"My God." Elder Chief Albert bowed at the door. "This is the priestess you requested I select. She is the youngest, purest, and most beautiful maiden in the tribe."
"My God." The maiden behind him prostrated herself on the ground, her forehead pressed against the cold floor, her heart anxiously awaiting Caelan's judgment.
Albert was very devout. Caelan found it hard not to facepalm.
Because he had to teach the Angels; he had no time to deal with trivial matters.
And he was no saint either. Since he held authority, he wouldn't pretend to be aloof.
So, he casually mentioned to the elder chief that he needed a woman who could cook and clean. As a result, Albert delivered his "priestess" right to his doorstep.
'I only wanted a maid and a cook, not to host an orgy.'
'Who told you to add all those qualifiers? Do you think I'm Zeus?'
"I am not a god!" Caelan felt exhausted. He didn't want to repeat himself, but he had to, over and over.
"My God," Albert hurriedly prostrated himself, his body trembling violently. "Have we somehow displeased you?"
"This is an objective fact, it has nothing to do with you!" Caelan sighed, knowing full well he couldn't make Albert understand. "Forget it. I'll accept her. But from now on, don't call me 'god.' Call me my lord instead."
The people of Baal Secundus had suffered enough.
Being too forceful would only backfire.
Once the Primarchs grew up and the Imperium arrived on Baal, everything would naturally improve.
"As you wish, My Lord." Albert finally relaxed. As long as the god wasn't angry with them, that was enough.
Caelan waved his hand, signaling the elder chief to leave. His gaze fell upon the girl still prostrated on the ground. "What is your name?"
"Karin."
"Stand up. From now on, you will live here, responsible for daily cleaning and preparing meals. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes, My Lord."
Karin had just lifted her knees when she immediately knelt back down again.
She came with a lot of "conditions," but by Caelan's standards, she couldn't compare to Dorothy or Claudia, not to mention Claudia's maid corps.
But this was Baal Secundus. Any girl who wasn't mutated was considered a beauty.
Besides, Caelan had no particular standards for a cook's looks; as long as she wasn't too much of an eyesore, it was fine.
He wasn't Zeus, throwing orgies every day. If he wanted an orgy, he would have had one back on Nuceria already. In terms of beauty, who could surpass Claudia?!
"Wait!" Caelan suddenly frowned. "Why have I been thinking about Claudia so often lately? Am I... repressed?"
Fulgrim gently blinked his purple eyes. 'Who is dad thinking about? Is it mom?'
For some reason, Fulgrim couldn't clearly remember his mother's face.
'No.'
Fulgrim tilted his head slightly, a trace of confusion swirling in his eyes.
'Did I even have a mother?'
Sanguinius tilted his head slightly. His brother seemed... a bit off.
He could sense that Fulgrim seemed to have something more than him, and also something less.
But it probably wasn't a bad thing... right?
....
"Today, we shall tell the story of 'The Lament of the Purple Court'!" Caelan slapped the wooden lectern. The two little Angels listened with full attention.
"In the chaotic era of Eagle 30K, the new Emperor, Netoh, unified the warring states of the Empire."
"Netoh had twenty sons, and he also formed twenty Legions for them, determined to reclaim the lost territories in one fell swoop."
"Now, the general of the Third Legion was named Fujin, a handsome man with silver hair. He led his Legion across countless campaign reclaiming vast swathes of territory. He enjoyed immense prestige and honor within the empire and shared excellent relations with his brothers, earning the title Phoenix of the Purple Court."
"Among the twenty brothers, the one closest to him was the tenth prince, Fermu. At first, their relationship was poor. Fermu thought Fujin was nothing more than a flashy, pretty face, while Fujin likened Fermu to a Gorgon."
"But through repeated duels, their bond rapidly deepened, and they soon became inseparable friends. Each crafted a divine weapon for the other, Fujin forged a thunder hammer for Fermu, while Fermu prepared a flaming sword for Fujin."
"One day, for political reasons, the empire wished to acccept barbarian nation called the La-re as a vassal."
"But Fujin roared, 'Whoever dares trespass upon the Eagle's lands, I Fujin, shall strike them down!'"
"He defied the empire's will and led his legion on an eastern campaign."
"After suffering heavy casualties, he annihilated the La-re Empire and seized a finely crafted, slender sword from their temple, adorned with an amethyst gem."
"Fujin cherished the Sword of La-re above all else and carried it with him at all times, unaware that a demon capable of corrupting hearts dwelled within it. And so, tragedy began."
"Fujin was a perfectionist. He sought to perfect himself and his legion. He often compared his legion to the others. At first, this was healthy competition."
"But under the sword's whispers, his pursuit of perfection grew increasingly extreme, increasingly pathological. In the end, under the instigation of another close brother, the sixteenth prince, War-Marshal Hershan, Fujin betrayed his father."
"On the fifth day of the month, War-Marshal Hershan gathered his soldiers under the banner of slaying the false emperor."
"History would later call this event, The Hershan Suppression."
"Hershan's Great Rebellion was of such unprecedented scale that nine generals and their Legions ultimately betrayed the Empire."
"Fujin tried to persuade his best friend Fermu to join him, but Fermu remained foolishly loyal to the False Emperor, refusing to listen. He was also ordered by the seventh prince, Dorgal, to attempt to suppress the first three Legions that declared rebellion."
"Fermu confronted Fujin, vowing to slay his brother to cleanse his shame. But the Sword of La-re seized the opportunity, taking control of Fujin's body and brutally beheading his brother."
"From that moment on, there was no turning back."
"His fall was so swift that even his fellow rebels were caught unprepared."
"Fujin had once been the noble Phoenix of the Purple Court. Yet in just a few short years, he became a twisted serpent-beast, drowning himself in debauchery and excess."
"He neglected his legion and cared little for the rebellion. He neither rose nor fell, but he didn't care. His former pride had long since been cast aside. He still pursued perfection, but no longer through self-improvement, only through perfect indulgence and lust."
"…Is the story over?"
Little Fulgrim raised his teary eyes, his childish voice carrying a hoarse sob.
"Dad... will I become a serpent monster?"
The Primarchs had different personalities, but none among them were fools.
Both Fulgrim and Sanguinius understood Caelan's clear implication: the Fujin he spoke of was Fulgrim.
Fulgrim was a Primarch, but right now, he was also just a child.
And Sanguinius had been a bad influence, making him cry so easily now.
Caelan gently soothed him. "This is just a cautionary parable."
Fulgrim tightly clutched Caelan's sleeve. "Will it become reality?"
"It will, and it won't." Caelan cupped Fulgrim's little face, still wet with tears, gently wiping the tear from the corners of his eyes. "A parable is a future that has not yet become reality. But the future has countless possible paths. Which path you walk depends on what kind of person you wish to become."
Little Fulgrim sniffled softly. "Dad, I don't want to become a serpent monster."
"Then what should you do?"
Little Fulgrim asked pitifully, "Won't you help me?"
Caelan sighed softly. "I will help you, but I cannot stop you."
"Then I won't take that sword!"
"Is that enough?"
"I won't pursue perfection anymore!"
"That's just going from one extreme to another. Pursuing perfection itself is not wrong."
"Dad what should I do then?"
"I won't give you the answer. Any answer would be a shackle imposed upon you. Shackles cannot bind you forever; they will only become a barrier between us. So, you must find your own path."
Fulgrim's voice trembled with sobs. "What if I can't find it?"
"Then let's make a promise." Caelan extended his pinky finger. "No matter which path you ultimately choose, I will be with you. I won't guide you, but I will always believe you can find the best path. That is my promise."
"Then I-I promise you, I will not fall. Never!"
"I promise too." Sanguinius also extending his own little pinky. "I will always protect big brother, because we are brothers!"
Fulgrim shot him a glare. 'Mind your own business!'
Sanguinius revealed a sweet smile. 'Hee hee.'
Caelan leaned down, taking the twins' hands and pressing their palms together. "You are brothers. I hope you always remember today's promise, to always help each other."
"So," Caelan's voice suddenly turned serious, "next, we shall tell the story of 'The Fall of the Angel'. This is the story of the general of the Ninth Legion, Santong."
If we told the story of the third, we must tell the ninth's. Can't play favorites!
Sanguinius's smile froze. 'Not hee hee.'
Fulgrim laughed happily. 'Hee hee.'
"The general of the Ninth Legion, Santong, his perfection was enough to make all his brothers jealous. Even the general of the Third Legion, Fujin, who constantly pursued perfection, also felt inferior by comparison."
Fulgrim tugged gently at Caelan's sleeve, his voice carrying a soft protest. "Dad, can you change the name?"
Caelan lightly flicked Fulgrim's forehead with his finger. "It's just a story. Don't mind such details."
"Before Santong's return, the Ninth Legion was the most unwelcome legion in the empire."
"Because the Ninth Legion had a tendency for cannibalism, and when the blood-thrist struck, they would become bloodthirsty monsters attacking friend and foe alike, often assaulting allied forces."
"Upon his return, Santong knelt before his legion, pledging his loyalty to them. His warriors were deeply moved, and Santong transformed the former ghouls into noble angels."
"However, the curse of the blood-thirst always hung over the Ninth Legion like a sword, ready to destroy the entire Legion at any moment. And unfortunately, Santong had already sworn his oath to his Legion."
"Santong was perfect. He would not break his oath. But many legionnaires still inevitably succumbed to the blood-thirst, and Santong had no choice but to personally end their lives."
"The Ninth Legion was seen as the symbol of perfection. But in truth, they were not perfect at all."
"Beyond the blood-thirst curse, their perfection itself was a facade. They appeared flawless, yet many of their warriors were even more arrogant than those of other legions."
"They looked down upon the peasant, even upon other soldiers and the generals, because they were 'perfect'."
Fulgrim couldn't help but question, "And that counts as perfection?"
"When a lie is repeated a thousand times, it becomes truth. When everyone believes they are perfect, they themselves begin to believe the lie they so carefully wove."
"What about Santong?"
"He was trapped in it as well. In fact, he was the greatest victim of 'perfection.'"
"Whether or not he was aware of the danger, he could not deny it, because he bore too many expectations."
"When the Jieman Great Rebellion broke out..."
Fulgrim raised his small hand, "Wasn't the traitor Hershan?"
"This is another timeline. In this timeline, the betrayer wasn't the sixteenth prince Hershan, but the thirteenth prince, Jibooty."
"Wasn't it Jieman?"
"Jieman is also known as Jibooty."
"Anyway, the rebellion happened again. Half of the Prim..."
Fulgrim reminded him, "Generals."
"Right, generals." Caelan's fingers gently ran through Fulgrim's silvery hair. The little Angel narrowed his purple eyes like a cat being petted. "Led by Jieman, half of the generals betrayed Netoh. Among these, the most heartbreaking fall was that of Santong."
Sanguinius lifted his innocent little face. "Because of his Legion?"
"Yes, because of his Legion." Caelan sighed softly. "In any timeline, to save his Legion, Santong was willing to pay any price. Unfortunately, a method to save the Legion did exist: one only needed to pray to a god."
"Every god was willing to answer him. They all promised Santong that if he would pledge himself to them, they could lift the curse from the Ninth Legion."
"They indeed had such power, even if not in the way Santong hoped. And all it required was a small sacrifice: just for Santong to kneel before them."
"But no matter which god he knelt to, both he and the Ninth Legion would fall into eternal damnation."
Sanguinius asked softly, "Dad, didn't he realize it? That such betrayal couldn't truly save his legion?"
Santong exchanged his own fall for his legion's salvation, but how could his legion allow him to fall alone?
They would only follow him into damnation.
How was this salvation?
It was such a simple truth, so why couldn't Santong see it?
"Perhaps it was obsession. He was trapped by the curse his entire life; he wanted release too desperately." Caelan said.
"The fate of an entire Legion, a hundred thousand sons, weighed upon him. They all looked at Santong with expectant eyes, yet he was powerless to help."
That immense psychological pressure lasted for centuries. Caelan wasn't making excuses for Santong, but if it were him, he would have given up long ago.
"That wasn't release; it was escape. Santong was not perfect. If Fujin knew the truth, he would never be jealous of such a Santong!" Fulgrim added.
Sanguinius did not deny it. That was certainly not release, nor salvation.
Just like his brother, Santong was merely using his fall to escape his responsibilities. He had been trapped by his Legion and the curse for too long!
The trigger for Fujin's rebellion was the Sword of La-re. But Santong had no such demonic whisperer. His betrayal was even more disgraceful than Fujin's!
How could such a person be called perfect?
Sanguinius had no desire to condemn Santong harshly, but he truly was not perfect. This so-called perfection, much like the Ninth Legion's noble image, was a falsehood from the very beginning!
Sanguinius lowered his gaze. "It's inferiority."
"Who?" Fulgrim tilted his head slightly.
Sanguinius said softly, "Santong."
"He was never perfect, yet he carried the expectations of an entire legion, treated by all as the symbol of perfection."
"It's like standing on the edge of a bottomless cliff. Your legs are already trembling, but when the entire world believes you can fly, who would dare admit they're afraid of heights?"
"Santong lived his whole life in inferiority and fear."
"He feared the mask of perfection being torn away."
"He feared the blade of the curse destroying his legion."
"He feared the ugly scars hidden beneath his pure white wings being exposed."
"Because his heart was filled with inferiority, he dared not let anyone see his true self. He was afraid that once the cloak of perfection was gone, he would be left with nothing."
"He didn't believe anyone could love him for who he truly was, only for his perfection."
"The harder he tried to maintain that image, the more aware he became of his flaws and the deeper his inferiority and fear grew."
"That sounds exhausting," Fulgrim muttered.
"Both Santong and Fujin," Sanguinius said softly, "were exhausted."
"Clearly not strong, clearly not perfect, yet still trying to act the part. And those behind them all fanned the flames, yet not one told them it was okay not to be perfect."
"Dad." Sanguinius lifted his golden eyes, shimmering with hope. His voice was light, yet stubborn in the way only a child's could be. "Can you tell me?"
"Then I'll give you a phrase." Caelan gently wiped the moist tears from Sanguinius's eyes.
"'When you accept your own weakness, you become invincible.'"
"Only when you admit you can feel fear, does fear lose its power over you."
"Only when you accept that you are imperfect will perfection fail to crush you"
The more one denies their flaws, the more those flaws will destroy them.
And if one cannot face themselves, nor correct their shortcomings, how could they ever be called perfect?