Volume 2

Chapter 91 : The Conclusion of Three Years, Part Three

Mingfuluo had been waking up from nightmares lately.

Ever since Anselm said those words, she had been restless.

Though that prank-loving boy later laughed and said it was just a joke, Mingfuluo couldn’t shake the feeling… that he wasn’t joking at all.

Even if only for an instant, as long as Mingfuluo captured Anselm’s emotions, she could discern the secrets he was unwilling to put into words.

But this boy, who was clearly only thirteen, was so adept that Mingfuluo had no way to start.

She couldn’t observe any abnormalities in Anselm’s daily life, nor did she dare to make any indirect probes—because she knew very well that Anselm would see through it at a glance.

The petite genius scholar glanced at the sleeping blond boy beside her, remaining silent for a long time, raising her hand as if wanting to touch his hair, but just before touching those soft golden strands, her hand hovered in midair again.

She said nothing, silently withdrawing her hand, getting down from the wide sofa, putting on her glasses, and preparing to start new research work.

As for why the two of them were sleeping together… um, that was something from a long time ago, traceable to the time when Anselm first strongly demanded that Mingfuluo rest properly.

However, both of their sleeping postures were very good and from their appearances, any ill intentions toward either seemed somewhat criminal, so they were just lying very harmoniously and naturally on the same sofa to rest.

Mingfuluo used a spell to give herself an efficient cleaning, her small feet wrapped in black pantyhose stepping on the floor, walking quietly and soundlessly toward the workbench.

But when she picked up the pen, preparing to immerse herself in calculations and research, no matter what she did, she couldn’t concentrate her mind.

“…Haah, up so early again?”

Just as Mingfuluo was dazedly staring at the blueprints, Anselm yawned and sat up: “I’ve told you so many times, eat breakfast first, Arlo.”

After two seconds with no response, Anselm opened his half-squinted eyes, taking in Mingfuluo’s silent and stagnant appearance, the laziness and casualness on his face gradually fading.

An indescribable eerie silence enveloped the two until Mingfuluo said in a low voice:

“This morning… no appetite, you eat first.”

Anselm didn’t respond, just propping his cheek and gazing at Mingfuluo for a long time, finally letting out a helpless sigh:

“Looks like you’ve taken my joke very seriously.”

“…I think.”

Mingfuluo turned her head, her gaze extremely serious: “That’s not something that can be joked about.”

“Don’t you understand me yet?”

Anselm said indifferently: “To me, what thing is so serious that it can’t be joked about? Or…”

His voice suddenly became a bit light and a bit ethereal, like a ghost wandering aimlessly in the world whispering.

Those clear and bright sea-blue pupils became so profound, profound to the point that Mingfuluo couldn’t see through them at all.

“If I really intended to abandon the vision you and I are pursuing, would you… abandon me?”

“Don’t make that kind of assumption!”

Mingfuluo’s pitch rose, both her tone and expression revealing obvious irritation: “You clearly wouldn’t do something like that, Anselm! Why do you have to say such things? Are you trying to make me angry? Want to see me make a fool of myself in panic?”

“Good, you’ve succeeded.”

She jumped down from the chair, walking step by step toward Anselm sitting on the sofa.

The petite sorceress, about the same height as Anselm, suddenly pressed the blond boy onto the sofa, her face almost sticking to his:

“I’m now so stirred up by you that I can’t rest properly, can’t even concentrate on work… No matter what I do, in the end, I’ll uncontrollably think about why you said such words, whether you really… really would do—”

The Mingfuluo pressing Anselm down kept panting, her soft and thick blue-gray hair falling down, like a curtain hanging on both sides of Anselm’s cheeks, making his line of sight only able to accommodate Mingfuluo’s face that was always cold in daily life but appeared so haggard at this moment.

“Anselm…”

She closed her eyes, whispering tiredly: “That joke of yours, it was really just a joke, to toy with me, right?”

Mingfuluo didn’t open her eyes; she was afraid that the moment she opened them and met those sea-blue eyes, when she instantly read Anselm’s emotions, she would get an answer that would make her collapse.

How long the silence lasted, whether brief or eternal, only those immersed in it could know.

After who knows how long, Mingfuluo felt a hand caressing her cheek.

“Is this considered, me grasping another one of your weaknesses?”

After hearing that playful light laugh, the petite female sorceress completely softened, directly collapsing onto Anselm’s chest, their faces pressed together, feeling each other’s temperature and touch, so intimate and inseparable.

“You’re such a bastard, Anselm.”

Mingfuluo murmured weakly: “You’re only thirteen, and you’re already so good at teasing people; it’s really unimaginable… what you’ll become in the future.”

“But no matter what.”

Anselm lightly hugged Mingfuluo’s waist: “You’ll like it, won’t you?”

“…”

The petite scholar symbolically struggled twice and then didn’t move anymore, just using those words she’d said who knows how many times to change the subject: “I’m five years older than you, Anselm… Of course, if what you mean is liking as friends, then I don’t deny that either…”

Anselm just chuckled lightly in Mingfuluo’s ear, not answering.

And the latter should be glad for her choice just now.

She should be glad that she didn’t open her eyes at that moment, didn’t meet Anselm’s gaze, and now didn’t see Anselm’s expression.

That expression which was clearly emitting such an intimate laugh, yet was utterly indifferent, eerie and terrifying.

Sometimes, pain doesn’t necessarily represent struggle, but rather… a choice already made.

Just as Mingfuluo understood Anselm so well, Anselm understood her no less.

—Her pain didn’t stem from difficulty in choosing, but from, if Anselm really intended to abandon, or even betray…

Then she would definitely abandon Anselm.

“Arlo.”

Anselm, gently stroking Mingfuluo’s back, said in a warm and soft voice:

“Let’s go look at the sky again.”

Gazing up at the sky, at that boundless azure without edges, was one of Mingfuluo’s few hobbies, and now that she had received comfort, she naturally had no reason to refuse.

“Are you planning to comfort me a little?” Mingfuluo, pressed close to Anselm’s cheek, said softly.

“Something like that.”

Anselm smiled: “I’m your best friend, after all.”

I’m your best friend, and you are too, Arlo.

So, just this once… I want to give you another chance.

Not from my subjective inference, but from your own mouth saying that answer.

Am I still that hollow illusory obsession…

Which one will you choose?

Anselm, straightening up while still holding Mingfuluo, whispered this in his heart.

He tilted his head, as if listening to Mingfuluo’s heartbeat, or as if listening to the whisper of fate.

But he only heard the faint low rumble of thunder coming from the distant sky.

A storm was coming.

***

When Helen passed through the empty corridor with no one around and arrived in front of the alchemy workshop’s door, her heartbeat and breathing both became rapid.

After that attack, she finally recalled everything.

Not lost memories, but… erased memories.

Who exactly was the one who assassinated her, why she wanted to kill her, what relationship she had with her and what exactly made the situation turn into what it was now—Helen already knew everything clearly.

It was a bet, one she participated in as a party, but was forced to forget.

Now, the bet had reached the final stage, the… endgame entirely within Anselm’s planning and control.

The winner gets what they wish, the loser gets nothing.

“Father…”

Murmuring these two words lightly, Helen placed her hand on the door, closing her eyes and standing for a long time, her mind replaying everything she had seen, heard, and experienced during this time.

When she opened her eyes again, the genius sorceress named Helen had made her decision.

The heavy metal door slowly opened and the familiar scene entered Helen’s view.

Anselm had once made some small modifications to her puppet here and after that, she had occasionally borrowed this place.

And in the depths of the alchemy workshop, the petite woman manipulating and dominating Nidhogg as easily as driving a limb also looked up toward the door.

The two met each other’s gazes at the exact same moment.

From appearance alone, from any angle, one couldn’t find even the slightest difference between them.

The same indifferent and cold expression, the same slightly petite stature, the same gorgeous and mysterious purple pupils… Only upon close observation could one discover that one was utterly devoid of light, a self born anew after destruction; while the other flickered with a cold light like steel, symbolizing an indestructible resolve.

“Before starting, I have a question for you.”

Mingfuluo waved her hand, and the alchemy workshop’s door automatically closed: “You exactly—”

“I’m Helen.”

Without needing Mingfuluo to finish the question, the petite woman meeting her gaze answered calmly:

“Is father’s Helen.”

“…Because you are me, that’s why I held the last expectation for you.”

The last trace of calm in Mingfuluo’s eyes also vanished completely, leaving only extreme indifference and… disgust.

“I didn’t expect that you had fallen so thoroughly.”

“The one who didn’t expect it should be me.”

Helen removed her bracelet; she could feel that the brand-new Nidhogg was everywhere in the entire alchemy workshop.

As long as Mingfuluo willed it, they would tear her into fragments—no, into blood mist.

But she had no fear at all, instead stepping forward, opening with emotions of disgust no less than in Mingfuluo’s eyes: “You’re far more pitiful than me, having been brainwashed to this extent.”

“You clearly… witnessed everything I went through.”

The individual named Helen spat out such deep hatred and resentment:

“Yet you’re still immersed in that fabricated absurd life!”

Her most beloved grandfather didn’t even want to believe she would persist in that ideal, going mad enough to impose a curse deep into her bones with his life, an inescapable bondage.

She had never set foot in the human world, that belief and ideal had no basis, not from reality, but from the workshop that had been designing and piecing her together since childhood, for a full twenty-one years.

The most laughable thing was that even this workshop that pieced together her life had abandoned its original purpose, and she, pieced together from it, couldn’t even achieve that purpose.

The individual Mingfuluo Zege had no meaning.

And the only one who could give her meaning, the only one who could grant salvation, recognize her, understand her, guide her, help her… was only Anselm.

Only… “Father”!

Helen’s full heart of resentment and pain made Mingfuluo fall briefly silent.

She gazed at those lifeless, dead eyes, responding calmly:

“If our roles were swapped… then indeed, I would only end up in the same situation as you.”

“Then you—”

“But if you were me.”

In just an instant, Mingfuluo’s calm voice became icy cold, hard as iron.

In those purple pupils, the base color of a furnace burning erupted, that blazing firelight capable of melting even the utmost suffering into rolling molten iron.

Such furious, unyielding firelight.

“You would also, like me, stand here despising the self defeated by that devil!”

“Listen well… the following words, I won’t say to you a second time.”

***

“I won’t say it to you a second time, Arlo.”

In the storm, Anselm, who seemed to have vented all his violent emotions, smiled: “We… are no longer friends.”

Mingfuluo’s gaze pierced through the rain curtain, nailing dead onto his face:

“So that’s how it is… so this was your greatest deception. I really lost completely and utterly, Anselm.”

Her skin under the rainwater showed a pallor devoid of blood color and no matter how angry or icy her tone, it couldn’t cover her current tottering state.

“I don’t think so, Arlo.”

Anselm half-closed his eyes, feeling the cool sensation of rainwater sliding off his skin, saying softly:

“I gave you such a big opportunity, I confessed everything to you; this is my return to our former friendship. At least until the very last moment, I was so sincere, and from now on… I have no need to deceive you anymore, do I?”

“Should I thank you?”

Mingfuluo tugged at the corner of her mouth: “Thank you for your honesty and grace?”

“No no no… no need for such superfluous things.”

Anselm, still half-closing his eyes, smiled mildly: “As long as you agree to bet with me, to draw the most perfect and decent end to you and me.”

“And then be toyed with by you like a plaything once more? Do you really think I’m stupid—”

“Mingfuluo Zege.”

The young Hydra opened his eyes, his voice steeped in the terrifying menace of an abyssal creature, exuding the majesty and fury of a dominator.

Those sea-blue eyes now held an utterly unfamiliar… lofty superiority.

“Why do you think you have any reason to refuse?”

“…”

“Do you think you gained all this, that Babel Tower is what it is now, because of what?”

His cane tapped lightly on the ground, yet it resounded in Mingfuluo’s ears like a thunderous roar.

“Because of the firearms? Because of Ivora’s gaze and favor?”

The young devil’s lips curled slightly, his smile so captivating yet… so cruel and venomous.

“No, I’ll tell you—it’s because of… me.”

“Because I was by your side.”

He strolled gleefully through the pouring rain, the crisp sound of his boots on the terrace floor pleasant to the ear, but to Mingfuluo, it was like the tolling of a death knell from hell.

“Because my relationship with you was ambiguous, because you had the potential to become my Contract Head… because in their eyes, you held value far beyond what you have now, worth winning over.”

“But what if I left you? No, no… not just simply leaving, but… abandoning you without mercy, casting you aside, or even… destroying you?”

Anselm snapped his fingers with a grin: “Remember how I told you, when publishing all the firearms, all the weapons, all the special designs, not to use my name, but to release them all under your own?”

“If, when I leave you, I proclaim to the world that I, not you, created all of this, then tell me, dear Arlo…”

The young, venomous snake, toward his best friend, spat the poison that had been brewing since the moment they met.

Looking at Mingfuluo’s face, now completely drained of color, he burst into delighted laughter:

“Guess what would happen then… to you, who lost all value, and to Babel Tower, which lost all value?”

“From the very beginning…”

The petite, helpless, fragile genius scholar trembled in the rain with her frail body: “So, from the very beginning… you never had even the slightest trust in me.”

“I trusted you, countless times!”

The young snake, having just cruelly spat his venom, bared his fangs and roared in anger, but in the next moment, he reverted to his earlier calm and elegant demeanor.

“But that’s all in the past.” He shrugged carelessly: “I’m glad my insurance paid off.”

“So… you must bet with me.”

The devil, in a friendly tone, declared his inescapable, malicious command:

“Bet on your… future.”

***

In the study, completely sealed with only one occupant, Anselm sat on a long chair, tilting his head to watch the confrontation between this “twin” pair.

No, describing them as twins would be gravely mistaken.

Because both of them were absolutely, one hundred percent, without any falsehood, Mingfuluo Zege.

This was the… crux of the bet Anselm proposed to Mingfuluo three years ago.

He wanted to prove that a “Mingfuluo Zege” without him was destined to achieve nothing, not only achieving nothing but, due to various reasons, would ultimately head toward the most extreme state—disregarding, or even destroying, Babel Tower.

At the same time, Anselm didn’t use any leverage that could fully coerce Mingfuluo into erasing her memories to join this bet; instead, he offered her extraordinarily generous terms.

“You can be the witness to this bet, observing how you change, develop, and progress without me. At the same time, I’ll give you the chance to advance further—until the bet ends, you can stay in the underground library of the manor, studying all the books.”

This was not coercion but an extravagantly lavish privilege.

The secret texts of Hydra, passed down for a thousand years… even those in the Imperial Capital’s manor, not Hydra’s Domain, were enough to drive anyone mad with desire.

And the price for this was—

“In this bet, I won’t force or coerce you in any way; everything that happens… will be your own choice.”

This was Anselm’s usual rhetoric, but Mingfuluo herself knew well that no coercion didn’t mean Anselm wouldn’t guide or interfere.

Yet, whether it was his initial threats or the terms he offered, Mingfuluo had no reason to refuse.

Because she believed she wouldn’t be enslaved by Anselm, believed she wouldn’t submit to this devil—since she could do it now, why couldn’t her future self?

How could she possibly go mad enough… to not care about Babel Tower?

Thus, the bet was established.

And the most critical part: if Mingfuluo was the hidden witness, then… who would participate in this bet as the protagonist? Create a puppet with Mingfuluo’s memories, crafting entirely false memories for it?

No, that wasn’t what Anselm wanted.

What he wanted… was the completely authentic Mingfuluo herself.

And this, in the entire world, only one person could achieve.

“Do you believe a soul can be shaped, Mingfuluo? The foundation of the extraordinary, the unique origin of every transcendent—can it be molded, created? The greatest alchemical masters can even do this.”

Yes, Anselm’s father, the greatest alchemist in history, Flamel Hydra, could create souls—not new, entirely different ones, but ones identical to their original owner, indistinguishable, truly the same soul.

That was why Flamel regarded Mingfuluo differently, because she was the only one Anselm personally asked him to help with.

That was why Tornado and Peregrine said Mingfuluo was very “problematic,” because they were the only ones in the world who knew Flamel could create souls, having witnessed the technique and process.

One was Flamel’s chief sorcerer, the other the Head of Wind, capable of perceiving all secrets.

But this miraculous creation came with extremely stringent conditions—it required fragments of the original soul as material and no small number of them.

If the fragments were insufficient, the newborn soul would collapse soon after; if the original soul still existed in the world, the new soul’s instincts and everything about it would drive it to gravitate toward the original soul.

Either it would return, or… it would devour.

In this process, due to the soul’s connection and return, if there were missing memories, they would continuously synchronize with the original soul’s memories until achieving perfect harmony.

Naturally, Mingfuluo wouldn’t provide too many soul fragments for this bet; the fragments she cut were only enough for the newborn Mingfuluo to last three years.

When the deadline arrived, the erased or altered memories would awaken, aligning with the surviving soul’s memories.

Thus came the initial scene, one that Mingfuluo, at the time, couldn’t comprehend no matter what.

Why did Anselm scheme against her, stuffing her soul into a puppet?

Because only this way could Anselm, through Solen’s hands, gradually create the false illusion of memory damage, preventing her from noticing her own abnormality during the memory recovery process and discovering the truth too early.

—Her memories were never damaged. The memory flashbacks, the physical discomfort… were all due to her incomplete soul’s longing for the original soul, synchronizing in hopes of either returning to the original Mingfuluo or… devouring her.

Ronggor’s mentor, Lady Myron, had long been dealt with by Anselm through Solen, who was actually Solen in disguise, making Mingfuluo fully believe her memory abnormalities stemmed from initial soul damage.

Until today, when the situation was beyond control, when the bet reached its end, Mingfuluo—no, Helen’s memories fully recovered.

“The following words, I won’t say to you a second time.”

Anselm gazed at Mingfuluo on the screen, her expression cold, her eyes blazing, his face showing no emotion.

Anselm Hydra, at thirteen, had already struggled in the hell of despair for three full years.

Those three years were enough for him to learn, to realize many things—to realize he had to be ruthless enough, cunning enough, evil enough, and that he… had no choice.

Rather than saying Mingfuluo’s rational thinking taught Anselm cold value judgments, it was more… the catalyst for all this.

Because even without Mingfuluo’s reminder, Anselm would have eventually realized this.

The despair at ten destroyed the boy’s innocence and kindness, shattered the beauty and optimism his family gave him.

Perhaps Anselm Hydra once had other opportunities.

But after that day, he could only be a villain.

His nature was left with only evil and madness, because justice and order couldn’t help him.

Value judgments, cold sacrifices… Even without Mingfuluo’s inspiration, Anselm would have eventually walked this path.

So, even though Anselm was only thirteen then, he was cold and cruel enough, evil and cunning enough.

This bet was the start of a plan spanning these three years, and also… the most important conclusion.

Now, Helen had sunk so low, disregarding even Babel Tower, revering Anselm as supreme—was that enough?

No, it wasn’t enough.

Why are heroes heroes?

“Anselm Hydra showed me with facts that my life is fabricated, my existence pieced together, my pursuits empty, and even you… even I myself believe so.”

Anselm knew clearly that if Mingfuluo hadn’t experienced this firsthand but merely observed from a distance, she would never have fallen into such despair as Helen.

Because observing and experiencing, especially in such a near-self-destructive scenario, evoke vastly different feelings.

Back then, Helen was surrounded by despair, with Anselm relentlessly pressing her without respite, but Mingfuluo… had independent, calm space to think, room to breathe.

She could thus escape that near-despairing atmosphere, using her intellect, capable of understanding Anselm and keeping up with his thoughts, to analyze, dissect, and comprehend—

Just as Hitana, despite countless ups and downs, countless blood feuds, and becoming a pursuer of evolution and power, still believed in pure kindness and held to her inner justice.

She could find, in that endless despair, the faint light that left her unshaken.

“But who says my beliefs, my ideals, are entirely, thoroughly imposed?”

Facing the self that resented everything, so fallen, Mingfuluo Zege’s voice held no trace of confusion or fear.

“And who can assert that what’s imposed must be false?”

“How can you think that if I can’t achieve it now, I’ll never achieve it in the future?”

The furnace in the alchemy workshop wasn’t even running, yet a living furnace exhaled rolling waves of heat, forging an unyielding divine weapon from suffering and despair.

“If I can’t guide them correctly now, then I’ll think, I’ll learn, I’ll walk among them, approach the human world that devil despises me for never stepping into.”

“Even if Babel Tower was designed by Grandfather, deliberately piecing me together into what I am now, I’ve never once doubted my will or heart. Even if this is a designed life, in these fifteen years, I’ve never felt pain for it—if this isn’t my truth, then what is?”

“And if my beliefs were empty from the start…”

Mingfuluo tugged at the corner of her mouth, showing Helen a mocking, arrogant smile:

“I don’t know why you’ve fallen into such a predicament… Even you, who thinks you’ve been reborn, destroyed your former self, aren’t you still chasing it? If it’s empty, not pursued by your own will, why do you, after rebirth, still treat it as your life?”

Watching Helen’s face gradually stiffen, her lifeless eyes trembling, Mingfuluo Zege—who had no friends, no mentor, no company, tirelessly improving herself, absorbing knowledge, spending three years in endless darkness and solitude—raised her hammer like a blacksmith, striking the final blow on the anvil.

The blazing sparks were the faint light she found in absolute despair and adversity!

“When Grandfather asked that question, no one was guiding, no one was predetermining, no one was setting false markers for me.”

She spoke word by word, her usually indifferent voice so resolute and powerful, brimming with such fervent passion.

“From the moment I cast my gaze to the sky, I told myself—”

“‘I will change this world!’”

“This is me, this is Mingfuluo Zege, never created by anyone, never to be destroyed by anyone… my own resolve!”

Anselm, watching the radiant light in Mingfuluo’s eyes, couldn’t help but sigh in admiration.

Just as he had his reality of having to become a villain.

This faint light—

Was exactly why Mingfuluo Zege was a hero.

But…

“How disgusting.”

The young Hydra whispered.

The brilliance and greatness of a hero had nothing to do with him. Whatever achievements Mingfuluo might have in the future, he didn’t care at all.

He only cared whether his friend cared about him.

And the answer… was no.

That radiant brilliance couldn’t accommodate a cold, dark reptile like him.

Three years ago, the young Anselm had already understood this.

He understood that Mingfuluo wouldn’t grieve for losing a friend but for losing “an aid to realizing her ideals.”

Such… grand and selfish cruelty.

Thus, Anselm knew back then that Mingfuluo, as the witness, would likely… not fully succumb.

And this was the opportunity Anselm left for Mingfuluo.

An independent, resolute, unbreakable, radiant Mingfuluo, who would… completely abandon him, also had the chance to exist.

As for the other, as for Helen, that brings us back to the earlier topic—has Helen, as she is now… proven loyal enough?

No, not yet. Because she, too, is Mingfuluo, she still possesses… the qualities Mingfuluo has at this moment.

Perhaps one day, under the push of fate, she would awaken to become the Mingfuluo of now.

So, Anselm had to be as ruthless as Erlin, as… absolute.

—Only a Helen who had destroyed herself to the point of being able to kill her past self, only a Helen who had fallen so far as to kill the self who spoke those words, would be… absolutely incapable of betraying him, an absolutely trustworthy daughter.

In such a scenario, if Mingfuluo survived, Anselm would gain a sufficiently powerful “partner.”

Though she despised him, every aspect of her would be under his absolute control.

At the same time, having witnessed all this, she would know that only Anselm could truly help her—a fact that would never change, no matter what happened.

Such a Mingfuluo would be even further from becoming a Contract Head, but that was fine.

This was the last chance, the final… fulfillment Anselm gave to his former friend.

From then on, it would be a complete end.

Moreover, once a Mingfuluo who had faced reality became his temporary partner, he would have plenty of time to mold her into what he wanted.

And if Helen survived, there was no doubt she would become a follower even more loyal than Hitana, a daughter who would never, ever betray him.

In talent and ability, she was no different from Mingfuluo; the only difference was… she was no longer a hero, no longer Mingfuluo Zege, but Helen, born solely for Anselm.

No matter which outcome came to pass, for Anselm, there was only gain, no loss—just… he would always lose something in the end.

So, on that night, Anselm had told Hitana—

From the very beginning, he stood in an invincible position.