Chapter 68: Prelude to the Mad Dance

In Count Ironstone’s reception hall, the other nobles were either grim or cowering.

None looked at ease, except for Count Ironstone himself, who appeared relaxed.

Waiting was always torturous and long, so long they lost track of how much time had passed.

The dread of awaiting judgment was unbearable for the guilty.

And most nobles were well aware of how grave their sins were.

“Your Excellency,” someone finally broke, “it’s been so long. Can you tell us what Lord Hydra wants with us?”

Among Chishuang Territory’s many nobles, only Count Ironstone had seen through Anselm’s true intentions.

When the footage of Hitana’s conversation with Count Ironstone was released, leaving aside other places, the nobles in Chishuang City were terrified, nearly collapsing.

Though nothing had happened since, this “nothing” only deepened their fear.

After that day, Hitana left the city alone, and Anselm, for reasons unknown, was absent from Chishuang City for four days, returning only today.

Upon his return, he had Count Ironstone summon the nobles for a meeting.

Tap, tap, tap—

The rhythmic sound of a cane lightly striking the ground grew closer.

Everyone in the reception hall instantly changed their expressions—some overly enthusiastic, some obsequious, some genuinely respectful.

The earlier atmosphere of dread seemed to have never existed.

Count Ironstone tugged at his lips, hiding the disdain in his eyes, adjusting his collar seriously and standing with dignified respect toward the opening door.

“Marina, how’s the damage assessment after the great cold wave?”

“The inner district’s protective measures were timely and effective. All losses are within acceptable limits and can be restored in half a month. With sorcerer assistance, it could be as quick as a week or less.”

“The outer district suffered heavy losses. Heating and water supply are the critical issues. Under current conditions, about ten to twenty civilians will die daily… greatly affecting your reputation and Chishuang City’s future development.”

The nobles listened to the voices outside, eyes on their noses, noses on their hearts, none betraying their thoughts.

“Mm…”

The boy paused at the entrance to the reception hall, musing thoughtfully, “Some tangible aid is needed. But now’s not the time to discuss that.”

Anselm’s gaze swept over the hall, and every noble shuddered, most unable to stop themselves from looking away.

“Good morning, everyone.”

The refined Hydra nodded to the nobles, his smile radiant. “How have you been lately?”

The nobles’ minds raced, frantically wondering if Anselm was hinting at something.

Only Count Ironstone, the host, responded promptly, bowing slightly with a humble and respectful tone.

“Under your leadership, Chishuang Territory and we are all improving, Lord Hydra.”

Only then did the other nobles snap out of it, rushing to heap praise on Anselm.

Anselm merely smiled and raised a hand to stop them. “Your contributions are part of this too. What could I achieve alone?”

The girl standing quietly to his right kept her head bowed, poised and silent.

Marina felt no disgust at Anselm’s words.

On the contrary, knowing how much he disdained the noble’s ways, she admired him more for it.

Anselm Hydra maintained the noble order not because he lacked the power to do otherwise and needed their support.

Quite the opposite—the rules of nobility, the glory of noble blood, held no sway to force Anselm to bow.

He restrained his true nature, presenting everything with utmost perfection, for one reason alone: to make his goals equally perfect.

Be it what he cherished or despised, if needed, Anselm could always, with flawless poise, make every piece on the board… play its greatest role.

To Marina, this was far more awe-inspiring and respectable than reckless, all-crushing “strength.”

The atmosphere warmed with Anselm’s words. Undoubtedly, though deep down the nobles still harbored an indelible fear of Hydra, for now, most saw him as “one of them.”

“By the way, let me introduce someone, though most of you likely already know her. This is probably the first time I’ve brought her to such an occasion.”

Anselm gestured to his side, smiling with confidence and pride: “Marina Lansmarlos, my temporary secretary.”

The girl stepped forward, not offering a feminine curtsy but a slight bow, her voice neither servile nor arrogant. “Good day, lords.”

“Though I’ve taken back that ring,” Anselm said, rubbing the black snake ring on his thumb, his tone light, as if discussing something trivial, “Marina’s words still represent my will. I hope you all remember that.”

This was perhaps the first time Anselm spoke to the nobles with a hint of warning, and the sharp-witted group immediately expressed their sincerity, some almost fawning, stirring emotions in Marina.

Unlike the respect she’d received when wielding the snake ring to liaise with nobles, Marina knew then they respected only the ring, not her.

But now, their sincerity… was genuine, directed at her, at Marina Lansmarlos as a person.

Respect.

For a mortal like Marina, fleeting as a mayfly, this was a respect worth cherishing.

The girl etched this feeling into her heart, along with the knowledge she tirelessly studied, absorbing it all as nourishment.

Unlike Hitana, Marina was always growing.

“I had Count Ironstone gather you today because I have some tasks for you,” Anselm said, strolling calmly to the main seat. “Simple matters.”

Hearing this, the nobles felt a wave of relief.

As long as there were requests, it meant all was well.

For such tasks, they’d even offer their wives without hesitation.

“First, about Hitana’s village…”

Seated, Anselm’s gaze fell on a rotund noble, smiling faintly. “Baron Blackwater, that’s under your jurisdiction, and… you were the quickest to grant them favorable treatment, correct?”

The portly middle-aged noble froze, then nodded hurriedly. “Yes, yes, that’s me! It’s my honor to be remembered by you!”

He slapped his chest, thinking he understood Anselm’s intent. “I understand! Tomorrow… no, today! I’ll send another batch of supplies to their village!”

Among the nobles present, only he knew how prosperous that impoverished village had become.

Not to mention the parents of those Calamity Lans, even her fellow villagers were gaining weight in this harsh winter!

The great cold wave was a joke to them—some noble, eager to curry favor, had hired sorcerers to maintain an etheric barrier.

The villagers didn’t need to huddle in fear; they could even go out and move about!

Even the young people from that village, struggling elsewhere in Chishuang Territory, had suddenly risen in status.

Anselm propped his chin with one hand, smiling at Baron Blackwater.

The fat baron, unnerved by the gaze, quickly changed his expression, cautiously asking, “I-I’ll contact them immediately…”

“No need, Baron Blackwater.”

The young Hydra let out a serpent’s hiss aimed solely at the returning wolf. “I want you to stop all aid to Hitana’s village.”

“…Stop?”

The baron stared blankly at Anselm, but meeting his gaze, he dared not say more, nodding vigorously. “Understood! I’ll immediately halt all aid and policies to that wretched village!”

Anselm nodded, sighing softly. “Hitana has disappointed me. She needs a lesson.”

This near-explicit statement made the nobles understand, adding another task to their list.

They’d long been annoyed by those rural scum. If not for Anselm’s sake, why would they give those ingrates so much?

They should’ve been skinned twice over and still be grateful!

“Of course, no rush on this,” Anselm said with a light laugh. “Three or four days will do.”

“Now, onto the next matter.”

Gleipnir transformed into a crimson-black whip-blade in Anselm’s hand, making every noble’s face pale instantly.

“Working together this time, I trust you all know I’m an easy person to get along with.”

“A man of rules.”

Anselm lowered his head, stroking the gleaming, cold blade, his voice warm and earnest, like your closest friend.

“No need for those expressions, noble bloods.”

Anselm smiled happily, casually waving the whip-blade. “You should know my principles—taking a life is a luxury to me.”

“As long as someone exists, they have value. Taking a life desecrates and wastes that value. I don’t want to, nor do I like to do such things.”

The nobles knew Anselm’s character and methods well, which only deepened their fear—absolute terror.

At Xiaofeng Fortress, Anselm had taken Viscount Longbing and Viscount Xiaofeng.

The former was sent to the Empress’s [Black Matrix], a place said to be a hundred times more despairing than hell; the latter, a third-stage transcendent, likely became material for the current Hydra, the alchemical master.

Whether he was dead, alive, or even still “human” was unknown.

Anselm Hydra’s obsession with “value” was a terrifying cruelty that made nobles tremble.

Granting death, to this warmly smiling young Hydra, was indeed an act of great mercy.

“Killing is highly inefficient, extravagant, wasteful,” Anselm sighed. “And I similarly despise death.”

“You may think those poor, like weeds—frozen to death this year, sprouting again next—are

worthless.”

“But in my eyes—”

The whip-blade extended, slithering slowly around the nobles’ necks.

“They have value and purpose, and… not insignificant ones.”

“In this great cold wave, Count Ironstone, you, and I reached an understanding. I thought it was unquestionable, but some… betrayed my trust.”

This statement turned some nobles’ faces deathly pale.

In truth, though the ice corpses outside Anselm’s manor after the cold wave were shocking, as Marina noted, “there weren’t as many as expected.”

Count Ironstone had balanced things well. In the outer district, the death rate among the poor—not civilians, but the destitute—was around forty percent. Civilians with barely decent lives had almost no deaths.

This was rare for a Northland cold wave, especially in a place like Chishuang Territory, where the poor were usually disregarded.

As Anselm had said, during rare cold waves, nobles let those “eyesores” freeze, treating it as garbage cleanup.

New populations would fill in later, as Northlanders were highly fertile, and such disasters weren’t annual—though the last twenty years saw three, they typically occurred every fifteen to twenty years.

Most nobles, under Anselm’s “guidance,” kept the poor’s death rate around fifty percent, some even ensuring useful coal went to strong laborers.

But a few… too greedy, too foolish, thinking Anselm’s words were empty, barely bothered, letting the cold wave nearly wipe out their poor.

“I’m deeply disappointed,” Anselm sighed. “Count Ironstone, should I forgive them?”

The man at Anselm’s right smiled. “That depends on their sincerity. Your forgiveness isn’t cheap.”

“Lord Hydra!”

A noble immediately fell to his knees, banging his head on the floor. “Forgive me… please forgive me! My wealth, my everything, I offer to you! Forgive my foolishness!”

The civilians under this noble’s rule could hardly imagine their tyrannical, life-disdaining, extortionate lord groveling like a dog before a young man, begging in the most humble, wretched manner.

Nobles prized their dignity, but what was dignity before the terror Hydra brought?

This young Hydra had proven himself—through Count Chishuang’s death, through the “value” of so many, he’d proven his authority.

When necessary, he was the perfect partner; when taboos were crossed, he was a devil no one wanted to face.

“No need to be so humble Baron Hemo,” Anselm said, looking down with pity. “Do I seem like a brutal, murderous devil to you?”

If he were merely brutal, they wouldn’t be this afraid.

But Baron Hemo and the other two kneeling nobles dared not voice this.

“Here’s what we’ll do.”

Anselm stood, magnanimously declaring, “I’ll give you a chance.”

Count Ironstone’s eyes narrowed slightly, the others silent but already scheming.

The three foolish nobles, too frantic to think, thanked and praised Anselm’s mercy.

“Since Baron Hemo says he’s willing to offer everything,”

Hydra stroked his cane, smiling harmlessly:

“I think that’s a fine proposal.”

“Your lands, your people, your wealth, your everything—I want them to belong to the Revolutionary Army. The same goes for the other two.”

In the dead silence, Anselm continued lightly, “In these four days, I investigated Chishuang Territory thoroughly and found… it’s indeed fertile ground for the Revolutionary Army.”

“I think it’s time to give those restless spectators under the stage a chance to perform.”

Count Ironstone opened his mouth, intending to speak, but stayed silent.

He had no idea why Anselm was doing this, but one thing was clear—Anselm’s plans were far beyond his own. Questioning him was foolish.

“B-but, this…”

Baron Hemo forced a smile. “Even if I handed it over, those New World rats from the sewers… they wouldn’t dare seize a noble’s city.”

The two dukes of the North seemed indifferent to the Revolutionary Army’s activities, allowing their growth.

But if the so-called [New World] revolutionaries dared overstep, like openly seizing cities, the dukes’ elite forces could wipe them out in three days.

The nobles believed this.

“That’s not your concern.”

Anselm’s smile remained unchanged.

He gazed down at the nobles, lofty in their domains, with compassion, kindness, and tolerance, his voice gentle:

“You only need to consider whether to accept my mercy…”

“Or bear the cost of betraying my trust.”

Baron Hemo met those sea-blue eyes, trembling in terror.

In that instant, he saw his future self—

Not dead, but stripped of all value, no longer “human.”

“Thank you… thank you for your mercy…”

The villain cursed and hated by countless civilians wept, kowtowing to Anselm.

Utterly sincere.

***

Back at the mansion, Anselm sat on a soft sofa in the lounge, Yura gently massaging his shoulders.

“You should rest, Young Master,” Saville said softly. “These four days have taken a toll on you.”

Anselm chuckled. “Saville, you make me sound too frail.”

“No, but—” Old Saville opened his mouth, then shook his head with a helpless sigh. “I support all your wishes, but your work lately has been… a bit too wild.”

He said earnestly, “I can assure you, when the Master had no Contract Heads, he was no different from most wastrel nobles, not like you now…”

Anselm raised his hand, signaling Saville to stop.

“My father’s ways have nothing to do with me.”

The young Hydra half-closed his eyes, speaking softly, “I’m just doing what I must.”

The old man fell silent, saying no more.

Even now, he didn’t understand what drove Anselm forward.

His father was the greatest alchemist in history, his family the Hydra, capable of crushing any foe, a fifth-tier existence second only to a handful of sixth-tier supremes.

He could command seven, and even the great Emperor on the throne cast favorable glances his way.

Saville couldn’t fathom what Anselm was thinking, what he was anxious about… Perhaps the trauma from when he was ten still lingered, unhealed.

But why, at this age, did Anselm live like an ascetic among nobles?

Even his so-called “indulgences” were merely trifling with women, and even then, he was excessively gentle.

“But forcing that big thing so far away was exhausting,” Anselm admitted, leaning his head back slightly. Yura, ever attentive, lifted her hands to massage his temples.

“Driving it without a single Contract Head was a bit too much.”

“I hope Miss Hitana is worth all this effort,” Saville sighed.

“She’s absolutely worth it.”

Anselm raised his brows confidently, as if showing off a priceless treasure. “She’s the best… well, one of them.”

He turned to the silent Marina. “Right, Marina?”

“…Hitana’s talent,” the girl said, head bowed, “I don’t know much about the transcendent world, but I think… it’s strong.”

She hesitated, then spoke softly, “Mr. Anselm, I—”

“By the way, Marina, what do you think was my intent in saying those things to you before we entered the reception hall?”

Anselm’s sudden question cut her off.

The girl paused, then answered earnestly after careful thought:

“Compared to your explicit demands, fulfilling your ‘private’ considerations is clearly more valuable, more pleasing to you, and better proves the nobles’ loyalty.”

“So, by deliberately mentioning those things to me, the nobles who overheard will throw themselves into Chishuang City’s post-disaster reconstruction and aid its civilians with two hundred percent effort, thinking it’s what you secretly want.”

“They’ll even compete to do it, so… it’s more efficient than directly ordering it in the meeting, and it doesn’t waste your resources.”

Anselm laughed delightedly. “Your progress is remarkable, Marina. I said you have talent no less than Hitana’s, isn’t that obvious?”

Marina gave a shy smile, one she seemed to reserve only for Anselm. “You flatter… no, thank you for your recognition.”

She bowed slightly, her gaze burning with fervor.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t a transcendent.

Even now, I can help Mr. Anselm. I have… the same value as Hitana.

***

At this moment, after a long journey,

The exhausted wolf finally returned to her hometown.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep