Volume 2

Chapter 53 : The Coming Storm

“Anselm!”

When Hitana crossed the Blood-flame Gate and saw Anselm not far away, she cheered and ran toward him.

“Stop.”

A cold, arrogant female voice forced Hitana to halt. Ivora, standing beside Anselm, furrowed her brow.

“You reek… You’re called Anselm’s little dog, but are you really no different from the beasts in my hunting grounds? Can’t you even clean yourself with a spell?”

“You—”

Hitana’s eyes flashed with ferocity, her growing beastly nature making her instinctively exude a savage, menacing aura toward Ivora.

Ivora, naturally sensing this hostility, showed even clearer displeasure in her eyes.

“Come here, Hitana.”

Just as Ivora raised her hand, seemingly about to teach Hitana a lesson, Anselm spoke up, chuckling softly: “Ignore her. Your scent is much better than hers.”

“…” Hitana froze for a moment, then blinked, letting out a soft hum before happily trotting to Anselm’s side, sneaking a playful grimace at Ivora’s back.

The girl was indeed covered in traces from the jungle hunting grounds—blood, dirt, and various pungent smells.

After being called out, Hitana, standing beside Anselm, nervously sniffed her arm.

Only when she saw no sign of discomfort on Anselm’s face did she relax.

“You don’t even use logic when defending your little dog, do you, Anselm?”

Ivora crossed her arms, sneering: “Right now, you look like some lovesick idiot boy. Isn’t that a bit embarrassing?”

“Because compared to a certain overly intense feminine scent, I much prefer Hitana’s wildness.”

Anselm ruffled the wolf girl’s head, and she hummed contentedly.

“Rather than saying I’m like a lovesick boy…”

The young Hydra tilted his head slightly, eyeing Ivora’s dazzling, ornate attire and her long, snowy legs, unable to suppress a laugh: “I’d say our Grand Princess looks like a man-starved, unsatisfied woman.”

Hitana, delighted by the head pats, quickly tugged at Anselm’s sleeve, not wanting him to stir up trouble over her.

Ivora didn’t say much more, merely huffing before her figure turned into flames and vanished.

At the entrance to the grand hall, only Anselm, Hitana, and Mingfuluo—who stood with her head slightly lowered, her expression numb and vacant—remained.

Anselm glanced at Mingfuluo but said nothing.

Instead, he turned to Hitana, gently taking her hand and saying warmly: “Did you have fun?”

“So much fun!”

Hitana nodded vigorously, her face brimming with uncontainable joy.

After hunting down the Caller of the Deep, she had romped around in Ivora’s hunting grounds for a while longer, even taking down two fourth-tier magical beasts and encountering a fifth-tier giant turtle.

Our fearless Miss Hitana mustered the courage to punch it, only to find it didn’t even bother to acknowledge her, so she sulkily walked away.

In short, Hitana, who had never experienced such a lavish and perfect birthday, had an absolute blast.

“Ever since I’ve been with Anselm… every day is so happy, happier each day!”

Hitana’s cheeks flushed as she lowered her head slightly, unable to contain her excitement.

She leaned in to kiss Anselm but then remembered her dirty state and froze mid-motion.

But Anselm gently pulled her closer by the back of her head, pressing the girl’s soft, slightly wild lips to his own.

“What?” Anselm loosened his hold on Hitana, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think I’m dirty?”

Hitana paused for a moment before immediately throwing her arms around Anselm.

The wolf girl’s technique, honed to perfection by Anselm, was intense enough to make onlookers blush.

Hitana, of course, didn’t care about others’ opinions, especially since…

There was only one “onlooker” present.

Mingfuluo’s turmoil and loss of control stemmed from Marina’s words, began with Anselm’s tests, and culminated in Hitana’s confirmation, leading to her own unraveling.

All her hesitation, doubt, back-and-forth and contemplation over this period pointed to the outcome she least wanted to face.

She had considered that, while Hitana couldn’t deceive her, perhaps Anselm had deceived Hitana.

Had he accounted for this layer in his plans?

But the sad, absurd truth that made Mingfuluo’s heart ache was this—she believed Anselm would not deceive Hitana.

Yes, even if, in her eyes, Hitana had been tamed by Anselm’s designs, the Anselm of now would never deceive someone he cared for, someone he loved.

—Anselm Hydra would not, for someone as insignificant as the abandoned Mingfuluo, deceive the person he cherished so deeply.

This cold, cruel reality was inescapable for Mingfuluo because she was too intelligent.

When the truth was laid bare before her, the answer surfaced beyond her control.

The young man and woman before her, seemingly indulging in desire, exchanged a pure love so clear it was almost blinding.

To Mingfuluo, what was blinding wasn’t their love but the… irreplaceable bond.

Irreplaceable… a word once so close, now impossibly distant.

“Alright, if you want it that badly, we’ll talk about it tonight.”

Anselm supported Hitana’s waist, their foreheads touching as he chuckled softly: “Today, it’s all up to you.”

“Mmm… mmm…”

Panting heavily, Hitana reluctantly licked the corner of Anselm’s mouth.

The heat and strength in her body hadn’t been exhausted by the intense hunt; they burned even fiercer.

She held Anselm’s hand, clinging to him like a puppy circling its master, a goofy smile on her face.

“After you rest a bit, go back to the village with Marina to visit. I won’t intrude.”

Anselm pinched Hitana’s cheek: “But remember to come back on time tonight, got it?”

“Got it!”

The girl gleefully kissed Anselm again: “I wish every day could be like this.”

“Hm? If that’s what you want, Hitana, it’s not impossible.”

“W-What? No, no, no, no… forget it.”

Seeing Anselm’s seemingly serious expression, Hitana shook her head vigorously: “No way, that’d turn me into a useless idiot! I’m, ahem, Anselm’s strongest Contract Head… Oh! Anselm, look, look! This is the Caller of the Deep! I took care of it!”

The loyal hound, proud of her catch, eagerly sought praise: “This thing was tough, but it was no match for me, heh heh heh!”

Anselm looked at the translucent jellyfish corpse in Hitana’s hand and smiled: “I knew you could do it, Hitana. A mere lesser species of the Caller of the Deep? No way it could stand against you.”

“Hehe… well, it wasn’t entirely my doing. Mingfuluo helped too. Mingfuluo… Mingfuluo?”

“…I’m here.”

“What are you spacing out for?”

Hitana looked puzzled at the petite sorceress standing nearby, whom she could easily lift with one hand.

“You were pretty impressive too, with that ‘zzt zzt’ and ‘biu biu biu’ stuff… uh, it looked pretty useful.”

Hitana’s praise brought no joy to Mingfuluo.

She only nodded numbly, still standing in place, as if she had no idea what to do.

What should she do?

What was next?

Was she already useless?

Hitana’s game was over, and it seemed she had passed another of Anselm’s tests.

Would Anselm keep her around, give her more trials or was he just continuing his humiliation, his revenge?

And she… what should she do, how should she respond?

“Let’s go, Hitana.”

Anselm said gently: “Go back and let Marina help you get ready. Show your parents and friends a brand-new Hitana.”

“Mm… okay.”

Hitana nodded, noticing Anselm hadn’t mentioned Mingfuluo at all.

She glanced back at the silent, motionless woman.

She suddenly recalled the question Mingfuluo had asked her earlier and the words Anselm had spoken to her that night.

Within the plan… the terrifying nature of fate made Hitana realize not everything was truly within Anselm’s control and Anselm was forcing himself to do something.

Since meeting Mingfuluo, Hitana had always felt a strange familiarity from this cold, rational woman.

Hitana had no idea how Anselm truly viewed Mingfuluo, but she felt… Anselm probably didn’t want to push Mingfuluo into destruction.

So, Hitana tugged at Anselm’s clothes and whispered: “Um, Anselm, what about Mingfuluo?”

“…”

The young Hydra raised his brow slightly, glancing at the lonely Miss Doll.

With a slight smile, he said casually:

“Sorry, Arlo, I almost forgot you… Come with us. Let’s head back to the mansion to rest. Running around with Hitana must have tired you out.”

In the past, Mingfuluo’s defiance would have kicked in and she’d have rejected Anselm without a second thought.

But now, looking into Anselm’s sea-blue, unfathomable eyes… a single glance sapped her courage to meet his gaze.

Fear—Mingfuluo felt… fear.

Everything Anselm did was so intricately connected.

When he declared he would push Mingfuluo into the abyss of reason, she had no choice but to cling to her emotions.

Yet, just as she began to adjust to her emotional fluctuations, she faced Anselm’s judgment.

—You and I are no longer as we once were.

Even so, Anselm hadn’t explained why.

He hadn’t told Mingfuluo what he had endured.

He only conveyed this unspoken truth through his actions.

Mingfuluo didn’t dare look into Anselm’s eyes, unable to bear any emotion they might hold—gentleness, tolerance, indifference, or coldness.

The most absurd thing was that the only emotion she could accept seemed to be… hatred.

The only thing that made Mingfuluo feel less cold and rigid now was the faint hatred and anger from Anselm.

But… was Anselm that kind of person?

“Okay… I understand.”

All of it culminated in this hollow, powerless response.

Mingfuluo Zege truly seemed to have become a puppet, at Anselm’s mercy.

She followed the pair, mechanically maintaining her distance from the entwined couple.

Whenever she seemed to draw closer, Mingfuluo would freeze her steps for a moment before catching up.

The Miss Doll, who believed her life held nothing but her ideals, now felt that distance from another perspective.

Even her lofty, illusory ideals, no matter how distant, she had the determination and confidence to achieve.

But now, the distance right before her eyes…

Was truly, utterly untouchable.

***

In the empty grand hall, Ivora, seated on the throne, propped her cheek and stared expressionlessly at the scene displayed on the light screen.

Her conversation with Anselm outside the hunting grounds was, of course, a performance.

They had to maintain the appearance of rivalry, or else Ivora, having been helped by Anselm multiple times, wouldn’t have continued to speak harshly to Hitana, no matter how arrogant or willful she was.

But… Some truths were spoken during that act.

“You’ve become so captivating… So why have you turned into this distasteful version of yourself?”

The tyrannical future Empress whispered softly, the unaffected tenderness on that handsome face on the screen making her feel a wave of nausea.

As a human, Ivora possessed the richest and most normal emotions among the divine species.

Though her desire for Anselm—or rather, for his offspring—currently overshadowed everything, in her eyes, Anselm was already the best candidate for a husband in the world.

Having watched Anselm grow up and knowing his talent, gifts, and charm intimately, Ivora had no expectations for any other male.

Naturally, though Anselm was exceptional, her pride made her want him to become the version she liked best.

As Anselm matured, Ivora gradually saw in him the ego and arrogance befitting a divine species, a stark contrast to his childhood self.

Even now, as someone who had already claimed Anselm as her future husband, Ivora felt a wave of disgust thinking of the young Hydra.

“It’s… inseparable from his parents, isn’t it?”

The woman muttered irritably: “Raising their son to be a ‘normal person’? I don’t know what Flamel was thinking. Is it fun to ruin your own heir?”

“After all that effort for Anselm to awaken his true self, and now…”

Her gaze locked onto that silly, adorable smiling face, her blood-flame eyes brimming with unconcealed killing intent.

“This is the price you pay for your foolishness, Flamel… Your son has fallen for such a stupid creature, exposing his weakness so blatantly.”

Ivora sneered: “Without your absurd, laughable upbringing, how could he have fallen to such a state?”

“So be it. The fragile equality between Hydra and Flame-Feasting Royalty ends with me. Love… heh heh heh, you’ll regret having such a weak thing, Anselm.”

With a wave of her hand, the light screen dissipated, and a shadowy figure suddenly appeared in the hall.

“Well?” The Grand Princess said lazily, “Found the information?”

“Yes, please review it.”

The figure knelt on one knee, presenting a glowing scroll with both hands.

Ivora flicked her finger and the scroll appeared in her palm.

Ivora was a woman of action.

Following Anselm’s suggestion, she had sent someone to investigate Erlin’s cause of death.

It wasn’t so much an investigation as it was… reviewing records.

Though the death of the alchemical master remained an unsolved mystery, to the Flame-Feasting Royalty, who controlled everything in the Empire, it was merely a documented anecdote for casual amusement.

Ivora opened the scroll, reading about Erlin’s death.

As her eyes scanned the concise records, her expression grew animated, her lips curling upward until, at the end, she burst into laughter.

“Heh heh heh… hahaha! Zege… Zege! So your family was a bunch of clowns. How amusing, too amusing!”

The princess on the throne laughed gleefully: “This is what you’ve been chasing? I’m already looking forward to your expression when you learn the truth. Ah… that devil Anselm must be waiting for this moment too.”

Ivora’s excited, twisted smile grew fiercer: “This way, your little doll’s everything can be utterly destroyed and then completely brought under control. And in all this, you didn’t even have to push anything deliberately. You could even claim you had no idea how Erlin died. After all, this was all the little doll’s pursuit, her choice… Brilliant, truly brilliant!”

The woman exhaled a hot, eager breath.

With a wave, she enveloped the messenger in blood flames, sending them somewhere unknown.

She then lifted the hem of her slit dress, sat on the throne, tilted her snowy neck, closed her eyes, and began to excitedly imagine that devil kneeling before her, eagerly pleasing her.

“I really… love your venom, Anselm… ah…”

Ivora’s voice grew tremulous and halting, her movements increasingly frenzied as her fantasies intensified.

“Good… you’re still the kind I like deep down. Let me give you a hand and enjoy watching your little doll’s… despairing collapse.”

***

In another grand hall, far different from Ivora’s merely ornate palace, this one held status, authority, power, and… most crucially, strength.

“That… concludes this experiment.”

Sulun, kneeling with her forehead pressed to the ground, spoke softly: “I’m sorry, Mother Empress. I failed to complete your command.”

“…It doesn’t matter. I didn’t expect you to succeed anyway.”

From the ever-burning Source Flame came Ephithand’s aged voice: “Callers of the Deep… hmph, a continuation gained through that thing is worth less than death. I was merely making use of the trash Flamel sent.”

Her voice inexplicably rose: “Besides, I’ve already found what I need.”

“…Then, Sulun congratulates you, Mother Empress.”

Though unaware of what Ephithand had found, Sulun responded promptly.

“And the other task?” the aged Empress asked.

Yes, beyond the surface task of nurturing the Callers of the Deep and disrupting Ivora’s hunting grounds, Sulun… had another mission.

“As per your orders, I’ve been observing Miss Lans.”

Sulun answered respectfully: “I used the alchemical device you gave me and confirmed she bears no trace of abyssal corruption.”

Sulun didn’t know why Ephithand had given her such a baffling task, but she knew it wasn’t her place to speculate.

“…None?”

The voice from the Source Flame grew faint.

Sulun instantly sensed trouble but could only brace herself to reply: “Yes, none… aside from the erosion she must bear for Hydra due to the Contract Heads’ link, there are no traces of abyssal corruption.”

“None… how could there be none!”

A hoarse, furious roar erupted from the flames.

Sulun’s delicate skin instantly blistered, then split open in ghastly wounds.

Sweat beaded on the girl’s forehead, veins bulging, as she kept her head pressed tightly to the ground. Swallowing the unbearable pain, she said with great difficulty: “I’m sorry, Mother Empress. It might be my—”

“…No, it’s nothing.”

After two or three seconds, the infernal heat vanished instantly.

The flames on Sulun’s skin didn’t burn her further but began to mend her wounds.

“It must be Flamel’s doing… No, it’s definitely his doing. Heh heh heh… How could he let me know about Anselm’s awakened Spiritual Essence?”

Ephithand chuckled lowly: “How could there be someone in this world capable of bearing the power of two Contract Heads with that laughable, overreaching beastly essence?”

“You’re cautious enough, Flamel. But I’m even more cautious… I’ll never actively probe even a fraction of Anselm’s loyal hound, never giving you the chance to realize I’ve uncovered this secret.”

Sulun, kneeling motionlessly, memorized every word of Ephithand’s frenzied mutterings.

In the crevice of this hell, if there was even a faint thread of hope, she couldn’t afford to miss any opportunity.

Anselm’s… Spiritual Essence?

Could his Spiritual Essence help the Mother Empress escape her madness?

What did it have to do with the abyss? Was Hitana Lansmarlos the beneficiary of this power?

If such an ability truly existed, could he…

“Enough, Sulun. You may leave.”

Ephithand’s indifferent voice came: “Keep an eye on Anselm and his hound. As for Ivora’s punishment… handle it as you see fit. Don’t bother me constantly.”

“Yes, Mother Empress.”

Sulun rose, head lowered, and walked out of the hall.

Once she left the palace, the reverence and obedience on her face instantly turned to icy fury.

Ivora, Ephithand… my sister, my mother…

How could I have such deranged kin?

How could the Empire be ruled by lunatics like you?

I will change everything.

That throne, that crown, should belong to the one most suited for it!

The key lies… with that young Hydra.

He holds… the power to change everything.

The self-indulgent chase all desires that bring them pleasure; the doomed fight with everything they have against impending destruction, seeking a sliver of hope in chaos and madness; the lowly tread a fragile line, where a single misstep means ruin, yet still yearn for the unreachable authority.

And all of this… revolves around that young man.

So, what was Anselm Hydra, at the center of this storm, doing now? What did he plan to do?