Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

But even though he had committed an unforgivable crime, Erda did not choose to escape from Terra. Instead, he returned to his birthplace and lived in seclusion.

She awaited the Emperor's visit, not seeking forgiveness or repentance, but stubbornly hoping that the Lord of Mankind would admit his mistakes.

Perhaps she was still hoping that the Emperor would ask her to retrieve the Primarch, so that her story of finding the Primarch would become a legend in the future.

It's like Perturabo denying the need for love while being petty because other people's love is not pure enough.

Her XXN thinking was doomed to fail, because the Emperor was a true Sigmar man and ignored her at all.

Perturabo and Erda, they were both waiting for an admission of guilt that would never come.

Because even if reality bows to them and admits its mistakes, they will feel that reality is not bowing low enough, or its attitude of admitting mistakes is not sincere enough.

In their eyes, there is no such thing as the most wrong, only worse wrong.

Anyway, it’s always others who are wrong!

"Just like your mother's mother's mother."

Wop let out a meaningful sigh. This is a real mother and son!

Perturabo turned sharply. "You knew my mother?"

Wop: "I know her."

She doesn't know me.

Perturabo paused for a moment, wanting to get away from Wop immediately, but he was pinned to the spot by the question about her.

"She..." Perturabo's voice grinded between his teeth for a long time. "What kind of person is she?"

Curiosity eventually triumphed over stubbornness.

"Perturabo, you're actually quite similar to your mother." Wop pretended to be profound, his gaze passing Perturabo towards the sunset, a hint of nostalgia floating in his eyes, filled with Perturabo's expectation. "You are all ungrateful and ungrateful wolves."

Children always like to look up to their parents as heroes. When their faith collapses, what emerges may not be disappointment, but anger towards blasphemers.

Perturabo's face flushed instantly, and he leaped into the air like an enraged young animal, his fist blasting towards Wop with a whistling sound.

However, the spiritual energy came crashing down like an invisible hammer, pressing him hard into the mud.

"boom!"

His cheeks rubbed against the muddy ground, humiliation and anger surged in his chest, but he could only struggle in vain like a trapped beast nailed to death.

"Can't you stand this?"

Wop's voice floated from above, and the condescending arrogance made Perturabo's eyes red.

"fraud!"

Wop: "I didn't lie to you. You're not angry because I lied to you, but because I tore off your fig leaf."

"I don't!"

Wop ignored his anger and said, "Lies don't hurt, the truth is the sharpest knife."

“What really hurts you is never the lie, but the truth you desperately deny.”

"You didn't hit me to defend your mother. It was just your way of deceiving yourself."

"fraud!"

"What else can you say besides liar? Even the insults are so barren?"

"This is not true!"

Wop: “You’re right.”

Perturabo suddenly stopped struggling.

He raised his head, and his eyes, which were burning with anger, now showed a hint of hesitation, as if a trapped beast in despair had smelled some possibility, or like a drowning man who had grabbed the last straw.

“Everything has a choice, even the truth.”

Wop's shadow loomed over him like an iron curtain, and Perturabo's struggle intensified at this moment.

"let me go!"

Perturabo roared and jerked himself upright. He had not broken free from the psychic shackles; it was Wop who had dispelled them.

Perturabo's fist, which was suspended in the air, never fell.

"Since you think I'm so unbearable, why bother looking for me?"

His upturned face was dyed red by the sunset, and his questioning was accompanied by a tremor that he himself was not aware of.

"What else could it be? To see you in such a state of disgrace, to humiliate you?"

Perturabo's nails dug deep into his palms, and blood oozed from the torn wounds and flowed down the palm lines.

"No, I'm not that bored." Wop's voice faded into the quiet twilight. "I came here to prove that I was wrong."

How to prove it?

Perturabo's throat tightened, and the questioning words ground between his teeth, but he could never say them.

Because the answer has long been obvious. Only he can prove that Wop is wrong, and only Perturabo can prove that Perturabo is not an ungrateful and ungrateful person!

"You're wrong!" the cub growled through his teeth.

Wop asked with a half-smile, "How do you prove it?"

"I'll prove it to you!" He almost roared in response, his voice exploding in the twilight, startling several birds perched in the bushes.

"That's not just talk."

A cold snort rolled out of Perturabo's nose, and he took a step forward, each step was extremely heavy, as if he could crush Wop and his doubts into the dust.

He was going to prove Wop wrong!

Not only was Wop wrong, he was terribly wrong!

Wop slowly followed Perturabo, reviewing the educational experiment in his mind.

Perturabo's education cannot be taken slowly; traditional education is doomed to fail on him.

Gentle guidance will be distorted into hypocrisy, and well-intentioned care will be interpreted as charity.

Perturabo's welded defense mechanism was like a funhouse mirror, reflecting all warmth into a hideous appearance.

He had to go to extremes, use malice to bypass Perturabo's self-defense mechanisms, and constantly stimulate Perturabo with denial.

The more he denies, the more he will struggle, and burst out with a strong desire to prove himself.

Wop could not give Perturabo any clear recognition; giving him a slap and then a sweet treat would only make the defense mechanism more stubborn.

Wop had no choice but to find another way.

"Perturabo."

Wop's voice came from behind him, floating into his ears like a wisp of smoke.

Perturabo didn't pause, but the tips of his ears trembled slightly, revealing his hidden true feelings.

Wop sighed, "I kind of missed your brother."

Perturabo gritted his teeth and forced out a sentence: "What does this have to do with me?"

"Every time I see you, I think of your brothers and how wonderful they are."

Wop's voice was neither hurried nor slow, but it was like a heavy hammer, hitting Perturabo's unhealed wound.

Perturabo's knuckles were white with tension. What did it mean that seeing him would remind him of how outstanding his brothers were?

Is this a subtle mockery that he is not as good as his brother?

In Wop's eyes, even breathing was a crime!

Are we still going to say that he is the worst class?

Why? Because he resembles his so-called mother?

No! He doesn't look like one at all!

He is not a pathetic and twisted person, nor is he an ungrateful and ungrateful person!

He was not his mother, he was Perturabo!

"I will prove it, I must prove it to you!"

Perturabo was still in the red, and Wop had begun to reflect on himself.

He is a serious educator and not good at CPU, otherwise he could have done it silently.

The essence of a personality like Perturabo's is a contradiction based on the lack of self-identity and the hunger for belonging.

His psychological mechanism is like a never-ending hourglass. The glass container on the upper layer is filled with the desire for recognition, but it can never leak into the container at the bottom called self-confidence.

Perturabo's obedience to the Emperor was essentially an elaborate self-deception:

He deified the Emperor as the perfect father, but fell into cognitive dissonance due to his uneven favoritism.

So he transferred the same morbid desire to Horus, but the Warmaster was the Alzheimer's Oedipus Nandon, and Perturabo, disgusted, ran away again.

Since he stopped being a bootlicker, his temper has improved a lot and his mentality has become normal.

Wop's method of educating Perturabo was reverse domestication.

He didn't mean to mold Perturabo into an obedient and loyal dog. His twisted nature destined him to be anything but a loyal dog, and he would sooner or later turn against his master.

Wop was trying to turn Perturabo into a human.

"Perturabo."

"Perturabo?"

"Perturabo!"

"I'm listening!" Perturabo's angry voice pierced the twilight.

"Jenny asked Forrest, what kind of person do you want to be in the future?"

"Forrest replied, what do you mean, can't I be myself from now on?"

Perturabo's brows knitted together. "Are you trying to tell me to ignore what others say?"

"Fucking Gan! You're a fucking genius! I've never heard such a fucking satisfying answer before, your fucking IQ must be over a fucking one hundred and sixty! You're a fucking genius! Private Gan!"

"You're being noisy!" Perturabo stopped abruptly. "Shut up! I don't want to hear your nonsense!"

There is no gossip about others. From beginning to end, Wop is buzzing here like an annoying bee!

Wop's eyes widened, and he waved his arms exaggeratedly and shouted, "Damn Gan! How dare you use my magic against me!"

"Shut up! I'm not Gan!"

"If you admit your mistake first, I'll forgive you."

"I'm not wrong, you're wrong!"

"How do you prove that I'm wrong?"

"I told you, I'll prove it to you!"

"Then you prove it!"

Perturabo left in a huff, and Wop followed nonchalantly.

Perturabo could have just walked away without looking back, but he stopped and confronted his gossip.

Perturabo turned his back to Wop, a barely perceptible smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

The sharp retort just now was like a good medicine, finally relieving the depression in his chest.

His footsteps were still very heavy, and the sound of his boots crushing gravel was particularly clear in the wilderness. This was a triumphant song that belonged only to the victor!

"The effect is remarkable." Wop's mouth corners also raised an imperceptible arc.

Educating Perturabo is like dancing on the edge of a knife. You can neither give Perturabo sweet dates nor slap him blindly, otherwise it will only make Perturabo's psychology more distorted.

He had to give Perturabo a chance to relax, so he gave Perturabo a sugar-coated bullet.

Perturabo wouldn't necessarily swallow the sugar coating, but he would certainly return the shells.

Freud has long told the world that all mental illnesses are caused by sexual repression!

Sexual repression is not sex/love in the narrow sense; it can be both sex and love.