"Gump! State your sole purpose for enlisting!"
"I'm not Gump! I haven't enlisted! And I'm definitely not playing along with you!"
Caelan's relentless chatter made Perturabo's face twist in irritation.
"I'll buy you sunflower seeds later."
"What would I even do with sunflower seeds?!"
"Excellent question. This is called the Catastrophe Bias Principle."
"Who asked you?!"
Caelan remained completely oblivious to Perturabo's roar, always immersed in his own murmuring thoughts.
"The human brain tends to default to avoidance. In many cases, avoidance isn't just easier, it's more efficient. There's even an unspoken rule: avoidance may be shameful, but it works."
"Under multiple psychological defense mechanisms, people unconsciously rationalize early warning signs of disaster. They don't even realize they're choosing to ignore them."
"It's like labeling a crumbling cliff as 'safe ground.' At its core, it's self-deception."
"While it might allow you to bravely dance on the edge of the cliff in the short term, this is no different from drinking poison to quench thirst. When the cliff collapses, you're already deeply entangled and have lost your last chance to escape."
"For example, let's say I have a dog. I care deeply about it-"
"I am not a dog!"
"Who asked you?" Caelan shot back.
Perturabo's teeth ground audibly. If not for his fear of Caelan's psychic powers, he would have pounced on him and torn apart that incessantly chattering mouth!
"I love my dog very much, but one day it gets sick."
"When financial strain and emotional stress hit at the same time, the brain, like an overprotective mother, activates its self-defense mechanism, shielding the warning signals the dog sends out, such as loss of appetite, lethargy, and coughing."
"As long as I pretend not to notice, the problem doesn't exist. And if it doesn't exist, I don't have to feel anxious."
"But disaster always comes due. By the time I can't ignore it anymore, the dog I raised is already terminal."
"Those subtle clues I once ignored will, at the moment of the dog's death, transform into the sharpest barbs, deeply embedding the avoidable guilt into my heart."
For a brief moment, something like genuine sorrow flickered across Caelan's face, the fading light casting a quiet melancholy over him.
Perturabo unconsciously softened his breathing. His throat bobbed as he squeezed out a hoarse question: "Was it... really beyond saving?"
Caelan abruptly dropped the expression, asking doubtfully: "Can terminally ill patients be saved?"
"Wasn't that your dog?"
"I was just giving an example. I don't actually have a dog."
Perturabo's fist clenched, knuckles cracking. He'd been played. Again.
"Where was I just now?"
Perturabo slowly unclenched his fist, tightened his jaw, and froze his facial expression into a cold, indifferent mask. If he paid Caelan any more attention, he'd be a dog!
"Ah, right. Cognitive Dissonance Theory."
Perturabo turned away with a scoff.
"When conflicting beliefs can't be reconciled, the mind enters a state of tension. That tension demands resolution."
"For instance, imagine a certain unnamed primarch. He lands on Olympia, loses his memory, has… let's say, a complicated twisted personality, and spends immense effort seeking recognition from his father, but he doesn't receive it."
"The contradiction between effort and outcome creates discomfort, anxiety, frustration, and extreme discomfort."
"Objective facts are irreversible, but subjective cognition can be adjusted."
"To alleviate the discomfort caused by the contradiction, the brain will again activate its self-defense mechanism, aiming to balance by adjusting subjective cognition."
"Since the time and effort expended are sunk costs, and the established facts cannot be changed, adjustment must come from subjective cognition."
"Either change the behavior: It's not that father is stingy with his love; it's that I haven't yet met the standards he expects. I should work harder."
"Or change the cognition: It's not that I'm unworthy of his love; it's that he's unworthy of my loyalty."
"Or reconstruct the truth: It's not that I broke my oath; it's that he first betrayed his duty as a father."
"Or engage in self-deception: His favor is just a gilded shackle. Only by severing this hypocritical bond can I obtain freedom!"
"It all feels logical. But in truth, it's just rearranging your own biases to justify your current state."
It's just like staying up late. Everyone knows staying up late on their phone is harmful. To alleviate the discomfort, there are also four methods:
Change behavior: put down the phone and sleep.
Change cognition: occasionally staying up late won't hurt.
Reconstruct the truth: happily staying up late is beneficial to health.
Self-deception: sleeping early isn't necessarily healthy, but scrolling on your phone definitely brings happiness.
Of these four methods, changing behavior is the hardest.
And people often choose a three-pronged approach: change cognition, reconstruct the truth, and self-deception.
Perturabo also chose the three-pronged approach. The traitor legions all chose the three-pronged approach.
Perturabo reddened again, "That's not me!"
Caelan gave him a look, "Of course. How could that be you?"
"You're mocking me!"
"I'm not."
"You clearly are!"
Caelan slowly shook his head, "Do you find this funny? I only find it heartbreaking."
"I can see the wheel of fate rolling toward me… but all I can do is stand in its shadow."
"The most painful thing in life is knowing something will happen, but it hasn't happened yet."
"The cruelest part isn't the tragedy itself its watching a tragedy unfold and being powerless to stop it."
Perturabo's voice sharpened, "Then change it! If you know it hasn't happened yet, do something instead of standing there like a coward!"
A hint of desolation showed in Caelan's eyes. He slowly shook his head, "I am powerless."
Perturabo's voice was full of disdain, "Giving up without even trying, is that your answer?"
Caelan gazed deeply at Perturabo, "It's precisely because I have tried that I have this clear understanding."
These words were like adding fuel to the fire. Each word from Perturabo carried burning anger, "I said I would prove it to you!"
"But so far, your promise remains empty talk."
The words hit like sparks on dry tinder. Perturabo's chest burned with anger, but he couldn't release it.
A flash of inspiration hit Perturabo, "Wait a minute, why should I prove it to you?"
"Congratulations. You've learned to adjust your cognition."
"That's sophistry!"
"That's avoidance."
"It is not!"
"Then prove it."
Perturabo laughed coldly. Who was Caelan to him? Why should he justify himself?
Even if he had something to prove, it wouldn't be to him.
He lifted his head. Fire burned in his ice-blue eyes.
"I don't need to prove anything to you. I'll prove it to myself."
"Who do you think you are? I don't care about your opinion at all!"
Caelan let out a soft, mocking scoff.
"Hah, see? Just like your mother. An ungrateful little brat."
Caelan didn't even look directly at Perturabo when he said this. That casual contempt was more damaging than any insult.
"Shut up! You've done nothing for me to be grateful for!"
"Oh? I thought you didn't care about my opinion?"
This sentence was like an ice pick stabbing into Perturabo's boiling anger. His expression instantly froze.
The anger that had been blazing moments ago was suddenly replaced by a sharper emotion.
Perturabo swore he had reddened more times today than in his entire life!
His knuckles went white. "I admit I can't yet, but I will eventually. I will prove it!"
Caelan tilted his head slightly.
"So, after all that, what exactly are you so eager to prove?"
Perturabo's breath suddenly caught. His chest heaved violently like a stormy sea a few times, then fell into dead silence.
He turned and walked away without another word. His footsteps were so heavy, it seemed he would crack the earth.
Perturabo knew deep down that Caelan wasn't mocking him. Even in those seemingly absurd monologues, Caelan was trying to teach him something.
But Caelan had chosen an unacceptable method. This was exactly what Perturabo hated!
If he could communicate gently, why use such provocative expressions to anger him?
Because Caelan himself was twisted.
When he cared, he spoke harshly.
When he explained, he cut deep.
Every word felt like a challenge, like a hedgehog covered in thorns trying to drag him into the same painful struggle.
"How touching is a parent's love."
And yet, Caelan was enjoying himself.
Teasing Perturabo was far more entertaining than teasing the others.
Because Perturabo fought back.
But in front of someone even more twisted, his own sharp edges had nowhere to go.
So all he could do… was blush.
And that blush was worth more than any sweet words.
Caelan could never be the father figure Perturabo envisioned.
While he played the bad cop, someone needed to play the good cop.
Education by fighting poison with poison relies too heavily on negative emotions. This would leave Perturabo in an emotional vacuum, like a girl just out of a relationship, easily taken advantage of.
In the short term, it could effectively break through Perturabo's self-defense mechanism. But in the long run, it was still like drinking poison to quench thirst.
If Perturabo couldn't break through on his own, he would eventually become so twisted he wouldn't love anyone.
Someone had to fill the missing love in Perturabo's life. This role belonged to Perturabo's future family.
Without something to balance it, Perturabo would eventually twist beyond saving.
Anyone could be that person. It just couldn't be Caelan.
Perturabo didn't turn back. His voice was as cold and hard as steel
"I'll prove I'll never become someone like you."
From the corner of his eye, Perturabo saw Caelan silently lower his head.
A barely audible snort escaped his nose, but his steps became lighter.
Caelan lowered his head, but his expression relaxed almost imperceptibly.
Maybe Perturabo wasn't as twisted as he thought.
.....
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, four warriors in gold-and-white armor emerged along the dry, hard-packed path, their footsteps steady against the fading light.
The moment their eyes fell on Perturabo, surprise flashed across their faces.
Perturabo's jaw tightened. He knew, without being told, that they had come for him.
When their gazes brushed past Caelan, their hands instinctively shifted toward their weapons, wary and tense, like beasts circling the same prey.
"Who are you?" Perturabo spoke first.
The leader stepped forward and struck his right fist against his chest. Metal rang sharply against metal.
"I am Miltiades, Optio of the 97th Company of Lokos. By order of the great Tyrant of Lokos, we have come to find the boy of Cadyx."
"How did you find me?"
"A shepherd witnessed you scaling the cliffs of Phyrigan."
Perturabo glanced back at Caelan, then returned his gaze to them. "Why are you looking for me?"
"You slew the Ipir Dae that plagued Cadyx, and the nine-headed Hydra. Though you are but a mortal, such feats have spread across all twelve city-states of Olympia. Our lord wishes only to welcome you… and behold the legendary hero with his own eyes."
Miltiades spoke with careful respect, but Perturabo noticed it immediately,
They had already formed a loose circle around him.
He had no memory of slaying any monsters.
But if it was him… then who were they to approach him like this?
Perhaps the "legendary hero" they spoke of had been merciful.
He wasn't sure.
He didn't want to hurt anyone.
But he didn't like them.
Not at all.
And he didn't like Caelan either.
But the two were different.
Caelan's sharpness, his twisted way of speaking, even that carried a kind of rough concern.
These men, however… acted as if Perturabo already belonged to them.
At this distance, he could kill all four before they even reacted.
His ice-blue eyes shifted to Caelan.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
Caelan shrugged lightly. "What do you want me to say?"
"They want to take me."
"Then go with them."
"You don't care at all?" The words came out harsher than intended, tangled with something unfamiliar even to him.
"If you're going with them, why should I?"
The warriors' tension eased slightly. At least this man had no intention of interfering.
Still, their eyes flicked between the two, trying to decipher their connection.
Perturabo turned back to them. "How far is your city-state?"
Though he had no memories, knowledge surfaced effortlessly, Tyrant, ruler, one of Olympia's city-states.
"If we depart now, we will reach Lokos by dawn," Miltiades replied. "Our lord has prepared a feast… and a laurel crown in your honor."
Perturabo suddenly raised his arm, pointing straight at Caelan like a drawn blade.
"I'll go with you. But he comes with me."
Miltiades paused, then bowed slightly, relief hidden beneath discipline.
"As you wish."
Though the boy appeared no older than six, there was nothing childish about him. His tone, his posture, everything carried the weight of command.
Fully armed, they stood as soldiers.
Yet in his presence, they felt… lesser.
Still, orders were absolute.
No matter their unease, they would bring this being back to Lokos.
The mountain path stretched on, winding through rugged terrain. Stones embedded in the earth had been worn smooth by generations of passing feet.
Thorned plants brushed against Perturabo's calves. He glanced at them briefly as he walked.
He already knew what they were.
Yet he still looked.
The air after the rain was cool and damp. He drew in a deep breath. The scent of soil and greenery stirred something within him, something sharp, almost exhilarating.
At the same time, knowledge surfaced unbidden.
Rain formation. Atmospheric cycles. Ecological impact.
He didn't think.
He simply… knew.
A newborn, yet burdened with understanding far beyond reason.
Everything felt new. Everything felt familiar.
And because it was familiar, it bored him.
Why dwell on what was already known?
His voice broke the silence, edged with an irritation he couldn't quite name.
"Say something, Caelan."
It sounded like an order.
It felt like something else.
A quiet urgency flickered beneath it.
His ice-blue eyes burned in the twilight, like a young beast, lost yet unwilling to admit it.
Caelan dragged out his reply deliberately.
"Oh? What would you like me to say?"
"Anything. Just don't go silent. That's not you."
Miltiades observed quietly. Whatever these two were, they were certainly not father and son.
No father and son spoke like this.
A faint smile tugged at Caelan's lips.
"In ancient Terra, there was a battle called Marathon, fought in the region of Attica. The general leading it was named Miltiades."
Miltiades's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"But the most famous figure wasn't the general," Caelan continued. "It was an ordinary soldier, Pheidippides."
"He ran over forty kilometers from Marathon to Athens to deliver news of victory… and died the moment he did."
"His name was remembered. Honored."
"In fact, a race was later named after him, the marathon."
Miltiades frowned slightly.
'…He just made that up using my name, didn't he?'
Perturabo, however, was focused elsewhere.
Perturabo asked, "Where is ancient Terra?"
"Ancient Terra is history. Now there is only Holy Terra."
"Where is Holy Terra?"
"In the center of the Solar Segmentum. Don't ask me its specific location in space. I don't know either."
"You're from there?"
"Yes."
Perturabo tilted his head upward.
The stars in the night sky were sparse and dim. But the Star Vortex still emitted its strange glow.
The malicious gaze of the Star Vortex made him look away.
"It's watching us."
Miltiades frowned. "What?"
"The sky. The Star Vortex."
"…What is that?"
"It's right there in the sky! Can't you see it?"
Miltiades looked up, confusion plain on his face. There was nothing, only clouds drifting across the night.
Perturabo turned sharply, his gaze locking onto Caelan like a final lifeline.
"You see it, don't you?"
Caelan slowly lifted his head, eyes tracing the heavens.
"…Never more clearly."
....
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu