Chapter 30: A Good Teacher and a Great Tamer

What tier was Anselm, or rather, the Hydra clan? Countless people were curious.

To understand this, one must first grasp what the stages of extraordinary beings signify.

Is it based on the ether within the body?

The amount of ether one can control?

Or sheer destructive power?

No, none of those.

The essence of extraordinary tier divisions lies in the transformation and ascension from mortal to extraordinary.

Per the mainstream Path of Heaven, the first stage involves rituals and extraordinary items to remake oneself, transforming a frail mortal body from top to bottom, inside and out, to adapt to ether, laying the [foundation] for the extraordinary path.

The second stage builds upon this transformed body, continuously refining one’s capacity to contain and control ether.

At its peak, the soul, once bound by the body, is freed, achieving perfect unity of spirit and flesh, completing the [Crystal Ladder] to the Throne.

The third stage, when the transformed body and ascended soul merge perfectly, truly transcends mortality.

One can freely wield the ether in the air, land, and sea without rituals, wielding the mysteries at will—this is the extraordinary being atop the [Throne].

Beyond that lie Scepter, Crown, and the rare, world-dominating Supreme.

These tiers aren’t defined by energy or power but by… essential leaps in nature.

Only fundamental transformations grant extraordinary beings unimaginable power, not mere accumulations of strength.

Thus, Anselm and all Hydras are, from birth, fated to a specific tier.

Even if they’ve shifted from savage beast forms to human-like beings, their essence remains unchanged.

—From the start, all Hydras stand at the end of the extraordinary path, the [Endpoint] of the abyss.

Their “growth” is merely a calm, effortless absorption of power until it matches their tier.

Even doing nothing, their every breath drives them toward might rivaling doomsday.

Few beings in this world share this trait—the Dragon Clan of the Tianlu Mountain Range, the Callers of the Deep in the Lost Sea, the eternal rulers of the Empire, the Flame-Feasting Royalty, and… the indestructible supreme calamity, Hydra.

These four races, or rather species, have their strongest born at the end of the extraordinary path.

Hydras are unique, forming no clans.

Each generation produces only one offspring at the end of its life, always a single heir.

Back to Anselm: his extraordinary essence has always been at the unreachable Endpoint, but his current power naturally doesn’t match his tier.

The Hydra’s strength stems from the nine heads, each granting unique powers that drive other extraordinary beings mad with envy.

With only one main head and no Contract Heads, Anselm is, externally, perhaps the weakest Hydra in history.

So, how weak is he?

“Shadow leaping and shadow transformation fundamentally use ether to shield oneself while diving into the shadow plane.”

Anselm, one hand behind his back, wielded the whip-blade with the other, effortlessly piercing an assassin leaping from another shadow.

But just as Viscount Xiaofeng’s punch dealt no real damage, the assassin shredded by Gleipnir dissolved into intangible shadows, eerily bizarre.

“But it’s dangerous. Most shadow techniques are forbidden—not because they drive you mad, but because they easily get you killed.”

The blond youth’s steps were unhurried, his wrist flicking lightly, the black, razor-sharp whip-blade tearing through the air with a shrill whistle.

“And the essence of the Crystal Ladder tier can’t support frequent dives into the shadow plane. Meaning… this assassin, unlike the true assassin I killed yesterday, isn’t human at all.”

“Just a construct disguised as a living thing.”

Whoosh!

A segment of the whip-blade’s edge suddenly broke off, spinning and slicing through a burning patch of grass, extinguishing the flames.

“So, hoping to exhaust its ether or stamina, or trying to brute-force kill it, are both wrong choices. It’s merely a shadow construct of that distant sorcerer. Until the sorcerer’s ether runs dry, normal methods can’t destroy it.”

“—Hitana.”

Anselm glanced at the lone young wolf: “What would you choose? Heh… no need to answer. Your expression says it all.”

“One death.” The young Hydra turned back, ignoring Hitana’s sour look, continuing his lesson.

“But the shadow construct remains the primary threat. Look—with me holding it back, Viscount Xiaofeng, despite heavy injuries, can still hold his own against the heavily armored warrior with sword and shield.”

The battered Viscount Xiaofeng fought like a man possessed, pummeling the warrior-assassin’s shield, forcing him back step by step.

“So, eliminating it is still the priority. But the question is… how do you destroy a lifeless shadow construct?”

“Kill the sorcerer? They’re wary of Gleipnir. If I miss, even if I could kill a Crown with one shot, it’s meaningless—especially since you, my teaching subject, couldn’t hit him anyway.”

“Drag it out until his ether is exhausted? Can you be sure how long that’ll take? Can you guarantee he has no recovery potions? And in that time… if that sniper returns, what then?”

Hearing no response, Anselm raised two fingers without looking back: “Second death, Hitana.”

“Think hard… There are indeed sorcerers who can cast lethal spells from miles away, but if this assassin-sorcerer had that ability, why stay so close?”

Finally, the silent Hitana spoke, staring at the unmoving sorcerer up high: “Casting… distance!”

“Exactly. Distance. So, would you choose to change the battlefield, pull away?” Anselm raised an eyebrow, another blade segment flying off the whip, vanishing somewhere.

“I…”

“Hesitation, indecision—third death,” Anselm cut her off.

“See that? The warrior entangling Viscount Xiaofeng is suppressed but specialized in defense, keeping him pinned here. Are you sure you could break free?”

The youth sighed, the whip-blade effortlessly shredding another leaping assassin into shadowy nothingness: “Distance, distance. He’s not casting fireballs from afar—he’s controlling constructs. Puppets need strings, and if this shadow assassin has no control core, then there must be—”

“Another casting medium!”

Breaking free from her daze, Hitana shouted, finally grasping the battle’s true strangeness.

She scanned the ravaged fishing ground, the ground torn up from the fight, scattered flames still burning from the massive fireball’s embers.

…Flames?

“Flames are light, and where there’s light, there’s…”

Screech—

Over a dozen of Gleipnir’s razor-sharp segments shot out, slicing and shredding the burning patches of grass.

“…shadows.” As Hitana murmured her answer weakly, Anselm had already cleared every flame from the field.

From the very first blade that flew off… Hydra had seen through everything.

This insight struck Hitana as unreal, absurd.

He was just a guy who drank all day and bantered nonsense with nobles—how could he—

Wait…

Hitana suddenly realized that these past few days, she’d had little to do.

Aside from outings, Anselm never brought her along, instead providing resources for her to retrain.

Back then, she’d mocked him silently, scorning his laziness, confident she’d soon leave him in awe.

But she hadn’t considered what Anselm was doing when she couldn’t see him.

Or rather, she had, but only imagined things that fueled her disdain, never considering that Anselm might also be honing himself.

“You’re zoning out, Hitana. Fourth time.”

Anselm shook his head: “Reflect later. This is combat time, and it’s not over.”

The whip-blade swept the lawn, reabsorbing its scattered segments.

“This heavy-armored warrior was teleported short-range by the sorcerer, meaning he’s proficient in at least fire, space, and shadow techniques, with shadow being his specialty.”

Anselm strolled toward the clashing Viscount Xiaofeng and the armored warrior, his voice steady, but as the distance grew, Hitana had to follow… or rather, she chose to.

The dazed young wolf, never having witnessed such slaughter, followed Hydra’s steps.

“While keeping that in mind, what’s next? Try to kill him while he’s isolated?”

“…Shouldn’t I?” Hitana hesitated, asking reluctantly.

In her eyes, the armored warrior was clearly faltering.

His shield and armor were cracked densely from Viscount Xiaofeng’s fists, likely unable to withstand a few more before being obliterated.

“From the battlefield and power balance, that’s the logical choice, but… have you considered something, Hitana?”

“A pawn meant to pin Viscount Xiaofeng, enabling the sorcerer and sniper to land a killing blow, taking the brunt of frontal attacks, almost certainly doomed…”

As Viscount Xiaofeng roared and swung at the warrior’s head, Anselm’s whip-blade moved faster, coiling around the pawn’s neck and hurling him skyward—

“As a sorcerer skilled in fire, why wouldn’t I add some extra flavor to him, like…”

As the whip-blade tore the armored warrior to pieces, Hitana saw, through the cracks in the armor… a crimson glow erupting!

“—A martyrdom explosion?”

Boom!

A terrifying explosion, even more shocking than the one in the castle’s safehouse, erupted in the sky.

Hitana could feel the scorching heat searing her cheeks.

The girl stared blankly as flames and thick smoke dissipated in the air, her “teacher’s” voice ringing in her ears.

“Fifth time.”

Anselm looked at the pitiful young wolf with a helpless yet indulgent gaze: “In this combat exercise, even if you got every choice right up to the end, you still wouldn’t have survived, Hitana.”

“…”

The snow-haired girl lost all strength, collapsing softly to the ground.

Her eyes were hollow, trembling, filled with… disbelief.

She couldn’t believe she was so utterly vulnerable.

But the truth was laid bare before her, dissected so clearly, almost spoon-fed by Anselm.

The truth was, she would have died five times—or rather, without Anselm’s guidance, she’d have been killed the moment the assassins surrounded her.

Even with such patient, almost hand-holding guidance, she’d still pay the price of her life for her final wrong choice.

Hitana wasn’t making excuses like—this level of combat was beyond her current ability, or her instincts would surely have helped in a real fight.

She didn’t think that way.

Because the person who saw through every move, every intent, every method of the assassins, dismantling them effortlessly while still having the leisure to teach her what to do, was standing right beside her.

Watching her with care, tolerance, and patience, without saying, “You’ve disappointed me.”

Instead, he looked at her calmly, gently, with an expression that seemed to say, “You didn’t do well, but it’s not your fault.”

The girl’s body trembled, her sharp canines piercing her lips, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth, yet it couldn’t quench the burning frustration and shame in her chest.

How could she, who had so despised him, who thought she saw through him, have the nerve to make excuses?

“You seem upset, Hitana,” Anselm said softly, standing beside her. “It’s just one lesson. No need to take it too hard.”

“…Shut up. I don’t need your pity.”

Her blood-stained lips parted slightly.

She didn’t lash out; her voice was low and hoarse, fragile, helpless.

After Anselm shattered her pride once before, Hitana now faced another indescribable, crushing pain—her vaunted talent and ability were so utterly fragile.

Just as Anselm had once told her:

[To those nobles, you’re worth nothing. You’ve earned their goodwill only because of my mercy.]

Anselm studied the girl for a long moment, then chuckled, his laughter growing louder, unmasked, yet strangely… free of mockery or disdain.

“Hitana, dear Hitana.”

Anselm touched her snow-white hair, and though her body trembled slightly, she didn’t resist.

“Do you know how much I’ve paid to become who I am today?”

Paid.

Monsters like Hydra never needed to exert effort.

They only needed to find suitable Contract Heads, wait for the right moment, and they could dominate all.

But from birth until now, for sixteen years, Anselm had chosen no Contract Heads.

To grow strong, he had to do as mortals did.

Pay the price.

“From age six, I trained in combat techniques nine hours a day. From seven, I studied magical theory six hours a day.”

“From ten, I spent twenty hours a day learning—everything I needed.”

In Hitana’s incredulous gaze, Anselm’s tone remained calm and gentle.

“—Until now. All that knowledge and training forged who I am today.”

“I trust your talent, Hitana. What you lack is what I’ve gained through my efforts.”

“And all of it, I will give to you.”

He glanced at the collar in Hitana’s hand, smiling: “So, do you want it?”

“…There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Following Anselm’s gaze, Hitana’s eyes fell on the collar in her hand.

“You know the price.”

“…”

The girl was silent for a long time before finally raising her hand, head lowered, slowly putting the deeply hated collar back on her neck.

“You said…” she murmured softly, “you said you’d be my sustenance, right, Hydra?”

“Of course,” Anselm smiled. “I can provide everything you want to devour.”

“…Good.”

The young wolf raised her head, her eyes reigniting with that unquenchable defiance.

Click—

She snapped the collar shut with a fierce scowl: “Then get ready to be devoured clean!”

“I look forward to it.”

The triumphant Hydra chuckled lightly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep