Taming the Protagonist

Volume 2

Chapter 106 : The Answer

Unknowingly, it had reached dusk.

The young Hydra sat in the garden, quietly gazing at the setting sun.

As time ticked by, the scene he had rehearsed countless times in his mind was about to arrive.

What actions to take, what expressions to show, what words to say… These had been repeated in Anselm’s mind for years.

But everything was disrupted by a certain self-righteous person.

He stroked the gray-black bracelet on his wrist, which looked like nothing more than an ordinary ornament. After a long silence, he murmured:

“The power to defeat the Empress… is this the confidence of a hero?”

“Even Hitana wasn’t as confident as you, Mingfuluo.”

“Going on and on like that.”

The boy raised his hand, holding the bracelet up to the sun. The dim red sunlight shone on it, unable to reflect any brilliance.

He murmured softly: “You really are arrog—”

“…Arrogant?”

Staring at the bracelet, Anselm’s lips twitched: “Not arrogant, but foolish, right?”

“Just like me.”

From the words in that diary, from the recording left behind, how could Anselm not see that Mingfuluo had no certainty of success?

Mingfuluo was only doing what she believed she had to do.

As for whether it would work… she hadn’t considered that from the start.

Even if, to make Anselm give up, she needed power to rival the Empress, equivalent to the sixth tier—a fantastical notion—she acted without hesitation, fearless of the consequences.

—Just like himself, a mere pawn under fate’s gaze, determined to destroy it at all costs.

The same stubbornness, the same… foolishness.

But the difference was, Anselm had no choice.

The inevitable doom and unresolvable blood feud left him only one path: to oppose fate.

Mingfuluo was different.

No one forced her to stop Anselm, and she didn’t owe him anything.

In fact, after the truth reversed, it was Anselm who owed her.

With her intellect, she might even have guessed her original fate—chosen by Anselm, who knew the future, she was surely destined for limitless achievements.

If Mingfuluo Zege had chosen to stand by coldly, she might have had a far brighter future.

She had more choices, yet she chose the most meaningless path.

Anselm closed his eyes.

The twilight’s glow cast a weary hue on his face, the dim yellow light outlining silent desolation.

Now, there was no one by his side.

He had sent Hitana back to Chishuang Territory on an excuse, not wanting her to see his cruel, twisted actions, not wanting her to waver his resolve, not wanting her to become an obstacle.

Because Anselm knew clearly, if it was Hitana, if she knew what he intended, she would stop at nothing to prevent him, even threatening her own life again.

But after sending away the one who could sway him most, there was still a lunatic who had prepared for this moment for three… no, four years.

Yet he couldn’t hysterically roar at the now-absent Mingfuluo, couldn’t accuse her of self-righteously never experiencing his pain, couldn’t accuse her of arrogantly failing to understand his despair.

Because she clearly… knew everything.

It was exactly because she knew everything, because she could understand his pain and despair, that she acted with such utterly foolish resolve.

So, after the brief shock and loss of control, Anselm showed no further lapse, only… numbness.

When the pain that tore through his heart and gnawed at his soul became routine, all that remained was numbness.

The beauty of childhood, the beliefs he once held, the parents he deeply loved, and… a friend who never truly betrayed him.

How much more did he have to sacrifice to stand before fate and fight to the death?

What… did he even have left to sacrifice?

Time ticked by, the moment of that node’s arrival drawing near, and Anselm sat lifelessly in the garden meticulously tended by his mother, Elnilisa, who always wanted to show the best to her child and husband.

Anselm watched the sun slowly set, even the dusk seeming cold.

At that moment, the moment Anselm wished no one would disturb, a maid approached cautiously and said softly:

“Young Master, a guest has come to visit.”

“…A guest?” Anselm’s voice was hoarse. “Who?”

“He… he claims to be Miss Zege’s father.”

“…”

Anselm’s lips twitched.

Fate… fate, you truly don’t miss a single opportunity.

Even a pawn like Layden, you won’t let go, wanting to use him to the fullest?

What did you want him to do?

Use his concern for Mingfuluo to further break my will?

Use the concept of a father to make me hesitate more?

Thinking this, Anselm raised his hand, but with a slight shake, before he could wave it off, he paused.

“…Let him in.”

Fate’s malice and schemes… whatever they were.

He had to do something for his friend.

Not long after, Layden Zege, Erlin Zege’s incompetent son, the father Mingfuluo once despised, stood uneasily behind Anselm.

“Lord Anselm, sorry for the intrusion.”

“Hm.”

Anselm didn’t look at him, only aiming his wine glass at the fading sunset, as if trying to capture the dusk in his drink.

Layden, after bowing his head for several seconds, lifted it nervously, as if mustering all his courage, and asked:

“Could you… could you please tell me about Mingfuluo’s… recent situation?”

Anselm glanced at him.

The humble man immediately tried to lower his head again, but halfway, he forced himself to meet Anselm’s gaze, his eyes full of pleading.

“Please… forgive my presumption, but I want to know… I want to know what’s happened to her.”

“Why ask this suddenly?” Anselm idly swirled the wine. “Concern doesn’t come without reason. In your eyes, is her situation bad?”

“Because someone told me Mingfuluo might… might be betraying Babel Tower.”

Anselm’s swirling of the glass paused slightly.

He raised an eyebrow: “You can’t say such things lightly. Mingfuluo would sacrifice everything for Babel Tower. Are you sure this information is reliable?”

“Yes, that person… is my friend, one of Babel Tower’s higher-ups. He told me Mingfuluo’s relationship with Hendrik and the others has somehow soured greatly, and… and the Grand Princess’s anomaly that day was related to Mingfuluo.”

“…You’re in contact with someone high up in Babel Tower?”

Layden nodded cautiously: “Not a deep connection, just asking him to tell me about Mingfuluo’s usual situation. After all, I’m still Mingfuluo’s…”

The man opened his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to say those two words.

The young Hydra gazed at the shimmering liquid in his glass, silent.

Though his memories of this world were detailed and comprehensive, they weren’t so thorough as to include such matters.

Layden Zege, his story, was but the most trivial footnote in the tale of the great sage, the source of truth.

In all Anselm had seen, he was merely a minor character glossed over.

So Anselm didn’t know that Layden still had ties with someone from Babel Tower… though only to learn about Mingfuluo’s situation, it was still surprising.

Because Layden betrayed Erlin, Babel Tower’s members, as the most loyal to Erlin’s ideals, naturally despised him and Layden couldn’t possibly have a good opinion of those who “abducted” his daughter.

Yet he had formed a connection with a Babel Tower higher-up, just to know about Mingfuluo’s… situation.

What had he paid for it?

Money?

Dignity?

Or something else?

And why would that person agree to tell Layden about Mingfuluo’s life?

Was Layden’s payment enough, or… was it pity for a pathetic father?

In the silence that made Layden increasingly uneasy, Anselm spoke slowly:

“But if I recall correctly, Mr. Layden… you and Babel Tower should, in theory, be at odds.”

“You despised your father and the Babel Tower that took your daughter. If Mingfuluo plans to betray Babel Tower, shouldn’t that be good news for you?”

Anselm looked at the anxious man, asking softly:

“Why, then, are you still worried about Mingfuluo?”

His question was calm yet sharp, piercing the wound Layden least wanted to touch.

The man’s face darkened.

He opened his mouth, but overwhelming emotions prevented him from forming words, only letting out meaningless syllables.

After another moment of silence, he spoke with great difficulty:

“Because… it’s what she wants.”

Layden looked down at the grass: “In the fifteen years I couldn’t be with her, Babel Tower and… my father’s ideals became her everything.”

His eyes grew distant, as if returning to fifteen years ago, to when Mingfuluo was still a child, to the joyful times he spent with his family.

“She loves everything she’s striving for now, without regret. For me, that’s enough.”

When he looked up again, Layden’s face showed a trace of relief:

“She has a new life. If it’s what she truly desires, my hatred… doesn’t matter.”

“…So you want to know the reason? You’re worried Mingfuluo was influenced or hurt?”

“Yes, because the Mingfuluo I know wouldn’t abandon what she pursues for anything.”

Layden’s face showed pleading again: “So… please, I just want to know what happened to her, is she… is she alright?”

Anselm didn’t answer but asked again:

“Even if she doesn’t know what you’ve done, doesn’t care about you, and her future has nothing to do with you?”

“…” Layden looked at Anselm in confusion, unsure why the boy who could crush him with a gesture asked such questions, but he responded slowly and firmly:

“Yes, Lord Anselm.”

“You may think I’m… indulging in self-pity or deluding myself. I still want to know if Mingfuluo is doing well.”

The mediocre, incompetent man lowered his eyes and smiled:

“Even if it’s just wishful thinking, I’m still her father.”

Anselm looked at the smile on his face, as if it drew some strength, and was silent for a long time.

Until he picked up his glass, drained the wine, and said with a faint smile:

“Mingfuluo is doing well, rest assured, Mr. Layden.”

“…Really?!”

Layden’s face lit up with vibrant color.

This father, who could only run a small shop on the outskirts of the Ether Academy, who gave everything to a daughter who wouldn’t acknowledge him, showed the brightest expression Anselm had seen in their few encounters.

“Yes.” Anselm stroked the bracelet, saying softly, “She… has been striving for what she hopes for. The Babel Tower matter is just a small issue.”

“Yes… that’s who she is. She won’t be defeated. I knew… I knew she wouldn’t.”

The man showed a relieved smile, but as if realizing he had no right to such relief, he covered his mouth slightly, bowing to Anselm with tearful gratitude:

“Thank you for telling me this, Lord Anselm, thank you!”

After thanking him, Layden, relieved, bid Anselm farewell, not wanting to disturb him further, and left quickly. But before he got far, Anselm suddenly called out:

“Mr. Layden.”

The young Hydra looked at the surprised Layden turning back, stroking the glasses in his arms as he said:

“Mingfuluo… has actually realized her past mistakes. She no longer blames you; rather…”

For some reason, his voice softened slightly.

“She feels guilty, unsure how to… face you.”

“…”

The man stood frozen in place.

Seconds later, he collapsed to his knees as if drained of all strength.

In over a decade, this mediocre, incompetent man, who failed to fulfill his father’s wishes and raise his daughter, a trivial figure barely mentioned in that grand story, must have endured countless humiliations and pains.

But he had likely never been as broken as now.

He covered his face with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Because at this moment, Layden Zege was nothing else but a father.

“Thank you… thank you, Lord Anselm… thank you…”

And Anselm’s figure had already vanished.

***

The terrifying pressure within Notun had inexplicably dissipated.

The massive alchemical fortress seemed empty, devoid of any living presence.

Anselm placed his hand on the doorknob, behind which was a place he hadn’t stepped into even once in six years.

“…”

Click.

The boy with a calm expression pushed open the door, stepping into the light screen, arriving in that… flower sea he could never forget.

Amid the seemingly endless vibrant blooms, a wooden cabin stood, with a long hanging chair outside.

Nothing had changed; time seemed frozen six years ago, in the beautiful days before Anselm knew the truth of this world.

The young Hydra walked through the vast flower sea toward the simple cabin.

He walked slowly, as if trudging through mud despite the soft, vivid beauty of the flower sea.

Because along this path, his thoughts nearly drove him to madness.

If fate didn’t want me to gain that power, then I must obtain it.

…No, but that’s not right. Fate couldn’t be unaware of my resolve. What if my actions were part of its scheme?

What would I become if I did this?

Cold and heartless?

A complete monster?

Would Hitana betray me because of this?

No, no… fate might want me to think this way, so I should—

Anselm’s breathing grew heavier, the darkness in his eyes growing more vivid.

It wasn’t until he reached the cabin that he forced himself to calm down, steadying his breath before gently pushing the door open.

The cabin’s decorations were simple and plain, but this simplicity, paired with playful trinkets and the light yellow of the natural wood, made it incredibly warm.

The boy walked quietly through the cabin, his hand brushing over walls and furniture.

Whether it was a portrait of the family of three or the small toys Flamel made at young Anselm’s request, everything remained pristine, untouched by dust, in its original place.

Then he went upstairs, first entering his own bedroom, lingering for about five or six minutes before stepping out, standing at the door of Flamel and Elnilisa’s bedroom.

He stood there for a long time before, ever so gently, as if afraid to disturb someone inside, he pushed the door open and entered.

The decorations and furniture inside… were identical to the space where Flamel worked on his creation.

But here, there was far more life and Elnilisa wasn’t lying in a crystal coffin but on a soft bed, sleeping with a gentle, serene expression.

Anselm quietly approached the bed, kneeling halfway, his clenched fists resting on the edge, gazing at his mother.

At this moment, Elnilisa seemed more vivid than ever.

Though clearly asleep, her breathing, her warmth, were as real as could be.

Because this was real. Sleeping here was indeed his mother, Elnilisa Drenan herself.

Even though Elnilisa had been annihilated by Anselm, consumed by the abyss six years ago, leaving not a trace, the one sleeping here was truly her.

The young Hydra held his mother’s hands, pressing her knuckles to his forehead.

At this moment, he shed all his radiant, lofty, fearsome identities, kneeling by his mother’s bedside, feeling her warmth.

From the haggard, pale face he saw at birth, to the teasing smiles when he gained awareness, to the playful, unmotherly antics as he grew, to the gentle expression he could always rely on, and finally… her vanishing into nothingness.

Anselm held Elnilisa’s hand, his forehead pressed against it, slowly, deeply, unwilling to miss a single detail… recalling the past with his mother and father.

“Help me… Mother.”

After this faint murmur, all that remained… was an endless silence.

A silence so long that soft footsteps approached from outside.

A man appeared at the door, quietly watching them.

Anselm, aware of his arrival, gently placed his mother’s hand down and turned to the man at the door.

“Let’s step outside.”

Flamel Hydra smiled, his voice soft: “Don’t disturb your mother.”

Anselm nodded silently, following Flamel out of the cabin.

This father and son, rarely together, stood in the flower field.

One gazed through the window at his wife’s figure with tender eyes, while the other stood still, looking at his father’s face.

“In four or five years, Elni should fully awaken.”

Flamel smiled: “When she does, she’ll remember everything. Don’t let her be too sad.”

“…I thought you’d choose to let Mother forget.”

“It’s too difficult. If I could, I’d want to.”

Flamel shook his head: “During the reconstruction… Elni’s soul was too fragile. I couldn’t take any risks. And if I simply erased her memories, with her personality and ability, she’d eventually recover them.”

“So.” The man smiled freely, “You’ll have to comfort her, stay with her, protect her, get it?”

Anselm, head lowered, his voice slightly hoarse: “I know, Father.”

Flamel’s miraculous technique of crafting a soul identical to its original from fragments wasn’t made for Mingfuluo.

From the start, this technique was for reviving Elnilisa.

But back then, Elnilisa had been obliterated by the abyss Anselm summoned, leaving not even fragments… How could she be revived?

The answer was simple.

It lay… in Flamel’s own soul.

The Head of Soul, intertwined with the Hydra soul, maximally shielded the Hydra from the abyss’s erosion.

Part of its soul was so entwined with the Hydra’s that they were inseparable.

This part ensured that even if the Head of Soul met misfortune, it could still mitigate erosion to some extent.

The soul fragments Flamel used to revive Elnilisa… came from his own soul, once inseparably linked with hers.

He was shattering, severing, peeling away… his own soul.

This was the truth behind Flamel’s rapid descent to an erosion level nearly equal to the Empress’s over these six years.

It wasn’t just the loss of the Head of Soul.

More crucially, over these six years, he continuously cut away parts containing Elnilisa’s residual soul. Because they were so tightly bound, he often… destroyed parts of his own soul in the process.

With his most important creation still incomplete, Flamel meticulously controlled Elnilisa’s revival progress.

Over these six years, he used his own soul to sustain and nurture the incomplete Elnilisa.

Until now, having completed his ultimate creation, he finally… fully separated the last of Elnilisa’s soul fragments from his own, reviving his wife, his son’s mother, completely.

And with that, his life reached its end.

“Now, it’s just between us father and son.”

Flamel smiled: “I want to ask you something, Asa.”

Anselm didn’t respond, and Flamel continued:

“What is it?”

He gazed at his son, his sea-blue eyes roiling with barely contained madness and tyranny:

“What is this… filth threatening you, turning you into this?”

The entire flower field trembled violently, but only for an instant. When Flamel glanced at the cabin, everything calmed.

“…Even now, you won’t tell me?”

Receiving no response, Flamel sighed softly but smiled freely: “Sorry for asking something that troubles you, Asa.”

The dashing middle-aged noble sat on the ground without decorum, stroking the flowers around him, murmuring softly:

“So beautiful, aren’t they, Asa?”

“Only in recreating all this did I realize how much effort Elni put in.”

He looked at his son, chuckling: “No matter how willful or carefree, she’s the best woman in the world, right?”

Flamel beamed with joy: “She’s perfect, so I never needed another.”

“Compared to my useless self…”

The man, moments ago smiling brightly, sniffed the flowers’ fragrance, murmuring:

“A good woman like her deserves to live longer.”

Then, his clearly unstable mind led him to laugh repeatedly: “Thinking of Elni waking up, crying and scolding me for trading my life for this, why does it make me so happy… Asa, come here.”

He beckoned Anselm. When Anselm came and sat beside him, Flamel said:

“…Leaving so much to you, I really am not a good father.”

“I couldn’t protect you, couldn’t protect your mother… I’m sorry, Asa.”

No one knew what this divine species, standing at the world’s pinnacle, capable of destroying all with a wave, thought as he said this.

He held the supreme power to create from nothing, yet couldn’t save his wife in time. He wielded fearsome authority to subdue all, yet let vile beings attack his family.

He thought himself omnipotent, yet could only watch his son grow cold, dark, unrecognizable, struggling in endless pain, distancing himself from his parents, while he could do nothing.

Flamel Hydra was an incompetent, unfit father.

“…Why apologize, Father?”

After a long silence, Anselm finally spoke, his voice hoarse: “Why… apologize to me?”

Anselm knew why Flamel said this.

Long ago, he had planned what Flamel would say and what he would respond with.

But now, all preparations were meaningless.

Facing his father, hearing his soft words, Anselm couldn’t control himself.

Because he was the one with the greatest sin.

Flamel Hydra originally had nearly ten years left to live.

In the original timeline, unaware of the future, Anselm witnessed Elnilisa’s death, naturally not awakening his current Spiritual Essence but a hunting essence in madness, becoming the Empire’s most brutal hound, chasing his mother’s killer.

Ephithand had no reason to target Anselm, and Flamel, through special means, suppressed the abyss’s erosion.

After completing his final creation, he spent his last ten years with Elnilisa and Anselm.

Free from turmoil, free from suffering, the happiest ten years with family.

It was this decade of the Hydras’ noninterference that gave the Revolutionary Army and heroes precious time to grow; this decade shaped the most favorable situation for fate and change.

Anselm’s goal was to cut out those ten years, to wield the power to dominate all now, delivering fate a vicious blow.

So, as Mingfuluo said, he used his Spiritual Essence as bait, making the Empress, desperate for survival, target him, making Flamel, unwilling to leave a scorched earth for his son, willingly pass his power to him.

And the cost…

The cost was that he had to personally force his father’s death, personally strip away… the ten years Flamel could have lived happily.

Such extreme cruelty, such utter ruthlessness, such… unforgivable sin.

Anselm Hydra was the one who should apologize to his parents, believing his sins so great he didn’t even deserve to apologize.

“Why?”

Flamel laughed heartily: “Why? What’s there to ask?”

He placed his hand on Anselm’s head, ruffling the boy’s hair: “Didn’t you ask me why Elni, who knew nothing of alchemy or creation, could fulfill my greatest desire?”

At this moment, Flamel Hydra wasn’t a divine species above all, nor the greatest alchemist wielding the creator’s authority.

He was a father.

In his expression, eyes, and tone, he radiated pure joy and happiness.

“Because she and I created you.”

“Asa.”

Those sea-blue eyes, so like Anselm’s, proof of their blood bond, held only pure love and tenderness.

“You are the most perfect answer I could give this world.”

Anselm met his father’s gaze.

He knew Flamel, who tirelessly hid his Spiritual Essence to protect him from the Empress, must have understood his plan, his thoughts, his vision.

He knew Anselm was forcing his death.

Yet even so, Flamel accepted it, though he could have lived longer, spending happy, perfect time with family; though as a divine species, his desire for life and ascension was nearly unstoppable; though… he didn’t even know why Anselm so urgently needed his power.

But he accepted it.

Surpassing his attachment to his own happiness, surpassing the divine species’ instincts, without even needing a reason.

When his son forced him to end his life, he willingly agreed.

“Though I said it’d be fun to see Elni wake up crying and scolding… after that, don’t let her shed tears again, Asa.”

Flamel stroked his son’s head, still seeing traces of youth in the boy’s face… He couldn’t help but think, what was I doing at Asa’s age, how was I living?

Thinking this, he felt no regrets.

Because he could give his son, a divine species enduring pain far greater than his own, the power to clear all obstacles.

Thinking of the gift he left for Anselm, Flamel felt he was, at last… a worthy father.

“You too, Asa.”

The man’s face showed a relieved, joyful smile:

“Take everything I have, destroy all that would make you cry.”

“From now on, stop suffering. Live happily.”

Just this was enough to bring about his wife’s revival and his son’s rebirth.

Flamel had never felt so accomplished.

He closed his eyes, lying peacefully in the flower field, as if returning to the past he so cherished.

His wife embraced him, whispering complaints about their son’s quirks in his ear, while their son occasionally said things that baffled him but sounded incredibly impressive…

The abyss, vast and overwhelming, as if to swallow and grind everything, descended into that ultimate darkness.

Flamel felt at ease. He had always worried Anselm wouldn’t resolve to do it.

The Flame-Feasting Royalty’s inheritance used the Crown as its vessel.

When the previous Empress cast herself into the Source Flame, the Crown absorbed that sixth-tier power, and the next Empress needed only to wear it to become Supreme in an instant.

But the Hydras… as the purest magical beasts, had no such complexities.

For them, the continuation of this inheritance was brutally simple.

It was to consume the previous Hydra.

Literally, physically, devouring the Hydra’s body along with its power, then letting one’s own power rise from the abyss, surpassing all, becoming divine.

When Flamel felt that power, far surpassing his own, as if shrouding the sky and consuming this very space, he finally relaxed completely, preparing to end his life directly.

But in that instant, his eyes snapped open, filled with disbelief.

Flamel, eyes wide, saw Anselm press a glowing orb into his chest.

“Anselm!!!”

He roared in shock: “What are you doing! How do you have—how could you have… how is it in your hands!”

The last time he lost composure like this was facing Elnilisa’s death… What had Anselm done to make Flamel so shocked, enraged, even frenzied?

Flamel roared and struggled, but not yet having ended his life, still a divine species, he was pinned down by Anselm with one hand.

His mind grew increasingly hazy, and the madness and tyranny only Anselm could resist… were fading at an unbelievable speed!

“Father.”

Under the glow of that orb, Anselm’s face was slightly blurred.

But Flamel could see… he was smiling.

He seemed to have never smiled so… freely and happily.

“Before you came, I knelt by Mother’s bedside, recalling everything I experienced with her.”

The young Hydra murmured softly, bit by bit, fully pressing the glowing orb into Flamel’s chest.

Flamel struggled, grabbing Anselm’s arm, his tone almost pleading: “Stop… Anselm… stop it… stop!”

“I meant to use everything I experienced with Mother, with you, her choice back then, my despair at that time, to steel my resolve.”

Anselm was still smiling, his eyes and tone so gentle… like the child from six years ago.

“But I thought of what Mother said to me.”

“If I reached a point where I couldn’t make a choice, where it was so difficult, so painful that I didn’t know how to go on…”

Looking at the orb fully absorbed into Flamel’s chest, Anselm, after six years of suffering, finally saw his heart, long buried in endless darkness.

“I must live for myself.”

Fate… fate.

Since that day, all of Anselm’s actions revolved around fate.

Good deeds or evil, everything he did, his purpose for living, was reduced to one thing—defeating, destroying fate.

Even at this final juncture, all he considered was fate—was it fate stopping him?

Were his recent thoughts another of fate’s deceptions?

What was the right choice?

How could he win against fate just once?

How could he completely triumph in this game?

Anselm thought so much, yet never considered himself.

He never considered how much pain this choice caused him, how cruel and twisted he had to become to make this resolution, what he would become if he actually did it…

He never considered what he truly wanted.

“Father… what I want is for you, Mother, and me to all live.”

That was Anselm’s… original, deepest desire.

He wanted to live happily with his family.

“Asa…”

Flamel, his consciousness on the verge of fading completely, still clutched Anselm’s arm, weakly calling his name.

Anselm gently removed his hand, saying softly: “I know you have many questions. When you wake, I’ll tell you and Mother everything.”

“My struggles, my pain, my gains, my… resolve.”

“It’s a long story.” The boy smiled. “You and Mother can listen for a long time, don’t worry.”

“No… don’t.”

As Flamel’s voice, faint as a mosquito’s buzz, uttered those two words, Anselm gently closed his drooping eyelids.

“Next time.”

The Hydra, resolved to live for himself, said softly:

“Watch the flowers with Mother, Father.”

He lifted the sleeping Flamel from the flower field, walking toward the nearby cabin.

Flamel Hydra, the greatest alchemist in a thousand years, perhaps never to be surpassed, spent nine years gathering countless materials to create what?

The answer was evident in the changes in Flamel’s body.

It was… a miracle among miracles, capable of breaking the Hydra family’s thousand-year curse, truly freeing them from the abyss, completely ending that endless erosion!

Though the cost was that the Hydras would lose their world-shaking power, falling from the sixth tier, no longer divine, it was negligible compared to what was gained.

The only thing worth Flamel’s immense effort, even delaying his wife’s revival, was this one thing.

—To let his son have a truly happy life.

He believed that if Anselm inherited his power, he could sweep away all enemies, even the Flame-Feasting Royalty destined to be dominated by his son.

And when all was settled, as long as Anselm merged with that miracle he created, he could have a truly radiant, perfect life.

But he didn’t know Anselm already knew all this, knew where that gift was placed.

In that cabin, in Anselm’s own bedroom.

Flamel also didn’t know that Anselm, influenced by his friend, his mother, and his father’s love, made another choice.

He would use this irreplicable miracle to save his father, to save the life he could still salvage.

To do what his heart truly wanted.

Regardless of whether it fell into fate’s scheme, regardless of whether he could defeat fate.

At this moment, Anselm Hydra acted only to fulfill his heart’s vision.

He carried Flamel to the bedroom, laying him beside Elnilisa, quietly gazing at his sleeping parents.

Mingfuluo’s soul strength couldn’t compare to Elnilisa’s. Even though Elnilisa was fully restored, her awakening was still far off.

And Flamel… that miracle, which Anselm never used in the original future due to lack of opportunity, its activation time and Flamel’s awakening were unknown.

But it didn’t matter… It was just a matter of time.

This time, Anselm didn’t sacrifice but saved, saved the most important thing in his life.

Looking at his parents’ faces, his heart no longer held that maddening obsession with fate, nor any self-tormenting pain.

Only a purity he had never felt… peace.

Anselm didn’t know if he made the right choice in his game with fate, but he knew, in his game with himself, he had made the most correct choice.

Even if the enemy he’d face next was terrifyingly hopeless, it didn’t matter.

“Fate.”

The young Hydra, no longer frenzied or consumed by hatred, looked calmly at the sky, smiling softly:

“Come, kill me.”