Volume 2

Chapter 68 : Helen Faust, Part Four

On the crowded city walls, a handsome young noble and a petite, lovely Miss Doll watched cart after cart of wheat, forming a golden river, being brought in.

“How does it feel?”

Anselm placed a hand on Mingfuluo’s shoulder, his voice gentle.

“…Good.”

Mingfuluo, her eyes reflecting the sea of wheat, murmured softly.

“Why does it feel good?”

Anselm’s hand slid to Mingfuluo’s cheek, savoring the delicate texture he couldn’t resist.

He chuckled.

“Because you see possibility and change, right?”

“Yes.”

Mingfuluo paid no mind to Anselm’s hand caressing her face.

“A perfect success. Just this small patch of land, with the soil enhancement potion, has such output. If applied across the entire Empire…”

The scholar’s voice rose, her tone excited and rapid.

“It could definitely… definitely—”

She stopped abruptly, lowering her head.

After a moment’s silence, she said, “Sorry, Anselm, sir. I got carried away.”

Anselm smiled carelessly.

“Your excitement is only natural. How could that be considered getting carried away? But… I didn’t expect one thing.”

His gaze drifted to the cheering crowd, to the farmers waving excitedly atop the carts, his lips curving slightly.

“I thought you’d first be happy for them, for these civilians right before your eyes, relieved they’re free from hunger’s torment.”

Mingfuluo froze.

Only now did she shift her gaze from the carts of golden wheat to the farmers, who seemed like triumphant heroes.

—Even though those farmers sat right beside her “achievement.”

“I—”

“Of course,” Anselm interrupted with a smile, “as the creator, it’s natural to focus on your creation first.

That doesn’t mean, once your emotions settle, you won’t truly care about those excited farmers and civilians, right…”

“Helen?”

His warm hand cradled her cheek, the steady pulse from his wrist almost tangible.

“…” Mingfuluo, gazing at the farmers, said nothing.

“Helen?”

Anselm repeated the name leisurely, pulling her from her daze.

The strange price she had to pay for clues about Erlin’s death forced Mingfuluo to utter that word again.

“Sorry… Father.” Miss Doll lowered her gaze.

“I can’t give an answer.”

“Is that so? No matter. It’s enough that I know you think that way.”

Anselm showed her immense leniency, his caring demeanor almost as if he were truly treating his daughter.

Gazing at the harvest procession, he gently stroked Mingfuluo’s cheek, saying warmly, “The next week should be even more interesting. Are you looking forward to it, Mingfuluo?”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it, Fa… Anselm, sir.”

The abrupt shift in address left Mingfuluo disoriented.

The genius scholar, once cold, rational, and efficient, was now shackled by countless chains, reduced to this hesitant, sluggish state.

External pressures, internal confusion… If not for the unyielding beacon in her heart, Mingfuluo might have truly become a puppet at Anselm’s mercy.

“By the way.”

Anselm withdrew his hand from her cheek, lightly patting her shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear: “I’ve found the answer to Erlin’s death.”

Mingfuluo’s breath hitched, her petite frame freezing as if in silhouette, her violet eyes like amber, reflecting the last scene her consciousness grasped before detaching from reality.

“Want to hear it now?”

Not in a private room, not in a secluded setting, but here, atop the bustling city walls, Anselm spoke as if it were a trivial matter.

“…Yes.”

Mingfuluo spoke slowly, her voice hoarse.

“Per our agreement, Anselm, sir, you only need to give me… a clue.”

Having received a key clue from Sulun, Mingfuluo maintained her composure before Anselm.

Even though this clue held immense significance to her.

The one who killed Erlin was among his closest companions.

Mingfuluo had asked Sulun whether this “closest” referred to those still close to him now or everyone who had ever been close.

Though Sulun dodged the question, she gave Mingfuluo an answer in her own way.

She had said meaningfully to Mingfuluo—

[Not knowing too clearly is actually better for you.]

[It gives you room to back out while pursuing the truth.]

—If the killer truly was among Erlin’s closest companions, Sulun’s words were correct.

Because those closest to Erlin were also the ones closest to Mingfuluo.

Sulun’s words implied… Mingfuluo absolutely couldn’t accept that person being the killer.

But… perhaps not.

In her heart, Mingfuluo had another answer—one that, when she calmed down, she placed at the forefront.

If it was that person, by blood, he was indeed her grandfather’s closest companion and even though she no longer had ties with him, she couldn’t accept him as the one who killed her grandfather.

And…

For Miss Doll, burdened with so much, her breathing grew heavy and rapid.

And… he hated Grandfather, betrayed him.

Beyond that bond, he had countless reasons… to kill Grandfather.

The confusion she felt during that “chance” encounter in the shop now sharpened into a piercing blade.

From the hatred he showed toward her grandfather, he absolutely… absolutely could have done it.

Mingfuluo emphasized this in her heart, but why was she so insistent?

Why, when she had once said Layden, no matter how shameless, wouldn’t kill his father, did she now pin the crime on her biological father?

Did she truly believe this was the truth, or was she avoiding the most devastating possibility?

Perhaps even Mingfuluo herself wasn’t sure.

In this matter, all she wanted now was a clue to uncover the truth further.

And Anselm was already prepared for that.

He gently placed his arm around Mingfuluo’s shoulders, speaking to the petite scholar struggling under layers of pressure and burdens:

“Though I don’t want to touch on your painful memories, do you remember how Erlin died?”

“…His heart was cut out.” Despite the steady tone, pure hatred coiled like silent thorns in every syllable Mingfuluo spoke. “His head was severed.”

“Hm, a very… lamentable, cruel method.”

Anselm sighed with seeming regret, but where Mingfuluo couldn’t see, his lips curved slightly upward.

That smile—the one that terrified Count Watson—was neither amused nor malicious, an incomprehensible expression.

“Who could’ve imagined the one who did such a cruel thing…” Anselm shook his head, “was someone Erlin had placed such fervent hopes in?”

“…”

Someone… Erlin placed hopes in?

Mingfuluo was bewildered.

If it was someone Erlin had high hopes for, how could it be… her incompetent father, who, even after betraying Erlin, failed to gain status at the Ether Academy and ended up in such a wretched state?

But if it was someone Erlin had high hopes for, who was also his closest companion, and someone Mingfuluo couldn’t accept as the killer…

Miss Doll, shackled by chains, trembled.

Her pursed lips revealed teeth biting down hard on her lower lip.

“Those whom Erlin placed great hopes in are few and far between,” Anselm said with a smile.

“And since that overlaps with your circle, finding them shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“But to fully expose him, to reveal his crimes and bring him to justice, that… might not be enough.”

“Do you want to continue?”

Anselm’s hand slid downward, grasping Mingfuluo’s slender, fragile waist, like a snake… coiling tightly around its prey.

Generously, gently, magnanimously, he whispered in her ear, “A small price for a clue closer to the truth.”

“I agr—”

“No, no, not now.”

Anselm pressed a finger to Mingfuluo’s lips, gazing down at the bewildered, anxious, faintly panicked delicate doll in his arms, smiling.

“Answer me after the next seven days.”

“The next seven days?”

Mingfuluo clutched Anselm’s clothes urgently.

“Why the next seven days? Can’t it be now? Anselm… sir, Anselm, sir, you must know the answer!”

“You definitely… know the answer. I can pay the price, I can… Father, please—”

Her voice grew softer, her grip on his clothes loosening until her hands fell.

The genius young lady, once so independent, resilient, and unyielding before Anselm, was now reduced to this humble, fragile state.

The answer was clear. When Sulun gave her that terrifying clue, Mingfuluo’s pursuit of the truth had moved beyond just “truth.”

She couldn’t accept, refused to accept, that the murderer she’d hated for fifteen years, who took her grandfather’s life and destroyed her last hope, was someone closest to her, someone Erlin had placed great hopes in.

So she was desperate for a further answer, one that could negate this horrific reality.

She was… on the verge of losing control.

Even so, after a brief lapse, Mingfuluo regained her composure.

She knew she had no leverage to negotiate, and if she kept pleading, Anselm would only raise the price.

She could only remain silent in her fear, obedient in her panic, playing the role… she now held.

“Is it hard to understand?” Anselm raised an eyebrow.

He lifted her chin, directing her gaze to the streets of Little Pelican City, to the farmers and civilians fading into the distance.

“Your focus should be here, shouldn’t it? This is the moment of change you’ve dreamed of. At this critical juncture… everything can be set aside, right?”

The devil’s voice slithered into the doll’s ear, slicing like a blade, embedding into her soul:

“Including your grandfather. He shouldn’t distract you and shouldn’t waste your energy and time at this moment.”

“This is your ideal, isn’t it? How can you let a dead man divert your attention? Am I right… Helen?”

What matters most now…

What matters most is observing, confirming, ensuring the efficacy of the soil enhancement potion, seizing this chance to begin the Empire’s transformation.

Even if it’s just a game to Anselm, its significance is undeniable.

Yes… that’s what matters most.

For that possibility, for that future…

But Grandfather, but them—

I could be one step closer to the truth.

Do I really have to wait seven days, unable to act, just because of this?

But I’ve waited long enough already.

Why can’t I wait now? Anselm… is right.

I can’t let… the dead affect the present, not even slightly.

At this juncture, even if I can’t intervene, noting every second of change is vital.

But that’s… that’s your grandfather, who taught you so much, showed you how to move forward—

That’s what he taught me!

Madness, growing conflict, tearing madness.

The cold chains binding Mingfuluo sprouted sharp iron thorns, piercing deep into her flesh, her bones.

On one side, the dawn of her ideal’s realization, a glorious prospect; on the other, the terrifying possibility of her kin’s death, rendering her unable to stay calm or think deeply.

And the one controlling it all… was so gentle, generous, benevolent, supporting Mingfuluo, reinforcing her strongest chains, urging her to fulfill her duty as a pursuer.

While… smilingly tearing apart what she so desperately sought.

A bright, thrilling future; a chilling, near-despairing present.

They intertwined, clashed, like two forces tearing at Mingfuluo, ripping at… her soul and self.

Should she laugh?

If someone close to her was her grandfather’s killer, should she laugh aloud?

How could she?

Should she cry?

When she had a glimpse of that grand future, should she weep in despair over personal emotions?

That wasn’t right either.

If Mingfuluo Zege shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t laugh, shouldn’t do this or that… then what was standing here, and what should she do?

The emptiness in her violet eyes surged and receded like a tide, ever fickle.

“There’s only one thing to do.”

The devil’s voice echoed in her ear.

“Your ideal outweighs everything, doesn’t it, Helen?”

“…Yes.”

The emptiness slowly, completely faded, replaced by absolute resilience, unparalleled determination.

It was as if the genius scholar, who never bowed no matter how Anselm schemed or tormented her, had returned.

But her resilience and determination… Who had granted them?

“Yes… Father.”

Mingfuluo gazed at the distant wheat, at the jubilant Little Pelican City.

Yes, this… was the vision she wanted to see, more important than anything.

More important than anything.

“What needs to be done now,” she said softly, “is one thing. About my grandfather, I’ll ask you again in seven days.”

Miss Doll lowered her head slightly, her voice now calm.

“Please forgive my earlier lapse.”

“Forgive?” Anselm’s lips curved upward.

“No problem. I didn’t mind. But I have a small question.”

“Please ask.”

“Helen, what do you think a father is? Or rather, what elements does the word ‘father’ encompass?”

“…I-I don’t know, Father.”

Anselm smiled, patting her head.

“Consider it a task I’m giving you. Perhaps one day, I’ll ask again. I hope you’ll have an answer then. Can you do that, dear daughter?”

He stopped stroking and took her hand, holding her soft, delicate fingers firmly in his palm.

Mingfuluo didn’t resist, feeling unprecedented… calm.

Was it calm?

She couldn’t confirm her emotions, but she felt… profoundly serene.

The death of kin, the pursuit of ideals, the path to redemption, the fog of the past… each cold chain binding Mingfuluo seemed to bear Anselm’s mark.

Good or bad, it didn’t matter. In this moment, just this moment, Miss Doll, who witnessed her grandfather’s brutal death at six, remained ever vigilant, never forgetting his attempts to control her, but…

Whether they were allies or enemies, whether his intentions were good or evil—

In this monotonous, colorless gray world of Mingfuluo’s, Anselm Hydra was always there.

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