Volu 2
Chapter 16: The Idealist Gradually Treading the Path to Ruin
"Aluo, have you ever seen the skies of the Southern Territory?"
"…Don’t disturb with pointless questions right now, Anselm."
Mingfuluo, hugging her knees, looked up at the star-strewn night sky, her face expressionless.
After Anselm discovered this “hobby” of hers, she sotis had to let him drag her out to unwind.
Though she said “had to,” after a few tis, Mingfuluo stopped resisting.
Anselm, also gazing at the sky, didn’t stop his earlier topic despite her words, speaking enthusiastically.
"The Southern Territory’s sky isn’t as blue as East Port’s, but it’s clean—so, so clean. It’s always so clear it refreshes your body and soul. Living under such a sky is a joyful thing."
Mingfuluo just propped her chin, still ignoring Anselm.
The young Hydra raised an eyebrow, slightly annoyed.
"If you keep being so self-centered, I’ll leave you to stare alone."
No sooner had he spoken than he stood, ready to walk away.
But a slender, pale hand grabbed his wrist.
"Since you dragged up here," Mingfuluo looked up at Anselm expressionlessly, "you have to waste ti with . No doing anything else."
"Then talk to about sothing. Don’t you find this boring?"
"…I really don’t get why soone like you understands so well."
Mingfuluo let out a silent sigh. "So, what do you want to talk about?"
"The sky."
"Fine, I know the Southern Territory’s sky is beautiful. I’ll go see it soti."
Mingfuluo’s tone was flat, clearly just humoring him.
Anselm wasn’t upset; in fact, he seed delighted whenever Mingfuluo spoke to him.
Always by the side of the solitary Mingfuluo, he chuckled lightly.
"But you know, Aluo, though the Southern Territory is beautiful and prosperous now, long, long ago, it was a wasteland, a desolate ruin."
"The sky there was all gray."
"Gray…"
Mingfuluo murmured the word, falling silent for a mont before saying softly, "I hate gray."
"Hmm, no vibrance, no brilliance. Compared to the purity of white or the depth of black, it’s a dull, lifeless color." Anselm shrugged. "I don’t like gray either."
"Your tastes are almost too similar to mine," Mingfuluo glanced at Anselm.
"What, is that a bad thing?"
"…No, it’s good."
Anselm smiled with satisfaction.
"Back to the Southern Territory—after the Celestial Conquest Dynasty fell, before the Empire was established, that land was tainted by the dynasty’s destruction. Corrupted Ether spawned countless magical beasts, slaughtering and devouring each other, birthing stronger creatures, only for those to be killed… In that endless cycle, the entire Southern Territory was consud by the chaos and distortion of the abyss."
"That’s quite sothing," the golden-haired boy said with awe. "An abstract concept manifesting in the world, and on such a massive scale… terrifying, isn’t it?"
"…If it’s that event, I have so recollection."
Mingfuluo mused.
"The land closest to the abyss… So it was the Southern Territory?"
"Fortunately, our great Norland Kaiser Fla, Her Majesty, cleansed that land of its chaos and distortion when she founded the Empire."
Anselm leaned back on the stone, sighing with emotion.
"After a thousand years of transformation and flourishing life, the Southern Territory has beco the Empire’s most prosperous land."
"You’re telling this…" Mingfuluo’s slender brows twitched slightly, "just to give a history lesson?"
"Just chatting," Anselm said, as if it were obvious. "Or do you want to analyze the causes behind the Southern Territory’s transformation from tainted soil to the Empire’s paradise?"
"Your attitude just now wasn’t that of soone just chatting."
Mingfuluo said calmly, "You deliberately brought up the Southern Territory’s sky, not just for conversation."
"…"
Anselm paused, looking at Mingfuluo, who was looking back at him.
They stared at each other for a long ti until Anselm broke into a laugh, his tone relieved and calm.
"You really do understand , Aluo."
"Is that strange?" Mingfuluo countered. "If you understand but I don’t understand you, how could we be friends?"
"I don’t know how to analyze emotions."
The woman tilted her head slightly, gazing into Anselm’s eyes… less like gazing and more like trying to reflect her own gaze in his.
"If I had to break it down and put it into words, I think friendship is… understanding and support."
"You understand , I understand you; you support , I support you. That’s what our relationship is to —that’s friendship."
"…You really are sothing." Anselm laughed softly. "First ti you’ve said so much at once."
Before Mingfuluo could frown, Anselm quickly added, "But you’re right. That’s friendship."
Mingfuluo returned to her usual cold deanor, nodding slightly. "So, what are you trying to say?"
"What I’m trying to say… I wasn’t going to tell you, just feeling a bit sentintal. But since you’ve said that, Aluo…"
The young Hydra looked back at the sky, his tone growing distant, tinged with a maturity Mingfuluo couldn’t quite grasp.
"Aluo, do you know the na of that palace?" He pointed to the highest structure in the Imperial Capital.
"Anticheg, aning the place where ancient flas are nurtured."
"That palace, a thousand years ago, even further back, looked exactly the sa."
Mingfuluo heard the slightly youthful voice let out a sigh.
"A thousand years, enough to change the color of the sky, to rejuvenate the land… mountains and seas shift and rise, yet a single palace remains unchanged."
He pointed to a distant tower.
"Yggdrasil, the foundation of the Ether Academy, their sorcerer tower, their alchemical fortress. It’s stood in the Imperial Capital for four hundred sixty-nine years."
"And in those four hundred sixty-nine years, nothing has changed."
Mingfuluo’s heart beat faster and faster.
She had suspected more than once Anselm’s motives for becoming her pen pal, seeking her out in person, and now being her friend.
She considered herself a genius but knew well that, at least for now, she wasn’t worth the future Hydra’s investnt.
The most likely reason was to take her as a Contract Head, but Anselm had already refused that, with a vague, unclear excuse.
What did he want?
Even after all this ti with Anselm, Mingfuluo still couldn’t figure it out.
Until now, listening to Anselm’s slow recounting, she felt her chest grow hot, her heart pounding with increasing intensity.
"A thousand years, four hundred sixty-nine years, such a long ti… why hasn’t anything changed?" Anselm turned to Mingfuluo, saying softly:
"Aluo, this world shouldn’t be like this."
"Extraordinary beings can raise mountains, split seas; they can create food from nothing, end all hunger and provide endless energy for rapid progress. Yet no one, not even the Empress herself, has thought to use this power to advance the Empire, society, or the era."
"Destruction, ruin, plunder, self-interest, ascension…"
The beast symbolizing the abyss whispered words utterly absurd for his status:
"Is that what the extraordinary exists for?"
"No!" Mingfuluo responded instantly. "It should be the possibility to change the world, not—"
"Not the culprit that traps this world in stagnant waters, right?"
Anselm t her purple eyes, now surging with emotion, and said gently.
"…Yes."
Mingfuluo’s voice trembled—not from fear, but from the uncontrollable ecstasy of a lone traveler on an endless road, finding a companion in the boundless loneliness and darkness.
She thought Anselm rely supported her, catering to her interests.
She never imagined… that Anselm, born with everything, shared her view of this diseased society and world.
"This world…" she echoed his words, "shouldn’t be like this."
"But we can’t change extraordinary beings, Aluo."
Anselm smiled, a hint of helplessness in his expression.
"Pursuing strength is their nature, the soul’s craving for Ether and higher existence. Every extraordinary being, in their own way, walks this sa path."
"Extraordinary beings… why should they decide everything?"
Mingfuluo’s voice rose. "What should decide everything is the extraordinary itself!"
"Anselm."
She grabbed his shoulders, her usually emotionless face and eyes blazing with fervor.
"You’re right. This world shouldn’t be like this."
Ideals, the ideals Mingfuluo pursued, the new era she sought.
A world no longer stagnant, no longer lifeless, built on the extraordinary, advancing toward a greater stage, surpassing all imagination, beyond the limits of thought—the New World!
"But we have the power to change it—since extraordinary beings make the world so absurd, we won’t rely on them, but on the extraordinary itself."
Mingfuluo reached out, holding Anselm’s face, her radiant purple eyes reflecting dazzling stars.
As if embracing the entire sky.
"Anselm, you want to see that future too, right!"
Anselm t those breathtaking, srizing eyes.
After a brief silence, he said gently, "Of course, Aluo."
"Then join ."
You understand , I understand you.
"With you by my side, and by yours."
You support , I support you.
Mingfuluo Zege, Anselm’s friend, his best friend, declared passionately, shedding her usual cold, distant deanor, extending her fist toward him:
"Let’s… end this thousand-year stagnation and silence!"
Anselm looked at the girl who now trusted him completely, slowly raising his fist.
Finally, he bumped it against hers.
What Anselm Hydra was thinking at that mont, no one but he could know.
Mingfuluo saw only a radiant smile and heard him say:
"For the future."
For the future.
Sadly, it was rely the cruel lie of a devil.
***
Material Armant: Black Knight.
This was the chanized armor the Ether Academy built in just five days, with the Empress’s limitless resources.
It was no re toy to intimidate Babel Tower, nor a flawed rush job.
It was a true weapon, capable of slaughtering all enemies on the battlefield.
Originally, most Babel Tower mbers didn’t understand why Grand Princess Ivora issued such a brutal decree.
But after Conrad piloted the Black Knight, declaring himself an “adversary,” so clever ones began to sense a possibility.
Now, Babel Tower was shrouded in a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
Scholars and alchemists, toiling in the alchemy workshops to craft weapons, questioned themselves in a daze: What are we doing? What are we facing?
Faced with countless inquiries, Babel Tower’s leadership could only respond with helpless silence.
What could they say?
That they were about to face the Ether Academy and the Empress in a war, using their own crafted weapons to win?
Ivora was fierce but not foolish.
She knew revealing this would only increase pressure and chaos, so she inford only the leadership and they, facing their long-ti friends and like-minded partners, could only remain tragically silent.
This silence only deepened the oppressive atmosphere in Babel Tower.
Two days after the Black Knight’s arrival, the Ether Academy, in control of the situation, was likely making final adjustnts to the chanized armor.
Babel Tower’s leadership knew the aningless war to appease a tyrant was coming soon.
Today, on the seventh day of preparations for this farcical war, Hendrik held what might be Babel Tower’s first and last leadership eting.
In the eting room, Hendrik looked at the exhausted, haggard scholars, unsure how to begin.
Facing the Ether Academy and the Empress head-on… this despairing, absurd reality had crushed them too many tis in seven days.
All who knew the truth had broken down during research—so in rage, destroying materials; others in despair, collapsing; so went numb, their minds blank, unable to comprehend what they were doing.
Even Hendrik had relied on alchemical drugs to maintain his state under the pressure.
"…Everyone, how’s the progress?"
But reality was cold and the tyrannical flas in the Empress and Grand Princess’s grasp cared nothing for their struggles.
Hendrik forced himself to stay composed, his voice steady. "Ronggor, you start."
Lady Ronggor, Babel Tower’s strongest in direct combat, rubbed her temples and sighed. "I’m trying to forge a longsword with composite elents. It’s still a half-finished product, unsure if it can be completed by the deadline."
"…Lunk, what about you?"
"I’m working on a dragonbone greatbow. With the Grand Princess’s resources, the process isn’t an issue, but like Ronggor, ti…"
Hendrik asked several of Babel Tower’s top alchemists and scholars, and their answers were invariably “still in progress” or “half-finished, needing adjustnts.”
Unless it was a near-perfect weapon, they couldn’t compete with the Ether Academy—that was Ivora’s belief and the leadership’s as well.
Seven days… improving or upgrading wasn’t hard.
Even creating sothing from scratch wasn’t impossible for them.
But the problem was… that alone was far from enough.
Babel Tower’s top sorcerers weren’t lacking in ability, but the imnse pressure demanded they achieve “the best.”
For these alchemists and scholars, “the best” often took months, even years, to spark an idea—a lifeti’s work.
Thus, alchemy was called the domain of geniuses.
No matter how skilled, capable, or well-resourced, creating an alchemical item required countless days, months, or years to seize that spark of inspiration, turning thought into form, fantasy into reality.
True geniuses could, while others toiled in thought, transform scoffed-at, incomprehensible grand visions into world-shaking reality.
The ti they had was simply too short.
Babel Tower’s people couldn’t understand: even with the Ether Academy’s deep resources and the Empress’s unlimited support, could creation be achieved so simply?
If the Ether Academy had that capability, they’d have crushed Babel Tower to dust long ago, without needing ruthless suppression tactics.
"Why are you all making these standalone alchemical weapons?"
Amid the increasingly suffocating pressure, a cold, familiar voice suddenly rang out.
Seated at the end of the conference table, Mingfuluo adjusted her glasses expressionlessly.
.."With all this effort, why not focus on advancing research into new Ether-driven firearms and floating cannons? That would be more useful than producing half-finished products."
Having been confined to the alchemy workshop, she was unaware of others’ progress or alchemical creations.
Back then, she thought Anselm was right—discussing with sorcerers of this level wouldn’t yield effective results; working separately on their own weapons was the best approach.
But now…
Due to the imnse pressure from Ivora, everyone had fallen into the trap of chasing perfection.
Combined with the insufficient ti, no one could produce a weapon viable for this war.
The woman slowly closed her eyes, calming the surging anger within.
This was… Hydra’s trap.
Not paranoia or overthinking—Mingfuluo’s mind pieced together a clear thread pointing to this conclusion.
Because that venomous snake knew only she could keep up with his thinking, only she… could see his unique transcendence.
All other alchemists and scholars were still bound by the era itself.
Even having witnessed the power of firearms and floating cannons, when it ca to “true strength,” they fell back into the outdated, absurd cycle—
Blades, bows, armor, warhamrs, staves… as if those were the only weapons in the world, as if Ether circuits and elental infusions could only be applied to such things.
As if only creating a “unique” weapon counted as creating a truly powerful one.
But one phrase Anselm had casually ntioned during a chat stuck vividly in Mingfuluo’s mind.
“The most precious and powerful attribute of any manufacturable item is ‘mass-producibility.’”
At first, Mingfuluo had dismissed it, but as she grew to understand Anselm and see the world through his eyes, she ca to deeply grasp its aning.
Ether-driven firearms were indeed a breakthrough beyond traditional weapons, but their initial debut didn’t send the Empire into an unstoppable wave.
They could even be classified as a special casting dium, a variant of a staff.
But when Mingfuluo declared that Ether-driven firearms could be mass-produced, the aning of this “variant staff” changed entirely.
“…Ether-driven firearms and floating cannons.”
Hendrik paused, then gave a bitter smile. “Mingfuluo, those things…”
Before he could finish, the eting room door suddenly opened.
Anselm, who had been lingering in Babel Tower these past few days, entered with Hitana, stepping into the oppressive atmosphere.
Facing gazes of surprise or delight, he said gently, “I hope I’m not interrupting. I hadn’t planned to join your eting, but after so thought, I figured it’d be good to hear your views on the current situation and future plans.”
“Don’t mind .”
He walked to the end of the table, opposite Mingfuluo, pulled out a chair, and sat with a warm smile.
“Go on. I might raise so questions or suggestions—hope they’ll help.”
“…That would be perfect.”
Anselm’s presence visibly relieved Hendrik, and the other Babel Tower leaders’ expressions brightened—except for Mingfuluo.
She stared at Anselm across from her, his calm deanor sparking a deep sense of unease.
Her mind raced through everything about him and his recent actions, freezing on the mont just before he entered, when Hendrik was about to speak.
“Where were we… right, Mingfuluo ntioned upgrading firearms and floating cannons.”
Hendrik sighed.
“It’s a good idea, and we could probably do it, but… Mingfuluo, this war isn’t really a war. At its core, it’s a clash between the extraordinary of two domains. Our job is to provide the strongest extraordinary beings with the best equipnt, and the ceiling for firearms and floating cannons… falls far short of our needs.”
Mingfuluo stayed silent, but a sense of danger, even dread, peaked at that mont.
“Oh?”
In her silence, Anselm spoke up.
His fingers rhythmically tapped the table, his tone intrigued. “So, Mr. Lundell believes extraordinary beings are what decide everything?”
“…?” Hendrik hesitated, then nodded instinctively.
“Indeed. After all, it cos down to the extraordinary use of them. They are the core…”
As he spoke, he felt sothing off but couldn’t pinpoint the dissonance in this context.
Extraordinary beings decide the outco of this war—that was obviously correct.
Extraordinary beings dominate this world, and war and slaughter are just a trivial part of that dominance.
This thought, this notion, was undoubtedly right.
Yet it was this utterly correct statent that made Mingfuluo stand abruptly.
“Extraordinary beings… are the core?”
She stared at Hendrik, enunciating each word.
“Hendrik, you think extraordinary beings are the foundation?”
“…Mingfuluo, we should be discussing weapons, not—”
Hendrik, sensing her emotional shift, didn’t want her to be rude in front of Anselm and tried to move past the topic, which he himself found slightly odd.
But clearly… the mont he said those words, the conversation’s direction was already in Anselm’s grasp.
“What’s wrong with extraordinary beings being the foundation?”
The young Hydra leaned back in his chair, saying words starkly different from their talk three years ago.
“Extraordinary beings dominate everything, so naturally, everything revolves around them. Miss Mingfuluo… what are you finding strange?”
Smiling, Anselm turned to Hendrik. “Right, Mr. Lundell?”
Hendrik, vaguely sensing sothing amiss, paused before nodding with difficulty. “I believe you’re correct, Lord Anselm.”
“…”
Mingfuluo suddenly fell silent.
She sat back down without another word, no longer trying to argue.
This was Hydra’s plan, she warned herself.
A blatant, malicious tactic to make her feel isolated, alone, without any companions in the world.
But so what?
Babel Tower was a pursuer of truth, not like the Ether Academy, hoarding knowledge and resources, chained by greed and power, enslaved to the extraordinary.
Even without you, I still have companions who share my hope for the New World, Hydra.
…And even if I have none?
I can go on alone.
Even if it’s just , even if I abandon everything… I will keep going. I will keep going.
And, Hydra, do you think when I have no other choice, I’ll rely on you?
The woman clenched her fist instinctively, whispering to herself.
You never regretted your lies, which ans… you never truly wanted to walk with .
It was all just your lies.
Just lies.
Just…
Mingfuluo, head bowed, looked at the chest of this puppet body, where no heart existed, only a cavity filled with Ether circuits.
Anselm Hydra, that devil, had deceived her so cruelly, weaving a fantastical vision with ideals to ta her.
All he wanted was her absolute, unwavering loyalty.
Everything else… he didn’t care about, including the dazzling, false illusion he described.
Lies… Mingfuluo knew they were lies.
Yet why, when that man spoke those words so carelessly, did she feel an uncontrollable, piercing pain in her empty chest?
Why did this pain… feel so real, as if it were carved into her soul?
Was it because, when Anselm Hydra said those words, he seed to have casually but thoroughly killed the vibrant, youthful boy of the past?
If so…
Why did he kill that version of himself?
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