Volume 2

Chapter 21: The Devil’s Companion (5)

Mingfuluo, head bowed, mixing a nutrient potion, heard a surprised voice:

“You’re planning to live on that stuff for another month?”

“Time is precious.”

Mingfuluo answered without looking up: “Waste is shameful.”

Anselm, sitting on the workbench, sighed: “That’s why you’re so…”

“…” The woman turned, glaring at Anselm with sharp, icy eyes.

“Alright, alright, just a joke. But this isn’t healthy, Aluo.”

“I’d rather think your latter remark is a joke.”

Mingfuluo gently shook the glass vessel, expressionless: “It’s more nutritious than anything you’ve ever eaten.”

“I mean…” Anselm tapped his temple, “this aspect.”

“It may seem like just food, but ultimately, it’s about humanity’s pursuit of ‘enjoyment,’ our nature.”

“You’re not some wretch struggling to survive. Skipping meals occasionally for time is fine, but this ‘I don’t need it’ attitude is wrong.”

He looked at the green, viscous liquid in her hand, advising earnestly: “You’re stripping away your humanity for your work and ideals.”

“Not eating is stripping humanity?” Mingfuluo’s lips twitched. “Your knack for fearmongering grows daily, Anselm.”

“It’s a sign, foretelling you’ll willingly shed more… Never mind, when that time comes, I’ll kindly save you once.”

Anselm chuckled, patting her shoulder: “You’d better think of how to thank me then.”

Mingfuluo didn’t shake off his hand, merely adding a final drop of unknown liquid to the vessel, shaking it again, her tone cold: “Keep dreaming.”

The young Hydra raised an eyebrow.

Though used to her attitude, familiarity didn’t equal tolerance.

He bent down, snatching the potion from her hand. Under her increasingly icy gaze, he said leisurely:

“Alright then, I was going to… tell you about a grand, unparalleled idea.”

“…You never use such pompous adjectives for your concepts.”

Mingfuluo’s tone shifted slightly: “Another bad joke, or—”

“Of course, it’s true.”

Anselm tilted his head, a playful glint in his sea-blue eyes: “‘Now,’ only I could conceive something this grand.”

His words made Mingfuluo pause.

She’d seen many of Anselm’s shocking ideas, even realized some, but he almost never—no, never—called anything “unparalleled.” “Remarkable” was already high praise, even for something as fantastical as mechanized armor.

Mingfuluo’s heartbeat quickened.

Only in these moments did she rarely feel an emotion called “excitement.”

Though this annoying—well, not entirely annoying—blond brat turned his ideas into sweet fruit, blatantly setting a crude trap around it, waiting for her to step into the noose and be toyed with.

So what? If she could taste that fruit, let him toy with her.

Besides…

He didn’t seem to be doing it just to toy with her.

“…So, what do you want me to do this time to tell me about it?” Mingfuluo looked at him expressionlessly. “Another way to waste my time?”

“No, no, Aluo, you must understand—this is for a very, very, very grand concept, pivotal to the future you anticipate, the new era I wish to see. It’s one of the cores, no less.”

Anselm exaggerated its importance further, making Mingfuluo wonder if he was deceiving her.

“So, it won’t be that easy this time.”

The young Hydra hopped off the workbench, grinning at the wavering Mingfuluo: “No more cases where you do something simple, and I tell you.”

“…How can I be sure you’re not lying?”

“When have I ever lied about this?” Anselm countered.

“I might deceive you in any other way, Aluo, but this—”

“Only the vision I wish to see…”

His sea-blue eyes gleamed, making Mingfuluo’s breath catch.

“…is the same as yours,” Anselm Hydra said.

…Yes, in this alone, Anselm wouldn’t lie to me.

After a brief silence, Mingfuluo nodded: “Fine, what must I do for you to tell me?”

“Well…”

Anselm rubbed his chin, froze the nutrient potion into a block of ice, and smashed it on the floor.

“First,” he said with a bright smile, “start with eating properly every day.”

***

The bedroom door was slowly pushed open.

Blue-gray high ponytail, gray-white glasses, a pure white lab coat, a hip-hugging skirt faintly revealing flesh, iron-gray stockings wrapping long, shapely legs, and pure black high heels.

With such an intellectual, mature appearance, visiting at this hour, it could only be our Mingfuluo Zege.

Her expression remained icy, but compared to before, this iciness held… a hint of lifelessness?

A kind of resignation, not helpless despair, but a deliberate acceptance of despair after a difficult choice.

“I thought you’d come in person… to show sincerity.”

Anselm, sitting on the sofa, raised an eyebrow.

“…I can’t go back yet.”

Mingfuluo’s voice was still emotionless, but now, like her icy expression, it carried a touch of hollowness.

She shifted her gaze to Anselm’s face, continuing in that eerie tone: “If you want—”

“Stop.”

Anselm cut her off: “My intuition tells me you’re about to say something rude and self-degrading. That’s enough.”

He nodded toward the sofa opposite: “Sit first.”

The refined, beautiful mature puppet sat silently across from Anselm, her lusterless purple eyes slightly lowered, avoiding his gaze.

“First, I need to confirm something—”

Anselm leisurely poured himself a glass of wine: “Aluo, do you understand your situation?”

“…The war failed, I’m ostracized, isolated.”

Mingfuluo spoke softly, expressionless: “And Babel Tower is yours, leaving me without a foothold.”

“I’m at your mercy.”

When she said “at your mercy,” her tone barely wavered, describing her plight as if an observer—terrifyingly so.

This wasn’t rationality anymore… but another kind of madness.

“You’ve figured it out quickly.” Anselm propped his chin, watching her. “How do you feel?”

“Utterly awful.”

“But you don’t look at it… well, maybe a little.”

The game’s greatest victor smiled maliciously at its sole loser: “But if I said this is your own doing, would you accept it?”

Yes, Anselm planned, pushed, guided, and controlled everything.

But what truly let this “game” unfold exactly as Anselm intended?

Mingfuluo Zege’s near-mad rationality.

She’d never let Babel Tower, the vessel of her ideals, collapse.

She’d push the war forward with confidence.

She’d do… exactly what Anselm could predict.

—Because when given a choice, she’d always pick the one that favored her ideals.

Anselm had learned this long ago.

So, simply “scheming” against Mingfuluo wasn’t that hard.

Though she could see through his plots most of the time, apply enough pressure, place something tied to her ideals on the other side of the scale, and even if she saw the trap, she’d step in without hesitation.

Just like three years ago, when Anselm tempted her with new concepts, she always yielded.

As for minor schemes she saw through, they didn’t matter—Anselm didn’t care.

But even if Mingfuluo was, in some ways, easier to trap than Hitana, that didn’t mean she was easier to tame.

“What’s unacceptable?” Mingfuluo said coldly.

“Failure demands consequences. That’s natural.”

—As clear as her response.

Mingfuluo Zege wasn’t someone whose spirit could be easily broken.

Dear Miss Hitana, only sixteen this year, had a thin life before meeting Anselm, her personality highly emotional.

Good and evil, love and hate, could easily sway, disrupt, even break or twist her mind.

But Mingfuluo was different—a rational, mad, resolute, obsessive idealist.

An idealist won’t die or be broken until their ideals are destroyed.

Even with her lifeless expression and hollow tone, seemingly in despair, Mingfuluo wasn’t truly crushed by the war’s dire consequences.

Her current despondent state stemmed from Anselm seizing Babel Tower, her lifeline, creating an almost insurmountable obstacle to her ideals.

As for isolation?

Rejection?

Loss of footing?

Those emotional blows, unbearable to someone like Hitana, didn’t faze her at all.

The only thing that made her so cold was the sharply increased difficulty of realizing her ideals—nothing more.

“Bearing the consequences…”

Anselm chuckled, his tone laden with meaning: “Are you truly ready for that?”

“…What do you want me to do?” Mingfuluo’s voice was hoarse.

“Such nostalgic dialogue.”

The young Hydra sighed, beckoning Mingfuluo and patting his lap, the gesture speaking volumes.

The cold, glamorous beauty stood, straddled Anselm’s lap, and remained silent.

“Aluo, do you know?”

The triumphant schemer toyed with the pitiful loser, reenacting what the Grand Princess had done to him.

Glistening wine trickled down her pale neck, pooling in a shallow dip.

Anselm looked up, meeting her dim purple eyes, and said with deep sentiment:

“I truly miss you three years ago, because I genuinely considered you a friend.”

“…Lies.”

“No, it’s not a lie.” Hydra said, lowering his head to sip the wine.

The cool, wet liquid mingled with the warmth of his tongue, brushing the puppet’s false skin, yet making Mingfuluo’s soul tremble.

“Even now, I see you as a friend.”

Anger sparked life in Mingfuluo’s eyes, her lips twitching slightly: “This is how you treat friends?”

“It’s because you stopped treating me as one, Aluo.”

Anselm lifted the soft, full “wine glass,” chuckling: “Do I seem like someone who’d be kind to another no matter how poorly they treat me?”

“You see my actions as betrayal, but in my eyes…”

Even with reduced sensitivity, the puppet’s sensations made Mingfuluo instinctively clench her legs around Anselm’s.

Hydra’s voice turned cold, his grip tightening, eliciting a pained moan from Mingfuluo.

“Haven’t you betrayed me too?”

His actions and words seemed to enrage her.

She knew silence was the best choice—acting like a lifeless puppet, letting Anselm do or say as he pleased—but even though she could suppress her emotions to spark a war… At this moment, Mingfuluo couldn’t contain her anger.

Just like at the Ether Academy, when she failed to control her emotions, leading to her soul being trapped in this puppet.

Because this man once made her believe her ideals weren’t unattainable, that she’d found… a true friend, a destined companion.

“…What.”

Mingfuluo sneered, “Are you saying you invested emotions too? Have you forgotten what you told me that night? Need me to remind—”

Before she finished, Anselm pinned her to the sofa.

“Aluo,” Anselm said with a friendly smile, “you seem to misunderstand our relationship. Couldn’t control your emotions this time? That’s not like you.”

“A bit…”

He whispered, his smile fading.

Shrrk—

The puppet’s lifelike skin was easily sliced open, revealing the silver-metal core.

Amid Mingfuluo’s pained cries, the devil cutting her puppet skin declared his reason for this brutal act, expressionless:

“…disappointing.”

After merely slicing the false skin, Anselm didn’t press further, but his fingers, capable of shattering the puppet, lingered on the metallic surface.

His touch was fiery and gentle, yet his voice remained chillingly cold.

“Three years ago, you taught me something.”

“No amount of emotion can change you. Despite all my efforts to make you see me as the most important person in your life… in the face of your ideals, you’d still betray me.”

“Or rather, you never truly valued me. My place in your heart was just my own wishful thinking.”

Straddling the puppet, Anselm slipped two fingers into the vocal organ—essential for humans but not for puppets, though Mingfuluo had perfected most human-like functions to reduce soul rejection.

Hydra pinched the simulated organ, ruthlessly asserting his dominance.

“You and I are the same—selfish to the core, willing to pay any price to achieve our goals… demons.”

He sighed: “So I knew you’d never be tamed by me.”

“Because I understand myself better than anyone, and thus, I understand you.”

Under her increasingly icy purple gaze, the self-proclaimed demon smiled, moving his fingers gently, his words dripping with insult despite their mild tone:

“You know what to do.”

The cold, statuesque scholar stiffened, and Anselm felt the heat at his fingertips.

“So, I changed my mind. If emotions are useless, then…”

He leaned down, whispering in Mingfuluo’s ear:

“Let there be no emotions between us.”

“Since you’ll always choose your ideals, always make the most rational choice… I’ll help you, dear Aluo.”

The venomous snake hissed, revealing its vile curse and scheme to the wretched soul trapped in a cold shell:

“I’ll make you more rational, more correct, more decisive in your choices, abandoning friends, mentors, emotions, humanity—everything.”

“I’ll shape you into a perfect… monster living only for your ideals.”

“Look.” He loomed over Mingfuluo.

“Even now, with your anger and hatred for me shining through your eyes, you still choose… to obey me.”

“Because it’s correct, rational. You know that any displeasure I feel will push your ideals further away.”

Anselm gazed at the cold, compliant woman beneath him, sighing softly: “You’re already showing traces of that monster, dear Aluo.”

Why did Ivora propose letting the weapon’s creator decide to surrender when Hendrik conceded?

Because Anselm, colluding with her, mentioned in a letter delivered via Marina a method to show the Grand Princess’s mercy while ensuring Babel Tower’s participation.

Why did he give the mechanized armor’s blueprints to Solen?

Because he knew fate would push Babel Tower’s collapse, ensuring the armor reached a powerful Supreme Nine Seat in the Ether Academy, cornering Babel Tower.

In that desperate situation, Mingfuluo would choose to counter violence with greater violence, further letting rationality erode her humanity.

—Anselm forced Mingfuluo to make choices, actively helping her destroy her last traces of humanity.

In the original timeline, Mingfuluo wouldn’t have reached this point.

Before she could fall into this seemingly rational, truly mad abyss, Babel Tower would’ve collapsed, forcing her into exile.

In that upheaval, she’d realize the true value and meaning of her ideals.

But now, that future will never come.

“As you grow more rational, you’ll realize one thing—”

Anselm briefly stepped away, returning with the snake-headed cane from the sofa’s side.

The young Hydra gently rubbed the cane, and the solemn snake head… sprouted two sharp fangs.

He aimed the fangs at the torn artificial skin, chuckling:

“Even if our ultimate goals diverge, the one who can bring you closest to that height, provide resources, and clear obstacles… is me alone.”

A pale pink droplet formed at the fang’s tip.

“So, tell me, Aluo.”

Anselm leaned down, whispering in her ear: “Facing endless pressure from the Ether Academy and Ivora, unable to do what you want, struggling blindly forward, at risk of collapsing and losing everything…”

“Or, with my support, no danger, no limits, a clear path to the new era, with the only question being how to defeat me at the end.”

“—Tell me, as the idealist monster you’re becoming, which would you choose?”

Before Mingfuluo could answer, the droplet fell onto her exposed metal frame.

Instantly, her entire body trembled violently, her impassive face twitching, her purple eyes rolling back.

“Oh, forgot to mention this little thing.”

Anselm flicked the sharp fang, smiling: “A potion that converts all sensations, including pain, into what you’re feeling now, amplified thousands of times. I once threatened Hitana with it, but she couldn’t handle it—she’d break.”

“Even you can’t handle it now. This is diluted, maybe ten times the effect.”

Anselm slipped his fingers into the torn skin, and the puppet trembled again.

“Hm… sorry, I forgot you’re sensitive to pain, so it’s even more intense. But you’d better endure it, because—”

Gleipnir transformed into a blade, pressed against the puppet’s body, and then…

“!!!”

In that instant, the humanoid disguise below her neck was shredded by Gleipnir and Mingfuluo thudded from the sofa to the floor.

The faintly silver, curvaceous, soft-textured body exuded an indescribable, bewitching, eerie beauty.

Some nobles, it’s said, were obsessed with alchemical puppets without artificial skin, retaining their raw magic metal sheen, commissioning them from top puppeteers at unimaginable cost.

Anselm crouched, propping his chin, gently pulling Mingfuluo’s eyelid: “Hm… good, you’re still conscious. As expected of an unkillable idealist—you wouldn’t lose to mere sensation. You’re still my Aluo.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything excessive next.”

He chuckled, lifting Mingfuluo from the floor.

Each time his hand grazed the soft metal, the puppet trembled.

Anselm carried the puppet, far heavier than a human body, cold but still soft and looked at Mingfuluo in his arms, chuckling softly before gently laying her on the sofa.

“There… that’s better.”

Then, Anselm truly did nothing more, walking out of the bedroom.

“Haa… haa…”

Mingfuluo, gradually recovering, gasped heavily.

Recalling the sensation still made her tremble.

She wanted to shut off the puppet’s senses, but her consciousness froze.

She realized… she’d become what Anselm described.

In the moment she tried to disable her senses, her first thought was—would Anselm be displeased?

If he was, what would happen to Babel Tower and her future?

“…”

Her “rationality” made another choice.

But without shutting off her senses, Mingfuluo, lying on the sofa, still felt the puppet’s shocks to her soul.

Even a breeze from the open balcony made her quiver.

“Hydra… Hydra…”

Mingfuluo twitched slightly, murmuring the name in a weak, chaotic haze.

Anselm had openly declared his plan to mold her into a perfect monster, devoid of humanity, living only for her ideals.

His method… seemed vulgar and absurd, yet devastatingly effective.

—Placing Mingfuluo herself on the scale against her ideals.

If she’d sacrifice her dignity, her body, everything but her ideals… what wouldn’t she sacrifice?

Human or monster.

The devil no longer set traps; he merely smiled, presenting two paths to despair before her.

In the bedroom echoing with heavy breaths, the puppet in Hydra’s grasp had to choose her future.

After an unknown time, long enough for the carpet beneath Mingfuluo to darken, the bedroom door suddenly opened.

“Oh, Anselm, why so sudden… in broad daylight…”

“Hitana doesn’t want to? Then I’ll find Mar—”

“Who said I don’t want to! I just… ah!”

Hitana, face flushed, grabbing Anselm’s wrist, screamed upon seeing Mingfuluo dangling off the sofa: “What’s with this guy?!”

Anselm wrapped his arms around Hitana’s waist from behind, chuckling: “Isn’t this the scene you’ve been longing for?”

“Longing—eek!”

Hitana instantly realized what was happening, her face reddening further: “Anselm, you—!”

“You said to keep an eye on me,” Anselm said innocently. “And now, I’m giving you a chance to help me.”

“Help… help you?”

The wicked Hydra chuckled softly, leaning in to whisper in Hitana’s ear.

The girl froze, then trembled, then went frantic, finally shouting in anger: “No way! She’s not Lina! No, no… absolutely not!”

“Hm?” Anselm raised an eyebrow, grasping the collar around Miss Wolf’s neck.

“I’m not discussing this with you, Hitana.”

A slight excess of electricity surged through Hitana’s body.

For her now, it wasn’t pain but… a signal.

Though she’d grown taller and stronger, she actually enjoyed Anselm pulling her collar and sending currents through her.

Slumping into Anselm’s arms, Hitana let out a weak, suggestive breath: “Bad thing… bad thing…”

Anselm gently kissed her cheek: “Shall I put the blindfold on you?”

“…”

“Taking that as a yes?”

Hydra ruffled Hitana’s hair vigorously, blowing in her ear with satisfaction: “Good girl, Hitana. You’re my good girl. Remember to say those words to Mingfuluo, got it?”

“Ugh…”

Mingfuluo heard the rustle of clothes sliding off, the girl’s soft moans, and approaching footsteps.

“Mingfuluo.” The devil’s voice sounded in her ear.

“I didn’t tell you to close your eyes. Open them. Look at me.”

“…”

She had no choice but to obey.

And so, she saw—

“Huff… haa… Ming, Mingfuluo… this spot… is mine now.”

“Anselm… is amazing, hehe… just, just watch.”

“After all, Anselm… doesn’t want you anymore. Even if he did… it wouldn’t be your turn.”

Bound by whip-like blades, constantly constricted, Mingfuluo could only watch, listen, and feel.

Yet she could never be whole.

The dual assault on her senses and spirit left her dazed, chaotic, on the verge of madness.

Suppressing the raging emotions in her heart, only to have them reignite, tormenting her in this endless cycle—anyone else would have collapsed long ago.

Yet Mingfuluo endured this storm-like onslaught, clinging to her unshaken convictions, but…

But those jumbled, chaotic memories tormented her will and soul uncontrollably.

[“This is just a sign, foretelling you’ll eventually shed more…”]

[“Fine, when that time comes, I’ll kindly save you once.”]

Hydra, Anselm…

How many lies have you told me?

Amid this long, joyful, painful torment, Anselm’s question lingered in Mingfuluo’s mind.

Would she turn back, reclaim her humanity—

Or obey the devil’s every command, follow his will, and walk with him again as… a monster who saw her ideals as everything?

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