Erwin instinctively looked up, his pupils contracting sharply.
Above the city wall, the hundred-meter-high alloy steel gate was being twisted and bent by an invisible force, emitting a piercing screech of tearing metal.
Rivets, gears, and countless unidentifiable components snapped like dry twigs, flying in all directions like scattered blossoms. The entire section of the wall trembled under that force, and chunks of steel several meters long rained down.
Under the terrified gazes of countless people both inside and outside the city, the colossal alloy gate was completely ripped from the wall, leaving jagged, uneven edges behind.
It was as if a giant hundreds of meters tall, with an invisible hand, had crumpled the gate like tinfoil and casually tossed it away like a discarded wad of paper into the distant wilderness.
BOOM!
The crumpled gate crashed heavily into the wasteland, kicking up a dust cloud as spectacular as a sandstorm.
Erwin was already dumbstruck. 'Those two doors weighed at least hundreds of thousands of tons, and they had just been torn apart like that?'
'What kind of power was this? Was this man even human?'
He now understood perfectly why Caelan had dared to appear in the wilderness alone with two children. With such power, he had nothing to fear!
Erwin felt immense relief that he had not offended Caelan; otherwise, they would have been crumpled into a ball along with their vehicles.
Steel and flesh twisted and melded together, dark red blood spurting out, viscous chunks of viscera slowly sliding out through the larger gaps.
Just imagining that image made Erwin swallow hard. 'That kind of death must hurt terribly, right?'
Erwin wanted to turn back to confirm with Caelan, only to find that the space beside him was empty.
Caelan, the infant in his arms, and the under-dwelling boy who had followed him, all had vanished.
No one had noticed when they left; it was as if they had never existed.
Erwin's Adam's apple bobbed. He lowered his voice and issued a stern warning to those around him: "Listen to me, all of you. If anyone asks about what happened today, you know nothing. Keep your mouths shut, understand?"
"Don't even think about betraying us, that will only get us all killed. No matter who you are, don't expect me to show any mercy!"
"Remember Monica, she was in so much pain before she died that she couldn't even eat those two corpse-starch bars!"
The others shuddered involuntarily. They could not afford to offend the enforcers, but even less could they afford to offend Caelan, who wielded such terrifying power.
Since Caelan had dared to expose himself so openly, he clearly was not afraid of being betrayed.
Even if someone did betray him, could the nobles possibly threaten someone with such power?
If they could, then those who had brought Caelan to the hive would be accomplices, and they would be purged.
If they could not, Caelan would purge the betrayers himself.
Either way, death was certain.
Their only option now was to act as if nothing had happened, and perhaps they might slip through.
Durm stared blankly at Caelan, mechanically following along. He looked at Caelan dazedly, matching his pace step for step.
He knew Caelan was no ordinary man, but the power Caelan possessed was simply… earth-shattering!
If even the walls protecting the hive were as fragile as tinfoil, then what could possibly stand in Caelan's way?
Caelan suddenly asked, "Why did I tear open the city gate?"
Durm understood this was a test from his Mentor, and he pondered carefully before answering: "It was to break, to break-"
He racked his brain for the right word: "...the barrier."
"Half right. I destroyed the physical barrier, but the barrier in people's minds still remains."
"Those outside dare not come in, and those inside dare not set foot through the gap even half a step."
Durm understood. This was what the Mentor had taught them: the topknot on your head could be cut, but the topknot in your heart remained.
The physical wall had a breach, but the psychological wall was still firmly in place.
If people dared not pour through the gap in the wall, then sooner or later those inside would seal it up again.
Durm understood, and so did the infant.
He lay obediently in Caelan's arms, looking back at the wall with its torn opening.
"A wall of reality can imprison the body, but it cannot imprison the heart."
"So long as you can break the wall within your heart, the wall of reality will also become fragile."
"But if people are trapped by the wall in their hearts, then even if the wall of reality has been shattered, it has nothing to do with them."
Whether the wall existed or not, those imprisoned by their inner walls would never dare take a single step beyond.
Many things were like this, not because they could not, but because they dared not.
Durm's eyes held both hope and uncertainty: "Mentor, can we break that wall?"
The infant also blinked his sea-green eyes, pricking up his ears to listen carefully.
"The weapon of criticism cannot replace the criticism of weapons; material force can only be destroyed by material force, but once theory grasps the masses, it too becomes a material force."
"As long as theory can persuade people, it can grasp the masses; and as long as theory is thorough, it can persuade people."
Caelan looked at him with approval: "Asking such a question proves that you have begun to view the world from a new perspective."
"Remember, revolution is never 'I', it is 'we.'"
"The power of an individual is as insignificant as an ant before entrenched walls, but the power of tens of millions can sweep away all before it."
"On ancient Terra, interpretations of history diverged into two extremes."
"Some proposed the Great Man theory of history, believing that history is shaped and driven by a few exceptional heroes or leaders."
"Others proposed the People's history, emphasizing that the masses are the creators and drivers of history."
"The Great Man theory entirely denies the creative role of the masses in history, while the People's history believes that history's true masters are the people, yet it has never denied the positive historical role of heroes."
"Some say the times make the hero; others say the hero makes the times. Which do you think is right?"
"The times make the hero." Durm answered without hesitation.
Caelan said, "Actually, both are right and both are wrong, it depends on how you understand them."
"The view that the times make the hero holds that, in the right era, by following the tide of the times, one can shape a hero."
"At that point, the masses are the tide."
"The view that the hero makes the times holds that with a hero present, the times and the tide can be shaped and even changed."
"At that point, the masses are the hero."
"A hero is never just one person, they are all who march alongside the hero."
"When the tide becomes the hero, the tide naturally changes as well."
"If you are determined to walk this path, you must be prepared for sacrifice, because you are not the hero; you are one of the heroes."
Durm did not fully understand. He dared not claim he understood, nor that he had such resolve.
But at least he now had a clear direction. He knew what kind of person he wanted to become.
He was the dregs of society, the lowest of the low on Cthonia, dwelling in perpetual darkness.
He had crossed the wall between the underground and the surface; he had seen Cthonia's poisonous blue sun. Now he had crossed the wall between the wilderness and the hive.
He was just an under-dweller, yet he had entered the hive.
But he had never crossed the physical walls by his own strength, nor had he ever crossed the walls within his heart.
It was Caelan who had led him from the underground to the surface; it was Caelan who had forced his way into the hive with him.
He was inside the hive, but in his heart he remained an under-dweller.
His walls still existed, both the physical and the psychological.
But in this moment, it seemed the wall within him had begun to crumble.
Like the wall that Caelan had violently torn down, his inner wall was collapsing.
He was born underground; he was born an under-dweller.
But he did not have to live underground for the rest of his life. He could not resign himself to being an under-dweller forever.
If he could not break through the wall in his heart, he would eventually become just like his father.
It was a cycle.
A cycle that trapped all under-dwellers.
The same cycle probably existed for others as well.
The outskirt folk, the bottom-hivers, the under-hivers, the upper-hivers, the spire-dwellers.
They were all in the cycle.
The nobles' cycle accumulated wealth; generation after generation, they exploited the lower classes.
The lower classes' cycle accumulated poverty; generation after generation, they were exploited by the nobles.
The rich grew richer; the poor grew poorer.
That was the old order.
That was the tide of the times.
'Then where were the heroes?'
'Mentor said the masses were the heroes, but the masses could not even dare to cross that wall. How could they become heroes?'
Durm did not ask. Because he understood: no one was born a hero.
The masses dared not cross that wall, but had he not been the same before?
He was no different from anyone else; he was simply fortunate enough to have met the his mentor.
And so the mentor had led him across that wall.
The wall was still there, but the mentor was someone from beyond it. Possessing extraordinary power, he could carry Durm over that wall, show him the scenery beyond, and make him understand why people needed to break that wall.
The mentor was a hero. The mentor wanted to raise them to be heroes too.
Then they, too, should help more people break through that wall, to turn more of those who muddled through life into heroes.
Perhaps that was the meaning of a hero.
"Mentor." Durm raised his head. "Do the people of Cthonia need heroes?"
"Not just the people of Cthonia, people across the entire galaxy need heroes."
"Will I become a hero?" Durm's eyes were full of anticipation.
Caelan gazed into the boy's eyes. "You already are."
Durm lowered his head, "But I haven't done anything yet."
"Filiality is foremost among virtues, judged by intent, not deed; judged by deed, no poor family would have filial childrens."
"Lust is foremost among vices, judged by deed, not intent; judged by intent, there would be few perfect people in the world."
"You are still young; it is hard for you to perform earth-shattering feats."
"Even when you grow up, the future Durm may become one of millions of names sacrificed for the revolution."
"The death of one person is a tragedy; the death of a million is a statistic."
"Even if someone had a photographic memory and could remember every name, they could not have met every person or remember every face."
"Aside from the comrades who once fought alongside you, no one will remember you. You may have no achievements known to the world."
"Those heroes who are remembered by posterity are ultimately rare; most heroes die in obscurity."
"But they are still heroes. Even if no one remembers them, as long as someone remembers that the revolution was victorious, that there was a group of people who sacrificed for it, they are heroes!"
"The achievement need not be mine alone, but I must be part of it!"
"As long as you have the courage to step forward in times of crisis, you are already a hero, and I see that courage in your eyes."
Durm's heartbeat quickened, his spine straightened. He pressed his lips together to suppress the smile threatening to spread across his face, but the light blazing in his eyes could not be hidden.
The mentor said he was a hero!
Of course he knew he was not worthy yet, he had no great deeds, no achievements that turned the tide, not even a proper battle to his name.
He had set his sights on becoming a hero, but he was not one yet.
Still, the mentor's recognition filled him with joy.
Hero was not just a title, it was a weighty responsibility and trust!
"Not yet, but one day, I will be!"
Durm swore silently to himself that he would prove through action that he was worthy of this honor!
Caelan gently pinched the infant's cheek again. "I'm teaching you too, remember this?"
The infant pouted in protest but nodded obediently. He remembered.
He would become a hero in the future, a great, towering hero!
Caelan sighed softly. He suddenly felt that a Primarch's overly long childhood was not necessarily a good thing.
Though Horus was quite sensible, he was still too small; teaching him so many things brought no feedback, which left Caelan feeling a distinct lack of accomplishment.
The other Primarchs felt more rewarding.
Perhaps that was why Neoth had set the Primarchs' childhoods to be so short, he found raising children too troublesome.
Caelan did not want to look after small children either, even though he had taught for so many years, he had never run a kindergarten.
Durm raised his head, his eyes burning with determination: "Mentor, where are we going now?"
Caelan said, "Robbery."
Durm's mouth fell open. 'Huh?'
Caelan explained, "Revolution is the violent overthrow of one class by another, the struggle of the oppressed to reclaim their interests."
"The rich have exploited the common people through plunder for thousands of years. Revolution is about taking back what they stole, principal and interest."
Hating the rich was a false proposition. Some rich people were capitalists; some were entrepreneurs, they could not be lumped together.
What the people truly hated was never the rich themselves, but those who used improper means to plunder ill-gotten wealth from the people and then mocked them for not working hard enough.
The people did not expect the rich's property to be distributed equally to everyone, they just wanted justice.
As long as they received their due punishment, even if the penalty was light, it would still be deeply satisfying.
The school was short of food, so he would have to "borrow" from the hive's nobles.
Durm asked, "Mentor, who should we target?"
Caelan replied, "Whoever we run into."
He was not familiar with Cthonia's hive, but hives were never short of gangs and greedy nobles, the best course was to uproot them all.
But merely uprooting gangs meant little, because new gangs would always take their niche. That only treated the symptoms.
To cure the root cause, a group of like-minded people must replace the gangs' ecological niche.
The students of Cthonia were still too young; they did not yet understand what ideals truly meant. One could not expect them to teach others what ideals were.
That would have to wait until Horus grew up, at least another decade or more.
That was too long.
Other Primarchs could unify their worlds in just a few years; Horus would take over a decade just to begin.
Caelan looked down at Durm, whose eyes burned with conviction.
Perhaps they did not have to wait for the Primarch to grow up.