Chapter 66: Great Despair, Part Three

That light screen was playing Hitana’s conversation with Count Ironstone, cleverly… edited and altered.

The entire dialogue conveyed one message—

Hydra, while publicly proclaiming his greatness, secretly sent someone to make the nobles pay for the coal, reaping immense fame without spending a thing.

This scene even drew the poor, who had been hiding in their homes, out onto the cold streets, staring in disbelief at the looping footage.

“What… what is this?”

“It’s fake! The nobles are slandering Lord Hydra!”

“But, but that girl… isn’t she Lord Hydra’s most trusted subordinate?”

A silence colder than winter spread across the snow-covered streets.

Hitana stared at the light screen in utter terror, her body trembling from skin to muscle, muscle to sinew, sinew to bone—every part, every cell shaking with horror.

She had never, ever felt such fear.

“Haha… hahaha!”

A shrill, aged laugh echoed across the empty snow. A bloodless old man staggered out, pushing open his dilapidated wooden door and collapsing into the snow.

“It’s all fake… all fake! From Liennar to Luntel, from Fubersent to Cantrell, and now to Hydra… all these years, has anything changed? Nothing!”

He pointed at the trembling, desolate young people staring at the screen, laughing maniacally.

“You actually believed a noble’s lies! All these years, all these nobles, which one didn’t start by promising this and that… So what, just because this Hydra gave you a few scraps, you thought he was a good person?”

“They never cared about us!”

His despairing, blood-curdling wail echoed in the air. The old man clutched the snow, tears streaming down his face.

“Mel… my Mel, you actually believed that beastly noble would save us. I’m the one who should’ve died, it should’ve been me… why you…”

He clutched his head, sobbing pitifully.

It was like a dream.

The people living—or rather, barely surviving—in this barren area, enduring endless, numb days without hope, had dreamed a beautiful yet fleeting dream.

They had truly believed that the gentle, kind, yet decisive young noble would bring them a brighter future.

That day, that passionate, uplifting speech was still vivid in their minds.

He had said that if fate meant for death to take their lives, he would ensure they survived the cold wave.

The people present, staring at the screen, those gradually breaking down, had indeed survived.

But what about those who didn’t?

Those who had been moved by your promises and sincerity, inspired, hopeful for the future, wholeheartedly praising you?

How many had stepped into the snowstorm, seeking help, to conserve what little heat they had, only to walk the path to death?

Who were those ice sculptures?

Whose husbands, whose wives, whose children, whose family, whose friends?

A dark torrent began to sweep everything away.

Hitana stood up.

She couldn’t let this spiral further.

This was clearly… her fault!

It had nothing to do with Hydra!

Making the nobles bear all the costs was her idea, not Anselm’s—

…Not Anselm?

In a daze, Hitana’s mind flashed to her sister’s furious expression, that merciless slap, and… Anselm’s faint, ambiguous smile.

Wait, why…

Why didn’t Anselm and her sister stop me?

They clearly knew.

Why… didn’t they stop me?

As this terrifying thought rose in Hitana’s mind, threatening to destroy what little sense of self she had left, a sudden pain struck the back of her head.

“…It’s you.”

The trembling girl, gripping a thin iron rod tightly, her lips bleeding from biting them, roared hoarsely, “It’s you! You killed my father, it’s you!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The frail, petite girl, fueled by despair and rage, unleashed strength beyond her limits, swinging the rod and striking Hitana’s head repeatedly.

“Die… die! I saved you, I thought you were like me… Die, you beast! Die!”

Even after her relentless self-punishment, such attacks couldn’t truly harm Hitana.

But the hysterical screams and unreserved blows left her without the will or strength to resist.

Her spirit’s weakness and collapse drained the strength she once prided herself on.

She was so kind to me just now… and now she wants to kill me.

Ah… isn’t this only natural? I brought this on myself.

Among the dead was her father.

Hitana, her consciousness fading, lay on the ground, thinking dazedly.

If she could just let this girl kill her, maybe…

Maybe she’d feel a little better.

The battered wolf silently endured blow after blow.

The girl’s hands bled, the rod bent, yet no real harm came to Hitana.

“…Is she dead?”

The girl panted heavily, staring at the motionless figure on the ground, and kicked Hitana’s stomach viciously.

“Peh!”

She spat bloody saliva onto Hitana’s face. “Die out here… no, death’s too good for you. The outer district’s full of vile scum… I’ll drag you out, and even in death, they’ll tear you apart!”

The raw, bone-deep malice made Hitana’s heart convulse.

She didn’t dare open her eyes to see the girl’s face, afraid she’d see not a human but a vengeful ghost.

Hitana felt her body being dragged little by little, but the girl, exhausted from beating her, lacked the strength to continue after a few pulls.

“No matter… huff… I’ll just call them over… You’ll pay, all of you… every single one!”

The girl, panting, pushed the door open and left. Hitana lay curled up on the ground, silent.

Why… had it come to this?

As she thought this, she heard a rush of footsteps outside.

But they weren’t coming toward the house—they were… crossing the street.

It sounded like many people, more and more, stepping out of their homes, braving the trembling cold, onto the streets.

Hitana heard… their cries:

“To Hydra!”

“To Hydra!”

“To Hydra!”

Angry, confused, fearful, lost, despairing… cries.

The deceived poor, plummeting from hope to despair, shouted as they formed a dark torrent, surging forth in the white expanse.

What gave them such courage?

No one knew.

Perhaps because Hydra had never harmed a single civilian.

Perhaps because they’d never seen Hydra’s soldiers or enforcers. Or perhaps… just the collapse of their faith and the shattering of their reason.

The girl didn’t return to deal with Hitana, likely swept up in that dark torrent, seeking answers from the one responsible.

After the cries, all fell silent.

In that silence, Hitana, no longer willing to think, suddenly opened her eyes.

Propping herself up, she staggered to her feet with immense difficulty.

Beneath her dirty, disheveled hair, her dark red, lifeless eyes held… a final flicker of resilience amidst fragility.

“I can’t… die here. I can’t let it end like this.”

The wolf licked her wounds, spitting out blood and pain, clenching her teeth.

“Answers… I need answers from Anselm and my sister.”

“And, at the very least…”

She dug her nails into her palms, letting the still-warm blood jolt her senses.

“At the very least, Hitana…”

That unyielding wildness, on the brink of collapse, still glimmered.

“You absolutely cannot escape your responsibility.”

“This… I must bear it!”

***

Shouts, curses, sobs… countless sounds surrounded Anselm’s mansion, but the boy sitting in his study, gazing at the snowy scenery, remained calm, unshaken.

“Young Master.”

Saville bowed slightly. “Should we deal with those stirring up the crowd?”

“No need, Saville.”

The young Hydra replied calmly. “In front of Hitana, I never need to hide anything.”

The old butler, ever obedient, changed the topic. “Your plan seems to be nearing its end.”

“Just a little more,” Anselm said, a faint smile finally appearing. “Just a few key pieces left.”

Hearing this, Saville couldn’t help but sigh. “What a long and costly training. To be treated this way by you, Miss Hitana should feel truly honored and grateful.”

“You can’t say that to her now, Saville.”

Anselm shook his head. “She’d fight you to the death.”

Silence fell between master and servant.

Anselm returned to his initial state, gazing at the snow, at… the people on the street, with an indescribable calm, his emotions unreadable.

He felt no joy in manipulating their thoughts and actions, nor disdain or anger at their audacity and madness.

He simply watched it all unfold, watched the events unfold exactly as he had planned… as fact.

Only alone, or with his most trusted, did Anselm rarely show his truest emotions and face.

“She’s here.”

After some time, Anselm suddenly spoke.

Saville bowed slightly. “I’ll inform Miss Marina.”

Anselm nodded, picking up his Snake-headed cane and walking out.

The training was nearly complete.

Everything had unfolded as he predicted, reaching the penultimate climax of this grand play.

When today’s drama concluded and the final act came to its close, everything would be set.

He would achieve an unprecedented victory, claiming his first trophy from that damned fate.

He would accomplish a feat no one else in this world could ever replicate—an unparalleled achievement.

Yet Anselm Hydra, who had witnessed all Hitana endured, walked forward expressionless.

He didn’t seem happy.

***

Hitana dragged her exhausted body, slowly and arduously, back to the edge of Anselm’s mansion.

Here, a dense crowd of poor people had gathered—perhaps not just the poor, but even commoners with somewhat better lives had joined in.

Following Anselm’s will, under the deliberate incitement of devils, they had joined what seemed to be a siege against Hydra but was truly aimed at the wolf.

Hitana kept her head low, not out of fear of being torn apart by the frenzied crowd, but because she wanted to reach Anselm’s mansion quickly.

No matter what, she needed to proclaim her guilt in the most visible place.

Yet, in that moment, as she tried to quietly climb a building, leap over the roof, and land in Anselm’s manor, the ring on her index finger… erupted without warning.

Erupted—that was the word.

Hitana, who had wielded this ring with ease, lost control in an instant.

The ring began frantically draining her ether, spreading uncontrollably in all directions.

The result was inevitable.

Still climbing the roof, she collapsed instantly, her body convulsing.

Hitana’s already hoarse throat could barely make a sound, but the bulging veins on her neck and forehead, and her bloodshot eyes, bore witness to the horrific physical pain she endured.

The wretched wolf could only let out pitiful “hiss, hiss” sounds, curling into a ball, clutching her head, her sharp canines piercing her lips.

Countless… countless voices flooded her mind, their overlapping clamor nearly splitting her head open.

The words were indistinguishable, reduced to pure noise ravaging her brain.

But this wasn’t the main reason her pain made her wish for instant death.

This ring could sense emotions.

And what did Hitana sense now?

Anger, pain, sorrow, pleading, despair, numbness, and… hate.

Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate—!

That overwhelming, all-consuming hatred, dyeing her entire world gray-black, tore at her nerves, shattering her will.

“…Why?”

Tears fell helplessly from Hitana’s bloodshot eyes, splashing onto the ground.

“Why…”

How could there be such hatred? How could it… come to this?

Even if… even if they mistakenly thought Anselm had done this deliberately, hadn’t he helped others during this disaster?

Why… Why did no one seem to defend Anselm?

Why did everyone hate him so much, wanting to kill him, or even do worse than kill him?

Recalling the little girl’s ruthless words, Hitana trembled in fear amidst her pain.

Could this be a mistake… could this mistake erase all the good Anselm had done?

He wasn’t like those nobles; he was truly working for them!

Didn’t they all see it?

They had… praised him, supported him, trusted him so much before.

Why… why wouldn’t they trust him now, just because of that footage, just because he couldn’t save everyone?

This wasn’t ordinary resentment or anger.

This was incited, provoked, an irrational, all-consuming black vortex.

Such hatred was unbearable even for Hitana. She couldn’t accept that just three days ago, she had seen countless people sincerely praising Anselm, yet now, three days later… they had completely renounced their words.

They wouldn’t even grant him a shred of trust.

Only… hatred.

Even a single thread of support for Anselm would have comforted Hitana, but… there was nothing.

Her eyes, now completely hollow, as if all her will had been destroyed, recalled Count Ironstone’s words.

Those ridiculous words she had dismissed as a joke, which had angered her—

[As long as Lord Hydra’s ‘perfection’ bears even the slightest stain,]

[No… it doesn’t even need a real stain, just a whisper of fabricated rumor,]

[Among those civilians so gently saved by him, countless will harbor doubts and resentment.]

“Heh… haha…”

The girl bared her teeth, laughing through her tears.

Fake, it’s all fake… it’s just this ring malfunctioning, yes… just the ring malfunctioning.

Those bastard words that jerk said could never happen, absolutely not… it must just be the ring malfunctioning.

At that moment, amidst the countless curses, the “sinner” finally stepped forward.

He walked onto the balcony where he often overlooked the streets, facing it all alone.

The young Hydra, gripping his Snake-headed cane, surveyed the riotous crowd and spoke calmly:

“I know what has happened, and I know what you all want.”

When he spoke his first word, even the angry crowd fell silent, perhaps out of fear, perhaps anxiously awaiting a response, or perhaps… deep in their hearts, a remnant of reverence lingered.

Under their gaze, Anselm bowed slightly: “This is my mistake.”

In the long, pin-drop silence, where even boiling hatred seemed to freeze, he said:

“I admit my mistakes, my greed, my vanity. All of it is my fault.”

Under such words, Hitana could no longer feel that hatred.

His mistake… Anselm’s mistake?

How could it be his mistake? It was me, clearly—The wolf’s thoughts shattered in that moment.

Because she suddenly remembered one thing.

Anselm had once accompanied her to a cell, sat on a filthy, foul bed, and eaten food even beasts wouldn’t touch.

He had told her then that her mistakes were his mistakes.

He had told her that this was his choice.

And now, as always, without hesitation or falsehood, he fulfilled his promise, calmly stating that all this was his fault.

“Ah… ah…”

Between collapse and despair, Hitana seemed to see… a light of redemption.

Casting aside all doubts in her heart, she finally understood why she had come.

She had to bear her responsibility.

She absolutely could not… allow that light to be tarnished by her stupidity and absurdity.

The wolf struggled to her feet, standing on the low roof, squeezing out every ounce of strength in her body, shouting hoarsely: “It’s not… Anselm… not Hydra’s fault!”

Everyone, hearing her voice, instinctively turned to look, seeing a tear-streaked, snow-haired, disheveled, wretched girl on a small building beside Anselm’s mansion.

“It was me… I did it alone! I wanted to save Hydra that money, I was self-righteous… it was all me—”

She spoke haltingly, exhausted, struggling to confess her sins, laying bare her selfish, arrogant thoughts.

“It was all me…”

Under the torrent of immense hatred, on the verge of fainting, Hitana gasped: “Not… Hydra, not

him… it was me…”

“That woman… isn’t she…”

“The Calamity of Lans! It’s her, the one from the screen!”

“She’s covering for Hydra!”

“No… wait, that’s not right… this girl, she’s that kind of person, a foolish, rotten seed!”

“So, it wasn’t Hydra’s orders at all, it was all her doing?”

“Then why did Hydra—”

“Hydra even ate prison food for her! Lord Hydra… Lord Hydra said that to protect her!”

The shift and reversal came so suddenly.

Yet… so logically.

A great figure who never made a mistake, diligent, kind-hearted, gentle, forgiving, even willing to bear the same punishment for his subordinate’s errors.

And a troublemaker, always causing havoc, unpleasant, arrogant, barbaric, foolish, harming countless people under the title of Hydra’s most trusted subordinate.

Who would you choose to believe?

“It’s you!”

The crowd boiled again, screaming: “You killed my wife!”

A stone, perhaps meant for Anselm, was hurled at Hitana.

Once the first person acted, the crowd descended into madness, grabbing anything to vent their violence.

That hatred, undiminished, poured onto Hitana.

Words, physical blows, mental assaults, emotional torrents… everything in this world seemed intent on destroying Hitana.

People who had once spoken to her, who didn’t seem like bad people, now wished for her to die immediately, in the most wretched, despairing, inhumane, tortured way.

But Hitana… no longer cared.

Pain or despair, before collapsing, she had finally fulfilled her mission.

Hit by stones, ice shards, countless objects, the girl, on the brink of mental collapse, struggled to keep her eyes open, looking toward the figure on the balcony.

Her vision was blurred, unable to see the boy’s face, let alone his expression.

But she felt it—her infallible instinct told her—

Anselm seemed… sad.

“Don’t… be sad, Anselm.”

The girl murmured happily.

“You must be… the best.”

Even if she died now, it wouldn’t matter.

Hitana felt she had finally achieved redemption.

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