Volume 2

Chapter 75 : You Should Die Like This

After the bloodbath in Little Pelican City, Anselm and Mingfuluo embarked on a short journey.

Before setting out, they started from Little Pelican City and arrived at a neighboring territory.

This territory was smaller than Little Pelican City but far more prosperous inside.

The baron lord was young, capable and compassionate toward the common folk and the people living here had a noticeably better demeanor than those in Little Pelican City.

As a neighboring territory, it naturally couldn’t escape the grain dumping from the Pelican Guild.

“Your mood seems poor, Helen.”

In an ordinary commoner’s restaurant, Anselm looked at Mingfuluo, who held a knife and fork but hadn’t touched a bite of her plate, and asked gently: “What are you worried about?”

Miss Doll’s purple eyes were filled with confusion:

“I… don’t know.”

She gripped her fork tightly, staring blankly at the fragrant, vibrant food on her plate, then at the cheerful commoners dining around her, her mind swirling with countless unanswerable questions.

In this game, her goal was to eliminate hunger as much as possible, and she… no, with the potion devised through Anselm, she had indeed achieved that in such a short time.

—Freeing people from hunger was a great feat, Anselm had praised her for it multiple times.

But even now, Mingfuluo remained in a daze.

She had been closely following the developments, yet found everything beyond her understanding and expectations.

When she came to her senses, everything was like a runaway carriage, hurtling toward even greater, unpredictable chaos.

Thus, everything returned to the root of Mingfuluo’s deepest fear.

—If you don’t know why you pursue your ideals, nor how to bring about change, then in the fifteen years since Erlin’s death, what… have you been doing?

You never even understood what change truly is.

Thus, the more this grand transformation, worthy of being recorded in the Empire’s history, progressed, the more Mingfuluo felt… empty, panicked, and hollow.

The joy she should have felt was drowned in this emptiness, not just because this was Anselm’s game, but because she could see no hope in it.

Even if she cast transcendent power into the mortal world, even if that power, beyond ordinary comprehension, proceeded without hindrance, Mingfuluo couldn’t see the light she longed for shining down.

Her path remained shrouded in fog.

The only thing worth celebrating, the only thing that kept her from complete despair, was…

“You’re doing the right thing, aren’t you, Helen?”

In this endless chaos, the only person she could reach spoke:

“Since you’re doing the right thing, why feel uneasy? The changes in Little Pelican City and Watson Territory are what you wanted, aren’t they?”

“But something… something worse is happening, Father.”

Mingfuluo’s voice trembled slightly: “I can’t see clearly…”

What would happen next?

Would more farmers, unable to bear the situation, go mad?

Would others beyond the farmers be affected?

No… no, if it’s just a few, they can be sacrificed… they can be sacrificed.

As long as grain production can be maintained, as long as the grain…

Grain…

Lauriel, the man who now controlled all the potions—what would he do?

Why him… why did it have to be someone like him?

“Fa… Father.”

Mingfuluo stared at Anselm, her voice growing hoarse: “Lauriel Moramo, is he… someone you arranged?”

Anselm’s motion of cutting his steak paused slightly. He turned his gaze to Mingfuluo’s face—her confused, weary, delicate features—and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, his smile growing more pronounced.

“Heh heh heh… Hahahaha!”

His unrestrained, joyful laughter startled the other diners in the restaurant and made Mingfuluo even more uneasy.

“So, dear Helen, you think I’m not following the rules of the game, is that it?”

“I just—”

“Enough.” Anselm cut off Mingfuluo’s words, then wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief from his pocket, saying calmly: “It’s about time… for it to end.”

End, the end of the game.

Mingfuluo’s pupils contracted sharply.

Those calm words nearly stopped her heart.

No matter how lost she felt about the future, the deep-rooted desire in Mingfuluo’s heart didn’t want this transformation to end so abruptly.

Because she had seen that the vast majority in Watson Territory could now eat their fill, that the killer called hunger was on the verge of vanishing from this land.

She feared the emptiness beneath this achievement, her own hollowness, but she absolutely didn’t want these results to disappear.

And if the game ended, if… if Father no longer sheltered this land.

Transcendents would plunder everything, destroy everything.

No transcendent would care about the common folk, none…

As this thought surfaced in her mind, Anselm’s mocking laughter seemed to echo in her ears again:

[In your twenty-one years of privileged life, never even leaving the Imperial Capital, how could you feel such strong empathy for the common folk?]

Mingfuluo’s fingertips trembled slightly.

She looked into Anselm’s eyes and found him looking back at her.

Those sea-blue eyes, as always, were clear and captivating, filled with an enchanting charm.

But all Mingfuluo could see in those eyes was a lofty, cold indifference.

There was… no escape.

No matter what she did, she couldn’t help but recall Anselm’s words, which shook her convictions to the core.

No matter what she did, she saw her inability to understand change, her powerlessness over everything.

And even though the chance to end it all was right before her, even though ending the game would free her, she… couldn’t agree to it.

She couldn’t sit by and watch that flickering hope extinguish.

To do so would be an unforgivable betrayal—of her grandfather, of Hendrik, of Babel Tower, of everything she stood for.

Thus, she had to beg the demon who had pushed her into the abyss for help, to plead for his mercy, his kindness, to beg him to continue this game that held no value to him.

This time, she was the one sending herself into the despair of nothingness.

Unsolvable… deadlock.

It didn’t… matter.

Mingfuluo’s heart began to beat again.

She told herself this in her mind.

The potion’s transformation of the soil had a time limit.

As long as all the potions were used up, as long as the effects faded from the existing soil, no other transcendent could reverse-engineer it.

She just needed to hold on for a while, a little longer…

As for everything else—continuing to play his daughter, her dignity, her sense of self—all could be cast aside. Even facing the torment of self-denial… it didn’t matter.

Mingfuluo wouldn’t allow the only beacon in this endless chaos to be lost.

Sacrifice… no one was exempt from sacrifice, including herself.

No matter how much she feared that hollow feeling that uprooted her convictions, Mingfuluo wanted to protect the spark that had been ignited, to keep it from being stolen by the fire-thieves.

“Father… I’m sorry.”

The once-proud, confident genius scholar now willingly played the role of “daughter,” adopting a fawning posture as she softly pleaded with the boy watching her coldly: “This game, could it be extended a little longer? Just a little… one more month would be enough.”

“Extended?”

Anselm raised an eyebrow slightly: “Do you think I’m the one planning to end this game? No, no, no… Mingfuluo, the one ending this game isn’t me.”

He stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

Mingfuluo could only follow, his words bringing her a moment of relief while also stirring an indescribable fear.

If it wasn’t Anselm ending the game… then who was it?

The young Hydra arrived at the restaurant’s entrance, where the owner was smoking a crude pipe, looking across the street at another restaurant with a troubled expression.

“What’s wrong, boss?” Anselm struck up a conversation.

“Your business seems to be doing alright.”

“Alright? This is already the best it’s been in days.”

The owner gave a bitter smile: “That place across the street, opened by the Pelican Guild, has taken all the customers. At first, when we weren’t sourcing ingredients from them, they used their high-quality ingredients to make cheap dishes and pulled all the customers away. By the time we had no choice but to buy from the Pelican Guild, it was too late—we couldn’t match their low prices.”

“A restaurant still relies on the skill of its chefs.”

“Where do you find that many skilled chefs? Most people can’t even tell the difference.”

The owner dejectedly tossed his pipe to the ground, stomping it out, and sighed: “The Pelican Guild’s place is cheap and uses good ingredients—that’s enough to draw people in. If I hadn’t been running this place for five or six years with some loyal customers, I’d probably be so jealous I’d go mad by now.”

As he spoke, he rubbed his cheeks hard, forcing a strained smile: “Actually, I’m already close to losing it. The Pelican Guild’s started raising their prices. But what choice do we have? If we don’t buy from them, where else can we get ingredients of that quality in such quantities? It’d cost even more! But if this keeps up… who knows how high they’ll jack up the prices?”

He turned to look at his shop, a trace of reluctance in his expression: “Old Kahn said that if we agree to operate under the Pelican Guild’s name and give them a fixed cut of our profits each month, we can get ingredients at a lower price… If I want to keep this place going, that’s probably the only way forward.”

“So, you’d hand over the restaurant you’ve run for years to someone else?” Anselm asked, surprised.

“What else can we do, go bankrupt and close up shop?” The owner sighed.

“We’re lucky compared to others, at least we still have a chance to make money… The farmers are the ones who have it rough. Their crops are rotting in the fields with no buyers, and just yesterday, it seems another farmer in a village outside the city hanged himself.”

Anselm expressed regret, then headed toward the city gate.

Mingfuluo, hurrying to keep up with Anselm, felt her eyes tremble at the restaurant owner’s words.

It wasn’t just… the farmers?

“Surprised?” Anselm, walking ahead of Mingfuluo, suddenly spoke.

“Restaurants that could benefit from cheaper, higher-quality ingredients have fallen into the miserable state that owner described?”

Before Mingfuluo could respond, Anselm continued:

“You’re too naive, or rather… too self-righteous, Mingfuluo.”

Anselm stopped, turning to face the doll-like miss who had completely lost her genius demeanor, now truly resembling a confused, helpless child. His lips curled into a mocking smile:

“You see change as a leap for the world, like a transformation from the mundane to the transcendent. But how exactly… is it supposed to happen? Did you think it’s like the formulas you wrote in your research, where you plug in a number and automatically get a flawless answer?”

He was no longer gentle, no longer patient, no longer offering Mingfuluo guidance or teachings, instead coldly and indifferently pointing out her mistakes.

This stark contrast, starting from earlier, left Mingfuluo reeling.

Even though Anselm no longer called her “Helen,” she stammered in slight panic: “Father, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t? But you clearly don’t understand anything, do you?”

The boy roughly grabbed the doll-like miss’s cheeks, the lofty contempt on his face so vivid, his attitude practically screaming, “I’m done playing house with you.”

“You think grain production only affects farmers? Do you know how many industries are tightly bound to grain, rising and falling with its fluctuations?”

“Do you know how terrifying the control a guild gains when it monopolizes all resources in an industry and its related fields, without any threats?”

“Do you know how many workers are in those industries, and what these fluctuations mean for them?”

“Do you really think…”

The venomous snake revealed its cruel, savage face, spitting poison at the helpless doll:

“Under the rules I’ve set, where transcendents can’t interfere, simply producing enough grain means everyone will be fed?”

Staring at Mingfuluo, whose pupils contracted and trembled incessantly, Anselm suddenly laughed:

“Wonderful.”

He leaned down intimately, pressing against Mingfuluo’s cheek, whispering: “This is exactly the state I was hoping for, dear Mingfuluo.”

“Fearful, panicked, lost, powerless. It seems my earlier attitude gave you some misconceptions, but to me, that was just for amusement. Don’t forget—”

“Three years ago,” Anselm lightly bit her earlobe, an action so intimate yet causing Mingfuluo’s heart to ache.

“You abandoned me.”

“…”

The petite scholar’s purple eyes lost a flicker of their light in that moment.

All the affection, warmth, and tireless guidance that Mingfuluo had grown to depend on during this time were shattered by his few words.

The overwhelming shock left her mind momentarily blank, and at that moment, fragmented memories, like jagged lightning, mercilessly struck her mind with unbearable pain.

[Do you believe a soul can be shaped, Mingfuluo?]

[The foundation of transcendence, the unique origin of every transcendent—can it be molded, created?]

[—The most exceptional alchemical master could achieve even this.]

“Ugh… ah!”

Lady Myron had never told Mingfuluo that recovering memories could be so painful, so excruciating it was nearly unbearable.

It didn’t feel like recovering memories at all, but rather… as if fragments of a soul were being forced into her?

The unbearable agony brought Mingfuluo to her knees, clutching her head tightly.

She tried not to let out pained moans, but her body’s instincts mercilessly exposed her misery.

And Anselm, standing beside her, merely looked down at her expressionlessly, making no move to help.

“What?” He chuckled lightly.

“Remembering the night you broke up with me? Remembering what sparked the betrayal you so despised?”

“…No, I, Anselm… Father.”

The frail scholar stumbled to Anselm’s side, desperately clutching his pant leg.

Mingfuluo Zege, who once dismissed all the Empire’s sorcerer prodigies and exchanged ideas with fifth-tier sorcerers, had never been so pathetic.

But this time, her desperation wasn’t just from a lack of options.

Because Miss Doll was afraid.

Only through loss does one realize what’s precious.

Mingfuluo had often longed for the days when Anselm was by her side, when their minds were in sync, solving any problem with ease.

But that longing was just that—longing.

For the pragmatic Mingfuluo, what happened three years ago was gone, and the current Anselm wouldn’t offer a helping hand, so there was no point in dwelling on those memories.

But now, at this moment, having experienced Anselm’s warmth, care and especially his profound, clear insights into the realm of change she had never explored, Mingfuluo… couldn’t let go.

She couldn’t lose the Anselm of now.

If she did, she’d be left alone to face that terror—the terror of not understanding why, despite her ignorance of change and lack of empathy for the common folk, she still wanted to transform the Empire and pursue her ideals.

The terror of an absolute void that negated her very existence.

In this moment, Mingfuluo even forgot that her current plight was entirely of Anselm’s making.

“At least let me…” The pain of memory recovery kept Mingfuluo’s brows furrowed as she struggled to speak.

“At least let me stay with you… until this game ends.”

Anselm looked down at the pitiful doll clutching his pant leg and sighed softly: “You’re so weak now, it’s almost painful to watch, Mingfuluo.”

Yet as he said this, a smile spread across his face.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. You can stay by my side until the game ends. But don’t expect me to keep playing house with you like before.”

He lifted Mingfuluo’s frail, light body, whispering with keen interest:

“On the contrary, I want to see you rediscover yourself, see just how shallow, how… empty you are.”

Thus, their short journey began.

Their first stop was a relatively prosperous territory, one of the more notable in Watson Territory.

Thanks to its strong foundation, the Pelican Guild’s influence wasn’t overwhelming here.

Local guilds barely managed to protect the grain industry from being crushed by the Pelican Guild’s aggressive dumping, though they were already stretched thin.

“This guild’s leader is a rare good merchant,” Anselm said leisurely, swirling his drink outside an upscale café, watching a middle-aged man giving a speech on the street.

“Even though the farmers’ grain can’t be sold, he’s still using his own money to cover their losses, trying to offset the Pelican Guild’s grain with lower prices. It’s slowed the complete destruction of the local grain industry, but how long can he keep this up?”

“Look, Mingfuluo.”

Anselm said with a radiant smile: “A merchant with a conscience, a species even rarer than a noble with a conscience, might go bankrupt in a matter of days because of his efforts to protect the farmers.”

“Oh, right, he’s just an individual in the grand trend, a sacrificable individual… Let’s ignore him.”

Mingfuluo looked at the haggard merchant on the street, his voice hoarse as he called out, “They used to provide you with grain too,” for a long time before silently lowering her eyes.

A sacrificable individual… not worth caring about.

Near the end of the journey, Mingfuluo heard Anselm say that the merchant had died.

He died in a clash between the populace and the farmers.

The farmers complained that after years of hard work, they were not only unappreciated but discarded like trash.

The people, however, saw no issue in buying cheap, high-quality grain, believing the farmers’ inability to compete was their own problem.

The conflict erupted one day, spiraling out of control. The merchant went to mediate and died in the chaos.

Their second stop was an extremely barren territory, the poorest Mingfuluo had ever seen.

Surprisingly, there was no trace of the Pelican Guild here, nor did the grain distributed across Watson Territory reach this place.

“So you don’t even know who the farmers’ land belongs to, do you?”

Standing on the city walls, Anselm mocked Mingfuluo: “Some farmers have enough autonomy to deal directly with grain merchants or guilds because their lord has no interest in meddling with their fields, only collecting basic taxes.”

“But in theory…”

The young Hydra gazed at the lavish fortress standing in this barren territory, a flicker of disgust passing through his eyes: “The farmers’ fields belong to the lord ruling their village. He has the right to control the grain produced, and the farmers are merely his labor. In such cases… the grain itself is his property.”

“Even if the Pelican Guild could bring in significant tax revenue, possibly more than he’d earn selling the grain himself, a greedy, controlling lord like this would never allow something that devalues his property and destroys his control over the common folk to exist.”

No unfair competition?

Fine, then I won’t give you any chance to compete—I’ll just refuse the Pelican Guild entry into my territory.

“So I told you, did you really think everyone could be fed?”

Anselm caressed Mingfuluo’s cheek, staring into her empty, dim purple eyes, and said leisurely: “I don’t believe, with your ability, you couldn’t have foreseen this possibility. You just… simply didn’t know.”

“Yes, you simply don’t know how this world actually works, yet you dream of changing it… Pfft, heh heh, no offense, dear Mingfuluo, I just find it amusing.”

The doll-like miss’s already dim eyes grew even darker.

You know nothing, yet you dare to try changing everything.

Anselm mercilessly exposed this void, offering no warmth, no guidance, only peeling back the things Mingfuluo feared most.

“Oh, right, I remember asking you what you’d do when faced with someone obstructing you, didn’t I?”

Anselm, looking toward the castle in the territory, suddenly spoke, his expression eager and his smile brimming.

“Come.”

The young Hydra took Mingfuluo’s hand, the one wearing the bracelet: “Show me.”

“…”

Mingfuluo silently raised her hand, and the miniature insect Nidhogg flew out from the bracelet, forming a sniper rifle.

The doll wordlessly lifted the barrel, peering through the scope at the obese noble lounging on the castle’s terrace, basking in the sun.

Interests, power, desire.

While farmers fought for survival and commoners begged for a full meal, he blocked countless shipments of grain for the sake of those things.

And there were many, many more like him in the Empire.

From farmers to guilds, from guilds to lords, and beyond that, what else?

There were greater lords, more powerful nobles, larger guilds and… transcendents looming above it all.

Mingfuluo… you who know nothing, how can you change any of this?

The doll, her eyes growing ever dimmer, thought this as she silently pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered in the scope.

It was the first time Mingfuluo had truly killed someone with her own hands, yet she felt nothing.

“Nothing will change, will it?”

Mingfuluo, retracting Nidhogg, spoke in a hollow voice.

“Even if I kill him, his heir is likely no better. Nothing in this territory will change.”

Anselm was briefly taken aback, then narrowed his eyes and smiled: “You’re as clever as ever, Mingfuluo.”

“…But I can’t change anything, Father,” Mingfuluo said softly. “I can’t change anything.”

Anselm didn’t respond, only leading Mingfuluo to the next stop of their journey.

Their third stop wasn’t a territory but an ordinary, unremarkable village.

It was ordinary, yet not entirely so, because one farmer from this village had become a fortunate soul chosen to go to Little Pelican City.

He sent many things back to the village, naturally mostly for his family.

Anselm and Mingfuluo, in disguise, were visiting this family.

The farmer’s wife, serving them soup, rambled: “I mean… they’ve gone mad. If Henk weren’t a big shot now, the old man would probably be gone, and my Jager would’ve been in danger too, ugh…”

The woman scornfully criticized the violence and madness of farmers from neighboring villages and even their own, who tried to pressure Henk by kidnapping his father to instill fear.

But the Pelican Guild’s hired thugs resolved the situation, mercilessly killing several farmers in the process.

Since then, the village had only a few young men left guarding the unworked fields.

Some farmers went mad, others left, and no one knew where they went.

Anselm and Mingfuluo knew where they went—they killed their own kind and died in that small territory called the land of miracles.

“There are fewer and fewer people in the village… but it’s fine. We’re moving to Qingling City soon, living in a big house, far away from those lunatics!”

The woman dreamed aloud, then gave Anselm and Mingfuluo a kind smile: “Eat slowly. It’s been a while since we’ve had guests.”

After eating their fill, the two strolled through the near-deserted village.

The fields were mostly abandoned, with only a few still being worked.

Two young men were toiling away, sweating profusely.

Anselm stood by the field’s edge and called out loudly: “Why are just the two of you farming? Where’s everyone else?”

One young man looked up at Anselm and grumbled: “No one’s farming anymore. They’ve either run off or died.”

“Died?”

“That bastard Henk not only used witchcraft to make it so we can’t sell our grain, but he also got people to kill folks in the village!”

Another young man, swinging a hoe, kept his head down, his words full of hatred: “That damn scum… one day, one day, I’ll kill that bastard myself! If Big Brother doesn’t send a word in three days, I’ll go myself!”

“…I’ll go too. Dad’s dead from illness anyway. If Big Brother doesn’t come back, we’ll go together, kill Henk, and destroy those bewitched fields!”

“Speaking of, who are you, coming to our village for what?”

“I’m here… to confirm something.”

Anselm smiled as he spoke, turning to Mingfuluo: “Why haven’t you acted yet?”

Miss Doll, still reeling from the tragic tale of the two young men’s family, asked instinctively: “…What?”

“Didn’t you hear what they just said?”

The young Hydra raised an eyebrow slightly: “Destroy those fields. It’s impossible, but what if they succeeded?”

He placed a hand on Mingfuluo’s shoulder, speaking earnestly: “This is a threat, Mingfuluo.”

“How do you deal with something that threatens your ideals?”

Facing the puzzled gazes of the two young men, barely eighteen or nineteen, Mingfuluo’s body… began to tremble.

“This… isn’t right.”

She tried to argue: “If they had those fields, they surely wouldn’t—”

“If they had them? What about the other farmers? Are you going to give every farmer in the Empire such fields?”

Anselm couldn’t help but laugh: “How absurd would the grain output be? Who would buy the surplus? And who would bear the losses?”

“Look, dear Mingfuluo.”

The young Hydra stared at the increasingly rigid doll-like miss, his tone turning cold and indifferent:

“You didn’t know those fields would ruin farmers. Now you know, and you fantasize about giving every farmer such fields, yet you don’t know the consequences of that either.”

“You want farmers to have something to rely on after losing their value in farming, but you have no idea how to arrange it or make it happen.”

“As always, so shallow, so… empty.”

“Since you know nothing.”

He tilted his chin slightly: “Then you follow the simplest principle—do I need to say it twice? When faced with those who threaten your ideals, what… Do you choose?”

The devil’s lips moved silently, forming two words.

Sacrifice.

Bang, bang.

When Mingfuluo came to her senses, the thriving vegetables in the field were drenched in scalding blood.

She stared blankly at the floating cannon hovering by her shoulder, its barrel still smoking faintly, her dim eyes trembling uncontrollably.

Why did I… I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to…

“Wonderful.” Anselm chuckled delightedly.

“It’s already your instinct, Mingfuluo—eliminate dangers, remove threats, and…”

“Sacrifice everything that can be sacrificed.”

“Ugh… urgh!”

The petite scholar collapsed to her knees, her eyes reflecting the two shattered corpses and the field strewn with flesh, vomiting up everything she’d just eaten.

Their father… died, died of illness, perhaps because they had no money.

Their older brother died, trying to kill the farmers who left them with no way to survive.

And they… died too, because they threatened those fields, so I killed them.

Their entire family… died because of me?

Is this an isolated case?

Mingfuluo, vomiting until she was dry-heaved, asked herself this.

Why do I… find this so unacceptable?

I’m doing this so everyone can eat, I’m doing the right thing, so why…

“Because you don’t know anything, do you?”

Anselm tilted his head, his words like a blade piercing through Mingfuluo’s heart.

“If you, Mingfuluo, knew what this ‘change’ would bring, you would’ve prepared in advance. If you had prepared, many, many things wouldn’t have happened.”

“But you didn’t. You know nothing about so-called change… Your head is full of that empty ideal, but you never consider what it takes to make it real, the preparations beyond mere technology. Mingfuluo, you understand nothing, you’re clear about nothing…”

“You are nothing.”

“And this…” the devil sighed, “this is your absurd, pitiful emptiness, as if… you never even knew why you were chasing that ideal.”

“Urgh… cough, cough, cough…”

Mingfuluo’s hands, as if completely disconnected, hung limply like a puppet’s.

Her body instinctively coughed, but she showed no further reaction, letting the filth drip from her mouth.

The petite woman stared blankly at the sky, her eyes seeing nothing.

What happened after that, Mingfuluo remembered, but it no longer mattered.

Her world had turned gray, like her childhood—no, even bleaker than her childhood.

Anselm took her to territories, to places, to see countless people.

Those who died, those who lived, those in ecstasy, those driven mad, those seizing opportunities, those utterly numb…

So Watson Territory had already changed so much.

In such a short time, it was enough to transform people into this.

Mingfuluo only realized this now, but it was far too late.

Not everyone was fed.

Not everyone benefited.

Destruction, harm, even annihilation… These were happening constantly amidst the salvation she had hoped for.

And she could have prevented it all, if she had truly understood, truly thought about what change meant, if she had observed and witnessed the world she aimed to transform.

But Mingfuluo Zege had neither thought nor witnessed.

She was merely chasing something she didn’t even understand.

And so, when this short journey ended, when Anselm brought her back to Little Pelican City—

The delicate, beautiful doll’s eyes no longer held light. Those once-vibrant purple eyes were like a dead gem.