The argument between Perturabo and Caelan ultimately ended in silence.
Through repeated verbal exchanges, Perturabo had gained no advantage over Caelan.
He gradually realized a fact, facing Caelan's endless sophistry and logical traps, he could never win. But he also refused to concede defeat.
Perturabo snarled, "You're wrong!"
Dammekos sat wearily in his chair. The two had been arguing from the first light of dawn until the sun rose high.
Caelan accused Perturabo of being a twisted person, and Perturabo denied it hysterically.
Their argument had no substance, yet it buzzed incessantly in his ears.
The Tyrant didn't leave, so naturally, the other nobles didn't dare to leave either.
But just listening exhausted him; he didn't even have the energy to sigh.
Caelan didn't continue arguing. He blinked and asked, "What are we doing?"
Perturabo paused slightly and, after a brief thought, answered, "Fighting."
Caelan nodded, "Exactly. We're fighting, not debating."
"Debate emphasizes logical rigor, pursuing persuasion through reason."
"But fighting pursues only one thing, winning! Even if you can't win, you absolutely must not lose!"
Perturabo asked stubbornly, "But what if you are wrong?"
Caelan countered, "When I reason with you, you play rough. When I play rough, you quote the law. When I quote the law, you bring up national conditions. When I talk about national conditions, you switch to international standards. When I bring up international standards, you cite policy. And when I cite policy-" he shrugged lightly, "-you go right back to playing rough."
"Only a fool argues right and wrong in a fight. No one in a fight can afford to lose."
Perturabo's eyes hardened. "What if I refute you until you have nothing left to say?"
Caelan chuckled. "Then it stops being a fight."
"A fight doesn't need logic. It only needs stubbornness."
"Even if I know I'm wrong, I won't admit it. I'll cleverly shift the topic, drag you onto new battleground, and keep going. If I'm still wrong, I'll shift again, until experience wins it for me."
Perturabo frowned, "Wouldn't the quarrel never end then?"
Caelan raised a finger, "Of course there is a way. Just one simple, unadorned spell!"
"What?"
"The Mute Button!"
A flicker of confusion crossed the boy's face.
"When the iron fist comes down," Caelan said lightly, "even the most stubborn mouth learns the art of silence."
Endless arguments could drag on forever, but violence ended them instantly.
Silence could come from submission… or from being knocked unconscious.
Perturabo looked down at his fists, "What if I can't win?"
His fists weren't big enough, and the power to silence wasn't in his hands.
Caelan replied calmly, "Then don't bother seeking trouble. When you stubbornly insist on a fight you're doomed to lose, you've already lost."
"Criticism cannot replace the force. In this world, reason inevitably gives way to power."
"If you lack sufficient strength to back you up, even holding the truth, your arguments with others will be futile."
"Even if you have the upper hand logically, the other side can still silence you with their fists."
"Don't try to reason in a fight. That's the most foolish thing."
"Debate requires reason; a fight is about emotion."
"What a person wants in a fight is never the truth. It's victory. Even if they can't win, they want to annoy you."
"The moment they succeed in that, they've already won, and you're the one left frustrated."
Perturabo's brow furrowed deeply. "Even if truth is on my side?"
"If you're debating, truth is your blade, you can cut through anything."
"But if you're fighting, the more you're in the right, the more frustrated you become. Because you know you could win with truth, but the other side will never reason with you."
"So you've been intentionally annoying me all along?"
Bang!
Caelan's iron fist slammed heavily onto his head, "I'm teaching you about life and dealing with people, and you're being twisted again?"
The boy flushed and straightened his neck stubbornly, "I am not twisted!"
Caelan pressed down on his head, "Who cares if you are? Do you think I'm reasoning with you? I just want you to bow your head. Whether you mean it or not, I don't care!"
Perturabo lowered his head. He could have struggled.
Though Caelan was an adult, pure strength couldn't restrain him.
But Perturabo chose compliance.
Caelan just wasn't using his psychic powers; it wasn't that he didn't have them.
If he resisted now, Caelan could still force his head down.
In fact, the more he resisted, the more excited Caelan would become.
Caelan was right. This wasn't a debate.
Caelan's large hand rubbed through his hair, with neither too much nor too little force.
"I'll give you another saying, if you can't win, don't start a fight."
"Since you know there's no winner in a fight, don't fight."
Perturabo's eyes burned with unwilling flames, "But I just can't swallow this!"
"Then stay silent first, and find a way to land a punch that silences them too!"
Perturabo silently looked up, staring at the back of Caelan's head, clenching his fists.
Caelan suddenly turned around and warned him sternly, "Don't try that on me. You'll regret it!"
Perturabo snorted, "I am a Primarch!"
Dammekos cleared his throat, "Honored guests, the midday feast is ready. Please follow me to the banquet hall. Lochos's finest delicacies and wines await your tasting. I trust the dining table will provide more topics worthy of discussion."
Governing is an art, and he was no man lacking in artistic cultivation.
To his ministers, he must display majesty.
But Caelan and Perturabo were not his ministers. They were living legends.
Even as a Tyrant, he had to treat them with courtesy.
Besides, Caelan had shown him respect. Just now, everyone had knelt except him. He had saved face.
Caelan rubbed his forehead, "Tyrant, we traveled here through the night."
Dammekos immediately expressed remorse, "My oversight. I shall have attendants show you to rest."
Caelan fixed his gaze on the Tyrent, "Take us there yourself."
Dammekos's face broke into an attentive smile, "It would be my pleasure to lead the way for our esteemed guests."
But before the words were fully out, Caelan waved his hand, "Never mind, let's eat first. I'm hungry too."
The muscles in the Tyrant's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly, but he forced a smile and nodded, "Of course, our guests' wishes come first. The feast is ready."
Instead of responding to Dammekos's invitation, Caelan leaned down and whispered to Perturabo, "What do you see?"
Perturabo answered, "I see you toying with Dammekos."
Dammekos's smile froze instantly. His carefully maintained monarchial dignity crumbled in that moment.
"When you hold power sufficient to crush the rules, the arrogant bow their heads, the stubborn make way, even the self-proclaimed noble king must grovel before you."
A glint of understanding flashed in Perturabo's eyes, "You're telling me that since I have power, I don't need to ingratiate myself with the rules, but should make the world adapt to my rules?"
"Wrong!" Caelan rubbed Perturabo's head. "I'm telling you to apologize."
Perturabo's expression was extremely reluctant, the words practically forced through gritted teeth, "Then kneel!"
Perturabo knelt on one knee. This was by no means submission to Caelan!
It was that even if he refused to kneel, Caelan would use his psychic powers to force him.
Better to kneel voluntarily and retain a shred of dignity than to be forcibly subdued.
"Not to me. To him."
Caelan's hand pressed firmly on Perturabo's head, turning his gaze towards Dammekos.
He'd initially thought a bow would suffice, but since he was already kneeling, let it not be in vain.
"Why?"
Perturabo frowned. He could kneel to Caelan, but not to anyone else!
Unless Caelan gave him a reason.
"You trampled on his dignity. This kneeling isn't about submitting; it's about making amends. Say sorry, Tyrant!"
"Sorry, Tyrant."
Perturabo called out, then looked up and retorted, "What about you? You humiliated him too. Why don't you apologize?"
"Indeed." Caelan nodded.
Perturabo had expected Caelan to trot out the might-makes-right argument. But Caelan simply gave a very crisp, deep bow, almost adding a "sumimasen."
Caelan's expression was open, his tone extremely sincere, "Tyrant, I'm truly sorry. I've been very rude."
The Tyrant was stunned, then hurried forward to help Caelan up, "This is too much. It was just a jest!"
Caelan had repeatedly humiliated him. As the ruler of Lochos, how could Dammekos not have felt resentment?
Yet when Caelan bowed solemnly in apology, that sincere apology was enough to dispel any lingering ill will.
After all, with the absolute power Caelan had shown, he could have continued his arbitrary behavior. Even if he took the Tyrant's life, no one could stop him.
He was willing to set aside his pride and apologize. If Dammekos still harbored resentment, it would make him seem petty!
He couldn't really expect Caelan to kneel, could he?
A narrow-minded man couldn't be a Tyrant.
Besides, how significant was this bow from Caelan!
The humility of the strong stirred Dammekos 's heart, giving him an unprecedented sense of satisfaction, as if his very soul trembled with it!
Caelan had just straightened up when he noticed Perturabo also moving to rise. "Who told you to get up?"
Perturabo's knees slammed back to the floor, but he still craned his neck defiantly, "Why?"
"The Tyrant hasn't forgiven you yet."
The boy's stubborn gaze pierced Dammekos like a blade. The Tyrant, still beaming, helped Perturabo up.
"Children say the darndest things. How could I take it seriously?"
Dammekos finally understood, he and his ministers were merely part of the play between Caelan and Perturabo.
To educate Perturabo, Caelan was willing to go to any lengths, even humbling himself to set an example.
Dammekos's resentment had long since vanished with Caelan's apology, replaced by a growing sense of reverence.
For those in power, dignity is often seen as more important than life.
Kneeling means not only lowering one's head, but also denying one's own power and status.
If Caelan were replaced by Dammekos, the Tyrant asked himself, there's no way he could have so readily bowed his head in apology.
But this was Caelan's philosophy.
He taught the primarchs to remain humble before mortals. If he himself wasn't humble, it would be too hypocritical.
Then what kind of mentor would he be?
This was the unity of knowledge and action.
To teach the Primarchs, he had to lead by example.
In order not to become a twisted person.
Caelan had just been humiliating Dammekos. If he made a mistake and refused to apologize, he'd be too fond of beef.
Caelan gazed into Perturabo's ice-blue eyes, "What did you learn?"
A thoughtful look appeared in Perturabo's eyes. He responded, "True power lies not in wantonly trampling on others' dignity, but in being able to restrain the arrogance that power brings."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Caelan's eyes, "I'm glad you've understood that."
Perturabo's voice carried obvious dissatisfaction, "You could have just told me these things. It's not like I wouldn't understand!"
"Teaching someone with words doesn't work. Teaching them through experience works once. For a twisted person like you, lecturing until the end of time would be useless!"
"I am not twisted!" Perturabo hissed at Caelan.
"Don't be stubborn, Twisted Bo."
"Hmph!"
Perturabo snorted. He didn't want to fight; the iron fist was in Caelan's court, and he couldn't win.
But he was definitely not a twisted person!
Caelan turned to Dammekos, "Dammekos, how about doing me a favor?"
"Just say it! Anything within my power!"
Caelan patted Perturabo's shoulder, "Adopt this child. Be his father."
Perturabo's head shot up at this, a flash of shock in his ice-blue eyes.
His glare at Caelan was a mix of surprise and anger, his lips pressed into a stubborn line.
'Why?'
Dammekos was taken aback, his gaze darting between them.
'You're both so close, why not just adopt him yourself? Why bring me into this?'
Dammekos had originally intended to adopt Perturabo. He believed this legendary child could help him unite Olympia.
But what good could he do stuck in the middle?
Dammekos asked cautiously, "Why me?"
He wanted to probe, worried Caelan might be serious.
"You're the Tyrant of Lochos. There's no one in Lochos more esteemed than you. I can be his mentor, push him, spur him on, teach him. But for him to grow up healthy, someone needs to give him the warmth of a home."
Dammekos looked troubled, politely declining, "I'm afraid I wouldn't be a good father."
"Looks like you agree," Caelan patted the back of Perturabo's head. "Go on, call him father."
Perturabo forced out two words through gritted teeth, "Father."
Dammekos was dumbfounded. The look in Perturabo's eyes seemed like he wanted to devour him! 'I had been politely declining!'
"Since we're family now, let's invite your wife and children to lunch. Let Perturabo get to know his new family."
Caelan's tone was light and natural, as if this were just an ordinary family gathering.
Dammekos paused briefly, then gave a proper smile, "This is an excellent arrangement."
He turned to an attendant and instructed, "Go immediately and invite the Queen, the Princes, and the Princess to the banquet hall."
Perturabo stood by, frowning.
He stared at Caelan's back, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes. He was extremely resistant to this suddenly arranged family.
Sensing his gaze, Caelan turned and winked at him, "Being twisted again?"
"I'm not twisted!" Perturabo countered by habit, then let out a cold laugh. "Does a mentor count as family?"
Caelan raised an eyebrow at Perturabo, "If you don't want me here, I can leave Lochos anytime."
Perturabo looked away awkwardly, not saying another word.
Dammekos personally led the two to the banquet hall. On the way, Perturabo suddenly spoke, "My real father will descend one day."
"Don't worry, I know your father well. Your other brothers all have two fathers, some even have three."
Perturabo's fists clenched, his knuckles white.
He wanted to ask, Who is your father? You, or someone else?
If it's you, why am I the only one excluded?
He wanted to ask, but dared not, because he knew Caelan would say he was being twisted.
And he wasn't twisted at all. He just didn't want Caelan to call him a twisted person!
Even though he'd already realized... he really might be a bit twisted.
In the private banquet hall, Dammekos introduced Perturabo to his new family, "This is my wife, Catherine. This is my eldest son, Herakon, my second son, Andos, and Calliphone."
He pointed to the only girl. Her jet-black hair fell in soft wave. Every gesture showed an innate nobility, like a princess from a fairy tale.
Herakon was fifteen, Andos twelve, and Calliphone only ten.
They were all curious about this new brother and had all heard some version of his legend.
Caelan didn't beat around the bush, "I've never been fond of being overbearing."
Perturabo lowered his head. He knew Caelan too well.
"Apologize, Perturabo."
"To whom?"
He felt he and this brother he'd never met surely had one thing in common, following Caelan's every word.
But he was being forced. Even if he didn't, Caelan would use his powers to compel him.
This was not his will.
"To your sister."
"Why?"
He could kneel, but at least give him a reason.
"In this family, you owe no one anything. Except your sister."
Perturabo stared at Caelan for a moment, then smoothly knelt before his sister, his knees hitting the marble floor with a dull thud.
It wasn't a single knee, but both knees.
He felt this was what Caelan wanted.
Caelan fell silent. He'd told him to apologize, not necessarily to kneel!
"Sorry, Sister."
Calliphone was flustered. The poor girl looked helplessly at her father, her slender fingers twisting the hem of her dress.
But Dammekos just discreetly looked away, fixing his gaze on a distant stained-glass window.
'My daughter, this is top-tier education. Your father is powerless to help!'
"Brother, you... you don't have to..." Calliphone hurriedly bent down, trying to help her brother up. Her satin-like hair slipped from her shoulders. "Please get up. I forgive you."
"Is this enough?"
Caelan's voice crashed down like an anvil. Perturabo, who had just started to lift his knees, slammed back to the floor, raising tiny particles of dust.
Bang!
Perturabo looked up, not with anger, but a nearly innocent confusion, "Why won't you tell me what I did wrong?"
"Heh heh." Caelan smiled proudly. "Because I'm twisted!"
Perturabo clenched his jaw. He desperately wanted to punch Caelan. He was sworn enemies with twisted people for life!
But remembering Caelan's power... He'd just have to endure it.
....
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