiosity, and he can't help but want to tease this interesting poet.

"You're right." Mario glanced at Brian and admitted directly, then he sighed again, and said slowly: "No matter how gorgeous the rhetoric is, it will eventually be replaced by clichés."

"So? What are you going to do?" Bryan asked, "Writing novels? Or essays? Or moral skits that criticize human nature?"

"I'm going to write a travelogue about myself." Mario replied in a muffled voice, then walked to his luggage, took out two barrel-shaped containers filled with paper, and said:
"These papers record what I have seen and heard all my life. This is the memory of my life, but I don't know what name to name this memory."

"Is there a name you have thought of?" Brian became interested: "Tell me, and I can refer to it for you."

"I plan to call it "Listen to the Voice of Truth." Mario said with a headache, "But I always feel that this name is not suitable."

"It seems that your feeling is right. This name does sound very secondary." Brian commented, curled his lips, and complained mercilessly:
"You think you are a paladin, and you still listen to the voice of truth. Of course, for paladins, they usually use their swords in their hands to maintain the truth, rather than paper and pen in their hands. Besides, who would believe that a man with a mouthful The words of the poet who runs the train are all the truth."

"What do you know." Mario was unhappy when the name he had thought of was complained about. He didn't care what "running a train" meant and defended himself to Brian:
"The title of this book means: Let the people of Asno Continent understand what truth is through my personal experience. When they understand this truth, they will be able to maintain their rationality when encountering difficult problems. Solve problems with a normal state of mind. Even if you encounter difficulties, you will have the confidence and courage to face the status quo."

"Aha! It sounds so lofty. If you look at it this way, I understand. I have to say, you are really a great poet, and I admire you so much." Brian said ironically with an exaggerated tone.

"You are an adventurer, you can only fight and kill all day." Mario didn't care about Brian's ridicule, he didn't even look at him, and said to Brian in a tone full of superiority :

"You know, I am a poet, and we are fundamentally different. I will think about the future and eternity, and even pass down my masterpiece forever for future generations to see. That way, whenever they read my work , will praise my masterpieces from the bottom of my heart.

And you are just an adventurer who hunts monsters for a living. You have to understand that when you are old and unable to move in a chair, you will not only tell stories to a bunch of little kids, but also What?So you can't compare with me after all. "

Brian snorted, he was too lazy to argue, but casually suggested: "In this case, I think, you might as well call it "Listening to the Voice of Reason", what do you think, great poet?"

"Voice of reason?" Mario whispered, his eyes brightened, then he lowered his head and picked up a quill to write it down on a blank piece of paper, and said to Brian:
"Although you gave me a name I would never consider, thank you, Brian, after all, it was the first suggestion I heard."

"Then you just think about it by yourself." Brian lay down on the bed without saying a word, closed his eyes, and covered his body with the cloak, as if he had fallen into a deep sleep.

(End of this chapter)