Volume 2

Chapter 78 : The Only Color, Part One

In Babel Tower, in Hendrik’s office, Ivora was casually toying with an intricate prop on his desk.

Across from her, Mingfuluo stood with her head slightly bowed, posture humble, silent.

“You want those things back, huh…”

The Grand Princess, propping her chin with one hand, gave the petite doll-like miss a once-over, then sneered: “What can you offer?”

“…Whatever you need, I’ll do my best to provide.”

“Big words. Would you say that to Anselm?”

The angular mechanical toy twisted in Ivora’s fingers.

It seemed like one of those puzzle toys meant to be assembled into a specific shape, but its complexity far exceeded that of a mere toy.

Why Hendrik had such a thing on his desk was anyone’s guess.

Mingfuluo couldn’t answer Ivora’s question, giving the capricious, malicious princess an excuse to pounce.

Her lips curled, but her voice was cold:

“Can’t understand me? Who gave you permission to stay silent?”

She incinerated the toy to ashes with a flick, leaning forward, grabbing Mingfuluo’s hair and yanking her off the ground.

Seeing the pained, pathetic look on her face, Ivora felt a deep, visceral pleasure that made her want to moan aloud.

Tormenting someone Anselm cared about brought her immense joy.

Hitana had received too much of Anselm’s favor and protection for Ivora to touch, but this one…

The tyrannical princess looked at the doll she was dominating and abusing, thinking with satisfaction—

Anselm, it’s not too much for me to play with this thing you’re destined to break, is it?

“Sorry… Your Highness, I meant no offense.”

“Hmph.”

Ivora tossed Mingfuluo to the floor, leaning back lazily in the chair: “I’m done wasting words. Two conditions. Meet them, and I’ll return those potions.”

Mingfuluo, quietly climbing to her feet, kept her head bowed humbly: “Please tell me.”

“First, that damned sister of mine—she had you work on a data system, right?”

Ivora’s tongue grazed her upturned, crimson lips, her fiery smile brimming with unveiled malice.

This was the core purpose of her and Anselm’s agreement, the act they were putting on—to destroy Sulun’s plans indirectly, avoiding direct conflict with Ephithand.

Mingfuluo instantly understood what Ivora intended.

After a moment of silence, she replied softly: “If you wish, I can embed a vulnerability in Her Highness Sulun’s data system that only I can detect.”

“Hmm…”

Ivora tapped the desk.

She had wanted Mingfuluo to outright destroy that nonsensical thing, but a hidden vulnerability that could sabotage Sulun at any moment… that wasn’t bad either.

Burning everything to ashes just when Sulun thought she’d succeeded… wouldn’t that be even more delightful?

“Very well, let’s do that.”

Ivora’s smile grew brighter, her bold, radiant grin on that purely stunning face so alluring, even with the scar still visible on her cheek, it couldn’t dim her breathtaking beauty.

But for those who had witnessed the cruelty and tyranny beneath that beauty, no impure thoughts could arise.

For Mingfuluo, the first demand was simple, barely a cost at all.

If there was any cost, it was merely the moral breach of failing to honor her contract with Sulun, and the potential danger if Sulun discovered it later.

But anyone could see that once the Empress died, Sulun would be lucky to survive, let alone pose a threat to others.

Yet Mingfuluo didn’t believe this utterly selfish, endlessly greedy woman would hand over the potions so easily.

The second demand was likely the real focus.

“As for the second demand…”

Even though she had braced herself, Mingfuluo was momentarily stunned by Ivora’s words.

“Mechanized armor.”

Ivora stood, hands on the desk, her eyes burning with a chilling desire: “That thing—I want you, no, I want all of Babel Tower to pour everything into crafting it for me.”

Why would Ivora want mechanized armor?

Mingfuluo couldn’t immediately grasp the answer, but she replied with difficulty: “If that’s what you need, I’ll do my best to—”

“And I don’t want that pile of scrap metal from the Ether Academy.”

Those words truly left Mingfuluo dumbfounded.

“Don’t think I don’t know who really created that thing, Zege.”

Ivora leaned forward, her shadow engulfing the petite Mingfuluo, the Grand Princess unleashing her oppressive aura without restraint: “The Ether Academy? Hah… this is clearly you and Anselm’s work.”

“I don’t want the toys Anselm used to fool those old idiots at the Ether Academy. I want something stronger, a weapon I can wield at full strength!”

Looking at Mingfuluo’s increasingly rigid expression, Ivora bared her fangs like a predator on the hunt:

“Give it to me, and I’ll return your little trinkets.”

How did Ivora know about the mechanized armor?

The mechanized armor was a joint creation of Anselm and Mingfuluo, the undisputed pinnacle of martial constructs.

Designed to explore the perilous Zero Point Labyrinth, it was divided into three stages based on current knowledge, technology, materials, and alchemical expertise.

The first stage, the Ether Academy’s [Black Knight], was like forging a weapon—a powerful, independent entity controlled by its user, crafted from rare, potent materials, named Material Armament by Anselm.

This first stage already pushed the limits of current alchemical technology.

The second stage wasn’t about piling rare materials into a controllable entity but about maximizing the user’s own power.

Per Anselm’s vision, this device would amplify the user’s manipulation and mastery of ether, their understanding and control of elements to the extreme.

In other words, the second stage wasn’t a powerful weapon for ordinary transcendents but a cheat device to push already mighty, even peak, transcendents further in raw martial power!

Its name… Ether Armament!

This stage of mechanized armor could only be crafted by the Empire’s handful of top-tier alchemical masters.

Its demands on every aspect of alchemy were terrifying, and Babel Tower lacked the capability to produce it.

As for the third stage, it transcended the boundaries of current alchemical technology. In the Empire, and perhaps for millennia to come, only one person could create it.

Flamel Hydra.

How Ivora knew the specifics of the mechanized armor, Mingfuluo had no time to ponder, because her first instinct upon hearing this demand was to refuse.

Though Ivora’s strength and status let her run rampant in the Empire, her insatiable hunger for power wouldn’t miss such an opportunity.

And if an Ether Armament tailored for Ivora were created, what would she do with that power?

…Anselm.

Mingfuluo’s heart turned ice-cold.

She thought of Anselm, of that calm yet mad shot in Little Pelican City.

Miss Doll instinctively glanced at Ivora’s cheek, the vivid scar still there, forcibly healed by Flame-Feasting fire.

To Ivora, that was surely an unforgivable humiliation.

The conflict between Anselm and Ivora was known throughout the Empire.

For a tyrannical princess who needed no reason to destroy, her revenge was likely already in motion.

Was she wary of the weapon Flamel made for Anselm, seeking an Ether Armament to… grow stronger and retaliate against him?

Yes, Ivora didn’t need more power—there was no one in this stage worth facing with greater force, except… Anselm.

I absolutely cannot agree to this.

“Your Highness…”

Mingfuluo closed her eyes, speaking softly: “If you need an Ether Armament, I’m sorry… with my and Babel Tower’s current capabilities, it’s impossible to create.”

“Hmm?”

Ivora’s tone rose slightly, the flames in her eyes spiking the office’s temperature, burning Mingfuluo’s skin, making each breath a torment.

“Are you… refusing me?”

Her gaze brimmed with chilling savagery.

The next moment, Mingfuluo’s face contorted in pain, collapsing in spasms.

Flames… in her organs…

Ivora had ignited a fire in her insides!

“Cough… cough!”

Mingfuluo vomited scalding, black-red blood, the searing steam evidence of the agony she endured.

But the frail, convulsing doll on the ground, wracked with pain, only hunched over, struggling to respond: “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I can’t…”

“So, you’re still refusing me?”

Ivora’s smile grew even more cruel.

Perhaps it was the pleasure of tormenting Mingfuluo, or the dissatisfaction from her brazen refusal—whatever it was, an indescribable, nameless fury drove Ivora to ignore their original plan and Ivora, true to her nature, acted on impulse.

Her hand reached into the air, vanishing into flames, while Mingfuluo’s frail body suddenly… no, was forcibly yanked into the air!

Ivora’s hand pierced through space, seizing Mingfuluo’s spine, lifting her entire body off the ground.

“Answer me, you pitiful doll toyed with like trash by Anselm.”

Ivora stared intently at Mingfuluo, enunciating each word: “Are you refusing me?”

“You have no right to refuse when making a deal with me.”

The agony of burning organs and a gripped spine ravaged Mingfuluo’s will, yet she showed no sign of yielding.

She didn’t want Ivora to control the Empire’s food supply and didn't want such a dark outcome. But if… if the cost was Anselm—

Gentle and cruel, guiding and mocking, warm and cold, and… the radiance that once flickered in his eyes, swallowed by that deep sea-blue.

Countless fragments, chaotic memories, melded together, forming myriad faces of Anselm: the young him, the grown him; the him who always laughed with her, the him who gazed at her calmly; the vibrant, passionate him, and the him she could no longer understand.

His greetings, laughter, care, guidance, curiosity, anger, roars, and finally, his silent indifference.

“Cough!”

Mingfuluo vomited another pool of steaming, black-red blood, feeling death was still far off because Ivora had no intent to kill, only to torment.

The flames burning her organs seemed to spread through her body, the hand gripping her spine threatening to snap it, yet despite her consciousness teetering on collapse from the pain, Mingfuluo still didn’t speak.

Why… If it’s for everyone, for redemption, for ideals, then Anselm should be… something I can sacrifice.

Anselm himself said everything could be sacrificed.

Three years ago, didn’t I make the same choice?

But why, this time… can’t I sacrifice Anselm again?

Amid her near-collapsing thoughts, Mingfuluo recalled Anselm’s words, his expressions, details she hadn’t noticed before, now vivid in her mind.

And Elnilisa’s sorrowful murmur:

[He was very sad.]

In that instant, a soul-deep pain, worse than physical torment, struck again.

Chaotic, unclear memories pierced her skull, split her brain, and mercilessly burrowed into her deepest will, combining with the torturous flames to obliterate what remained of Mingfuluo’s thoughts.

Her consciousness plunged into the deepest abyss, but before that…

Mingfuluo seemed to see someone lunging fiercely at Ivora from behind, while something dark, cold, and terrifying enveloped her from the rear.

Yet, despite it being an incomprehensible, dreadful entity, Mingfuluo felt completely at ease before fainting.

Because she heard that familiar voice say:

“Ivora, you’ll pay a price.”

***

When Mingfuluo awoke, she found herself in a gray-white room.

The furniture, decorations, and the petite figure at the desk made her quickly realize she was in a memory.

Her exceptional memory told her this was likely from when she was four or five years old.

Mingfuluo Zege, at one year—eleven months, to be precise—could converse fluently and write to some extent, a genius among geniuses.

She was also a born transcendent, able to ascend without rituals.

Thus, whether as a human or a transcendent, Mingfuluo was born with treasures countless could only dream of.

Such a genius should have been destined for boundless glory, achieving ultimate brilliance amid adulation, living a perfect, happy life.

But her childhood… was far from that.

That brief yet most significant time in her life had nothing to do with happiness.