Volume 2

Chapter 87 : Parent and Child

One and a half million meters—a distance the illiterate Miss Hitana couldn’t comprehend.

She only felt that Peregrine, carrying her and Helen, had barely exchanged a few words before zooming through the ocean of annihilation elements.

“…Head of Wind, can it even do this?”

Helen suddenly spoke: “Lord Peregrine, the ‘airflow’ you manipulate seems able to evade even this massive aggregate of destructive elements.”

Hearing talk of the Head of Wind, Hitana perked up her ears, soon hearing Peregrine’s gentle reply: “True strength always converges. Just a small trick, not much tied to the power the master granted. Laurence and the others have their own ways to evade these elements, or they couldn’t wait for us in the deepest layer. As for the Head of Wind’s unique power…”

Peregrine glanced back at Hitana, chuckling softly: “After this journey, my task will be done. Miss Hitana, I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Hehe, thanks!”

Hitana flashed a bright, happy smile, casting a provocative glance at Helen.

What’s all this “Father” nonsense?

Your sneaky tricks won’t help!

You’ll never get Anselm’s Contract Head ring!

I’ve got two already!

Two!

And Mr. Flamel’s two Contract Heads are guiding me—you’ll never catch up!

Helen ignored Hitana, gazing at the endless, pure darkness.

If not for Peregrine’s cyan glow, they’d be as good as blind.

“So, next… are we witnessing a battle?”

“A battle? No, Miss Helen, that’s not a battle.”

Peregrine, always gentle, spoke with fervent excitement: “That’s the master’s… art.”

As it spoke, Helen and Hitana saw a dazzling light in this endless darkness and destruction.

A light that could destroy even destruction itself.

***

“Ah, young master!”

A chubby rat, glowing blood-red, paddled its limbs like a dog, “swimming” to Anselm’s side and landing on his shoulder: “I’ve been waiting forever! You didn’t see me thrashing that freak earlier, beating it to the ground!”

“Is that so?” Anselm scratched Laurence’s chin, chuckling.

“Then why did Peregrine say you gave up after dying two hundred sixty-seven times?”

Laurence, eyes half-closed, froze, then fumed: “That blabbermouth bird is slandering me! Don’t believe it, young master!”

“It died another thirty-five times, actually,” a languid sorcerer’s voice came from the darkness.

“Tornado, shut up!”

Laurence snapped angrily: “If my main body didn’t die, it doesn’t count!”

Anselm’s sea-blue eyes pierced the darkness, taking in the Contract Heads chatting in this realm of ultimate annihilation.

Head of Strength Tyr, Head of Magic Tornado, Head of Spirit Saville, Head of Devouring Laurence, and, not far off, Head of Wind Peregrine, protecting Helen and Hitana.

Five of Flamel’s seven current Contract Heads were here.

The Head of Shadow and Head of Abyss were at the other end of the Tianlu Mountain Range, on the continent ruled by the Concordant Church, handling matters.

The Head of Soul, once one of the eight, had perished six years ago in an unforeseen murder that pushed Anselm, Flamel, Elnilisa, and the Hydra clan to their current state.

“Young master.”

Saville appeared behind Anselm, speaking softly: “Are you alright?”

“…Why ask, Saville?”

The young Hydra turned to the old butler who’d raised him, smiling: “Does my face look bad?”

The old man paused, then sighed: “My apologies for bringing up nonsense. Please don’t mind.”

Anselm didn’t reply.

His gaze pierced the endless annihilation, reaching the deepest extinction of this Zero Point Labyrinth.

Without Flamel’s protection, even the concept of “gazing” would be destroyed by the near-infinite annihilative elements.

He saw, at the abyss’s end, an irregular… polyhedron, silently floating.

It absorbed and released endless annihilation and destruction, fused with all the destructive elements of this one-and-a-half-million-meter depth, perhaps existing here for millennia.

“A conceptual entity,” Anselm said.

“It’s leaning toward becoming a lifeform… maybe in a hundred thousand years?” Laurence shrugged.

“But before that, some fearless adventurer will find it. It’s tough… but three or four fifth-tiers could take it down. If I get serious, ahem! I wouldn’t have messed up so many times.”

“Breaking it into mere elements isn’t hard, but to refine it into usable material…”

Tornado said excitedly: “Only the master can do that in this world.”

He rambled a string of incomprehensible terms.

Laurence rolled its eyes, while Saville shook his head with a smile.

“Master, shall we start dealing with this thing?” Tyr’s voice came from the darkness.

“Begin, Tyr. First, say hello to this little one.”

Flamel, still holding his cane with elegant poise, smiled and nodded.

The next moment, in the endless destructive elements, a massive shadow slowly raised its head.

Tyr, previously cloaked in darkness and unseen, revealed his giant-like form, swelling at a terrifying rate.

His bulging muscles were like mountain ridges.

His sheer physical strength… surpassed the endless destruction of this infernal realm!

At the deepest part of this annihilation abyss, the irregular polyhedron trembled wildly the moment Tyr exuded the Hydra’s true aura.

Its nascent consciousness, gripped by immense fear, unleashed its power in all directions, stirring a tempest of destruction.

“Fear, instinct, proof of existence.”

Flamel merely smiled: “Good… you show signs of becoming an individual. If you were just a scattered element cluster, refining would be troublesome.”

“Simply wielding annihilation-type elements, then…”

The divine alchemist tapped his cane.

In an instant, countless perfect pentagonal plates appeared in the endless destructive elements.

Each maintained an equal distance from all others, their seeming gaps forming an absolutely sealed net.

From a higher vantage, one would see these countless pentagons… enclosing the conceptual entity at the abyss’s core in a spherical barrier!

The destructive shockwaves it unleashed from fear dissipated instantly upon touching this invisible barrier of linked pentagons.

“Hm… erosion rate is much lower than expected. Because it’s forming consciousness, it’s less able to wield its core power as this Zero Point Labyrinth purely by instinct. What a pity.”

Flamel gazed at the violently trembling polyhedron, murmuring: “Don’t disappoint me.”

He pointed his cane forward, and the spherical seal of pentagons rapidly contracted.

“Regeneration, eternity, harmony, stasis… seventeen elements perfectly combined in an instant!”

Tornado’s eyes blazed with unsettling fervor: “The pinnacle of creation, an alchemical… miracle!”

“Here he goes again,” Laurence, perched on Anselm’s shoulder, muttered.

“Every time the boss acts, Tornado loses it. Can’t stand that guy. But still…”

It licked its front teeth, its small eyes glinting with piercing blood-red light: “The boss is truly… the most invincible being in the world!”

How dangerous was this ultimate abyss of extinction, formed purely from elements of destruction and annihilation?

It ceaselessly destroyed everything except destruction itself—not limited to physical entities, but also… concepts.

The concept of light, the concept of life, the concept of gazing… without sufficient power, even the Contract Heads couldn’t converse, as sound, communication, and transmission—abstract concepts—were erased too.

Yet in this absolute extinction, Flamel, relying solely on strange “pentagonal plates” created from nothing, effortlessly sealed the conceptual entity born from this destruction.

In a single thought, an alchemical creation imbued with seventeen complex elements appeared from thin air.

No one saw the forging process, no tools, no environment… Flamel hadn’t even taken out raw materials; it simply appeared.

In the midst of ultimate destruction, he performed creation so… effortlessly.

This power was the Spiritual Essence Flamel Hydra possessed, the reason he stood in an alchemical realm unmatched by any before or likely after.

As long as he could construct a precise principle and effect in his mind, he could ignore all axioms, laws, or world mechanics.

No tools, no process, not even materials were needed—just ether output, and he could create anything he desired from nothing.

Spiritual Essence: Creator!

Of course, this essence was limited by Flamel’s mind and rank.

It was still some distance from true omnipotence.

Some things still required a normal alchemical process, but for Flamel, such things were rare, meaning… how precious they were.

Flamel quietly watched the core of this abyss of destruction being effortlessly sealed by him, his brows suddenly lifting.

“Can’t let those two girls stand around in this pitch-black, right, Asa?”

He turned to Anselm, a smile in his near-identical sea-blue eyes: “You need to finish this journey with them in the light.”

“So…”

Flamel waved leisurely: “Let’s have some light first.”

Thus, in the endless destruction and darkness, the divine being who had mastered creation created light for his son and those he cared for.

***

The return journey was far livelier than the way there.

The five Contract Heads, each with distinct personalities but mostly approachable, chatted idly.

Flamel never restrained their casualness.

Tossing a black light orb in his hand, Flamel said to the three youths behind him: “How was this short trip?”

Anselm didn’t speak.

Hitana, with her limited knowledge, scratched her head, unsure how to respond.

To avoid awkwardness, Helen spoke first: “It broadened my horizons, showed me… the true vastness of the world.”

“Heh, feeling small because we might just be one of countless labyrinths?”

One of the four divine beings laughed heartily: “No need for that. Our world is the core of this vast labyrinth, no question about it.”

“Even if… the Zero Point Labyrinth is infinite?”

“The Zero Point Labyrinth was never infinite; it’s just a cycle of creation and destruction. As for why I’m sure our world is the core, call it… divine intuition.”

Flamel generously explained secrets most could never hear in a lifetime.

The petite scholar nodded thoughtfully, respectfully saying: “I’ve learned much, Mr. Flamel.”

“Not talking about that forging just now… practical, aren’t you, little Helen?”

Flamel nodded with a smile: “I admire girls like you who keep their feet on the ground.”

Then he turned to Hitana, who was a bit timid, half-hiding behind Anselm, mumbling: “So, little Hitana, what about you?”

“I… uh…”

The miss wolf awkwardly shifted her gaze: “I… I really wanted to go up and fight that thing you controlled, Mr. Flamel. Does that count?”

Flamel paused, then burst into louder laughter: “How could it not! The courage to fight… that’s your greatest value as Asa’s Contract Head. You should be proud, little Hitana.”

His words thrilled Hitana, but she was no longer the reckless fool she once was.

The girl restrained her joy, cautiously saying: “But… if I recklessly provoke someone I can’t handle, it’ll cause trouble for Anselm.”

“No one’s perfect from the start. You’ll grow, little Hitana.”

Flamel smiled at Anselm: “Even Asa wasn’t always this—”

His words cut off abruptly.

The nearby Contract Heads, chatting casually, all turned to look at once.

Helen and Hitana quickly sensed something was wrong.

This ever-courteous, elegant man was now staring at Anselm, inexplicably caught in some emotion from his own words.

How could a divine being lack such self-control?

“…”

Helen silently noted Flamel’s oddity, trying to connect the dots but finding no useful conclusion.

Father’s strangeness… Mr. Flamel’s strangeness—what’s the connection?

“Ah, right, forgot to mention, Asa.”

Flamel, snapping back, smiled as if nothing happened: “For a while, I’ll stay on the Notun to craft what I need.

After spending so much time and effort gathering materials, I don’t want to waste more.”

“Understood, Father,” Anselm nodded lightly.

“I understand.”

“Hm…”

Flamel rubbed his chin: “Aren’t you curious about what I’m making?”

“Father always has his own considerations. In the path of creation, my insights offer little.

Just do what you wish.”

This considerate, flawless response was faultless but carried… an indescribable distance.

Flamel fell silent again, involuntarily shifting his gaze from Anselm.

After a moment, he smiled: “I’m taking your mother along. You won’t see her for a while.

Say goodbye properly when we’re back.”

“…I understand.”

The low-pressure atmosphere, obvious to all but the two involved, silenced everyone else.

Hitana looked anxious, Helen lowered her eyes.

Each pondered what happened and what they should do, their eyes fixed on Anselm.

Only his calm face, impossible to read, remained.

The Hydra group soon passed through the inter-world passage, returning to their world—still that peak, still the howling gale.

Flamel merely waved his cane, and they were instantly back in the Hydra’s lavish mansion in the Imperial Capital.

The Contract Heads exchanged glances, then tactfully found excuses to scatter.

Helen and Hitana, unsure what to say, stood—one silent, one at a loss.

Finally, Anselm broke the awkwardness: “I’ll go see Mother, Father.”

“Go, go, I won’t rush you,” Flamel said with a smile, waving.

“Don’t find her too nagging; she’s getting to that age.”

Anselm didn’t respond, heading toward the stairs.

When his figure vanished, Flamel turned to the two girls.

“Little Hitana, little Helen, I have something to say.”

In the grand hall, the current Hydra gazed at the two girls—one already his son’s Contract Head, the other soon to be.

“About Asa,” he said softly, rubbing his cane.

“You should know him better than I do.”

“Oh, n-not really,” Hitana said nervously.

“Mr. Flamel, you surely know Anselm better, being his—”

“A person can change completely in a single day, little Hitana.”

Flamel shook his head: “Anselm and I have been apart more than together for six whole years.”

“He’s now a respected talent, my perfect successor, a… remarkable man.”

Flamel walked to a sofa in the hall, sat, and leaned on his cane, eyes lowered: “Asa is no longer the child I knew. He’s been through things I had no chance or ability to share. How can I claim to know him?”

“As a father, I must acknowledge this.”

The man sighed, part relief, part guilt: “He grew up in the blink of an eye.”

Hitana and Helen tensed, knowing Flamel was about to say something crucial, perhaps… something to help Anselm.

“But this process was too cruel for Asa, too… merciless.”

A flicker of uncontrollable madness passed through the mature Hydra’s eyes.

His hand gripping the cane trembled but steadied after a few deep breaths.

He looked at Hitana and Helen, his expression unprecedentedly solemn: “Girls, I’m not a good father.”

“His childhood, his youth… bore suffering no Hydra heir should endure. I won’t allow his future to swallow such pain again.”

“So, I’ll clear all obstacles and threats for him and after that…”

Flamel stood, smiling brightly: “He’s in your hands, and the other Contract Heads’.”

“Contract Heads are the Hydra’s limbs, extensions of their life. Compared to me… you can surely give Asa the happiness he wants.”

Hitana, stirred by Flamel’s words, flushed and waved her fist earnestly: “I will, Mr. Flamel! No matter what the future holds, what Anselm faces… I’ll stay by his side, never leaving!”

The girl’s simple, pure resolve made Flamel nod with a satisfied smile.

Then he looked to Helen, awaiting her response.

“…Mr. Flamel.”

Unexpectedly, Helen didn’t affirm but asked a bold, almost rebellious question: “Clearing all obstacles for Father… does that mean you might, soon, choose to… eliminate the Empress?”

The hall, with only the three, fell silent.

Hitana stared at Helen in disbelief, while Flamel, after a brief pause, gently countered: “And if I say yes?”

“From my perspective… I support your decision.”

The Empress was the only possible threat to Anselm.

If removed, Anselm would gain true freedom.

Helen wouldn’t need to rack her brains for a god-slaying weapon, and Anselm could reclaim his abandoned ideals.

But…

A thought emerged in Helen’s mind.

Is this truly what Father wants?

She recalled Anselm’s gaze on Flamel, the earlier moments, and asked herself again—would watching Mr. Flamel kill the Empress truly be what Father wants?

A cataclysmic war to upheave the continent—is that what Father desires?

“But… from Father’s perspective.”

Helen met Flamel’s eyes, saying earnestly: “You may think I’m presumptuous, but I believe… Father wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Then, if not,” Flamel asked with interest, “how would you resolve Asa’s current danger?”

—Both divine beings have little time left.

All fifth-tiers await the gods’ mutual destruction to join forces and kill their unprepared heirs, severing divine succession.

Add to that the Empress possibly eyeing Anselm and Ivora viewing him as an irreconcilable enemy.

In such circumstances, how could Anselm’s problem be solved?

Helen had no answer, only a feeble: “There… will be a way.”

“‘There will be a way’ is weak avoidance for some, but for others… relentless determination.”

Flamel smiled: “I believe you’re the latter, little Helen. I acknowledge your resolve, but…”

“But would I really go fight Ephithand to the death?”

The man laughed heartily: “Rest assured, that won’t happen. Don’t worry about it. Solving problems my child can’t is my duty.”

His confident, radiant expression showed no trace of a descent into madness.

When it came to Anselm, Flamel was always so clear-minded: “That’s a father’s duty, isn’t it?”

Elsewhere, Anselm reached the fourth-floor greenhouse.

His mother, Elnilisa, sat amidst vibrant flower clusters, delicately arranging a bouquet.

The moment Anselm stepped in, she turned, overjoyed: “Asa, you’ve got time to… oh!”

Eager to embrace her son, Lady Hydra tripped over a flower vase underfoot, nearly falling.

Anselm watched the scattered vase and bouquet roll across the floor, sighed helplessly, and walked to Elnilisa’s side to help clean up.

“Father said he’s taking you to the Notun for a while,” Anselm said softly.

“He asked me to come say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Why does it sound like I’m not coming back?”

Elnilisa said with slight displeasure: “Mel, that guy, really doesn’t know how to talk…Well, you know, Asa, he’s terrified of loneliness. Why else would he keep that little Laurence around? I’ll just stay with him for a bit. Once Mel finishes that mysterious thing, I’ll be back.”

She glanced at her son’s handsome profile, then grinned and pinched his cheek: “If you feel lonely, you can come find me on the Notun.”

“…No need for that.”

Elnilisa, unusually, didn’t throw a tantrum, responding in an even gentler tone: “Good. Even if I’m not by your side, Asa, you won’t feel lonely anymore.”

Anselm’s hand, arranging the bouquet, paused.

“Mother.”

He emphasized slightly: “You just said Father doesn’t know how to talk.”

“Hahaha, I just meant that little Hitana, little Helen… and more people will gather around you in the future. I’m not saying anything gloomy.”

Lady Hydra huffed, tilting her chin up: “I’m terrified of death and pain! Back when Mel dragged me on adventures, unless he guaranteed absolute safety, I wouldn’t budge. How could anything happen to me?”

Seeing Anselm stay silent, she blinked, softening her raised tone.

“So, Asa will never be lonely in the future, right?”

“…Perhaps.”

“No, not perhaps!” Elnilisa glared at him.

Anselm was quiet for a moment, then sighed helplessly: “When I feel lonely, I’ll come find you.

Is that okay?”

Elnilisa only wanted this answer, the assurance that her increasingly independent, drifting son still relied on her.

Anselm knew this well.

But this time, he heard his mother say: “No, that’s not it, Asa.”

Elnilisa cupped Anselm’s cheeks, her golden hair cascading from her temples, shimmering.

“I want to hear that you’ll never be lonely, with or without me.”

Anselm met his mother’s gaze for a moment, then gently removed her hands, responding calmly: “Why are you suddenly talking about such serious things? Has something major happened?”

The question stunned Elnilisa for two seconds, but her eyes soon cleared: “Nothing too serious… wait! Asa, what do you mean! Talking seriously with you means something major happened? I’m getting mad, you know!”

Anselm calmly helped Elnilisa arrange the vase: “I’ve said my goodbye, so I’ll be going, Mother.”

“You—go, go, don’t bother me!”

Lady Hydra plopped back into the flower cluster, arms crossed, refusing to look at Anselm as he prepared to leave the greenhouse.

But as Anselm stepped one foot out and began closing the door, Elnilisa suddenly turned, smiling warmly: “Asa! When you and Mel have time, let’s go see flowers together, okay?”

“…”

Anselm, pausing mid-step, didn’t respond, closing the door.

Yet, tilting his head, seeing his mother’s unwaveringly gentle, accepting expression through the door’s crack, he lowered his head and softly answered: “Alright, Mother.”

“Promise!” Elnilisa peeked through the crack, waving eagerly.

“Promise, Mother.”

The young Hydra closed the door and walked away.

This corridor, walked countless times, now seemed endlessly long to him.

Father had obtained the final material, and Helen’s training had reached its finale.

Anselm Hydra walked on.

He passed a sunlit, warm stretch, then paused at a shadowed junction untouched by sunlight.

Below the suspended corridor, he saw Hitana and Helen sitting side by side, seemingly discussing something.

Fate, success, or failure.

In the predetermined future he’d glimpsed, in the unknown future awaiting him, the most critical turning point was approaching.

Anselm had waited long, prepared, and… resolved himself.

The young Hydra withdrew his gaze.

He didn’t linger in the sunlight but strode without hesitation through the boundary of light and dark, into boundless shadow.

“…So, I’m planning to comfort Anselm like this. Hey… hey! Are you listening? I’m being generous, sharing with… with you—”

Hitana, face flushed, rambled loudly in Helen’s ear.

Helen, looking up thoughtfully, withdrew her gaze from above, pondered, then turned to Hitana: “No, you should handle this yourself, Miss Hitana.”

“W-what?”

“In pleasing Father, you have far greater ability than I—don’t misunderstand, I’m not belittling your worth. The ability to fully comfort Father, to help him relax, is something I wish I had.”

“Just…”

Helen looked at her hand, saying softly: “It’s just not suited for me.”

Would Mr. Flamel truly choose to eliminate the Empress?

What was he researching?

And how did it connect to the “six years of distance” he mentioned?

Helen didn’t know the answers, but fortunately, she had time.

At least two or three years remained before the Empress and Flamel lost control and perished.

In that time, focusing on a weapon to slay gods… might avoid many terrible outcomes.

Her thoughts stirred, and a sparse cluster of Nidhogg, barely visible as a tiny black speck, flew from her dull bracelet.

The mysterious assassin had taken most of Nidhogg, leaving only a useless fraction, as if to mock her.

And before that, there were other threats—or… Father’s tests.

Helen let the faint Nidhogg cluster rest on her fingertip, murmuring in her heart: I will earn Father’s approval, become his Contract Head, and contribute my strength.

I will—…Wait.

The petite scholar suddenly noticed something odd about the remaining Nidhogg cluster.

They were still somewhat beyond her control, arranging themselves into…

A code?

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