Volume 2

Chapter 55 : The Disqualified Doll

After Elnilisa’s conversation ended, Mingfuluo still hadn’t recovered from the daze.

Lady Hydra’s words were too impactful for her, not only further confirming that Anselm had his own struggles but also revealing that his current situation was far more than just having struggles.

Standing in the great hall, Mingfuluo leaned against a pillar, taking deep breaths repeatedly.

The confusion and chaos in her purple eyes soon turned into clear-headed calm.

She clenched her fists slightly, and as her emotions settled, her breathing gradually steadied.

Now was not the time to be swayed by emotions, entangled in meaningless panic or weakness.

Since she had obtained answers, she needed to act—immediately, without delay.

“Oh, hello, Miss Zege.”

A childish voice sounded at Mingfuluo’s feet. Laurence, swaying its tail, greeted the girl: “The young master asked me to guide you. Follow me.”

“…Alright.”

Mingfuluo exhaled softly, her mind rapidly sorting through all the information and clues she had.

Something that made Anselm feel threatened… something so terrifying he wouldn’t tell Mr. Flamel or Lady Hydra.

Anselm hadn’t told Mr. Flamel or Lady Hydra, but it seemed… he had told Hitana?

In just a split second, Mingfuluo latched onto a critical point.

This couldn’t be about emotional preference—for Anselm, it definitely wasn’t.

It was… a necessity.

If possible, Anselm would never hesitate to use any strength available to him.

If he could rely on Mr. Flamel to solve this problem, he would have done so long ago.

That meant the only ones who could solve this problem were Anselm himself and his Contract Heads, or… just him.

No, but how could there be a problem in this world that Mr. Flamel couldn’t solve it?

So it wasn’t necessarily unsolvable—it was that if Mr. Flamel tried to solve it, it would be extremely disadvantageous to him, or… it would lead to the worst possible outcome.

Mingfuluo’s steps suddenly halted.

“What’s wrong, Miss Zege?”

Noticing her sudden pause, Laurence turned its small rat head, surprised: “Is something the matter?”

“…No, nothing. Please lead the way.”

If all these points were combined, the only possibility was…

The Empress.

In terms of power, someone who could rival Mr. Flamel, and if they clashed, no matter the outcome, it would only result in hell.

The pressure Anselm was under… came from the Empress?

But why?

What reason would the Empress have to threaten Anselm?

All she desired now was to prolong her life—

Mingfuluo’s pupils suddenly contracted to their limit.

Anselm… possessed a power that could save the Empress from her madness?

If that were the case, if that were true… everything made sense! Even the Empress’s inexplicable, intense favoritism toward Anselm since he was young could be explained.

All the high-ranking officials of the Empire knew that Her Majesty, the Empress, had an unusual closeness with the young Hydra, a closeness that began when Anselm was a child.

Mingfuluo, who didn’t pay attention to such matters, naturally wouldn’t know the exact timeline, but the likelihood of it starting around age ten was significant.

Anselm possessed some ability to free the Empress from her madness… but if so, why hadn’t he helped Mr. Flamel first?

Was there a risk to that ability?

A cost?

It must be an extraordinary cost.

That would explain why Anselm had never truly displayed his power in any setting.

Unlike Ivora, who reveled in showcasing her absolute, violent strength, Anselm rarely demonstrated his power in public, and even when he did, it never touched the core of his abilities.

All these facts pointed to this conclusion, and… there was no other possibility.

The mere fact of “something that could threaten Anselm” already ruled out ninety-nine point nine percent of other options.

The only remaining question was why Anselm had abandoned the promises he once made to her.

The threat from the Empress forced him to focus on strengthening himself to the utmost—this, Mingfuluo could understand.

But according to Elnilisa, Anselm had been forced to give up something very important to him.

Based on the context and timing, she likely meant the hopes and ideals Anselm once shared with Mingfuluo… Could the Empress’s shadow affect that aspect as well?

For now, Mingfuluo couldn’t construct a fully coherent explanation for this, but her earlier deductions were solid enough, with no logical flaws, and the conclusions drawn weren’t significantly off. There was no need to delve further.

Anselm’s enemy… was the Empress.

A conflict between divine beings wasn’t something a mere “genius” scholar like Mingfuluo, with her limited actual strength, could handle.

Even the combined might of all the Empire’s Grand Dukes wouldn’t suffice.

To involve herself in this matter wasn’t just overestimating her abilities or indulging in delusions—it was a question of whether her mind was even functioning properly.

“Here we are.”

Laurence, leading Mingfuluo to a heavy, imposing door, said leisurely: “The young master has been waiting for you for a while. Go in, Miss Zege.”

“…Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.”

Laurence stood upright, crossing its tiny arms, tilting its head to appraise Mingfuluo for a moment before chuckling:

“And, seeing as you’ve got some potential, I’ll give you a piece of advice.”

Its piercing, scarlet beast eyes narrowed slightly: “No matter what Big Sister told you, remember this: never, ever, ever bring up anything about Big Sister in front of the young master—her feelings for him, or anything she said. Just don’t think you’re being clever.”

“Unless the young master asks you first… the consequences are on you.”

Laurence’s cryptic words caused Mingfuluo’s thoughts to swirl with new considerations… Anselm’s attitude toward Elnilisa was another glaring anomaly.

His extreme, uncontrollable resistance to a place that seemed perfectly suited for the Hydra family to rest and relax was a massive enigma.

The heavy doors of the Alchemical Workshop slowly opened, leaving Mingfuluo no time for further contemplation.

Laurence, who had given her the warning, had already vanished silently.

The petite sorceress took a deep breath and stepped into the Alchemical Workshop.

As soon as she entered, she saw Anselm tinkering with something.

“You’re just in time, Arlo. Come help me out.”

Anselm’s voice was light and cheerful, a stark contrast to the calm tone he’d used during his earlier conversation with Elnilisa.

Mingfuluo walked silently to his side, noticing he was meticulously carving an Ether circuit.

“I just thought of something really interesting.”

The young Hydra looked up, glanced at Mingfuluo, and said with a grin: “But I’m not really suited for practical work. It’s better if you handle it.”

“You can use the equipment here freely. Let me tell you what I want to do—I want—”

“Anselm,” Mingfuluo softly interrupted him.

“Hm? What’s up?” Anselm raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Can you help me with something?”

Mingfuluo looked up, meeting Anselm’s eyes.

“Well, that’s… rare.”

Anselm seemed slightly surprised: “You, who’s always so cautious about not owing me a debt you can’t pay, are now asking for my help? But… I’m happy to help, of course.”

He smiled cheerfully: “What is it? It’s not about your grandfather, is it? You’ve thought it through? That price, you know, is something you can’t afford.”

“No, not for now…” Mingfuluo shook her head. “I want you to design a weapon.”

Under Anselm’s slightly frozen gaze, Miss Doll said calmly:

“A weapon capable of killing a god.”

“…”

The Alchemical Workshop fell into an indescribable silence.

After an unknown amount of time, Anselm suddenly laughed: “Killing a god? That kind of thing, can you make it, Arlo? It’s not like those civilian alchemical devices you’ve made before, or mass-produced firearms. Even the Ether Academy, with Her Majesty’s support, could only create Mechanized Armor with fifth-tier combat strength…”

Anselm said with utter astonishment: “A god of alchemy surpassing Father? The fifth divine being? What do you have to help me? You…”

“What qualifications do you have to help me?”

Qualifications—something you lost three years ago, Mingfuluo.

The coldness in those eyes etched these cruel words into Mingfuluo’s heart.

Mingfuluo wanted to speak, but the moment her eyes met Anselm’s, all her words choked in her throat, unable to be voiced.

When she resolved to help Anselm with barely a moment’s hesitation, Anselm dismissed her offer with indifference, his emotions detached.

Was this punishment? No, it was the natural consequence.

As Anselm said, from her standpoint, Mingfuluo had no reason to take such a risk and make this choice; and from Anselm’s standpoint, there was no reason to forgive or trust again someone who could never be absolutely loyal.

Even if they once spoke freely, trusted each other, and were companions who gazed at the same sky, dreaming of the same future.

They no longer had, nor needed to, consider each other’s perspective.

Looking at the silent Mingfuluo, Anselm tugged at the corner of his mouth: “Have you figured it out?”

After only a second or two of silence, Mingfuluo nodded calmly: “I’ve figured it out.”

Before Anselm could respond, she continued: “I’ll do what I must, even if Anselm doesn’t need me to.”

Anselm paused, then sighed, resting his forehead in his hand: “Are you really so fond of being sentimental, Arlo?”

“It’s not sentimentality—it’s selfishness.”

Mingfuluo’s tone remained unchanged, showing neither pain nor guilt, her indifferent voice resolute, leaving no room for doubt:

“The likelihood of me achieving that vision alone is far lower than if we do it together, so wanting to solve your problem is, ultimately, for my own sake.”

“I’m just that selfish and cold, Anselm. Sorry for not feeling guilty about you.”

Miss Doll spoke such cold words, yet in that moment, she avoided meeting Anselm’s gaze.

“…Is that so?”

Anselm looked down at Mingfuluo, his fingertips lightly tapping the table.

“That does… indeed suit your character.”

“But have you not considered that even if you had the ability to help me, even if that problem were resolved, I still wouldn’t choose to help you? Or that helping me might conflict with your ideals?”

“…”

Mingfuluo hadn’t considered this.

To her, it was an invalid question.

Since Anselm was forced to abandon what he held dear, resolving the issue would naturally lead him to reclaim it and if helping him conflicted with her ideals… how could that be?

…No, wait.

If it wasn’t for such a situation, three years ago, if Anselm had sought her help, she wouldn’t have refused, would she?

Unless Anselm chose not to reveal his struggles—but how could he… What exactly happened on the day they parted ways?

The missing memories tore at Mingfuluo’s thoughts, becoming the most fatal gap in piecing together the full truth.

Seeing Mingfuluo’s bewildered expression, the young Hydra lowered his eyes, his voice soft, tinged with either lament or mockery:

“See, you’ve already made your choice, Arlo.”

“Just like three years ago, nothing has changed. That’s why I’ve never held any expectations of you.”

“…No, Anselm, I—I can’t remember—”

“Enough, leave now,” Anselm waved his hand, his interest waning. “I’m not in the mood to chat anymore.”

Anselm cut off Mingfuluo’s words, leaving the petite doll, who had opened her mouth to explain, in a hollow, powerless silence.

All her resolve, all her determination, crumbled under the reality Anselm’s few words exposed.

—At the most critical moment of choice, you won’t choose me.

This was, of course, an utterly willful, utterly self-centered statement, but for Anselm, he needed that willfulness, that self-centeredness.

The coercion he faced forced him to abandon so much, making sacrifice second nature.

How could he have the leisure or heart to care about others’ values or dignity?

He had always been this way, never dressing his goals in grandiose excuses or disguises.

Even now, Anselm had never used the guise of “friendship” to pressure Mingfuluo, not even once.

They were merely… strangers now.

Mingfuluo looked at Anselm’s face—that countenance she could never read, whose emotions she could never fathom—so close, yet so distant.

Both stood firmly in their own positions, doing what was absolutely right for themselves, yet constantly hurting each other.

Cruel, absurd, like a vicious joke from fate itself.

“Anselm…”

Mingfuluo tried to say something more, but Anselm interrupted without hesitation: “I believe I already asked you to leave, Miss Mingfuluo.”

“…”

Mingfuluo, who had strived to remain composed, calm, and resolute, lowered her head slightly, her frail shoulders trembling faintly.

“Yes, I understand, Anselm.”

“Add ‘sir’ afterward.”

Anselm said carelessly: “To ensure you don’t entertain those sentimental notions again.”

“…Yes,” Mingfuluo’s voice caught slightly, “Anselm… sir.”

She quietly turned and walked toward the door.

“…Wait.”

Anselm suddenly called out to her, but the malicious smile he flashed clearly wasn’t meant to offer her hope.

“I just had an interesting idea—a punishment for your earlier offense.”

He chuckled as he issued his irrevocable command, then waved his hand again: “Go, and remember to know your place.”

“Yes… Sir Anselm.”

Mingfuluo lowered her head again, her slender, fragile figure walking out of the Alchemical Workshop.

As Mingfuluo left and the workshop’s heavy doors slowly closed, the smile on Anselm’s face faded bit by bit, growing increasingly… ferocious and savage.

“Fate…”

He murmured softly, the black surging in his sea-blue eyes like a tsunami poised to engulf everything.

That all-consuming color materialized, swirling and dancing wildly in the workshop, as if… the abyss itself had descended.

“Fate!!”

The young Hydra suddenly roared in madness, his body twisting unnaturally, contorting.

His voice grew coarse, hoarse, layered, carrying an eerie, terrifying weight:

“How dare you… how dare you use her time and again… how dare you—”

Anselm clutched his face tightly, his once sea-blue eyes now pitch-black serpent pupils.

Compared to the frenzied savagery in his words and gaze, Hitana’s beastly nature seemed tame.

The hysterical, ferocious madness in those vertical pupils proved the insanity coursing through the Hydra’s veins, the demonic essence of a creature closest to the abyss.

“Haa… haa…”

With the immense willpower that had battled fate countless times, Anselm forced himself to calm.

The distortion in his eyes began to fade, the tangible abyssal aura dissipating into nothingness, his form no longer swelling, stabilizing back into a human shape.

But those black serpent pupils remained unchanged.

“Using Mother to accelerate Mingfuluo’s submission—everything so far is pushing Mingfuluo closer to me… I know what you’re trying to do.”

He rasped in a low voice: “You want to recreate what happened with Hitana, to make me make another wrong choice out of misguided feelings for Mingfuluo. How… laughable!”

Such an impossible mistake—Anselm would not make it a second time.

Hitana was an exception, one was enough.

If… if such a tendency truly emerged, if such a possibility arose—

The deep darkness in his serpent pupils seemed ready to swallow everything.

Then, even if it meant breaking his own principles, erasing Mingfuluo from the soul level to become an utterly obedient tool without autonomy… he would do it without hesitation!

As for friends, companions, ideals… those were fragments of the past, meaningless dust.

Things entirely worth sacrificing.