When Talos heard Octavia mention the original body, he didn't look surprised or angry, he just smiled and shook his head.
"Maybe."
Septimus rubbed his hands uneasily, and then whispered:
"Master, I heard that the Soshiyang Chapter Leader of the Astral Knights values you very much and regards you as his right-hand man. I think... he will find a way to heal you."
"Did Valier or Dietrian tell you these words? You'd better stay away from Valier. You are by no means ignorant of his behavior on the Blood Oath, not to mention...some...
It's better to know less about things. I can't protect you forever and don't cause unnecessary trouble for yourself... As for me, everyone will have their own destiny to die, and no one can change this.
Not even the Emperor can change it."
When the word "death" was mentioned, Octavia's body trembled visibly.
Then, she turned her head, looked at Septimus, nodded to him, and the pilot turned and walked out the door.
Talos noticed their actions and smiled:
"You brought other people with you? It's like saying goodbye to someone else. To be honest, I'm not a person who would lie in bed waiting for death. There's no need for you to worry about me for the time being."
As he spoke, Septimus walked in, surrounded by three children, a girl and two boys. The oldest boy looked to be seven or eight years old.
They surrounded their father, looking at the giant on the bed with timidity and curiosity.
"...Ottavia had already lost her fertility after giving birth to little Talos (the No. 0 that Valier mentioned before, readers who have forgotten can go back and read Chapter 891). Thanks to Valier's surgery
We have three more children, the second son is named Makuchen, the third daughter is named Dasha, and the fourth son is named Selion. They are all healthy."
Talos sat up from the bed and looked at the children with strange expressions.
"Ha, Valier still has this kind of skill. If he goes to the hive city to open a hospital, he will definitely make a lot of money, but then again... If Selion knew that you made him the youngest, he would definitely be furious.
"
At this time, the eldest Ma Kuchen suddenly spoke in a childish voice:
"Are you...are you the angel of the God Emperor!"
A smile broke out on Talos's face.
"Yes, I am His angel, the angel representing death."
Markusen stepped forward cautiously and stretched out his hand to touch Talos' knee. Octavia quickly stretched out her hand.
"Don't be rude."
"fine."
Talos waved his hand and asked the boy to come to him, then stretched out his hand and let the other man's delicate palm brush the scars on it.
"So big...so awesome! Uncle Angel, what about your wings? I see that the paintings in the church all have wings."
The boy's eyes widened.
"Mom said that you were sailing in the sea of stars, fighting evil dragons, and were all given a pair of wings by the God Emperor to be able to travel among the stars. Is this true?"
Talos smiled slightly. This was a smile Octavia had never seen on the face of this "soul hunter". He was like a child.
"The wings are folded. We only open our wings when we face the enemy."
Makuchen inherited his mother's eyes, which are brown, but his hair is light gray like his father.
Talos' gentle attitude seemed to have dispelled the fear he had when they first met. The boy blinked and asked very seriously.
"People say I'm brave. Can I become an angel like you? Is it possible?"
Talos looked down at the child. He looked so far away, not even reaching his waist.
But what did he feel -
Perhaps, this was 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 all heroes, and I want to be a hero!"
Be a hero.
Valley toilet
This sentence hit Talos's mind like a heavy hammer, shattering the ice wall of someone, causing those things he tried to forget to resurface from the deep sea of memory——
He has always been a slow child.
At least his mentor would use this word to describe those children who sit separately from others, and he knows that they are where he belongs.
There were four retarded children in the class. The four of them sat by the window. They usually didn't pay much attention to the teacher's words, but they were never punished for it.
The boy, the fourth and youngest of the four, sat with them and looked out the window with the others.
There are cars passing by at night, and the headlights of the cars are very dim. After all, they want to relieve eye fatigue.
The gloomy night sky was obscured by the tops of the towers, each of which was decorated with huge illuminated signs selling all the necessities for adults.
The boy turned back to his tutor, who had listened fitfully to her lectures on language and what she taught other children—those who were not retarded.
Words are still a novelty to them.
The boy didn't understand at all why these words were so strange to everyone. He had read them in his mother's books no less than a dozen times.
The instructor noticed that he was looking at her and hesitated for a moment. Normally, she would ignore him and pretend to forget his existence with that casual and familiar intimacy.
The boy didn't take his eyes off her, thinking to himself that maybe she would teach him a new word or something.
Sure enough, she did it for him, pointing to a word written on a flashing screen and asking him if he knew what it meant.
The boy didn't answer her. The boy rarely responded to his mentor, and he suspected that was why adults said he was slow.
When the bell rang, announcing the end of tonight's teaching, all the children stood up from their seats. Most of them put away their writing boards, while the slow children stuffed pieces of paper with childish pictures on them.
Go aside.
The boy had nothing to pick up because he had done nothing but stare out the window all night.
The walk home took more than an hour, and even longer if it rained. The boy walked past cars stuck in traffic, listening to the drivers shouting at each other.
Only a block or two away from where he was walking, gunshots sounded like popcorn popping. It was obvious that two gangs were fighting endlessly. He was curious about who they were and how many people died.
He wasn't surprised when his friend caught up with him, but the boy had been hoping to be alone tonight.
He smiled at his friend, pretending he wasn't offended, and his friend smiled back.
His friends weren't really his friends, they called each other friends mainly because their mothers were friends, and the two families lived in the living cabin next to each other.
"The instructor asked you a question tonight."
said his friend Charles, as if the boy hadn't noticed him.
"I know."
"But why don't you answer? Don't you know what to say?"
That's the problem, the boy never knows what to say, even if he knows the right answer.
"I don't understand why we have to go to tutoring."
He responded, the city around him moving and breathing as always, tires whizzing by on the next road.
The voices of accusations, inquiries, and pleas were high and loud, and exciting music sounded from nearby buildings.
"Of course it's to study."
The boy's mother once told him that his friend would grow up to "break a heart one night," but the boy didn't see it.
From the boy's perspective, his friends always look confused, angry, or confused and angry.
"Our tutor is talking about things that I already know, so why should we study? I never figured it out."
"Because...it's as it should be."
His friend's look was full of confusion that made the boy laugh.
"Every time you open your mouth, you ask some really stupid questions."
The boy didn't care, his friend just never understood such things.