Volume 2

Chapter 61 : The Path Ordained by the Devil

On the bustling street, both plainly dressed commoners and ornately adorned nobles couldn’t help but cast glances at the man and woman in the center, often turning back for another look even after passing by.

Strolling through the Imperial Capital with his “daughter” in hand, Anselm was in high spirits.

“Dear Helen,” the young Hydra smiled, “do you have any other thoughts on Lady Ronggor’s words?”

“…No.”

Mingfuluo replied softly: “Even without An… without Father, I already had my answer.”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t believe that only… Father could walk alongside me.”

Her gaze, obscured by the hazy black veil, dropped slightly: “Talent and vision aren’t possessed by just anyone. I never… held high expectations for Ronggor and the others.”

Though her words were dismissive, her uncontrolled tone and subtle physical reactions silently conveyed her true feelings.

“Your performance back there didn’t seem as nonchalant as you claim now.”

Anselm squeezed Mingfuluo’s hand, his fingertips lightly brushing her palm, mimicking how she had gripped his hand tightly earlier.

Mingfuluo fell silent, likely unable to provide an answer convincing even to herself.

This was a truth requiring no elaborate setup to expose, one Mingfuluo had prepared for inwardly but never actively confronted.

—Even in Erlin’s darkest moments, the students who steadfastly followed him didn’t believe that the future could exist.

In this vast, mysterious, and wondrous transcendent world, after her grandfather’s death, Mingfuluo Zege had become utterly alone.

Absurdly, the few people she was close to couldn’t stand by her side, while the devil who toyed with her, calling her “daughter,” was the only one at her level.

More absurdly, before he became a devil, he was her best friend, and she once had a chance to escape that suffocating loneliness.

Had they not parted ways, had they continued working together, even for just three years… the entire Empire could have been transformed.

The future Ronggor deemed impossible would no longer be a fleeting illusion but a tangible reality within reach.

But that future was indeed impossible now.

All that remained was a pitiful doll, bound as a plaything, calling a devil “Father.”

In that moment, when Anselm mercilessly exposed Ronggor’s passive stance on Erlin’s ideals, Mingfuluo’s heart had flared with anger, but it couldn’t sustain itself.

Instead, she had spoken those words… with such genuine sincerity.

“After saying ‘Father,’ did you feel a rebellious thrill, venting your resentment?”

Anselm smiled, squinting, as he caressed her delicate hand within the black lace glove.

In that moment, declaring Anselm as the one who believed in that future, Mingfuluo, clearly losing control, had for the first time uttered “Father” without resistance.

The young Hydra felt her trembling body as she embraced him, which pleased him greatly.

“…Perhaps,” Mingfuluo answered softly.

“I want a clear answer, dear Helen.”

The obedient Miss Doll paused, then replied: “Yes… for a moment. I did feel a fleeting thrill—taboo, rebellious—from that response.”

—Even without this, I have something better.

This thought, lurking in everyone’s heart to some degree, was the source of the thrill Mingfuluo described.

But it was only a moment, because…

“Because, An… Father, you won’t walk that path either.”

Those close to her couldn’t see or step onto that path.

The one who parted ways with her, despite being far ahead on that path, sought to destroy it.

What an… absurd world.

Is this what Anselm wanted me to see?

That I’m so utterly alone, that if we hadn’t parted ways, everything might have been different?

Compared to Hitana, Mingfuluo always saw through Anselm’s intentions—at least the surface ones—instantly.

But most of the time, it brought no help. Initially, she could at least resist him with this awareness, but now… it only deepened her sense of reality’s cruelty.

After all, she had shifted from “never letting Anselm enslave her” to “maintaining a fragile balance with him.”

Miss Doll couldn’t resist the temptation—the hope that helping Anselm solve his problem would lead to the best possible outcome.

So… let it continue. Father and daughter, master and servant, even pets—it didn’t matter.

It was just dignity, something she could sacrifice.

In her heart, that longing, that hope, shone undimmed despite the bleak reality.

Anselm, always attuned to her every move, caught the subtle, nearly imperceptible shifts in her emotions. Just as she understood him, he knew her too well.

Too well, to the point of disappointment.

Disappointed in her unchanging nature, and in the predetermined end of this conditioning.

Truthfully, though Anselm loathed anything deviating from his plans—especially uncontrollable upheavals at the end—he didn’t entirely mind changes like Hitana’s.

But Mingfuluo… born and living for that ideal, her character and mindset laid a path Anselm could see to its end.

So… onto the second stop.

I wish you could surprise me, but that’s clearly impossible, Mingfuluo.

“Familiar with this place, Helen?” Anselm, seemingly aimlessly strolling with Mingfuluo, stopped before a shop.

“…”

Mingfuluo silently scanned her surroundings.

She hadn’t been here, but this area… was under the Ether Academy’s control.

A high-end district centered around the sorcerer tower Yggdrasil, home to many sorcerers, nobles, and merchants from across the country selling materials or rare items.

This spot was far from Yggdrasil, on the outermost edge, where merchants were minor players with little backing, their goods hardly impressive.

She didn’t know why Anselm brought her here.

“I… haven’t been here, Father,” Mingfuluo answered softly.

“Not familiar? No matter, there’s someone you know in that shop.”

Anselm, leaning on his cane, led Mingfuluo leisurely into the store.

The moment the door opened, an eager, warm voice greeted them.

That voice made Mingfuluo freeze instantly.

“Welcome, honored guests! What do you need?”

“…”

Miss Doll stood rooted, staring at the plainly dressed man behind the counter, greeting them.

His smile was polite, almost ingratiating.

His handsome face was marred by a poor complexion and minor flaws, his clothes not cheap but far from fine, fitting his role perfectly.

—A minor shopkeeper on the fringes of the Ether Academy’s influence, with little skill or connections, just scraping by.

But it didn’t match his true identity.

Because his name was Layden Zege, son of Erlin Zege, the fortunate heir to the late alchemical master’s vast legacy.

Her… true father.

“What do you offer here?” Anselm engaged the eager Layden with interest.

“We have casting materials and alchemical components for first- and second-tier needs, plus custom simple alchemical tools.”

The gentleman who once berated Mingfuluo in Zege Mansion now introduced his wares with utmost deference: “What does the guest need?”

“I’ll take a look… Helen, stand here and wait for me. Shopkeeper, please keep an eye on my daughter.”

“…Ah? Of course, I will, please rest assured.”

Layden nodded repeatedly, then turned his gaze to the petite girl frozen before the counter.

Her mysterious black attire didn’t faze Layden.

Confident in reading people, he noted the young man, though youthful in appearance, exuded an awe-inspiring aura and refinement.

Not necessarily a grand figure, but certainly extraordinary.

For a powerful transcendent, eccentricities were normal, so his… daughter’s attire wasn’t surprising.

Thinking this, Layden glanced at the girl again.

Her figure made his gaze falter for a moment.

Though he knew he should mind his tongue, the sense of familiarity compelled him to speak:

“Miss, may I ask your name?”

The veiled, doll-like girl stood motionless.

Layden, realizing his mistake, gave an awkward smile, stepped back behind the counter, and stayed silent.

But moments later, the mysterious, beautiful girl spoke, her cold, lonely voice sparking associations in Layden’s mind.

“From your form and demeanor… you shouldn’t be a shopkeeper here.”

Her voice was soft: “So, are you… experiencing life?”

“…Experiencing life?” Layden paused, then shook his head wryly. “No, it’s for survival.”

“You bear traces of nobility,” Mingfuluo, her fists gradually tightening, continued in a cool tone, “Fallen from grace?”

Those four words twisted Layden’s expression, a mix of resentment and relief astonishingly intertwined.

“Fallen from grace… you could say that.”

The man leaned against the wall, head lowered: “Indeed, it fell by my hand.”

“But even if… it fell.”

Mingfuluo averted her gaze from the man: “A former noble shouldn’t end up selling first- and second-tier materials here, just to survive.”

Layden opened his mouth. The girl was probing too deeply, as if eager to know his situation.

Then, in the next second, he heard her say:

“I’ve never seen such a pathetic noble. You’re far worse than my father. I’m curious.”

“…”

So that was it—a young lady’s curiosity about a fallen commoner.

Layden wasn’t angry; he lacked the status and spirit for it.

He only smiled, saying: “My father… left a considerable fortune, but I can’t use it, because it wasn’t meant for me.”

“…You didn’t use it?” The mysterious, doll-like girl’s tone finally wavered noticeably.

Layden took it as mere surprise from misunderstanding, continuing: “Yes, neither by will nor… reality. My father never intended to leave his legacy to me. It was… for my…”

He paused, the next word seeming incredibly difficult.

“For… my daughter.”

But ultimately, Layden lowered his eyes, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

A silence, seemingly endless, fell between them.

Time seemed to freeze around them, a single second stretching into sixty ticks.

After an unknown time, the girl, who hadn’t looked at the man, as if indifferent to him, spoke:

“Then your father must have despised you.”

“…Heh, indeed.”

“No father would despise his child.”

Mingfuluo turned, staring intently at the head-lowered Layden against the wall, her voice rising slightly, resolute:

“So you must have done something unforgivable.”

Layden’s head snapped up, anger flashing vividly in his eyes, but seeing the hazy veil, he quickly recalled his current status and buried all emotions.

“You’re right, miss,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, masking his anger.

It wasn’t a clever tactic, but it worked, though it was cruel to himself.

“I did something he could never forgive—because I was too foolish, too incompetent. That’s what he couldn’t forgive.”

“…You’re sure,” Mingfuluo’s voice was almost uncontrollable, “it was because of that? How could a father not forgive his child for something like that—”

“Miss, your father must love you very much.”

Layden, seemingly at his limit, interrupted Mingfuluo: “All I can tell you is that not everyone is suited or worthy to be a father.”

At this, he lowered his eyes, murmuring wearily: “Including me.”

“My… father.”

Miss Doll’s voice was distorted: “He—”

“What’s wrong, little Helen? Need me for something?”

The young noble poked his head out from behind a shelf: “Getting along well with the shopkeeper?”

After a moment, the girl answered as if forcing the words from her throat: “…Not well.”

This made Layden’s expression shift. He immediately explained to Anselm: “Sir, I assure you, I meant no offense to your daughter, please…”

“I don’t want to stay here anymore, Father…”

Mingfuluo walked to Anselm’s side, taking his hand: “I want to leave.”

“Hm? But I haven’t found what I want to buy yet.”

“But I don’t want… I…”

The petite scholar glanced at the man’s stunned, panicked, almost helpless expression, then closed her eyes, forcing herself to say the nauseating words:

“Please… Father.”

“…Alright, since little Helen insists.”

Anselm sighed helplessly, ruffling the girl’s hair, then turned to Layden: “I must go, shopkeeper. Sorry I couldn’t buy anything.”

“No… no, no, I’m the one who should apologize. I might have done something to upset Miss Helen. Please forgive my rudeness…”

Layden responded with even greater humility, while Anselm only smiled: “Maybe Helen’s just being willful, but that can’t be helped.”

“After all, fulfilling a daughter’s wishes is every father’s duty, isn’t it?”

“…” Layden’s expression stiffened slightly, but he forced a smile: “You’re right, sir.”

Anselm nodded slightly, leading Mingfuluo out of the shop.

Outside, on the street, Mingfuluo walked with her head lowered, silent for a long stretch.

“What’s wrong, little Helen?”

On a quieter street with fewer passersby, Anselm said leisurely, “You seem upset. Was talking with Mr. Layden that painful, my daughter?”

“Don’t… call me that anymore,” Mingfuluo’s voice was icy, each word deliberate.

“Oh, you’re angry.”

The cruel devil spoke, his face full of smiles.

A gleeful, mocking, indifferent smile.

“But do you have the right to be angry? Tell me, who offered to help solve my problems? Who caused me trouble? Who wanted my forgiveness?”

“My… daughter?”

If Anselm felt pity for Mingfuluo’s current plight, Hitana would have been blissfully carefree in Chishuang Territory long ago.

“What… Do you know? About him, about Grandfather… what’s really going on?”

Mingfuluo’s breathing quickened, her voice reflecting uncontrolled emotions: “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted me to ask you this, to make me pay a price… You win, Anselm. You win. I surrender.”

“See, this is what I like about you, dear Miss Mingfuluo.”

Anselm pinched her cheek: “Even in such chaos, you can still pinpoint the crux in an instant, recognize your place. Most of the time, that’s a rare, admirable quality.”

“—Except when you’re powerless in every situation.”

His fingers slipped under the veil, the back feeling the veil’s texture, the tips savoring her skin’s softness: “But I also like this situation.”

The young Hydra smiled brightly: “Seeing you know the answers yet still choose to submit to me—however many times I witness it, it’s always delightful.”

“But you’re… still falling short, Mingfuluo.”

Anselm’s expression turned cold again: “You haven’t grasped your place, have you? Me needing you to beg? Who needs whom here?”

“Do you think just anyone can pay a price to me?”

“…”

Seeing the silent Mingfuluo, Anselm’s smile soon returned.

“But I’m pleased, because your emotions seem to be growing stronger. Hm… though you’re drifting further from the rational abyss I expected, who can say if that’s good or bad?”

“Come.”

He affectionately wrapped an arm around her waist, chuckling softly: “Do you know what to call me? Compared to that man who betrayed your grandfather and can offer you nothing, don’t I suit that title better? What was it again?”

This time, Mingfuluo didn’t speak.

Anselm tilted his head: “What’s wrong? Can’t even muster that much sincerity? That puts me in a tough spot.”

“Father…”

Mingfuluo clutched Anselm’s clothes tightly, her trembling hand visible even through the lace gloves, knuckles pale.

“Please… help me.”

When she said this, was Mingfuluo… speaking as a daughter?

Whose daughter, and for whom was she pleading?

Anselm knew perfectly well, as if her choice hadn’t deviated from his predictions at all.

Whether driven by her quest for truth or the necessity of obeying him, she would do this, which was why Anselm felt disappointed.

But watching Mingfuluo now still brought fleeting amusement.

Layden… Erlin, look. Our Miss Mingfuluo has another chance to uncover the truth of her grandfather’s death and this time, she can only turn to the person she least wants to ask.

Even if fate’s interference made her reject Ivora’s deal, pulling her off that track, I have extra pieces to play, don’t I?

Had I not stopped Layden and his wife from revealing their burdens, had I not ensured Mingfuluo’s relationship with them was irreparably broken, had she already begun questioning the past back then… today’s effect wouldn’t exist.

Though I followed Mingfuluo then to prevent fate from using her parents to sway her emotions toward them, who says… a concluded skirmish, an idle chessboard, can’t be reused?

It’s just a matter of whether you can conceive it.

You’re back on the right track, dear Mingfuluo.

The track I’ve set for you.