Volume 2

Chapter 89 : The Reckoning of Three Years, Part One

Helen… no, Mingfuluo Zege, within Babel Tower, in front of Hendrik, was struck by an assassination attempt meant to kill.

A beam pierced her spine, shattering a section of vertebrae, breaking through her chest, missing her heart by less than two millimeters.

Those two millimeters came from Helen’s self-preservation mechanism.

After that unknown assassination attempt, she’d cautiously equipped herself with more robust protections.

Ether disruption deflected the fatal blow, but this was her final defense.

Six layers of spells and alchemical devices had been breached in an instant.

This was an assassination so subtle even fifth-tier transcendents couldn’t detect it, its method untraceable.

“Is this for real?”

After Marina’s report, Hitana, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was shocked: “That shorty almost got killed in her own lair?!”

“Based on the information, I lean toward it being a provocation… or a declaration.”

Marina wrote her thoughts on her board, addressing Anselm, who was reading a book, seemingly unconcerned: “If the assassin had means undetectable or too fast for fifth-tiers, they could’ve killed Miss Helen when she was alone.”

“Even in that attack, had they targeted her brain… they might’ve succeeded.”

The poised, elegant girl in a black dress clasped her board, musing: “But… Miss Helen is someone Mr. Anselm values, a core figure in Babel Tower.

Who would make such a near-suicidal provocation?”

Hitana’s ears twitched, and she jumped up: “I know! It’s that stuck-up Grand Princess! She just wants to mess with Anselm!”

“…No,” Marina shook her head.

“Though Her Highness Ivora and Mr. Anselm have tense relations, she wouldn’t do something so… foolishly over the line.”

Anselm closed his book, smiling at Marina: “Then who do you think would do this, Marina?”

His gaze and question made Marina straighten up, her budding chest slightly raised: “Her Highness Ivora fears Mr. Anselm. Though she provokes often, she knows the boundaries.

If this looks like her doing, someone might be… trying to stir conflict between you and her.”

Hitana glanced at Anselm’s satisfied smile, then at her sister, who seemed from a different world, scratching her cheek, unsure what to say.

“But I think that possibility is slim.”

Marina quickly retracted her statement: “Based on what Mr. Anselm said when leaving Babel Tower…”

She recalled Hitana’s hint, the idea that “Helen” might not be what Anselm truly wanted.

After a brief silence, the girl mustered courage, answering earnestly: “I think it’s more likely… your arrangement.”

Hitana, sprawled on Anselm’s lap, reaching for fruit on the table, spat out a mouthful: “An-Anselm wouldn’t send someone to kill that shorty! Marina, are you—?”

Mid-sentence, she stopped, realizing she’d had a similar experience.

Her battle with that time-manipulating assassin was among her most perilous fights.

She’d nearly died then.

If it was Anselm… such a cruel act wasn’t impossible.

Hitana, used to seeing Anselm through rose-tinted glasses, fumed at the thought.

That assassination had sparked her rift with Marina, and recalling it now made her teeth itch with anger.

She “chomped” Anselm’s wrist, muttering: “Anselm, what Marina said… it’s not true, right?”

“It is, and it isn’t,” Anselm said softly, stroking Hitana’s soft nape.

“I didn’t arrange for anyone to harm Helen. At most… I just didn’t stop it.”

Though his voice was gentle, Hitana felt an indescribable chill.

Glancing instinctively at her sister, she saw Marina unmoved by the cruelty in Anselm’s words, as if it were only natural.

Whatever Mr. Anselm decides is correct—Marina’s gaze silently conveyed this to Anselm.

But this… this isn’t right.

It’s not… the right thing to do.

Hitana, gently stroked at the nape, couldn’t help but say: “But, isn’t this too much? She almost died.”

“If Helen died like that, the gamble would end with the assassin’s victory. That’s all.”

Anselm smiled: “Don’t you dislike Helen, Hit? Why care about her now?”

Hitana couldn’t help but look at Anselm, at his gentle smiling face, her mind dazed.

Anselm had been too good to her, so good that she easily forgot the cruelty and pain he’d once inflicted.

To Hitana, that cruelty and pain were deserved.

She’d been too stubborn, too arrogant, too foolish then, committing unforgivable mistakes.

Punishment was only natural.

But… Mingfuluo, did she deserve such a price?

Did she deserve Anselm’s cruel methods?

If not, why would Anselm—

“Anselm… I’m not worried about her.”

Hitana cautiously touched his cheek: “It’s you… you said you’d give her a choice. You said… you cared about her a little.”

“But why do you now seem…”

Anselm paused, then laughed brightly, pinching her cheek, his voice gentle: “You’re overthinking, Hitana. I’m doing exactly what I told you. I am giving Helen, Mingfuluo, a choice.”

“You’ll understand soon. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“…Really?”

“Of course.” The young Hydra tilted his head slightly.

“Have I ever lied to you, Hit?”

Hearing this, Hitana relaxed, beaming and kissing his cheek: “Hehe, good! I’m off to train, so I won’t disturb you and Marina. See ya!”

The relieved wolf miss hopped off Anselm’s lap, humming cheerfully as she skipped out of the lounge.

Once the door closed, Anselm, propping his chin and gazing in Hitana’s direction, spoke: “Marina, am I protecting Hit too well?”

“…I think so, Mr. Anselm.”

“She thinks too highly of me. That’s not good.”

Anselm sighed: “I’ll need to talk to her sometime.”

Indeed, Hitana’s suffering in Chishuang Territory stemmed from her wrong choices, but those choices… were Anselm’s deliberate design.

That unmasked cruelty, the resolve of a villain.

—To defeat fate, everything must be sacrificed, for any hesitation against such an enemy is fatal.

Anselm Hydra had long realized he had no room for choice.

Hitana worried about his mental state, fearing that he, who claimed to care for Helen but now disregarded her life, had suffered some shock or… harm.

Anselm was glad Hitana cared, but her concern was entirely unnecessary.

From the start, he’d been prepared to shatter and destroy that petite genius scholar, his former companion, his former friend—whether Mingfuluo or Helen.

—Just as, from the beginning, he’d cared nothing for ethics, morality, justice, or goodness, using every means to tame the proud, tempestuous young wolf, Hitana.

Everyone was expendable, including the one who abandoned herself three years ago.

Yet… he hadn’t lied to Hitana.

In the final gamble, the final trial, both Helen and Mingfuluo had the right to choose.

As for the reason—

“Bang!”

The door was flung open, as if kicked.

Marina frowned at the entrance.

Who was so brazenly rude as to—

Seeing the newcomer’s face, her expression froze.

Her mind stalled, then raced, scouring every piece of information, finding no explanation for what she saw.

Though identical, this aura was absolutely not—

“You should be more polite.”

Anselm, unfazed, flipped open his heavy book: “What? Angry after failing the assassination?”

“It wasn’t an assassination, just a notice—a final warning to a self-righteous, brainless fool.”

The newcomer replied expressionlessly, her voice clear yet icy, carrying absolute detachment and… rationality.

“How does it feel to use it?”

“Not bad.”

Anselm, without looking up, waved his arm, the dark bracelet on his wrist glinting faintly.

“Your finished product is leagues above Helen’s.”

“Hmph.”

The uninvited guest sneered: “Don’t compare me to that tamed slave of yours.”

The young Hydra shrugged slightly: “As you wish. So… when do you plan to strike again?”

“When she fully recalls who she is, when she sees the full scope of your vile trap. If, even then, she shamelessly, despicably calls you ‘Father’—”

The petite scholar adjusted her gray-white glasses, enunciating: “I’ll erase her existence, body and soul, into absolute nothingness.”

With that, she tossed a document to Anselm, saying coldly: “All the resources I need are listed here. Get them quickly. As for the workshop, I’ll use Hydra Mansion’s for now.”

“You’re that sure you’ll win?” Anselm asked with a smile.

“I can’t imagine failing.”

She replied expressionlessly, then turned to leave.

Marina, utterly stunned and unable to process what was happening, rare for her, couldn’t control herself and asked: “Miss Helen, what are you—”

“Don’t call me by that disgusting name.”

The petite scholar whipped around, her splendid purple eyes flashing with chilling intensity, making Marina feel a slight suffocation.

Decisive, cold, rational, unyielding, and… powerful.

Unfathomably powerful.

“There’s no self-degraded, self-destroyed waste here.”

The genius alchemist, unmarred by self-destruction or new personas, spoke with iron resolve: “There is only Mingfuluo Zege.”

She glanced at the smiling Anselm, her purple eyes showing no fear or retreat: “Mingfuluo Zege, who will never be destroyed by you.”

***

In Babel Tower, fifth-tier transcendents took turns guarding the hospital room.

Helen had been unconscious for three days.

Her vitals were normal, her wounds healed, but her soul, affected by the near-fatal attack, hadn’t awakened.

Ronggor, haggard, sat by Helen’s bedside, clutching her hand—the only one who’d stayed with Helen since the incident.

Babel Tower had exhausted every means to track the assassin, but three days yielded nothing.

No one knew who wanted to kill Helen or had the audacity to try.

“Why…” The noblewoman sadly stroked Helen’s cheek.

“Why… must she endure this? Is it the teacher’s fault? Ours? Mingfuluo only wanted to make the world better. She was… the least at fault.”

“Why is she the one hurt?”

Amid her sorrowful murmurs, Helen’s fingers twitched.

Ronggor froze for a second, then cried out in joy: “Ming—”

Before she finished, the petite woman, bedridden for three days, bolted upright.

Her breathing was rapid, her dull purple eyes contracted, as if… triggered?

Ronggor, overjoyed, didn’t notice, reaching to embrace Helen, choking: “Mingfuluo, are you… okay, you—”

Slap.

“…”

Ronggor stared blankly as Helen swatted her hand away, watching her calm, those lifeless purple eyes igniting with chilling fervor.

“I see…”

Helen threw off the blanket, staggering out of bed, murmuring: “I see, this is… the test Father gave me.”

“As long as I pass this, as long as I defeat her, I can—”

“Ming, Mingfuluo!”

Pale, Ronggor snapped back as Helen took steps toward the door, shouting despite her heartbreak: “What are you doing? Get back to bed, you need rest!”

“Rest… no, now’s not the time for rest.”

The wanderer who’d found a new anchor in life spoke with near-obsessive resolve: “Now’s the time… to settle things.”