Taming the Protagonist

Chapter 109 (3)

The Dragon Tongue Grand Duke casually tossed his glass aside: “I’ll wait a bit longer. Let them stir up the chaos first.”

“There’s still a divine species sitting in the fertile South, watching the world.”

He murmured softly: “I must ensure he truly has no more cards to play. If we fight and kill each other to claim everything, only for a lofty divine lord to emerge above us, I’m not sure…”

Roar—!!!

The young dragon on the balcony suddenly roared, flapping its wings and soaring toward the valley outside, joined by dozens of giant dragons whose wingbeats shattered clouds with their thunderous cries.

“…I could obediently remain a dog, content in my corner.”

On February 17, 1108 of the Imperial Calendar, twelve days after the [Day of Calamitous Fire].

Grand Duke Blood Dust declared war on Grand Duke Earthrend without warning; Grand Duke Azuregold supplied mercenaries and adventurers to both sides, clashing with the Dragon Tongue Grand Duke over dragon leasing.

The West Kingdom, already the most chaotic, descended into true turmoil.

***

At Eastern Port, Deep Blue Port, the Lost Coast.

“Really! I saw a ball of fire… falling from the sky! I wouldn’t dare lie to you, my lord!”

A fisherman bowed repeatedly to a finely dressed noble: “Everyone in our village saw it!”

“Is that so…” the noble nodded with a smile, “Very good, your information is crucial.”

The dark-skinned fisherman’s eyes lit up, his fawning expression growing even more pronounced.

In Eastern Port, everyone was a rule-abiding merchant.

[Those who give shall receive.]

This was the unbreakable rule set by the three Grand Dukes, the reason for Eastern Port’s prosperity.

Even lofty nobles, upon receiving a commoner’s contribution, no matter how small, would offer—

Blood sprayed from the fisherman’s severed neck.

The noble kicked away the head that rolled to his feet, wiping the blood from his sword, his expression cold:

“Not a single one left. Clean it up thoroughly.”

The attendant behind him nodded slightly, raised a longsword, and headed toward the nearby village.

Five minutes later, the attendant returned, bowing respectfully to the noble:

“Young Master Elfin, it’s done.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The young noble continued down the country path with indifference.

“Can’t let my brother outshine me.”

On February 6, 1108 of the Imperial Calendar, the day after the [Day of Calamitous Fire].

Six fishing villages in Deep Blue Port were massacred by the Sea Clan, with no survivors; the three Grand Dukes of Eastern Port were furious, and the Eastern Port fleet prepared to sail into the Lost Sea for vengeance.

The news of a blood-flame streaking across the sky and falling into the Lost Sea was known to no one.

***

In the South.

Breeze City, one of the territories established when Count Mirror Lake led all his people to Hydra’s Domain.

On clean, orderly streets, a newsboy dashed by, waving newspapers.

“Lord Anselm will return to Hydra’s Domain in seven days! Lord Anselm will return in seven days!”

An ordinary city clerk, sipping coffee outside an open-air café, waved to the newsboy: “A paper, kid!”

“Hehe, two coppers, thank you, sir!”

The newsboy cheerfully handed over the paper, took the coins, and continued running down the street.

The unremarkable clerk set aside his leisurely vacation mood and began reading the paper word by word with utmost seriousness.

The headline caught his eye: “Lord Anselm to Return to His Loyal Hydra’s Domain in Seven Days,” dominating the entire paper’s content.

To the man’s disappointment, there was little about when Anselm would return or the source of the news; most of it was praise for Anselm.

He didn’t mind the praise—on the contrary, his eager hope for Anselm’s swift return made him desperate for more specific details.

He flipped the paper, finding a section on the [Day of Calamitous Fire]… it said the land raised into the sky by the vanished Empress had been stabilized by numerous fifth-tier transcendents and returned to the ground, but repairing the Imperial Capital’s damage would take time.

Many transcendents planned to withdraw their organizations from the capital.

Without the Empress, the Imperial Capital lost its primary resource draw; many gathered there hoping for scraps of favor from Her Majesty’s fingertips.

Now, with the Empress gone, staying held has no meaning.

“Sigh… I say, why not let Lord Anselm be Emperor?”

A discussion from the next table startled the man.

He turned to see a few commoners talking.

“I don’t want Lord Anselm to be Emperor… being Emperor means managing the whole Empire, and he might not have time for us.”

“True, what do others matter? If Lord Anselm’s attention is divided, what happens to our good days?”

Talking politics seemed an innate instinct for men.

After listening for a bit, the clerk couldn’t help but interject:

“Lord Anselm definitely has no interest in the throne.”

His words drew their attention; they turned, surprised: “Why do you say that?”

“Because Lord Anselm is the most watched person right now.

If… I mean if, Her Majesty really… met with misfortune, the throne itself holds no value.”

The man, now the center of attention, spoke confidently: “Her Majesty was Empress because she was strong enough, not because the throne made other Grand Dukes and transcendents submit.

If Lord Anselm rashly claimed the throne, he’d attract the hostility of all Grand Dukes and transcendents.

Lord Anselm wouldn’t do that.”

“…What do you mean? You think Lord Anselm can’t beat those losers?”

Someone’s gaze turned dangerous.

“No, no, no… of course not!”

The man waved his hands: “I mean, Lord Anselm would avoid such unnecessary trouble, and… he doesn’t need the throne to prove his status, does he?”

He puffed out his chest, brimming with pride:

“Right now, isn’t he the greatest, most remarkable person in the Empire?”

“It’s true… my name’s Mara, a carpenter. What’s yours, friend?”

“You can call me Kristin, I work at the city bureau, a clerk.”

“The city bureau!” people exclaimed, “That’s impressive work! No wonder you speak so sensibly.”

Kristin scratched his head sheepishly: “I just got lucky… it was Lord Anselm who gave me this opportunity.”

He gazed wistfully at the clean, orderly streets, almost beautiful enough to call so, and said softly: “The bureau has a dedicated library for us to study, those books, that knowledge, all written by Lord Anselm himself—truly miraculous!”

The man said with utmost sincerity:

“All the knowledge and perspective I have now are blessings from Lord Anselm.”

“No kidding!” The people around laughed cheerfully, “Lord Anselm is the greatest!”

Someone raised their coffee cup: “To Lord Anselm.”

And so, the group clinked their cups in a joyful toast:

“To Lord Anselm!”

That commoners could sit in such a place, discussing imperial politics with newspapers in hand, even speaking such treasonous words without fear, was something that could only happen in Hydra’s Domain.

***

In the Imperial Capital, Tianxin City.

This great city, the heart of the Empire, now appeared so broken and desolate.

Ephithand’s madness had wrought immense destruction upon the Imperial Capital.

Despite the Deus Ex Machina’s efforts to block the torrential rain, it was impossible to stop it entirely, not to mention the physical devastation caused by the mad Empress manipulating gravity.

Tianxin City now resembled a crumbling, tottering fortress of blocks.

Yet, more laughably, at least a dozen fifth-tier transcendents resided here permanently, and with a little effort, over twenty could be gathered.

If these transcendents united, restoring the Imperial Capital would be effortless, yet it remained in this ruined state.

Purely transcendent factions were already preparing to withdraw their main forces.

For those uninterested in politics, the Imperial Capital was merely a hub for resource exchange.

With the Emperor gone, there was no need to keep their powerhouses here, let alone perform free repairs.

For the ambitious Grand Dukes, Tianxin City held special significance.

Each wanted to win public favor by restoring the capital, but none wished to be the first to act, resulting in a tacit stalemate.

In the end, these world-shaping figures, with the Emperor’s death certain and the Flame-Feasting legacy severed, their ambitions nearly realized, still made no significant moves.

Though some transcendents were working on repairs, their limited strength meant restoring this grand city would take an unknown amount of time.

A young noble in a top hat strolled calmly along the shattered boulevard.

As he passed, the cracked streets, collapsed houses, and ruined buildings behind him miraculously restored themselves.

This divine spectacle prompted passersby to kneel in reverence, but closer inspection revealed that the damaged structures weren’t simply restored—tiny iron-gray particles were mending and repairing them.

“Not showing yourself?” Anselm chuckled lightly, “They should be thanking you, not me.”

“I’m not doing this for people to kneel to,” Mingfuluo’s faint voice sounded in Anselm’s ear, “No need for that.”

“And… aren’t you going to the palace? This isn’t the shortest route… and you didn’t need to walk in the first place.”

“Because going to the palace is just a side trip.”

“…Hm?”

Mingfuluo let out a puzzled sound, but Anselm didn’t respond, only smiling as he beckoned with a finger.

The scholar lady sighed:

“Childish.”

Though she said this, her form materialized out of thin air, lightly landing on the ground and taking Anselm’s hand.

“Can you tell me now? What do you mean the palace is just a side trip?” The petite Mingfuluo looked up at Anselm.

“It’s a small matter.”

Anselm said casually: “It’ll be handled quickly.”

“A matter concerning the balance of the entire Empire is a small matter to you?”

Mingfuluo frowned slightly, not out of displeasure but simply to tease Anselm.

Unlike Hitana, who loved to cling to Anselm, though Mingfuluo always followed him like a shadow, she rarely… or rather, almost never gave him an easy time.

Just like how they used to be.

“What, you don’t think I can handle it? Don’t trust me?”

“…Hmph, then what’s a big matter?”

At this, Anselm’s lips curved slightly: “You’ll see soon enough.”

He led Mingfuluo by the hand toward a very plain house.

Mingfuluo had never been here and didn’t know what Anselm meant by bringing her.

Stopping at the gate, Mingfuluo glanced at the surname on the door—she didn’t know the owners.

So what was Anselm doing?

“Your family’s mansion,” Anselm said calmly, “is a bit close to the palace and was heavily damaged.”

“…” Mingfuluo’s brow twitched slightly. After a moment of silence, she replied calmly, “It’s just a mansion, nothing but bricks and stones.”

Though she said this, her expression was noticeably uneasy.

After all, it was a place she had lived, one of the few places bearing Erlin’s traces. And, and… that couple still lived there. If they had been caught in that battle—

Mingfuluo’s expression shifted, and she looked up sharply at Anselm: “Anselm, you—”

The next moment, the house’s door was pushed open, and a handsome, beautiful, but deeply weary couple stepped out.

They immediately noticed the young noble at the gate, looking somewhat surprised.

“Arlo.”

Anselm, standing beside empty air, said softly: “Are you going to run?”

No one answered him.

“I said, from now on, you live for yourself, and so do I.”

“Since you said you don’t know how, let me help you first.”

The young Hydra looked at the hesitant couple not far away, his voice gentle and warm:

“How about starting by addressing past regrets?”

“…”

Two or three seconds later, the petite woman, head lowered, stepped out from behind Anselm.

Clutching his hand tightly, her voice hoarse: “You self-righteous little brat, I’m so… sick of this presumptuous attitude of yours, thinking you know what’s best for me.”

Anselm smiled, squeezing her palm: “We’re even, my armament lady.”

He glanced at the stunned man and the woman covering her mouth with her hands, bending slightly to whisper in Mingfuluo’s ear: “Need a push?”

“…Get lost, go do your own thing. I don’t need you here.”

Mingfuluo muttered, letting go of Anselm’s hand.

She stood at the gate, gazing silently at the couple, their eyes now red. Her hand hesitated at the door but slowly pressed forward.

Mingfuluo Zege, who always sacrificed everything for others, took a deep breath and walked toward her past pain.

She had promised him to live for herself.

It might be hard, but with him, she always knew how to move forward.

Anselm watched the petite figure approach the couple, tipping his hat in a slight bow, though the brim couldn’t hide the deeply satisfied, gentle smile on his face.

Then, he turned his gaze to the highest ruins and walked forward leisurely.

Next, it was time to handle that small matter.

***

Broken stone pillars, shattered bricks, and ceilings occasionally dropping debris.

Sulun stood quietly amidst the ruins, gazing at the throne nearly buried in rubble at the far end.

She felt only absurdity.

The mother she revered was dead, the sister she despised was dead, and the glory and majesty of Flame-Feasting were reduced to the blood-red sun eternally hanging above the Imperial Capital.

As for imperial power, the throne, the palace… they were nothing, mere bricks and stones in the end.

The other Flame-Feasting bloodlines had long fled with their wealth, and even the sole Grand Duke bearing Flame-Feasting blood, stationed in the Imperial Capital each generation, was nowhere to be found.

Sulun was the only royal left here.

Everything she had chased for years was so close to success, yet… failed so utterly.

It was all over, and Sulun knew it better than anyone.

Even without the aptitude to become a divine species, as a Flame-Feasting member with boundless ambition, she understood better than anyone: her utterly mad mother, burned by the Source Flame, was only a matter of time from death, and that lunatic’s final counterattack had severed any chance of Flame-Feasting’s legacy continuing.

The Source Flame, no matter how powerful, was just a flame. Ending each generation’s mad Emperor to ensure power’s continuation was already remarkable—how could it protect the next generation?

Sulun knew better than anyone that Flame-Feasting’s rule was over.

Her unrealistic dreams had been… torn to shreds in such an absurd way.

She would rather have been killed by Ivora, who inherited Flame-Feasting’s power, or seen her mother truly find a way to ascend to the seventh tier and achieve eternity. She’d rather accept such defeats than lose so ridiculously.

As a Flame-Feasting, she wanted punishment from someone sharing her blood, not… the miserable fate that might await her.

Sorcerers might capture her to study her Flame-Feasting blood out of curiosity; perverse powerhouses might seize her as a plaything for her royal status. Either way… her fate would be unimaginably wretched.

But why? Why didn’t Sulun flee and wander like her kin?

“How long have you been waiting here, dear Princess Sulun?”

…Because of this.

Because of the person who said those words.

“…”

The girl in a snow-white gown, pure as an iris, slowly turned around.

Sulun saw the handsome youth she had been waiting for.

Leaning on his cane, he strolled leisurely into the ruins, sighing softly: “This is truly poignant, isn’t it?”

“The place where countless great figures once bowed respectfully has become such desolate ruins, ignored by all.”

The young Hydra tilted his head slightly, looking at the delicate, pitiable flower before him: “Your feelings must be quite complex, Princess Sulun.”

“Lord… Anselm.”

Sulun spoke with difficulty, her voice hoarse.

“I hope I haven’t stirred any painful memories.”

Anselm continued forward, the rubble before him crumbling as if subjects bowing to a king, clearing a path to the throne.

“After all,” he paused, turning with a smile: “I killed Her Majesty.”

That radiant smile sent chills through Sulun’s hands and feet, yet… it also ignited an inexplicable warmth in her heart.

“It’s clear you miss this place, miss the days when Her Majesty displayed her supreme authority.”

Step by step, he ascended the stairs, clearing the rubble burying the throne, and stood before it, brushing the dust from its armrests.

“Or perhaps…”

The young Hydra turned, looking down at the flower-like little princess, patting the throne’s armrest with a playful chuckle:

“You want to sit here, even just once?”

At this, Sulun, head deeply bowed, finally spoke: “No, I’ve never thought that, Lord Anselm.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I believe…”

She raised her head, her lovely, pure face showing genuine adoration and tenderness: “Now, only you are worthy of sitting on this throne.”

Anselm gazed at her for an unknown time, then let out a soft chuckle.

That chuckle grew uncontainable, turning into hearty, delighted laughter.

“Sulun… Sulun.”

Laughing freely, Anselm shook his head, tapping the throne with his cane: “Dear Princess Sulun, I have no interest in it.”

“Yes.”

Sulun immediately lowered her head again: “For you, there’s no need for such cumbersome things to proclaim your authority and glory.”

“Your quick wit impresses me.” Anselm clapped his hands, “But…”

He stepped down from the throne, approaching Sulun, and lifted her chin with his cane.

The young Hydra’s expression was cold and indifferent:

“Your deception displeases me.”

“I didn’t—”

Sulun began to deny, but when those deep sea-blue eyes fixed on her, she couldn’t continue.

After a brief silence, she responded softly: “Yes… I deceived you, Lord Anselm.”

“I longed for that power, I yearned to sit on that… throne overlooking all beings.”

“Isn’t that fine?”

Anselm gave a reassuring smile: “I like honest people.”

“…Is that so?”

Saying this, Sulun suddenly took a step forward.

Her face slowly revealed a smile both pure and bewitching.

“Then, may I…”

The little princess in pure white inched closer, cautiously, and then… pressed her entire body against Anselm’s chest.

“May I reveal… my desires to you?”

She said, her eyes shimmering with tears.

Anselm looked at her with a half-smile: “Go ahead.”

“Lord Anselm… you, more than anyone, should know that the Empire always needs a ruler.”

Sulun, pressed against Anselm’s chest, spoke softly: “Someone as kind, as great as you surely wouldn’t want to see the Empire fracture, its people displaced, and war raging everywhere… right?”

“Hm… perhaps.”

“Then, you need someone who can temporarily stabilize the situation.”

Sulun’s breathing quickened; she lifted her skirt and then… grasped Anselm’s hand.

“Someone… with legitimate claims, who won’t bring you criticism.”

“Someone… ah…”

She writhed and rubbed against him, as if trying to meld into his body, moaning softly:

“Someone who will surely obey you, forever and ever… yours.”

Anselm lowered his head slightly, whispering in Sulun’s ear: “So, where is she?”

Sulun, biting her lip, her eyes seductive, exuded a doubled impact when the usually pure and elegant flower displayed such natural charm.

“She’s right… in your—”

Sulun’s words stopped abruptly as Anselm gripped her throat, lifting her off the ground expressionlessly.

“Princess Sulun, your speech was well-prepared, but you need to understand a few things.”

“First.”

Looking at the terrified Sulun, Anselm smiled: “I am not kind.”

“Second.”

He flung her to the ground, as casually as discarding trash: “The Empire’s division and war are inevitable; I cannot stop them, let alone someone as useless as you.”

“And… third.”

Looking at the trembling Sulun, Anselm suddenly flashed a radiant smile:

“I do indeed need you, absolutely, to obey me.”

“Come.”

He tapped the bricks before him with his cane: “Lift it up, like before.”

“…”

Sulun bit her lip, showing no trace of grievance, quickly recovering from her earlier fear.

Like a dog, she crawled to the spot Anselm indicated, sat awkwardly, and lifted her skirt again with a shy expression.

But Anselm didn’t look at her face; instead, he gently touched the end of his cane to her abdomen.

“Ah!”

A scream of agony rang out; the delicate girl collapsed sideways, clutching her abdomen in pain, yet she dared not speak, forcibly suppressing even her cries.

When the pain slowly faded, she looked down at her abdomen and saw… a vivid… black nine-headed serpent!

“From now on.”

Anselm looked down at Sulun, slightly raising his chin: “You are mine. Always remember your place.”

Head bowed, Sulun silently lowered her skirt and crawled to Anselm’s feet.

“I understand, my…”

Her voice paused briefly, but she seemed to quickly resolve herself.

“I understand, master.”

Sulun Flame, marked with Hydra’s emblem, perhaps the most pathetic, shameful, and despised Flame-Feasting in a thousand years, called Anselm master with such flattery.

“Don’t worry.” Anselm patted her head, “I don’t care for that position, nor do I need it, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have a chance to sit there.”

His lips curved slightly, looking at Sulun, whose eyes briefly lit up: “However…”

With a mechanical whir, Gleipnir transformed into a hand cannon; the young Hydra, without looking back, fired a shot that shattered the entire throne.

Under Sulun’s stunned gaze, its fragments mingled with the rubble, perhaps no different from the scattered bricks… just more expensive.

“It’s just a seat.”

Anselm pinched Sulun’s chin, his voice gentle:

“If I want you to sit, you will.”

***

On his way back, Anselm picked up Mingfuluo.

Her mood was clearly mixed—both bad and good.

Only someone like Anselm, seasoned in matters of the heart, could navigate such complex emotions.

“Now that I think about it, I had many chances to realize that Father and Mother… always cared about me.”

In the living room, sitting across from Anselm, Mingfuluo said softly: “But fate made me miss them all, forcing me to walk… the path He set.”

“Do you hate Him?”

“Not that much.” Mingfuluo shook her head, “In the end, I was too foolish, too self-absorbed.”

“That’s why you’re so hard to deceive.”

Anselm teased: “If you don’t even hate Him much, how could I have dared tell you about fate back then?”

“…”

At this, Miss Mingfuluo’s eyes gradually sharpened.

“I told you, didn’t I.”

She suddenly said: “You’ll pay a price—for your twisted nature, your malice, your lack of trust.”

“…Hm, seems like you did say something like that.” Anselm acted completely unconcerned.

The mechanized maiden’s eyes narrowed: “You think I can’t do anything to you?”

This made Anselm laugh: “I’d love to see what you could do to me.”

Mingfuluo didn’t speak, just stared at him.

Suddenly, Anselm felt a weight on his back; a pair of arms wrapped around his neck.

“You really think… I can’t do anything to you?”

Two identical voices echoed in the living room.

At the same time, the Mingfuluo behind Anselm bit his ear: “…Daddy?”

Even Young Master Anselm fell silent for three or four seconds.

Then, he gave a smile as if everything was going according to plan:

“So, this is the price you want me to pay?”

“I won’t lose. Don’t forget my current state.”

Mingfuluo pointed at her abdomen, her eyes unusually provocative: “Even in this size, the shape inside… can be adaptive.”

She climbed onto Anselm’s lap, joining the Mingfuluo behind him, sandwiching him tightly.

“Don’t you love…” she whispered in his other ear, “shaping the path?”

“You’re doing something very foolish.”

Anselm’s expression grew serious: “There’s still time to back out, Arlo.”

“You’re the one who should say that.”

A taller, more graceful Mingfuluo appeared beside him, stroking his cheek, eyes narrowed: “You still have a chance to surrender, Anselm.”

“Heh… hehehe…”

Ten minutes later, the living room door burst open.

“Anselm, I’m almost done packing! When are we—”

The spirited Miss Hitana froze, staring at the man and three women in the room.

“…Nosy.” The smaller Mingfuluo frowned, “This is my punishment for Anselm. Get out.”

“You… you!”

Hitana’s blood rushed to her head: “You’re asking for it!”

“Stay if you want.” The other small Mingfuluo, draped over Anselm’s back, licked his earlobe, “You can only watch; you don’t have what it takes to join.”

“Hm…”

The tall Mingfuluo let out a lazy hum: “That’s right… ah!”

The wolf maiden lost her reason.

“Think you’re the only one who can transform… huh?!”

She roared in fury: “Today, I’ll show you just how perfect Anselm and I are together!”

A fluffy wolf tail, soft wolf ears, and a surging increase in height.

Anselm looked at the massive dog lunging at him, sighing inwardly.

One after another… such chaos.

***

The young Hydra leisurely put on his shirt, brimming with energy and vitality, and stood by the map on the living room wall.

The two girls, too exhausted to even speak, lay entwined on the soft sofa.

Mingfuluo’s crusade ended in failure. Though Hitana jumped in to stir things up, they ultimately teamed up to take on the demon king.

Sadly, whether it was the ever-changing Miss Mingfuluo or the powerful, towering Miss Hitana, they only made the demon king break a sweat, nothing more.

After the relaxing pleasure, Anselm didn’t linger in tenderness, as he’d gone a bit too far; both girls had passed out, leaving no one to share the moment with.

He gazed at the map of the continent, hands clasped behind his back.

“The North, abundant transcendent resources, the finest training ground for transcendent warriors, and… the Revolutionary Army.”

The youth murmured softly, continuing: “The West Kingdom, numerous Zero Point Labyrinth entrances, the highest concentration of pure ether zones, a land of strife, a land of opportunity.”

He then turned his gaze to the East:

“Eastern Port, the Lost Sea, trade, abundance, the only route connecting to another continent…”

“As for the South, with me here, it’s the least likely to stir up any trouble.”

As he murmured to himself, a still-exhausted voice suddenly sounded from behind.

“…Just finished that kind of thing, and you’re already diving into work?”

Mingfuluo wrapped her arms around Anselm’s waist from behind, slightly poking her head out.

Anselm couldn’t help but laugh: “Are you talking about the old you?”

“The current me is the same… I just didn’t expect you to be like this.”

“I’ve always been like this. Seems you don’t know me as well as you think, Arlo.”

“Hmph.”

Mingfuluo let out a soft huff, tightening her arms around Anselm.

Anselm placed his hand over hers, tilting his head slightly with a warm smile: “Feeling reassured now?”

“…Reassured about what?”

The petite scholar’s expression stiffened slightly, and she averted her gaze.

“You’re not the type to rush into things like this.” Anselm patted her head gently, saying warmly, “Why so insecure?”

Mingfuluo didn’t speak, just pressed her head against Anselm’s back.

After a long pause, she said softly: “But I’m already… this kind of monster. I’m not even a doll anymore.”

Mingfuluo was actually afraid of this.

Who could feel that way about… a monster made of some alchemical substance, without even a definite physical form?

So, rather than a punishment, it was more of a… cautious test of Anselm.

If he showed any displeasure or resistance, Mingfuluo would have stopped immediately.

“What?”

But Anselm turned around, chuckling as he hugged her:

“Am I not a monster too?”

Mingfuluo looked up, slightly dazed, at the face so close to hers.

And seeing her stare like that, Anselm raised his hands, making a playful “roar” with a claw-like gesture.

“…Pfft.”

“Pretty funny?” Anselm glanced at his clawed hands.

“No.” Mingfuluo shook her head, standing on tiptoe to peck Anselm’s lips.

She gazed at those sea-blue eyes that captivated her so, saying softly:

“It’s adorable. I love it.”

“Keep making that face for me, Mr. Monster.”

Anselm pinched her cheek: “As you wish, Miss Monster.”

They locked eyes, smiling at each other.

Because they had finally found, in their similarly gray lives, a vibrant color they’d never forget.

(Volume Two, Gray Rhapsody, End)