Taming the Protagonist

Volume 2

Chapter 100 : Before the Finale

That was the greatest despair of Anselm’s life.

A single sentence could make Hitana break through the walls around Anselm’s heart from the brink of death.

When Anselm finally mustered the courage to reflect on his thoughts and journey from that time, he only felt… absurdity.

The young version of himself was like a puppet toyed with by fate, manipulated by a lofty existence with a mere flick of its fingers, strings pulling his limbs and body; with a slight motion, he followed its will, never once suspecting a thing.

In fact, that day, the Empire nearly fell.

The frenzied Flamel almost clashed to the death with the Empress in the Imperial Capital; if the Empress hadn’t preemptively pulled the battlefield into the Zero Point Labyrinth, the Imperial Capital would have ceased to exist.

The truth proved that Anselm’s greatest mistake… was believing the Empress could be the mastermind.

With careful thought, the conclusion was clear—however mad Ephithand might be, she could not have done something so absurd.

Elnilisa’s death brought her no benefit; on the contrary, she was the second greatest victim.

Moreover, to prevent further incidents, the Empress placed the Elnilisa “created” by Flamel in the Imperial Capital, under her watchful gaze, to guard against any mishaps.

Yet the young Anselm failed to reach this conclusion, not only because overwhelming panic gripped his mind, nor merely because his youthful intellect was immature, but more crucially… because of fate’s deflection.

All it took was one reasonable starting point, and whether in thought or in worldly affairs, everything would be guided by that great, all-dominating existence toward its gaze.

This was… the power of fate.

The moment Anselm conceived that one thought, everything was restructured, adjusted, and ultimately redirected toward the desired path from that instant.

Anything extraneous, any oversight, not only in Anselm but also in the doubts and reflections Elnilisa might have had, would be corrected in a way “aligned with her thinking.”

Any external factors that could cause disturbance would inevitably align with the flow, returning to the origin.

Anselm’s self-assured salvation brought him even greater despair.

Driven by this despair, he no longer acted merely to alter his tragic fate but to… wage a desperate rebellion against fate itself, to crush, kill, and destroy that unspeakable existence!

He recognized his weakness before fate, realized how feeble his resolve to “never be weak” truly was.

How could it be enough to merely… not be weak?

He had to become cruel, utterly wicked, capable of sacrificing everything, giving all, exhausting his entirety to seize that faint, ethereal possibility.

If he couldn’t do this, he could never defeat fate.

In truth, his ten-year-old self nearly succeeded.

If he had more time to learn to control his Spiritual Essence, if he hadn’t lost control after annihilating the assassins, if… there were many “ifs,” and those “ifs” were far from impossible.

Fate would guide everything toward the predetermined, yet it didn’t mind allowing variables in the outcome, nor did it object to… those variables actually occurring.

That was its lofty arrogance—or rather, to it, this was never arrogance, just ordinary.

For how many in this world could create such variables?

If one didn’t deliberately challenge it head-on, who could know if these variables were merely its gambits for a farther future?

Anselm missed his greatest opportunity at ten, yet in that desperate situation, he found a path with variables, though… he failed to succeed.

—Even with the divine species’ status, when a ten-year-old child fully immersed himself in the abyss, how much chance did he have… to preserve his soul’s original form?

In fate’s eyes, such a variable was tantamount to impossible, and this impossibility, deemed so by fate, was one of the fleeting chances to defeat it… one of them.

Merely one, a method Anselm had long abandoned, no longer making such reckless gambles.

Even when he entrusted his greatest secret to Hitana, though it seemed the most reckless bet, Anselm knew deep down that Hitana, at that time, needed only a reason.

He no longer gambled; he learned from fate, beginning to control.

Control was dangerous but effective—for in repeated trials, Anselm had confirmed one thing: fate pursued “reasonableness.”

The Celestial Wolf Empress required the blood of kin to grow, the awakening of the Truth’s Source demanded a life of wandering hardship.

Fate would rather lose this round and plan for the future than let a defiant young wolf consume some treasure and surge in power to sweep the world, or allow a mechanical puppet to suddenly gain insight and see its true path.

As long as everything was confined to absolute reasonableness, Anselm could cut fate’s threads.

Just as he did in Chishuang Territory, though… he fell short of success.

Because of Hitana’s love, his hesitation, and his final collapse—all were within reason.

This was the path he now walked, and like the gamble born from endless despair seeking a glimmer of hope, it required that same resolve.

The resolve to sacrifice everything.

Moreover, to achieve absolute control over everything, this resolve demanded even greater heights than that reckless gamble.

For Anselm needed to be as fate was—cold, ruthless, dominating all from above, to take its place and sever the invisible threads manipulating all beings.

Crafting a favorable image was merely for convenience; no matter how much he despised the Empire’s decay, he mingled amiably with nobles.

His noble deeds might merely pave the way for a massacre, his sins and bloodshed perhaps just a move for a trivial change.

No warmth, no compassion, no… ideals.

Anselm Hydra, in the end, failed to fulfill his mother’s wish to become a kind person.

He became a villain, the Empire’s greatest, most wicked villain.

He refused to err again, refused to endure the despair that destroyed the Hydra family.

So he would be cruel, absolute, grasping anything that could be used to defeat fate, anything that could serve that purpose.

The boy died, and a monster was born.

Elnilisa gave everything to save her child’s life, yet plunged him into a darkness of despair no one could comprehend.

Six years… without release.

The surviving monster understood fate’s terror; he no longer trusted even himself, let alone others.

Only conclusions drawn from the most objective perspective, analyzed from fate’s vantage point, were trustworthy; all else was unreliable.

The world became a clear framework in his eyes, life reduced to cold formulas.

Of course, this approach led to mistakes, for in a sense, it was still trusting only himself.

But the more mistakes he made, the closer Anselm came to that height, that domain.

Now… Anselm no longer made unnecessary errors.

With a single glance, he could dissect a person, grasp their loves and hates, manipulate their sense of self, place them in the most fitting position to do the most appropriate thing, steering everything toward… the outcome he desired.

In the game with Hitana, he lost to fate by a single move at the final moment, but with Mingfuluo… he had achieved a perfect victory.

Moreover, the critical juncture derived from this was already secured.

Anselm gazed at the bewildered Helen, his face still bearing that approachable smile.

As a child, he rarely smiled; Elnilisa disliked his stern demeanor.

Now, Anselm almost always maintained that gentle, courteous smile, warm as a spring breeze, yet he had long forgotten the meaning behind his mother’s wish for him to smile.

—Smiling like this simply made it easier to manipulate others, so Anselm did it.

“Is this… your story?”

Helen, learning all this, her lips trembling, her face drained of color.

If Hitana’s tears upon reading Anselm’s memories were from near-empathic pain, Helen’s vacant, dazed expression now was… regret.

A regret ten thousand times deeper than any before.

That remorse, a desire to strangle herself, was so vivid Anselm could sense it without looking, yet observing Helen’s reaction, he didn’t find the… release he’d anticipated.

Regarding his secrets, Anselm wouldn’t hide them from the Contract Heads, a part of his life; all future Contract Heads would know of Anselm’s uniqueness, his resolve.

Yet, even though Helen had already defeated Mingfuluo, killed her past, Anselm hadn’t immediately shared these truths with her.

Even now, he had only told… a story.

He had waited for this moment for so long, expecting Mingfuluo to show the same expression as Helen upon hearing this story, only to realize now—Helen was only Helen, not Mingfuluo.

The true Mingfuluo would not regret.

She would pity his plight but never regret her choices.

In the framework Anselm built for her, she would inevitably commit what, to her, was tantamount to betrayal.

“So… you didn’t give me a reason back then.”

Three years of questions were answered, but all Helen gained… was pain.

“Because you believed.”

She lowered her eyes, looking at her trembling hands: “If I knew everything was fated, I would never… stand by your side.”

Anselm gently caressed Helen, letting her lean against his shoulder, saying softly:

“But you’ve already killed that past, don’t dwell on it, Helen.”

“But I can’t forgive… if I had… if I had stood by you then, all this—”

Helen couldn’t speak further, but Anselm could feel the deep hatred in her silent stillness, hating her former self so fiercely.

Not merely for betraying Anselm, but for cutting deeper into… his already scarred life when he needed support and help the most.

After a long, long time, Helen spoke hoarsely:

“So your enemy was never the Empress, but…”

“Fate.”

The thing that destroyed everything I had.

In the young Hydra’s eyes, the abyssal black hue flickered faintly.

My remaining life will be devoted to opposing you until one of us is utterly destroyed, no matter the cost.

Helen, gazing into Anselm’s eyes, only now understood her mission.

She instinctively reached to touch Anselm’s cheek but paused midair.

“You… only now chose to tell me the truth.”

The girl spoke softly: “So the old me wasn’t worthy of your trust.”

After resolving to kill her past self and triumphing in that struggle, Helen had asked Anselm who the enemy was.

Anselm only told her it was still the Empress, with no intent to reveal the truth.

Anselm patted Helen’s head: “Don’t take it to heart. I wasn’t doubting your resolve, Helen, I was just—”

He paused, not finishing, but Helen completed it for him.

“You actually… wanted Mingfuluo to live.”

“…”

Anselm froze briefly, then sighed with relief: “Yes, perhaps… I wanted her to live, or rather, from the moment she broke free from three years of confinement, I hoped the Mingfuluo who witnessed all the changes could understand me.”

“Until the moment you two decided the outcome… I hoped she’d show even a hint of wavering.”

If she had, Anselm could have convinced himself that even without erasing Mingfuluo entirely, he could tame her.

Their relationship might never be as before, but she could still be his friend.

But Mingfuluo didn’t; she steadfastly, radiantly upheld her true heart.

Perhaps fate played a role, but it only proved… that was Mingfuluo’s essence.

She was unbreakable, unyielding, a radiant hero.

Utterly incompatible with a demon like him.

Mingfuluo’s existence only proved… how necessary Helen was to him.

And when Helen showed the resolve to abandon even her final past, even Erlin, Anselm had no reason to withhold the truth.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps it was just that the Empress’s words, that so-called deal, touched the pain Anselm least wanted to face, making him want… to confide in someone.

Helen would have to know eventually; the timing didn’t matter.

Anselm never forgot to guard against fate’s influence.

After repeated reflections, he confirmed that in all the “inevitabilities” he controlled, the only thing fate could manipulate to interfere was Helen, and telling her this secret would have no impact.

After all, the limit of his feelings for Helen was set here, and the extent of Helen’s feelings for him wouldn’t change because of these stories.

“Even facing that thing,” Anselm gazed into Helen’s lifeless eyes, “you won’t back down?”

“No, Father.”

Helen’s answer held no hesitation, just as Mingfuluo’s stance never wavered.

“Empress or fate.”

She reached out, wrapping her arms around Anselm’s neck, pressing tightly against his shoulder.

“Trust me, Father, I won’t let you be hurt again, nor let you sacrifice more.”

The petite Helen lowered her eyes, as if resolving something.

“Even if it costs everything.”

Anselm only smiled, not at Helen’s naivety, but finding faint… solace in her words.

Helen, who hadn’t experienced fate’s immense power, could say things like avoiding sacrifice; she was too naive… like Hitana, naive enough to think she could easily overcome her Beast King nature.

But it didn’t matter.

That Helen and Hitana could stand by him against impossible odds and despair was enough.

And in the cruelest terms—

Even if Helen truly gave everything for him this time, Anselm would no longer waver.

She was merely born from the soul of a betrayer, an existence he created purely for utility.

Helen was not Mingfuluo, not Hitana, and certainly not… his mother.

Moreover, when that critical juncture arrived, when Flamel completed his final creation using all the materials he had gathered over this long time, there would be nothing in this world that would force Helen to sacrifice herself entirely.

Even if there were, Anselm could save her.

“Our path is still long, Helen.”

Anselm took Helen’s hand, placing it on his chest, and said softly: “Now that you know who my true enemy is, there’s no need to rush for fleeting gains. From now on, be my strength.”

This was the second time Anselm formally invited Helen to become his Contract Head, to form the bond, but for some reason, she, who had longed for that ring three years ago, remained silent.

“…No, wait a little longer, Father.”

Helen met Anselm’s gaze: “I have something very important to offer you.”

Anselm raised an eyebrow slightly: “During this time?”

“Yes, thanks to you, I’ve found my path forward.”

The petite woman’s voice was calm yet resolute: “I hope it’s a power that can help you… change fate.”

“That’s not so easy,” Anselm said with a wry smile. “Are you planning to choose your Contract Head in a year or two?”

“No, it won’t take that long.”

Helen gripped Anselm’s hand, her eyes free of concealment or wavering: “Soon… very soon, please trust me.”

“Is that so…”

Anselm nodded understandingly: “Within thirty days, can you complete it?”

“More than enough, Father.”

Helen agreed to this ambiguous deadline: “At the same time, I hope you’ll let me meet Mr. Flamel.”

She looked down at her palm, whispering in a cold, even hateful tone:

“She and I need to settle things completely.”

Anselm clearly saw something deeper, asking thoughtfully: “And you also need… the knowledge Mingfuluo accumulated over these three years, don’t you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“That means meeting Father right away… he’s likely at a critical moment and may not—”

For some reason, Anselm’s words paused slightly; he knew exactly what his father was doing, having revisited those memories far too many times.

“Now, it shouldn’t yet be the stage of actual forging.”

Anselm stood, looking up at the ceiling, and said softly: “Very well, I’ll take you to see Father, Helen.”

Perhaps to help Helen complete her final severance.

Or perhaps just to see his father one more time.

Before the curtain fell on this long drama.