Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 1064: Section 671: Art (1)_2

Chapter 1064: Section 671: Art (1)_2

Thus, they peacefully squeezed through the crowd, and Malin and Meng Quyi saw a small debate. The two sides were two fellows who seemed to be cultured, discussing the material selection for the new statue from the battle ten years ago.

The bald gentleman with a shiny head insisted on highlighting Malin True Lord’s grandeur, arguing that if a full-body statue is to be erected, it should be the largest, with all demonic clowns defeated under True Lord’s feet.

The other gentleman was much younger than the first, with slicked-back hair, arguing that Malin True Lord’s sudden appearance that night was an exception, and he hasn’t appeared since due to their tiresome rituals and worship disrupting his peace-loving nature.

He meant, as with the one on the bridge, they should create group statues, though Malin True Lord’s statue should still be larger.

Then he was booed intensely by the crowd watching.

To Malin, the full-body statue proposed by the old gentleman seemed like heresy—erecting a full-body statue for a child 1.2 meters tall can’t display any aspect of heroism.

The group statue proposed by the younger gentleman also seemed redundant to Malin—how do you showcase a pitiful 1.2-meter individual among a group of people 1.78 meters tall? Have you really thought about it with your walnut-sized brain?!

Have the Thanan been at war for so long that they’ve fed all their artistic cells to the Flesh Hounds?

This won’t do, Malin decided to step forward and set things right.

However, before setting things right, Malin decided to find a place to transform.

So he pulled Meng Quyi to a personal dining place—one of those with curtains, usually serving only two guests.

Malin transformed inside, and Meng Quyi didn’t mind at first. She frowned when she noticed Malin back in his clothes: "You know, you do bear some resemblance to that statue with the square-eared Malin."

Yes, quite similar, you silly girl.

Malin rolled his eyes and led her out of the shop, tossing two silver coins to the owner sitting dazed in the shop as they passed the counter.

Returning to the circle of the two gentlemen’s debate, this time, Meng Quyi paving the way in front, those initially hostile quickly swiveled around to see the War Witch outfit Meng Quyi wore, and all their anger vanished.

Once in the inner circle, Malin slipped into the debate arena, leaping in front of the two gentlemen and the crowd onto the long table cluttered with bric-a-brac.

"I tire of your debate. Since you know of my existence, how dare you carve statues of me at will? Do you know my preferences, or can you fathom the thoughts of a True Lord?" Malin finished, gazing at the two gentlemen.

Three seconds later, the old gentleman first knelt down on one knee: "Soldier of the 224th Squad! Salutes the little sir! To witness this in life is truly a blessing!"

The old man’s tears flowed freely, as if he had seen Truth blossom before him. Malin noticed his left leg was a prosthetic...Ah, he remembered, indeed a wounded soldier who shielded his comrades with his body, narrowly escaping disembowelment, losing this limb in the subsequent resistance.

The next second, the young gentleman knelt too: "The child saved by you that night pays respect! Little sir! I have seen your form! I won’t forget or mistake my benefactor!"

The young man’s face beamed with happiness, but the tears in his eyes were genuine.

Malin immediately realized—he thought something about these guys felt familiar.

This child must have seen him on that long street, and without Malin’s intervention, they would surely have been slaughtered by the Bleeders.

"Rise, Thanan only bow to heaven and earth, and parents, remember that." After saying this, Malin silently watched the two until they rose, displaying a smile—yes, since his era began, Thanan haven’t knelt before anyone besides the heavens and parents, some might bow to mentors, but to Malin, such a bow should only be borne by parents and heaven.

Gods can’t bear it, let alone men.

"I originally didn’t want to appear before you because I didn’t want to burden you. I don’t need faith nor your kneeling, hence upon hearing about your new statue plans, I emerged to tell you, if you truly wish to commemorate the battle ten years ago, I have a better way."

Amidst everyone’s eager anticipation (alright, maybe not Meng Quyi, who looked at Malin like watching a swindler), Malin moved his small hand, pulling a few foundation stones from the roadside which melded together like water, forming a human figure under Malin’s control.

"Before the great destruction, in the North of our realm, there were people skilled in the art of death. Everything was art in their hands—war was art, death was art; these were true artists. The things you propose aren’t art; in my view, if I wished, even a sock I took off could be displayed as art for people, but I’d call it desecration."

At this point, Malin used death stare (glancing) to control these trembling fellows.

The figure gradually clarified—it was a very ordinary City Guard, under Malin’s spell formation, the spectators saw only its front, making it appear as just an ordinary facing City Guard. His armor was battered, his longsword held in his hand, the tip pointing downward, with scars on his face, yet he remained gazing forward.

"To me, every City Guard who fell that day was truly great, they lived for their duty, died for their duty, greater than me for they gave their all till death."

The figure gradually lowered its head, seemingly sighing, or perhaps breathing, more details appeared on him—tattered edges of leather armor, cracks on arm guards, even damage on the sword grip, notches on the counterweight.

"This...is a true artwork." The young gentleman’s eyes shone with admiration.

"Seeing the little sir’s technique, I realize my inadequacies...I am very ashamed."

This time, Malin teaching no longer with words, added final details, in this moment, beneath the figure appeared a lifelike bridge surface, one eye blind, head wrapped in blood-seeping bandages, the small finger missing from the sword-holding hand, more and denser scars on the soldier’s face, marks from spell formation burns, the pain war can impart, vividly displayed.

Finished.

With a hint of satisfaction, Malin hopped off the table: "If you truly wish to erect a new statue, place it in Central Square, there’s a foundation ready there, not needing a high horse general nor a strategist but belonging to each who would die to prove our civilization is not yet moribund."

After saying so, Malin transmitted a sound to Meng Quyi, then headed to another side.

"Little sir, where are you going?" The wounded soldier caught up.

"I want to take another look at this city; you return. If willing, help place the statue where it belongs, alright?" Malin finished, reaching to pat the young man’s leg.

In the next moment, amidst his cries, his severed leg began to regenerate.

Surrounding people’s surprise and fear echoed.

And Malin melted into the crowd.

We need heroes, those who movies and television haven’t introduced, tens of thousands of nameless heroes.