Volume 2

Chapter 72 : The Snake’s Coils Gradually Tighten

“With Little Pelican City’s current grain yield and speed, it could supply all of Watson Territory in two months. In three months, while ensuring the entire territory is free from hunger, it could still have surplus to supply outward.”

In the reception room, Count Watson stood respectfully before Anselm, head bowed, reporting.

He didn’t dare look at the young man lounging on the sofa, idly playing with the girl’s hair in his arms.

Even maintaining a calm tone was immensely difficult.

What did this young Hydra, who had arrived at his stronghold unannounced, want?

Had he noticed his deliberate stoking of conflict between farmers?

Would he further discover his ambition to climb onto Ivora’s coattails?

Immense fear enveloped Count Watson, but all he could do was stay calm.

If his unease was noticed, he was truly finished.

“It seems... Qingling City’s grain supply situation must be quite optimistic,” Anselm said with a smile, breaking the silence that felt endless to Count Watson.

The young noble, as if granted amnesty, replied quickly, “Yes, even in the poorest slums, basic grain supply isn’t an issue. Anyone with hands and feet can afford food.”

“Hm...” Anselm, holding Mingfuluo, rested his chin on Miss Doll’s head.

“Let me guess—because of the Pelican Guild’s impact, native farmers have to sell their crops at prices so low they can barely profit, just to earn a little. That’s why even the slum dwellers can eat?”

At this, Anselm felt the soft body in his arms stiffen for a moment.

Count Watson’s heart stopped, his throat bobbed, and his lips trembled slightly.

“Y-Yes.”

Feeling as if he were at a life-or-death juncture, the count answered with gritted teeth, “For now, the Pelican Guild’s impact on the existing grain market is too great. In just over ten days, their yield, quality, and supply speed are crushing. They can’t yet supply all of Watson Territory, but in Qingling City, no grain guild can compete with them.”

“Unless they sell at a price several times cheaper than the Pelican Guild, no one would buy from individual farmers or other grain guilds.”

After all, if the price were so low it was practically free, some would still buy—like those in the slums too poor to afford even the Pelican Guild’s cheap grain.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” Anselm said with great delight.

“Even the poorest can eat a full meal, Count Watson. That’s something even Her Majesty can’t achieve.”

Count Watson’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees.

The transcendent being, who moments ago had boldly considered himself a genius risking everything for his future, now paled, trembling so much he couldn’t speak.

“Hahaha, don’t be so nervous, Count. Her Majesty isn’t that petty.”

The young Hydra laughed heartily. “I’m just acknowledging your achievement. Don’t be so scared.”

“T-This... how can this be my achievement?”

Count Watson forced a smile, struggling to stand.

“This is clearly Babel Tower’s doing, your doing. You enabled them to eat, and I merely... merely basked in a speck of your radiant glory.”

He praised Anselm as much as possible to mask his fear.

“All the wretches in the slums should recognize your greatness! I think—”

“I want to see.”

Mingfuluo suddenly spoke.

“Count Watson said even the slum dwellers can eat a full meal... Father, I want to see it with my own eyes.”

“...”

Count Watson froze, then a mix of tension and ecstasy flashed in his eyes.

He hadn’t lied about this—nor dared to.

It was absolutely true that everyone in the slums could eat.

What made him tense yet elated was that if Anselm left without any reprimand, it meant... he had passed!

“Want to see? Well, that’s why we came here.”

Anselm set Mingfuluo down, rose calmly, and smiled at Count Watson. “Then, Helen and I will take our leave, Count. You’ve done well this time. Keep it up.”

“Y-Yes! I won’t let you down.”

Count Watson’s neck flushed red, his voice loud and fervent.

The same emotions, born of different reasons, perfectly concealed his true intentions.

“Let me escort you—”

“No need. This sort of thing should be discreet. Just keep doing your job, Count.”

With that, Anselm left with Mingfuluo.

It wasn’t until five or six minutes after Anselm’s departure that Count Watson collapsed, panting heavily.

It was just a normal conversation, with no sign of suspicion, yet he felt as if he could’ve been shattered at any moment.

But he survived.

His greatest fear was that Anselm would notice his actions.

Now, even after possibly witnessing the farmer conflict he’d fueled, Anselm issued no warning.

The final threat was gone.

“One more push, one more push...”

No one knew how long Anselm’s game would last or whether Watson Territory could keep that magical land after it ended.

Since Anselm didn’t seem to care about the escalating farmer conflict, he’d push harder, faster!

Count Watson covered his face, murmuring fervently, “As long as I pique Her Highness’s curiosity, as long as she claims all of Watson Territory...”

“Resources, prospects, and... power!”

All for the possibility of ascending further!

***

Disguised by cognitive magic, Anselm and Mingfuluo strolled through the slums.

The area was barren, dilapidated, reeking of foul odors.

Everyone’s tattered clothing and disheveled appearance screamed “poverty.”

Yet their spirits mirrored those Anselm and Mingfuluo had seen in the market.

It was a genuine, heartfelt zeal, like a fire burning in their chests, spreading warmth throughout their bodies, giving them a lively, gentle vitality.

“...Father,” Mingfuluo said softly, “you said eating enough is a hundred times better than so-called hope.”

“Still don’t understand?”

“No... I do.”

Miss Doll lowered her head, recalling the answer she had given Anselm not long ago about “transformation,” while gazing at the filthy, cluttered street beneath her feet.

“For them, everything I once thought about was too distant.”

She murmured softly, as if realizing something, then raised her head again to look at the impoverished people ahead.

“Ideals, beliefs, even dignity... they’re all too far removed. What they need is to fill their stomachs, to survive.”

“Anything beyond that, any lofty proclamation, is... a trampling to them.”

“...”

Anselm tilted his head slightly, watching Mingfuluo, whose eyes churned with emotion, his own eyes narrowing faintly.

Among the four heroes, there was no dispute about who was the most celebrated—undoubtedly the benevolent, virtuous Brave.

But being celebrated didn’t always equate to being respected.

Of the four heroes who forged a new era, Mingfuluo Zege was the one most revered.

Because she was a genius, a true genius—not only in her groundbreaking contributions to Ether Theory but in her unparalleled aptitude for understanding, absorbing, transforming and comprehending the ways of the world.

This talent was evident in her ability to deconstruct and perceive Anselm’s psychology and plans.

So, even though her choices in this unfamiliar domain had been somewhat naive, even clumsy, her understanding was deepening at an astonishing pace.

The Revolutionary Army had once forced Hitana to take her own life to secure Anselm as the architect of a new world, showing that some among them had far-reaching vision and desperately craved someone with such talent.

So, in the original future Anselm hadn’t altered, who had borne such a heavy responsibility?

—The answer was the genius sorceress who, after Babel Tower’s fall, wandered the mortal world for years, discerning the twisted crux of the world: Mingfuluo Zege.

In that future, she had truly found the [Truth] capable of building a new world.

Her current understanding and insight were a glimpse of that.

Too fast, dear Mingfuluo.

This isn’t the gift I meant for you.

Anselm smiled, wrapping his arm around Mingfuluo’s waist, whispering in her ear, “Helen, the places of prosperity and clamor are but illusory facades. The realms ruled by poverty and hardship are the true face of this world.”

“And in this truth, you’ve accomplished something remarkable.”

In this era, truly feeding everyone was an utterly inconceivable feat.

Even in the Imperial Capital, people starved to death.

Even in the world Anselm had seen, with its more complete, rigorous social structure, hunger still brought unavoidable death.

But transcendent power, as something that defied all common sense, could theoretically shatter any “law” in people’s understanding.

Now, it has done so.

It had ensured that in the most prosperous major city of a territory, no one went hungry—not even the poorest, who could achieve physical satiety.

Mingfuluo instinctively responded, “This isn’t my—”

“You should be happy about this, shouldn’t you?” Anselm interrupted. “This is the vision you hoped for, isn’t it?”

“...”

Mingfuluo fell silent, gazing at the scene before her.

On the dilapidated streets, children in tattered clothes played joyfully, and gaunt adults, though sallow-faced, wore smiles filled with hope for tomorrow.

The cold indifference on her usually aloof face softened and her noble, radiant purple eyes brewed with gentleness.

It wasn’t a grand achievement, just the simple ability to eat enough, but for them, it was already immense happiness.

And she, Babel Tower, had the power to give them happiness beyond this.

The world could become even more perfect.

If she had Anselm’s help, it wouldn’t be an illusory dream but... a tangible reality, like everything she was witnessing now.

Anselm...

Miss Doll turned, about to say something to Anselm, but he smiled and spoke again, “So, that’s not an issue, is it?”

“...What?”

“I mean, those farmers,” Anselm said, gently patting Mingfuluo’s head.

“Since you’re so satisfied with the current state, those farmers are expendable, aren’t they?”

“Since they’re expendable.”

His voice was so soft, so calm, as if discussing something trivial.

“Then their problems aren’t problems, are they?”

“...”

Mingfuluo’s mouth parted slightly, her mind flashing back to the scene she’d just witnessed.

Quarrels, violence, and beneath it all... despair.

A farmer with a gravely ill daughter, unable to sell a single grain—how desperate must he have been?

But no amount of despair justified killing a competitor and this... perfectly reflected one thing.

He had gone mad in that despair.

He knew it wasn’t just three days without selling grain—it was that he’d never sell grain again.

“There are... more ways to survive than one.”

Mingfuluo said instinctively, but then fell into confusion.

More ways to survive... were there?

Did they really have so many ways to survive, so many choices?

No, no, that’s not right. It shouldn’t be like this. They—

“I’m just asking if they’re expendable.”

The gentle “concern” interrupted Mingfuluo’s thoughts.

The venomous snake cradled her cheeks, gazing into her purple eyes.

“You’ve done this countless times before. Why hesitate now, Helen?”

“I...”

[You’ve done this countless times before.]

Abandoning, sacrificing, even unjustly offering others as sacrifices—you’ve done this countless times.

Her heart churned, telling her there should be other choices, other ways, but those sea-blue eyes froze everything surging within her.

This wasn’t... reality.

This was Anselm’s game, one where he decided when it began, when it ended, and what the outcome would be.

She had no room for extra choices or thoughts. Whatever Anselm told her to do, she had to do.

“...Yes.”

Mingfuluo instinctively lowered her gaze, but when her peripheral vision caught the smiling faces of the poor, she raised her head to meet Anselm’s eyes.

On that meat-grinder battlefield, where she resolved to sacrifice all her soldiers to keep Babel Tower standing, she hadn’t been as resolute as she was now.

Because, compared to that unknown possibility, the young man before her showed her a tangible transformation.

So, if necessary, she would sacrifice.

“They are expendable, Father.”

Mingfuluo answered.

“Then, one step further... what if they try to obstruct, or even destroy, your vision?”

Anselm’s smile grew brighter, but his words carried a chilling undertone.

“...They destroy?”

A faint sense of unease rose in Mingfuluo’s heart, but facing Anselm’s smile, she couldn’t say anything.

Since Anselm had said he wouldn’t actively interfere in this game, Mingfuluo was willing to believe he wouldn’t stoop to such a low lie.

He surely wouldn’t meddle directly, so... had he foreseen something?

Foreseen the farmers destroying... everything now?

But how could they? Did they have the power?

“Helen.”

Anselm spoke again, giving Mingfuluo no time to think calmly.

“Answer my question.”

Miss Doll was silent for a moment, then, staring into Anselm’s eyes, said, “If anyone tries to destroy what we have now.”

“I will use every means to eliminate them.”

Imagining that scenario, Mingfuluo responded coldly.

Satisfied with her answer, Anselm nodded.

“That’s the resolve I expect from you... Good. So, shall we return now, or stay a bit longer in Qingling City to see more?”

“Let’s... stay a bit longer.”

Mingfuluo looked into the distance, along the dilapidated streets of the slums, toward the elegant buildings rising in the city’s center.

She gained another sliver of insight. To change the world, transcendent power might be just one key among many.

What were the other keys...?

***

On the twenty-eighth day of the game, the Soil Enhancement Potion had reached its fourth cycle.

The farmers reclaiming fields outside Little Pelican City had undergone a complete transformation.

Luxurious clothing was the most superficial change.

Far more striking and significant was the dramatic shift in their demeanor.

Even the most honest, timid farmer now walked Little Pelican City’s streets with confidence.

Though their skin was rough and dark, their appearance plain, the self-assured pride radiating from them was impossible to conceal.

“Good morning, Mr. Henk.” “Hello, Mr. Henk!”

The simple farmer Henk now wore a fine coat.

He didn’t understand what made it expensive, but the shopkeeper’s sales pitch had thrilled him, so he bought it.

Now, he was a prominent figure in Little Pelican City, holding a place in the Pelican Guild, whose fame had spread across Watson Territory.

The young man, once shyly nodding in response to greetings, could now nod gracefully with a smile.

Amid the greetings, he climbed the stairs, striding quickly toward the lounge at the end of the corridor.

There, the true master of the Pelican Guild awaited him.

“Come in.”

At the sound of the response, Henk pushed open the door.

Inside, he saw Rozokaira and Lauriel sitting across from each other, a stack of documents on the table.

“Sit,”

Lauriel said, glancing at Henk before continuing with Rozokaira.

“Next, we should use these territories as nodes to rapidly distribute our grain to surrounding areas...”

“Isn’t that too fast?” Rozokaira, puffing on a cigar, exhaled thick smoke.

“We haven’t stabilized in these territories yet. If we divert grain so soon, won’t it...”

“No problem,” Lauriel said bluntly.

“Reclaim more fields, increase production.”

As a merchant, Rozokaira shrugged.

“You’re the expert. Your call.”

Lauriel nodded, then turned to Henk.

“Henk, find suitable people to manage the new fields.”

“Got it. Uh... anything else?”

In the presence of these two, Henk still felt nervous.

One was an increasingly untouchable tycoon, the other the benefactor who changed his life.

He always maintained a cautious demeanor around them.

“There is, about what’s next...”

Rozokaira began, but suddenly raised an eyebrow, glancing at his pocket.

“Communication crystal... You two talk. I’ll step out.”

The man waved and left the lounge.

Lauriel lowered his head to the documents, showing no interest in chatting.

Henk was silent for a moment, then cautiously asked Lauriel, “I’ve wanted to ask for a long time... Lauriel, why me?”

“Hm?”

“Was it just because we’re from the same village? That’s why you chose me to work with you?”

Henk looked at the stout man, still unable to comprehend—still uneasy about why Lauriel had chosen him.

Lauriel set down the documents, turned to Henk, and said calmly, “Because you’re a good person.”

“...Huh?”

“You’re the most typical kind of farmer. You know nothing but farming, timid, a bit kind, so you’re trustworthy and easy to use.”

Henk froze for several seconds, then let out a long breath.

“That’s... that’s all?”

“If it was just me, the grain I could provide wouldn’t be enough, and the advance payment wouldn’t be convincing enough to easily secure the right to negotiate grain sales from other farmers.”

“Plus, most farmers, after hearing my explanation, would get greedy and secretly deal with Rozokaira themselves. That way, he could exploit their short-sightedness and easily control us.”

“And... you’re better at communicating with other farmers than I am. These past days, you’ve done well in that regard. Need more reasons?”

Lauriel gave Henk a coldly rational, utilitarian answer, but instead of showing much displeasure, Henk seemed increasingly relieved.

“No, no... I get it, Lauriel... You’re really incredible! You’ll definitely become a great merchant someday!”

“...Great merchant, hmph.”

Lauriel gave a noncommittal hum, inexplicably letting out a soft snort.

“Anyway, we need to push the Pelican Guild to dominate Watson Territory’s grain market as fast as possible—faster, understand?”

Henk didn’t notice the fervor and urgency in Lauriel’s words, simply agreeing eagerly, “No problem, I’ll talk to them—”

Knock, knock, knock!

The urgent knocking at the door startled both men.

Rozokaira wouldn’t need to knock—who could it be?

“Come in,” Lauriel said, frowning slightly.

The door opened and an ordinary guild employee stepped in nervously, holding... a cloth bundle?

“Mr. Moramo, Mr. Henk, someone... someone left this at the front desk, saying it’s... for you.”

“For... me?”

Henk, puzzled, took the bundle from the employee.

The moment he held it, the shape of the contents sent a chill through him.

Why did it feel like... a hand?

The young man, uneasy, unwrapped the bundle.

The instant it was opened, he screamed, flinging it away.

Thud—

The object hit the ground, rolling slightly.

Lauriel’s pupils contracted—it was indeed... a hand!

He turned sharply to the employee.

“Who sent it!”

“I... I don’t know! They were masked, dropped it, and left.”

Henk stood frozen, staring at the hand for a long time, his fear growing until it overwhelmed his initial shock.

He stumbled forward, falling to the ground, crawling toward the hand with trembling limbs, his pale lips quivering.

“This... this is...”

Henk picked up the hand, its severed edge no longer bleeding, clearly cut some time ago.

Seeing the wooden ring on the thumb, his voice was filled with panic, “This is my dad’s... my dad’s hand!”

“...” Lauriel’s eyes narrowed.

He stood immediately, moving to Henk’s side. “Let me see.”

“Lauriel!”

Henk didn’t hand it over, shouting in fear and anger, “Who! Who would threaten my dad! Is he... is he—”

“I said give it to me!”

Lauriel irritably snatched the pale hand from Henk.

Flipping it over, he saw the words carved into the bloodied palm: [Price].