When Talos heard Otavia mention the Primrose, he was not surprised or angry, but just shook his head with a smile.
"Maybe."
Septims rubbed his hands uneasyly, and then said softly:
"Master, I heard that the leader of the Astral Knight's Battle of Soshyan values you very much and regards you as his right-hand man. I think...he will find a way to heal you."
"Didritian told you these words? You should stay away from Valer, and you are definitely not ignorant of his style of conduct on the Blood Oath. Besides... it is better to know some things less. I can't protect you forever and not cause unnecessary trouble for myself... As for me, everyone will have their own destined death, which no one can change, and even the emperor cannot change."
When talking about the word "death", Otavia's body trembled significantly.
Then she turned her head, looked at Septims, nodded to the other side, and the pilot turned around and walked out the door.
Talos noticed their movements and smiled:
"You have brought other people? It seems like you say goodbye at the end of your life. To be honest, I am not a person who will lie in bed waiting for death. There is no need for you to worry about me for the time being."
As he said that, Septims walked in, surrounded by three children, one girl and two boys, the oldest boy seemed to be seven or eight years old.
They surrounded their father, looking at the giant on the bed with timidity and curiosity.
".........After giving birth to Little Talos (the number zero that Valer said before. Readers who forget can go back to read Chapter 891) Otavia had already lost her fertility. Thanks to Valer's surgery, we had three more children. The second son was called Makushen, the third daughter was called Dasha, and the fourth son was called Selyon, all of whom were very healthy."
Talos sat up from the bed and looked at the children with a strange expression.
"Ha, Valer has this kind of technology. If he goes to the nest, he will definitely make money, but then again... If Cyrion knew that you let him be the youngest one, he would definitely be furious."
At this time, the oldest Makushen suddenly spoke in a tender voice:
"Are you...are you the angel of the God Emperor?"
A smile appeared on Talos's face.
"Yes, I am His angel, the angel of death."
Makushen walked forward carefully and reached out to touch Talos' knees. Otavia quickly stretched out her hand.
"Don't be rude."
"fine."
Talos waved his hand and asked the boy to walk in front of him. Then he stretched out his hand and let the other party's delicate palm brush across the scar.
"So big...so amazing! Uncle Angel, what about your wings? I see that the paintings in the church have wings."
The boy's eyes were wide open.
"Mom said, you are sailing in the sea of stars, and the evil dragons are fighting, and they are all given a pair of wings by the God Emperor, and they can shuttle among the stars. Is this true?"
Talos smiled slightly. This was a smile that Otavia had never seen on the face of this "soul hunter", like a child.
"The wings are closed, and we will only spread our wings when facing the enemy."
Makuchen inherited his mother's eyes, with brown pupils, but his hair was light gray like his father.
Talos' gentle attitude seemed to dispel his fear when he first met. After blinking, the boy asked very seriously.
"People say I'm brave, can I be an angel like you? Is this possible?"
Talos looked down at the child. He looked so far away that he was not even as tall as his waist.
But what did he feel-
Perhaps, this is the feeling he was looking for, and he saw his former self in this boy.
Talos then bent down and asked softly.
"Why do you want to be an angel?"
"Because... because, my mother said that angels are heroes, and I want to be heroes!"
Become a hero.
This sentence hit Talos's mind like a heavy hammer, shattering some of his ice walls, and allowing the things he tried to forget to emerge from the deep sea of memory again-
He has always been a slow child.
At least his mentor would use this word to describe children who sit separately from others, and he even knew that they were his belonging.
There were four slow children in class. The four of them sat by the window and didn't pay much attention to the tutor's words, but they were never punished for it.
The fourth and youngest of the four men sat with them and looked out the window with the others.
A vehicle passed by at night, and the headlights of the car were very dim, after all, it was necessary to relieve eye fatigue.
The gloomy night sky was covered by the top of the tower, and each spire was decorated with huge luminous signs to sell everything necessary for adults.
The boy turned to face his mentor, and he listened intermittently to her speech about language and what he taught to other children—the unstoppable children.
Words are still novel to them.
The boy didn't understand at all, why are these words so strange to everyone? He had read them in his mother's book more than a dozen times.
The instructor noticed that he was looking at her and hesitated for a moment. Usually she would ignore him and pretend to forget his existence with that casual and familiar sense of intimacy.
The boy didn't look away from her, he thought to himself, maybe she would teach him something new.
Sure enough, she made him happy, pointing to a word written on the flashing fluorescent screen, and then asked him if he knew what it meant.
The boy did not answer her, and the boy rarely responded to his mentor, and he suspected that this was why adults said he was slow.
When the bell rang and announced the end of tonight's teaching, all the children stood up from their seats, most of them packed their writing boards, and the dull children stuffed pieces of paper with childish pictures aside.
The boy had nothing to pick up because he did nothing but stared at the window all night.
It took more than an hour to go home, and if it rained, the boy walked past the vehicles stuck in the traffic queue and listened to the drivers yelling at each other.
Not far from where he was walking, gunshots like popcorn bursting came. It was obvious that the two gangs were fighting endlessly. He was curious about who and how many people died.
He was not surprised when his friend caught up with him, but the boy had always hoped to be alone tonight.
He smiled at his friend, pretending that he was not annoyed, and his friend smiled at him.
His friends cannot actually be considered his true friends. They call each other a friend mainly because their mother is a friend, and the two families live in a living cabin next to each other.
"The instructor asked you a question tonight."
His friend Charles said, as if the boy hadn't noticed him.
"I know."
"But why don't you answer? Don't you know what to say?"
This is the problem, the boy never knows what to say, even if he knows the correct answer.
"I don't understand why we have to go to tutor."
He responded that the surrounding cities were moving as they always were breathing, and the tires were whizzing past the next road.
The accusations, inquiries, and pleading sounds were intertwined with loud and loudness, and exciting music sounded from nearby buildings.
"It's for learning, of course."
The boy's mother once told him that his friend would "break heartbroken one night" when he grew up, and the boy didn't see it.
In addition, from the boy's perspective, his friends always look confused, angry, or angry because of confusion.
"Our tutors talk about things I have known for a long time, so why do we need to learn? I have never figured it out."
"Because...this is natural."
The friend's expression was filled with confusion that made the boy laugh.
"Every time you start talking, you will ask some very stupid questions."
The boy didn't care, his friends just never understood this kind of thing.