Volume 2

Chapter 62 : The Void of the Doll

This conditioning, so entertaining to Anselm, was nearing its final stop—one, like the second, that Mingfuluo could never anticipate.

Inside the Notun, walking toward the teleportation chamber, Anselm, holding Mingfuluo’s hand, said leisurely: “Dear Helen, do you remember Mirror Lake Territory and Watson Territory?”

“…”

Mingfuluo’s form stiffened slightly. After a brief silence, she replied softly: “I remember.”

Of course she remembered—the mad, cruel war, the perverse, absurd game.

The Ether Academy’s Mechanized Armor debuted grandly, meant to dominate, but suddenly went berserk, destroying everything.

Babel Tower’s desperate countermeasures were somehow known in advance, poised for defeat, yet absurdly achieved “victory.”

That war… left too deep an impression on Mingfuluo.

The lives lost, the costs paid, the forced sacrifices; the relentless reversals, the final turnaround—she would never forget, could never forget.

That time, she resolved to build Babel Tower’s survival on an avoidable war and destruction, and she succeeded.

That choice was a pivotal moment.

Because of that “victory,” Babel Tower escaped Ivora’s brutal control.

Within Babel Tower, voices criticizing her choice grew rare; most remained silent on the matter.

Now, standing before the teleportation array… Anselm suddenly asked her this.

There was no question where they were going next.

Anselm… was taking her to Watson Territory?

To see the aftermath of the war?

No… it wouldn’t be that simple.

That war never touched either territory’s homeland, causing no destruction or extra harm.

Anselm wouldn’t rely on something so basic to make her feel guilt.

What would he do?

Mingfuluo instinctively tightened her grip on Anselm’s hand, an act seeming affectionate but revealing her taut nerves.

Reviewing everything from the start—her talk with Lady Ronggor, the exchange with that man—Anselm wanted…

Her isolation?

Was he emphasizing that she had nothing left, nothing to rely on but him?

Even seeing the greatest possibility, Mingfuluo’s heart felt numb.

Recognizing the truth didn’t change it; instead, it shook her resolve further.

Without Anselm saying it, without any extra scheming, the intelligent Mingfuluo could see the cold reality—she could only rely on an Anselm who no longer acknowledged her.

That was the unchangeable truth.

“I’m guessing,” Anselm said suddenly, “you’re thinking about what surprise I have planned next, analyzing what I’m trying to do to reshape your will, right?”

Receiving no reply, Anselm’s smile widened: “You’re much easier to read now, little Helen. My efforts lately have paid off.”

“…Those words.”

“Hm?”

Mingfuluo looked up, gazing at Anselm’s profile: “You said you’d push me into a rational abyss… but in the end, was that your true intent?”

“You give me too much credit, dear Helen.”

Anselm, engrossed in the father-daughter game, still used the name with unclear significance, his tone innocent: “I only said a few words. What you thought, what you did—that was your choice, wasn’t it?”

But I had no choice—Mingfuluo wanted to say, but stayed silent.

She knew if Anselm truly aimed to twist her into a tool, no matter what she did, her personality and mind would tilt that way, and he’d profit from it.

On Hitana’s birthday, everything she experienced—Hitana’s favoritism, her own cold treatment—proved that possibility was very real.

—If you can’t be my obedient vassal, you’ll just be a useful tool.

Anselm’s every word and action conveyed this message.

Next… he’d likely continue working toward taming her.

Forcing herself to stay calm, Mingfuluo kept her thoughts clear: Stick to the original plan, maintain this state—neither be swayed by Anselm nor let him think I’ve lost all potential to be tamed.

From extreme defiance to now striving for compliance, Mingfuluo had no time to reflect on why her feelings toward Anselm shifted so drastically.

She only lowered her head, truly like an obedient daughter, holding Anselm’s hand, following at his side.

But her compliance brought Anselm no sense of achievement, let alone moved him.

Such obvious, calculated behavior couldn’t compare to Hitana’s candid emotional outpouring.

Yet…

This familiarity gave Anselm a subtle sense of ease.

He glanced down at Mingfuluo, his gaze seemingly piercing the hazy black veil to the impassive face beneath.

Purely calculated choices, objective rational thinking… Are you like me, or am I like you, Mingfuluo?

With differing thoughts, they stepped into the teleportation array, their figures vanishing in a flash of light.

When Mingfuluo opened her eyes again, she found herself in a dim alley.

She had no time to marvel at the Notun’s terrifying precision teleportation, her mind tense, ready to note every word Anselm said, striving to maintain their fragile balance.

“This is an ordinary city on the outskirts of Watson Territory.”

Anselm explained leisurely: “Much like most cities in the Empire—citizens live a mediocre life, neither good nor bad, just getting by. The environment isn’t too poor, everything’s average.”

“Not one of those rare cities ruled by a wise lord with stable, happy commoners, nor a land of stark divides, endless chaos, and conflict.”

Leading Mingfuluo out of the alley, Anselm noted the sparse passersby, whose demeanor confirmed his words—lives not great, but not particularly awful either.

This heightened Mingfuluo’s caution and doubt instantly—without escalated conflict, there was no trigger to unsettle her emotions.

Anselm would never bring her to a place where nothing would happen.

Could Anselm’s purpose not be to deepen her sense of isolation and disconnection?

With this doubt, Mingfuluo was reluctantly pulled along by Anselm, walking down the sparsely populated street.

“Old, rundown houses, decaying structures…”

The young Hydra’s gaze swept over the buildings lining the street, their appearances devoid of any aesthetic, merely meeting basic living needs. Some were so dilapidated they might not even fulfill that purpose.

He suddenly laughed: “Used to the opulent architecture of the upper city, the rustic charm of the lower city’s residential areas… What do you think of these rundown houses, Helen?”

Mingfuluo’s eyes scanned the street’s buildings. After a moment of silence, she replied:

“If we could use—”

“If we could use alchemical devices to quickly construct houses, this place would be transformed.”

Mingfuluo had only started, but Anselm finished her thought for her.

He looked down at her with a grin: “That’s it, right?”

“…Yes.”

Mingfuluo was dazed, suddenly realizing that the concept for such a device… came from Anselm.

He had said that people’s basic needs were clothing, food, and shelter—that housing gave commoners a heartfelt sense of belonging and safety.

No matter how rundown or small, as long as it was theirs, it became a warm haven for body and soul.

He also said the cost of housing itself was negligible.

Building a sturdy, comfortable, safe house with magic was effortless.

Creating an alchemical device to automatically build houses was equally simple—houses were, after all, just large building blocks of wood or stone.

Even an alchemy apprentice with basic construction knowledge could build a decent house in a day.

Producing stone with magic was trivially easy.

Both technical barriers and costs were pitifully low—and in fact, Mingfuluo had created such a device.

Though some city lords and nobles purchased it, it never gained widespread use.

The reason was simple: this housing construction device, which Mingfuluo saw as low-cost, was still… too expensive in the eyes of most rulers.

[Using Ether and magic crystals to exchange for a house is absurd.]

Couldn’t they live in their current homes?

Couldn’t they work hard, earn wealth, and buy or build their own?

What?

Better houses for less cost?

No, no… that’s even worse. If they pay less, who will generate wealth for me?

“Oh, and here… this smell.”

As Mingfuluo pondered, Anselm spoke again, frowning slightly and fanning his nose: “Piles of garbage, stagnant sewage… terrible sanitation, dear Miss Helen. You must have a solution for that, right?”

“Sanitation systems…” Mingfuluo said softly.

“Designated zones with air purifiers, garbage disposal units along planned routes, sewage channeled to purification tools… More would require overall layout planning, but it’s not difficult.”

“You remember it well,” Anselm raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, I—”

Mingfuluo suddenly stopped.

Because she realized, again, that this sanitation system, including its novel devices, was also Anselm’s idea.

Yet this system, too, hadn’t been widely adopted in the Empire.

Though used in the Imperial Capital and some wealthy territories or cities, most places remained utterly indifferent to it.

“…”

Miss Doll fell silent, an indescribable unease disrupting her mind, as if warning her that Anselm was turning facts… into a weapon to strike her deeply.

The young Hydra only smiled, squinting, continuing his stroll with his “daughter.”

Their lavish attire drew covetous glances, but their unapproachable aura deterred most.

“Speaking of…”

Each word Anselm spoke now tightened Mingfuluo’s thoughts, yet he remained carefree: “I recall Babel Tower has been advancing research on soil enhancement potions. Helen, do you know the progress?”

“…Not really, I’m not in charge of that.”

“Hm?” Anselm tilted his head. “But you proposed it, didn’t you? After all…”

His lips curved into a benign smile:

“It was my suggestion, wasn’t it?”

Altering soil properties to make barren land fertile, yielding more and better crops… whether through magic or alchemical items, it wasn’t difficult.

This could spare many from hunger, potentially eliminating famine from the Empire’s people once successful.

This, too, was Anselm’s idea.

So, Mingfuluo’s high regard for Anselm’s talent was well-founded.

Though not every idea he proposed was profoundly significant, his fleeting sparks of inspiration were possibilities to push the Empire forward.

Back then, Mingfuluo hadn’t found it strange—she saw it as Anselm’s value, and he clearly enjoyed it.

But now, reflecting on it, the unease, the absurdity, the emptiness in her heart grew stark.

It was as if so many… so many things came from Anselm—

“Hm, how odd.”

The young Hydra suddenly voiced confusion:

“It seems… most things that could practically change the Empire, that could make a real difference, were my ideas, weren’t they?”

For some reason, Mingfuluo’s fingertips suddenly felt cold.

“Helen… I once had a friend, a remarkable genius with unmatched vision and conviction.”

She heard the devil whisper gently in her ear:

“She believed Ether’s boundless power should advance the entire world, not be hoarded by old men with great strength but obsessed with chasing truths, rarely using that precious power to change reality, leaving the world stagnant, silent, without progress.”

“A remarkable idea, isn’t it?”

Mingfuluo instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but Anselm held it firmly, unyielding.

“But sometimes, I’m puzzled by something. Can you answer it, Helen?”

The venomous snake looked at the increasingly emotional Miss Doll with feigned confusion, yet smiled: “My friend had unparalleled talent, a grandfather who, though mad in his twilight, was equally exceptional, and his students who supported her unconditionally.”

“Her growth was smooth, never leaving the Imperial Capital, not even the upper city.”

“So, I’m baffled—”

His voice was so soft in her ear, yet chillingly cold as it pierced deeper, as if freezing her soul.

“Living such a perfect, privileged life, where did her grand passion come from?”

“She didn’t even know what commoners lacked or needed… Without my guidance and help, how many detours would she have taken? Right, Helen?”

“Why was she so relentless in wanting to use transcendent power to change the world?”

Watching Mingfuluo’s trembling shoulders, Anselm’s smile grew brighter.

“Was she truly trying to make Ether and transcendence improve everyone’s lives, or did she just want a future with more possibilities, uncaring of others’ fates? Or…”

“Did she even know why she chased that hollow illusion?”

“Heh, I’m not saying privileged people can’t have grand aspirations, but—”

“But my friend never stepped into the lives of commoners, never understood their needs, let alone felt true suffering. So… what was she really pursuing?”

The smiling Anselm left one sentence unsaid.

His friend, without his interference, would have walked into the mortal world, into that vast suffering.

But as a devil, he destroyed that possibility.