Volume 2

Chapter 76 : No One Is Worth Saving

The second sun burned in the sky above Little Pelican City.

The Grand Princess, who had suddenly descended here, made no effort to restrain her radiating heat, as if using this painful, scalding temperature to announce her arrival to all.

Ivora, perched imperiously in midair with her legs crossed, looked down with satisfaction at the commoners kneeling before her, her gaze shifting to the vast fields outside Little Pelican City.

“Land of miracles… hmph.”

She sneered: “Since when were miracles such a cheap thing?”

The tyrannical sun dimmed its blazing light and descended from the sky. Only when she looked toward the city’s entrance did a smile return to her face.

This past month has been dull for Ivora.

No new amusements to play with, no interesting distractions to pass the time.

Though these things were never a large part of her daily life, after her long sessions of self-refinement, facing a boring world always left her struggling to find joy.

Her only leisure was quietly observing how far Anselm’s game would go.

“Such a waste.”

Her eyes caught two figures in the distance, her fiery gaze locking onto the petite, fragile silhouette, muttering with displeasure:

“If it weren’t for you, this game… would’ve been far more interesting.”

Restricting transcendents?

Ensuring fair competition?

What a joke!

They should’ve let these people tear into each other like hyenas, fighting tooth and nail, ripping each other apart… now that would be entertaining!

The events in Watson Territory this past month, while a decent spectacle, weren’t enough to truly please Ivora.

But at the thought of what was to come, a delighted smile spread across her face.

“Haven’t you had your fill, Anselm?”

Her voice cut through the streets, reaching Anselm and Mingfuluo, who had just stepped through the city gate, despite the vast distance.

Without waiting for Anselm’s reply, Ivora gestured with a pulling motion.

The next moment, Anselm and Mingfuluo appeared before her instantly.

“Your uninvited visits are really unlikable, Ivora,” Anselm sighed.

“Uninvited? Is this your territory?”

Ivora raised her chin with a contemptuous smirk: “The only place on this continent where you can call me uninvited is Hydra’s Domain.”

She raised her hand, grabbing at the air, and the lord of Little Pelican City appeared out of nowhere, looking utterly bewildered.

“Answer me.” The Grand Princess, without turning her head, arrogantly tilted her chin toward Anselm.

“Who does this place belong to?”

The lord, still dazed and unable to grasp the situation, stood frozen for several seconds before letting out a piercing scream.

“It’s, it’s yours, it’s yours! Your Highness!”

Burned by blood-flame, the lord rolled on the ground, responding through agonized wails.

“See that?”

Ivora waved her hand dismissively, and the blood-flame on the lord vanished, though he was left barely clinging to life, his survival uncertain.

But Ivora, of course, couldn’t care less.

She stood with her hands behind her back, facing Anselm head-on:

“The uninvited one is you.”

The domineering princess, asserting her claim, raised an eyebrow: “So, what are you doing in my territory?”

“I’m not interested in arguing with you over childish claims of ownership, Ivora.”

Anselm naturally showed his displeasure: “You’re interfering with my game.”

“Your game… what’s that got to do with me?”

As Ivora’s brazen words fell, Little Pelican City plunged into a scorching hell.

Without the physical presence of flames, the air alone was hot enough to burn skin, each breath a torment for the people.

“Anselm, why should I have to yield to you?”

Proclaiming her near-twisted sense of absolute self, the Grand Princess took a step forward, her tall, slender heels making her slightly taller than Anselm—a height that brought her immense satisfaction.

To outsiders, this seemed like typical animosity between the two, but only they knew it was merely a performance for the self-important fools watching.

But Anselm knew better—Ivora wasn’t acting right now.

This woman, who wanted the entire world to melt in the furnace of her grasp, was using this pretense to provoke him.

In terms of power, Anselm was no match for Ivora.

Under normal circumstances, until both inherited the divine might of the sixth tier, he would never be her equal.

Anselm hadn’t neglected his training in power over his sixteen years, but it was the least important item on his agenda.

Drawing endlessly from the memories of that other world, amassing knowledge to change everything and crafting plans to defy fate—that was the core of Anselm’s life.

Ivora, by contrast, was… pure.

Throughout history, Ivora Flame, of all the Flame-Feasting Royalty, had the most insatiable thirst for power and authority, bar none.

Her burning, relentless desire for power never wavered, not even for a single day, from her birth to now, as she ceaselessly honed her strength.

In their confrontations, Anselm rarely displayed his power in any true sense, but this time…

A devouring blackness replaced the ground they stood on, as if they were standing on a vast, “nonexistent darkness.”

The chilling, terrifying aura it exuded was far more despair-inducing than the physical pain of Ivora’s heat.

Anselm said nothing, only looking at Ivora silently.

Like a coiled serpent, rearing high, gazing down at its prey.

“…You want to get serious?”

Ivora narrowed her eyes.

That aura was all too familiar to the Flame-Feasting Royalty—the essence of Hydra, the embodiment of the abyss’s end.

It was practically… the abyss walking in human form.

This affinity with the abyss was likely unmatched among all Hydras.

The arrogant Grand Princess finally reined in her deliberate cruelty.

She read the warning in Anselm’s eyes, first letting out a displeased humph, then her breathing quickened slightly with excitement.

She was irritated that Anselm resorted to his very essence to warn her… Ivora disliked his excessive concern for commoners and knowing this, she had deliberately unleashed that heat—harmless to transcendents but unbearable for mortals—as a provocation.

As for her excitement… it stemmed from Anselm’s power, his uniqueness.

How powerful would the offspring of someone as mighty as me and an Anselm so close to the abyss be?

Anselm ignored the burning desire in those eyes, his voice cold: “You have no reason to yield to me, Ivora, and I have no reason to bow to you.”

The young Hydra’s ornate cane transformed into a hand cannon with a mechanical whir, its heavy, elegant barrel a masterpiece of the alchemist’s divine craft.

“So, you want to fight me here over some meaningless game?”

Ivora’s smile turned dangerously sharp: “I wouldn’t mind turning this place, and everything beyond, into scorched earth.”

She grabbed Anselm’s hand, pressing the barrel to her forehead, her flushed, excited expression chilling:

“Come on, let’s start now!”

Two future divine beings stood in confrontation.

No sky-searing flames, no world-rending thunder, no raging storms, no earth-shattering quakes… they hadn’t unleashed their power, yet the mere presence was enough to instill primal fear in anyone.

It was instinctive submission, the purest dread of beings whose existence far surpassed one’s own.

And in this confrontation, Mingfuluo Zege, her eyes devoid of light, seemed utterly insignificant.

She looked at Ivora, whose face was alight with excitement, caring nothing for this territory, its people, or anyone—her eyes only on Anselm—and understood why Anselm had said the game was over.

Because Anselm could control anyone, restrain any malicious transcendent, but… he could never restrain Ivora.

When the tyrannical Grand Princess set her sights on this place and took an interest, the game had reached its end.

Anselm had no reason to clash with Ivora over this game.

Though their tensions were sharp, Hydra and Flame-Feasting Royalty could never truly become enemies.

Anselm now… was merely saving face.

This game held no value to him; he cared nothing for change. He only wanted to use it to destroy me.

Mingfuluo thought this, her deadened eyes showing no ripple of emotion.

Because what did it matter if she saw through it?

Like every meticulously planned scheme of Anselm’s in the past, even if she understood in the end, she was powerless to change anything.

More importantly, this destruction was unlike the others.

Anselm had shattered… the beacon she relied on to move forward in her endless maze, the pillar of her belief.

Now, that beacon was in pieces, barely holding its last shape.

But Mingfuluo no longer dared to move forward.

Because this was no longer about sacrifice… she simply didn’t know how to proceed, didn’t know which path was right.

If not for the fact that some had truly benefited, if not for that reality bolstering the last remnants of her beacon, she would have long been consumed by the boundless void.

Is this… the end?

Her empty eyes reflected Anselm’s finger resting on the trigger.

If both sides stepped back, it would be as if nothing happened, but Ivora would surely reverse-engineer the secret of these fields, and then… the worst would come.

Mingfuluo wanted to speak, to avoid this despairing possibility, but she found herself unable to open her mouth.

—Do you know what to say?

Do you know what’s right to say?

Would intervening here truly help the innocent?

Would your plea… actually bring them aid?

That void of despair sealed everything.

So she could only watch, helplessly, as it all spiraled toward the worst—

Bang!

Her dim purple eyes caught the muzzle flash of Gleipnir.

Like a sluggish, ancient puppet, it took Mingfuluo three or four seconds for her pupils to contract sharply.

Just now, Anselm… fired?

“Anselm!!!”

A furious roar echoed over Little Pelican City.

Ivora appeared dozens of meters away, clutching her bleeding cheek, her expression ferocious:

“You dare… you dare!”

Bang!

Another gunshot rang out.

The expressionless Hydra pulled the trigger without hesitation, and this time, the sky above Little Pelican City was instantly shrouded in torrents of blood-flame, so dense that even the sun’s radiance couldn’t pierce the destructive firelight!

“An—selm!”

“Ivora, have I been too courteous with you?”

Anselm tilted his head slightly, his finger tightening on the trigger:

“Has that made you think you, or the Flame-Feasting Royalty, are above me, above Hydra?”

He raised his other hand, and the solemn snake-headed ring, symbolizing his Hydra identity, emitted a black glow.

“Want to test it?” The young Hydra smiled. “When my father and your mother descend here, who will stand with you?”

“You… lunatic!”

Ivora, standing not far away, looked half-mad: “Don’t think I’ll just…”

Her words trailed off, and she fell silent.

The bullet meant to shatter her skull had only grazed her cheek, but even that graze, with its unnatural bleeding and unhealed wound, proved the first shot’s threat.

But what silenced Ivora wasn’t that—it was Anselm’s latter words.

When silence fell, it was clear who had yielded.

“Ivora.”

Anselm’s voice sounded in Mingfuluo’s ears.

“I want to see this game reach a proper end, not be ruined in your hands for no reason.”

Anselm…

A spark of hope flared in her lifeless eyes.

Anselm… wasn’t just treating this as a game for amusement?

Yes… he, he wanted to see this through too. He wanted to see this change… he wasn’t indifferent, I knew it… he’s always cared!

Otherwise, how could he know exactly how to respond, how to handle it?

He must have studied it, prepared for it long ago, only abandoning it because of that one insurmountable problem.

“Go, Ivora.” Anselm raised his chin slightly.

“Don’t interfere with my game. I like it.”

Anselm… he must want to change all this!

In the depths of despair, Mingfuluo Zege found a glimmer of light that could lead her out of the endless maze, piercing through all the chaos.

If it’s Anselm, if I have Anselm, then everything is—

“Wait… wait! Your Highness, Grand Princess!”

At that moment, a discordant voice shattered the perfect resolution Anselm had crafted.

Mingfuluo turned her gaze, stunned, and saw a disheveled, stocky man stumbling toward Ivora.

His expression was so fervent, so excited, that even his charred, blistered face couldn’t hide his passion.

Lauriel Moramo, how could he—

When Mingfuluo saw what he held, her pupils contracted to pinpoints.

It was the last remaining… soil enhancement potion!

What is he doing… What is he doing!

“Lowly thing, get—” Ivora, her expression fierce, was about to incinerate the man, but when her gaze fell on the bottles in his arms, her eyes lit up.

“This…”

“This, this is the secret that changed everything!”

This man, with his extraordinary intelligence, ability, cunning, patience… a mortal who would excel in any field, who remained unshaken even before Rozokaira, now knelt before Ivora without hesitation.

He held up all the remaining potions, his voice trembling with excitement:

“Please allow me… allow me to offer this to you!”

What did he say?

Mingfuluo’s empty, dim eyes reflected Lauriel’s figure, humble as dust.

He said… he’s giving the remaining potions to Ivora?

“Heh heh… hahahahaha!”

The Grand Princess, moments ago raging and mad, now laughed with unrestrained delight:

“Anselm… Anselm! Is this your game? Did you design this game just to please me?”

Lauriel, struggling to maintain his composure, added: “Please… please spare Little Pelican City, spare Watson Territory.”

In Lauriel’s eyes, this was perfect, flawless.

He didn’t know what Ivora wanted.

To him, since the conflict between these two great figures revolved around “disrupting the game,” Ivora’s goal must be destruction.

By saying this, he was taking a stand—not against Anselm, but to plead with Ivora.

As for the potion… His Excellency Anselm clearly valued the game itself more, showing little regard for the potion.

So… this was his only, final, perfect opportunity!

“Spare this place? Is that your condition for offering me this?”

Ivora released her hand from her wounded cheek, letting the blood flow freely, her smile now carrying a chilling, bewitching allure.

“No, not just that… Please forgive my greed, I, I want…”

Lauriel raised his head, his eyes shining with pure, radiant light.

“—I want the chance to become a transcendent!”

Transcendent…

Mingfuluo’s body swayed.

He used the hope that could end hunger, that could feed the entire Empire, the entire world…

Just to trade for… a chance to become a transcendent?

To grovel like a dog for such a chance?

“Such greed… but good, very good!”

Ivora laughed with unrestrained joy: “That’s the kind of desire I admire—for transcendence, for power!”

“An… Anselm… no, Father… Father!”

Mingfuluo, who hadn’t spoken in so long, her voice hoarse and strained, gripped Anselm’s arm, her tone no longer calm or composed.

“No… if Ivora gets the potion, she’ll fully control the soil enhancement potion, and then everything will… everything…”

Anselm said nothing, only looking at her calmly, with pity.

Mingfuluo looked up into those sea-blue eyes and found herself unable to speak.

She numbly released his arm, staggering back two steps, nearly collapsing.

This… was his choice.

I gave him the power to choose.

“No… it’s not…”

It could’ve changed everything, it was good for everyone.

Lauriel, someone like him… he’s just an exception, just an exception.

Without him, things wouldn’t have turned out like this.

Without him, everything would’ve—

“Mingfuluo, you asked me if Lauriel was someone I arranged, and I didn’t answer you then.”

The young Hydra seized Mingfuluo’s neck, forcing her to look at the mortal kneeling and offering everything for his dream of transcendence, saying word by word:

“I didn’t, and I never needed to arrange such a person. Do you know why?”

“Arrange… arrange someone like him? Hahaha, you’re delusional, you pitiful little doll!”

Ivora laughed wildly, taking all the potions with a wave of her hand, then tossing Lauriel a vial of black, viscous liquid.

Lauriel scrambled to catch it, clutching it like it was his own child, kowtowing repeatedly:

“Thank you for your mercy, your greatness, your magnanimity… thank you, thank you for everything, Your Highness!”

Ivora ignored the worthless mortal, continuing to mock Mingfuluo: “If this damn bastard was that considerate, arranging someone who could make me this happy… I’d have pampered him long ago. As for you… I can’t fathom why he’d value someone as foolish as you, bothering to arrange such a person… heh heh… hahahaha!”

The pinnacle of transcendence laughed hysterically:

“As long as they’re mortal, as long as they have a brain, they’ll make this choice! Him, or anyone else, it’s all the same!”

Ivora sneered with contempt and delight:

“Put these little trinkets and the chance to become a transcendent in front of a mortal, and out of ten thousand, all ten thousand will choose the latter.”

“—This world is crawling with pathetic worms desperate to become transcendents!”