Volume 2 Chapter 7: This Family Is Seriously Messed Up

In the still dimly lit underground laboratory, Mingfuluo stared at her original flesh-and-blood body under faint light, her gaze icy.

“The connection is almost completely severed, with the possibility of never being able to return.”

Her iron-gleaming index finger touched the soft forehead of her flesh body, but the intense sluggishness, even rejection, sank her heart to rock bottom.

Her soul could never return to her original body—this was the worst-case scenario.

This puppet, designed for combat with the Ether Academy, had been fine-tuned for battle, with other functions lacking.

Such a puppet was the least suitable for Mingfuluo’s soul to inhabit temporarily.

There were no fifth-tier experts in Babel Tower proficient in soul magic, and even if there were, they couldn’t quickly lift the restrictions Solen had placed on her.

She tried using the puppet body to control another puppet, but the efficiency was abysmal, utterly unusable.

“…Until this problem is resolved, the best choice is to stay in the safe house, but the issue is—”

The issue was that the Alchemical Association was still stubbornly blocking the mass production of the second-generation Hummingbird floating cannon.

Babel Tower’s leader, Hendrik, had just promised Ivora that Babel Tower would resolve this issue within seven days, but now…

If she didn’t step up and instead hid in the safe house, it would be impossible to solve this problem—because Mingfuluo was certain there were no flaws in the Hummingbird’s design; it had to be the Alchemical Association’s interference.

“Alchemical Association…”

Mingfuluo slowly tightened her grip on the alchemical carving knife on the table, enunciating each word: “Hydra, is it you again?”

As Flamel’s son, a figure practically worshipped as a god by the Alchemical Association, Anselm’s influence within the association was beyond question.

And with his connection to Ivora, one of the Empire’s two most crucial divine seeds, their relationship needed no elaboration…

One ring linked to another, an oppressively suffocating rhythm that was a thousand times more formidable than the Ether Academy’s mere assassination attempts.

In just three days since his return, he had nearly driven her to a dead end.

But Mingfuluo had no intention of praising Anselm for this, nor did she wish to be the one “fortunate” enough to endure this rhythm.

Under the dim light, Mingfuluo, staring at her original body, sank into thought.

How could she find a way to break through?

What did the bet Anselm spoke of mean?

If he truly intended, as he claimed, to bury her beliefs and ideals in obsession and madness, what would he… do?

Her mind raced through possibilities.

Anselm’s ability to wield influence in the Imperial Capital was too vast and he himself was one of the greatest forces.

Even if he repeatedly claimed he wouldn’t directly threaten her safety or freedom, if he truly meant to trip her up, it was impossible to guard against.

The woman’s slender index finger slowly traced her flesh body, murmuring thoughtfully:

“In other words, the breakthrough lies… with the person who made the bet with Hydra.”

“Who could possibly be qualified to make a bet with Hydra?”

To open the situation, she first had to understand her current state.

And her current state was that she was a pawn on a chessboard controlled by two great figures, who would either mercifully lend a hand or cruelly bring down disaster to decide her “future.”

With every step, she didn’t know whether the square she landed on was a blessing or a curse.

How… high and mighty.

“From the scale of Hydra’s actions this time, they aren’t mere spectators.

Not only will they not passively watch events unfold, but they’ll actively, openly or covertly, influence me, and with significant force.”

Mingfuluo submerged her flesh body in a container filled with pale green liquid, lightly adjusted her glasses, and sat in a wide, soft chair.

Six light screens unfolded before her.

Staring at the various data, Mingfuluo muttered to herself:

“In other words, this is a game between Hydra and his betting partner.

If the premise is that they won’t directly restrict me, then the key to this game lies in—”

Ether surged from the puppet’s core to her fingertips, dragging the light screen.

Her gaze locked onto one of the screens.

Hendrik was speaking with a man in a black robe, behind which a sun embedded with eyes hung within an inverted triangle.

The emblem of the Alchemical Association, symbolizing their pursuit of truth.

Staring at them, Mingfuluo lightly tapped the table, her mind instantly conjuring multiple possibilities.

She seemed to grasp something, her purple eyes under gray-white glasses reflecting the screen’s glow:

“My… choice of direction?”

“At some moment, perhaps one I’m not even aware of, under the influence of multiple external factors, the choice I make will determine whether I, as a pawn, receive aid or face disaster.”

“Thus, everything a pawn sees is forever under their manipulation.Only by standing at their height can there be a chance to survive.”

“Their height, that is…”

“The perspective of the chess player.”

Easy to say, but how could a pawn, unaware of even where it stood, capture the perspective of the chess player?

Resources, influence, power… Babel Tower could barely contend with the Ether Academy, so how could it face the colossal entity looming over the Empire?

Mingfuluo couldn’t access the information from the chess player’s perspective, couldn’t see their distant designs and traps, but she could do one thing—

If she only looked at herself, observing from a higher level and angle, rather than casting her gaze far ahead, that was easy for Mingfuluo.

That alone was enough.

She didn’t need to see a distant future, only to see the path beneath her feet as clearly as possible.

Having found her answer, Mingfuluo stood up.

She silently equipped the puppet with as many armaments as possible, then walked toward the long external corridor.

The manipulated pawn whispered coldly:

“Control yourself, Mingfuluo.”

***

The Alchemical Association, a transcendent and independent sorcerer organization, was looser and smaller than the Ether Academy or Babel Tower, yet held a pivotal position in the Empire’s sorcerer system.

Firstly, most extraordinary artifacts were produced by alchemists and most extraordinary materials could only be processed by them.

Secondly… alchemists were the most powerful among all sorcerer branches.

Anselm didn’t know where, in that other world, the stereotype in games and entertainment media came from—that alchemists only tinkered in workshops with weak combat ability—but in this world, their strength was unquestionable.

Alchemy was creation.

And creation was one of the most complex and difficult things in this world.

Alchemists possessed an unparalleled mastery of ether, a deep understanding of multiple elements, the most comprehensive and perfect equipment, and even inexhaustible reserves of ether magic crystals.

At the same tier, an alchemist was almost impossible to defeat by other sorcerers.

This was true in combat, but what about other fields?

Casting mediums that enhanced sorcerers’ spell effects, various wondrous and precious extraordinary artifacts, materials requiring special processing for casting or research… no sorcerer would dare offend an alchemist, just as every sorcerer aspired to become one.

And now, these elites at the pinnacle of the sorcerer world, whom all sorcerers treated with respect or caution for fear of offending, were acting like restaurant waiters, surrounding a distinguished guest visiting the Alchemical Association.

Their fawning, obsequious demeanor was even more servile than that of waiters.

“Lord Anselm, I have ten lava dragon teeth—”

“Lord Anselm! Last month, I unearthed from the ruins of the previous dynasty—”

In the Alchemical Association, these frenzied alchemists surrounded Anselm in layers.

Hitana was bewildered by the exaggerated scene, staring blankly at the group of sorcerers, unsure what madness drove them to shower Anselm with gifts.

Fortunately, the surging crowd hadn’t surrounded him for long before someone came to his rescue.

“Disperse.”

A solemn voice with an overlapping effect echoed through the Alchemical Association’s grand, luxurious hall.

All the alchemists surrounding Anselm froze in unison, then involuntarily parted to clear a path for him.

The young Hydra looked up.

On the second floor, a white-haired, kindly-looking old man was smiling and waving at him.

“Lord Para, it’s been a while.”

Anselm smiled and greeted the old man: “Your True Word technique has become even more refined.”

“Just a trivial trick.”

Para Selsus, the current president of the Alchemical Association, one of the Supreme Nine Seats of the Ether Academy, yet these two titles combined paled in comparison to his most significant identity—

One of the extremely rare true students of Flamel Hydra in alchemy.

“But you, Anselm,” the old man smiled, stroking his white beard, “when none of us could guess who you’d choose as your Contract Head, you found a genius in the North capable of bearing the power of two Contract Heads.”

He looked at the mild, approachable boy below, sighing softly: “Just two Contract Heads… and you’ve become this strong.”

Only true powerhouses could see the changes in Anselm.

It was the aura of a demonic entity awakening from the abyss, of an unmatched power being completed… otherwise, Ivora wouldn’t have been so thrilled by Anselm’s return, nor would Solen’s words to him have been mere jest.

These powerhouses naturally revered Anselm.

From his birth, they had maintained a degree of reverence.

But that reverence stemmed from Hydra’s identity, whereas now… it was beginning to shift toward the power Anselm himself wielded.

“Come up first.”

Before Anselm, steps appeared out of thin air, forming a path to the second floor.

The old man said kindly: “We can’t let the teacher know I neglected you.”

Anselm nodded slightly, then stepped onto the floating steps.

He turned to the girl staring at the steps, inspecting them as if worried about their stability, and smiled, extending his hand to her.

Hitana’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t hesitate to place her hand in Anselm’s.

The moment their palms touched, she gripped his hand tightly and the chaotic thoughts in her mind vanished instantly.

Para watched Hitana’s slightly flushed face and Anselm’s genuine smile and gentleness.

He was stunned for a full two seconds before a kind smile spread across his aged face.

He watched the boy and girl holding hands, ascending the steps, his eyes seemingly reflecting a similar yet different scene.

“Visiting without notice, I hope you don’t find me presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?”

The old man laughed: “Half the Alchemical Association would love for you to be this presumptuous.

Look at them—”

His cane pointed to the alchemists in the first-floor hall, eagerly gazing up at Anselm, and he said with displeasure: “All hoping to meet the teacher and climb the ranks.

Young people these days…”

The old man shook his head: “No focus on the proper path, always chasing shortcuts.

Speaking of which, Anselm.”

“Hm?”

Para suddenly shifted tone, his expression serious: “When is the teacher coming back?

As his student, I feel it’s my duty to visit him at the earliest opportunity.”

Hitana stared at the kindly old man in shock, as if stunned by his audacity, while Anselm smiled: “Soon.

In a week to half a month, he should return.”

“Good… plenty of time to prepare a gift.”

The old man glanced at Anselm, then discreetly at Hitana.

He led Anselm toward the Alchemical Association’s internal teleportation array, reverting to his kindly demeanor: “Anselm, though everyone anticipates your arrival, showing up unannounced like this isn’t your style.”

“I just heard something interesting,” Anselm said leisurely, “and wanted to see what the Alchemical Association is like now.

And now, it’s…”

He looked at the various firearms displayed on the walls, chuckling: “Somewhat beyond my expectations.”

When he and Mingfuluo co-designed the first ether-driven firearm, Anselm had already envisioned the storm it would unleash.

But reality proved he had underestimated this violent revolution.

In just one year, firearms had become one of the most crucial weapons for extraordinaries.

Even commoners knew the danger of those loud, explosive devices.

Though the Empire had no wars, conflicts between nobles, frictions between territories, relics of previous dynasties hidden across vast lands, threats from countless magical and ferocious beasts… and, most importantly, the collapsing order under Ephithand’s rule—all made violence increasingly necessary.

Babel Tower had earned Ivora’s approval and amassed wealth through this.

Though still insignificant compared to the Ether Academy, as Anselm had promised Mingfuluo, it had secured a foothold in the Imperial Capital.

As for the Alchemical Association… Since Babel Tower’s scale couldn’t support mass production of firearms, nor could it monopolize the design concept, they wisely shared the ether-driven firearm’s design principles with the Alchemical Association early on, achieving a win-win.

Now, the Alchemical Association had become, in the words of that other world, the world’s largest arms dealer, bar none.

“I never imagined, in such a short time… the Alchemical Association would undergo such a transformation.”

Para followed Anselm’s gaze to the firearms framed and hung on the walls as exhibits, shaking his head: “We were pursuers of truth, but now we’re the source of violence…

The key is, even I can’t resist.”

The old man rubbed his cane, sighing deeply: “Can’t resist this world-changing tide.”

Though the Alchemical Association was loose, it was still an organization.

No organization could remain unmoved before such immense profits.

While firearm workshops didn’t run day and night, bullet workshops operated ceaselessly.

The wealth brought by firearms was like a cascade of gold coins, eroding everyone’s bottom line.

Now, the sorcerers in the Alchemical Association had grown accustomed to living atop piles of gold coins, and the entire Alchemical Association could no longer separate itself from this industry.

Para alone was utterly powerless to change anything.

Moreover… there was something far more terrifying driving the development of all this.

That ambitious Grand Princess had actively pushed this violence toward maturity, something Para could not possibly influence.

“That genius young lady,” Para said, “I am astonished by her talent, yet I lament the path she has chosen.”

In these three years, Mingfuluo’s reputation had grown ever more prominent, but what brought her this fame were one dangerous and terrifying weapon after another, from the most primitive ether-driven firearms to various modified versions of ether-driven firearms.

The failure of the first-generation floating cannon had not stopped her on this path of violence; instead, it led her to create the second-generation floating cannon, Hummingbird, which once again shocked the Empire—until now, this weapon, several times or even dozens of times more terrifying than ether-driven firearms, was to be placed into the Alchemical Association’s production chain for mass production.

Hearing Para’s words, Anselm remained silent, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

“If only she had used her talents for something closer to the truth,” Para continued.

“I would even have been willing to recommend her to the teacher, but alas… Sorry, Anselm, for making you listen to an old man ramble on like this.”

Para led Anselm to a door, shaking his head with a wry smile: “I suppose I can only talk about these things with you and Teacher.”

“No, I quite enjoy hearing you talk about these matters,” Anselm replied.

His brows lifted slightly: “But I recall, your office isn’t this room, is it?”

“There’s a guest in my office, not suitable for hosting you, Anselm,” Para said.

“Hm? Isn’t it a bit improper to leave a guest unattended?” the young Hydra said, smiling at the elderly man who stood at the door, his expression slightly frozen.

“Lord Para, how could I let you commit such a breach of etiquette?”

His snake-headed cane tapped the ground lightly, his voice gentle yet carrying an air of command that none could defy—not even the elderly man before him, a fifth-tier transcendent, his father’s student, and a long-time acquaintance.

“Please, take me to see her.”

“…”

After a brief silence, a helpless smile spread across Para’s aged face: “I should have guessed, that’s why you came, Anselm.”

He led Anselm toward the opposite room, gently waving his hand, and the heavy wooden door opened on its own.

Anselm stood at the doorway, courteously waiting for the elder to enter first.

“Lord Selsus, you—”

A clear, sweet voice rang out in the office, reminiscent of a mountain stream or a singing bird, yet it carried the refined elegance of a tulip blooming under the moonlight.

The girl’s words stopped halfway.

Because she saw the golden-haired youth standing at the door, smiling at her.

“This seems to be our first meeting.”

Anselm gave a slight gentlemanly bow, lifting his head with a smile to address the girl seated on the sofa: “Greetings, Your Highness Sulun.”

At that moment, Hitana fell into a daze.

She looked at the girl in the office, dressed in a luxurious white pleated skirt, adorned with an iris crown, poised and elegant, with a noble air, appearing about her own age or perhaps even younger, and the phantom from her dream… gradually merged with her.

She was… she was the future Empress!

There was no mistake! Though she looked completely different from that time, her demeanor and expression were an absolute match, and with the name Anselm mentioned…

She had now, unbelievably, encountered the future Empress?

In her daze, a sudden thought flashed through Hitana’s mind.

If she killed this girl right now, what would become of the Empire’s future?

The moment the thought emerged, Hitana immediately dismissed it—what a ridiculous idea! Only a fool would do something so stupid!

“…Lord Anselm.”

Among Ephithand’s six heirs, the youngest princess, Sulun, stood and curtsied, lifting her skirt toward Anselm: “It is an honor to meet you for the first time.”

Anselm looked at Sulun, her expression calm and devoid of any tension, and first signaled Hitana to close the door before saying with a smile: “I didn’t expect Lord Para’s guest to be Your Highness Sulun. My unannounced visit seems to have disturbed you both.”

“No such thing, Lord Anselm.”

Sulun’s voice was soft and soothing: “I was merely discussing some trivial matters with Lord Para.”

“Trivial… matters?” Anselm’s lips curved slightly upward.

“Your Highness Sulun, are you certain they’re trivial?”

“…”

In Sulun’s silence, Anselm leisurely walked into the room, casually choosing a sofa to sit on, and said lightly: “This morning, I suddenly heard news about the mass production of the second-generation floating cannon.”

“Our genius young lady… seems to have encountered some issues in its design, causing the second-generation floating cannon to be unfit for mass production.”

Anselm propped his chin with one hand, looking at Sulun with a faint smile: “Is that so, Your Highness Sulun?”

Para couldn’t help but interject: “Anselm, Her Highness Sulun was only discussing some—”

“It seems Lord Anselm came specifically for this matter, didn’t he?” Sulun’s tone shifted slightly, losing some of its gentleness, becoming colder and calmer.

“No, I’m merely curious.”

The young Hydra spoke lightly: “Though Ivora only cares about whether the problem is resolved, she won’t let anyone who deliberately creates problems off the hook. She might first pin the issue of the floating cannon’s failure to mass-produce on Babel Tower, but that doesn’t mean she’s unaware that the Alchemical Association deliberately halted its production.”

“That’s Ivora’s wrath, Para.”

Anselm’s words carried a hint of threat, yet his smile remained warm: “You know how dangerous she is, yet you made such a decision on your own. You must have some confidence, don’t you?”

“And in this world, the only thing capable of withstanding her wrath, besides Hydra, is…”

“Mother.”

Sulun finished Anselm’s sentence.

She bowed slightly to Anselm: “Lord Anselm, it was I who falsely conveyed Mother’s will, instructing the Alchemical Association’s leadership to temporarily halt the mass production of the second-generation floating cannon.”

Para, evidently aware of this, showed no reaction to Sulun’s words, but Hitana, whose horizons had been somewhat broadened, was once again dumbfounded.

Falsely conveying the Empress’s will? A minor princess doing such a thing just to stop the production of some floating cannon?

What kind of absurd situation was this?

“I’d like to hear your reasons,” Anselm said, showing no surprise at Sulun’s words, clearly well-informed about the matter.

“Reasons…”

Sulun fell silent for a long while before standing, gazing earnestly at Anselm.

“Very well, though the timing isn’t ideal, I’ll take this opportunity to say something I was destined to tell you, Lord Anselm.”

“Lord Anselm, do you think the current Empire is normal?”

She asked.

“For my part,” Anselm shrugged slightly, “I’m not particularly pleased to see the Empire like this.”

“I feel the same,” Sulun said softly.

“Chaos, conflict, strife, conspiracies… endless. The emergence of firearms has already cast a terrifying, blood-red shadow over the Empire, and if the floating cannon, a hundred times more violent, were to appear and enter mass production… Lord Anselm, can you imagine what the Empire would become?”

Her words were so righteous and compassionate, her intentions so bright and just.

“You are a man who values order, Lord Anselm,” the young princess continued.

“This is evident from the territories you govern and your pursuit of order. So I believe you would not wish to see such a scene.”

“That so-called mass-produced Hummingbird brings no benefit to the Empire.”

Sulun declared solemnly: “That’s why I don’t want its development to succeed, and if possible, I hope you’ll lend me your support.”

Like a delicate white flower, the princess bowed deeply to Anselm.

Hitana leaned close to Anselm’s ear and whispered: “Anselm, I think she makes sense.”

“Hm? Do you?” Anselm’s voice carried no attempt to lower itself, making Hitana a bit embarrassed, but she pressed on quietly: “Yeah, though that thing can’t harm me, if it’s mass-produced… if the nobles’ guards get their hands on it, wouldn’t the commoners be done for? I think it’s better not to let it be made.”

At this, Anselm couldn’t help but chuckle: “Hitana, do you think Her Highness Sulun is really doing this for the Empire’s harmony?”

“…?” Hitana tilted her head, puzzled.

Sulun’s expression remained unchanged as she looked at Anselm.

“Let me tell you what the Empire’s order truly is.”

Anselm raised a finger and said softly: “There is one, and only one—Her Majesty himself.”

“As long as she wills it, she can sweep away all the Empire’s maladies; just as the Empire’s current decay and decline are entirely due to her own issues.”

“And therefore…” Anselm’s gaze shifted to Sulun’s pure and lovely face, “the Empire’s order rests solely on the Empress’s will. If the Empress wishes the Empire to improve, it will improve, and vice versa. So—”

“Your Highness Sulun’s actions are utterly meaningless, incapable of changing anything, and she knows this perfectly well.”

“Right?” Anselm tilted his head, smiling brightly at Sulun.

“…Lord Anselm,” Sulun said calmly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re unwilling to help me, then I retract my earlier—”

“Since Your Highness Sulun is fully aware of this, why take the risk of offending the Grand Princess, even committing the grave offense of falsely conveying Her Majesty’s will, to halt the floating cannon’s mass production?”

Anselm interrupted Sulun, his words like a blade, mercilessly dissecting the young princess’s motives in an instant.

“Because she… wants to offend Her Highness Ivora.”

“—Lord Para,” he suddenly said, “the following words aren’t suitable for you to hear. Please step out for a moment.”

“…”

Para was silent for a moment before whispering to Anselm: “Anselm, I don’t know what you’re planning, but… Her Highness Sulun’s intentions are genuine. She truly wishes to stop this absurd tide.”

With that, his figure vanished from the office.

“Well, now we can speak more freely,” Anselm nodded with satisfaction.

“There’s no need for you to keep up the pretense, is there, Your Highness Sulun?”

“Lord Anselm,” Sulun sighed wearily, “I truly don’t know what you’re talking about. Please stop putting undue pressure on me.”

“Is that so?”

The young Hydra raised his brows and turned to the girl beside him.

“Hitana, if your mother hated something, what would you do?”

“Of course, I’d remove it from her sight or just destroy it!” Hitana answered without thinking.

“That would make things better, wouldn’t it?”

“Your mother would be happy, and the thing she hates is also something you hate, so you’d both be even happier, right?”

“Of course, it’d be great… huh?”

Hitana vaguely sensed something amiss.

This simple analogy, clear even to a dog, caused the smile on Sulun’s face to fade bit by bit.

Until it turned completely cold and indifferent.

“Lord Anselm,” her tone was flat, “there should be no conflict between us.”

“There wasn’t before,” Anselm smiled, “but after you stopped the floating cannon’s mass production, there is now.”

“…You’re siding with her?”

Sulun furrowed her brow slightly: “You shouldn’t be able to tolerate my elder sister’s vile personality.”

“No, I don’t side with anyone. I only side with myself.”

Compared to Sulun’s increasingly heavy demeanor, Anselm seemed utterly relaxed: “This time is no different.”

“You need me to lift the Alchemical Association’s restrictions on the floating cannon’s mass production,” Sulun understood Anselm’s intent immediately.

“But Lord Anselm, what can you offer in return?”

Though negotiating with Anselm now seemed foolish, it precisely showcased Sulun’s boldness.

Because, in a sense… She was truly acting on behalf of the Empress.

The aging monarch despised the heir who constantly awaited her death and loathed her growing influence.

The existence of firearms had already expanded Ivora’s already immense power and if the floating cannon—also produced under Ivora’s command—were to be mass-produced… the Grand Princess’s influence in the Empire would undoubtedly reach its peak.

Unable to choose to eliminate Ivora, Ephithand was equally unwilling to sit by and watch her power grow—though she now clung to life, refusing to die, she remained the Empire’s supreme ruler. How could she tolerate someone so arrogantly and brazenly encroaching on her authority under her very nose?

And so, someone needed to step forward to solve this problem for our Empress.

“I can guarantee that I won’t interfere with any of your upcoming plans or actions, and if necessary, I can even offer my assistance—of course, for a price.”

Anselm chuckled lightly, proposing the second seemingly unequal deal since returning to the Imperial Capital: “As long as you restart the production of the second-generation floating cannon.”

The politically adept creature gazed at Anselm for a long time before nodding gently.

“Very well, I agree.”

“In terms of decisiveness, Your Highness Sulun is quite comparable to Your Highness Ivora.”

Anselm said cheerfully, staring into her eyes.

“However, Your Highness Sulun, you must think carefully. Though you have His Majesty’s protection, Ivora won’t rashly act against you. But once His Majesty passes, no matter how much you try to weaken her influence, the moment Ivora dons the Crown, the first person she’ll settle scores with will undoubtedly be you.”

“But she isn’t there yet. She doesn’t yet possess the power to decide everything,” Sulun said calmly. “Mother, too, has not yet passed.”

“Before that end arrives—”

The princess, unwilling to let bloodlines dictate outcomes, locked eyes with Anselm, as if bolstering confidence in her future collaborator: “Everything is possible, Lord Anselm.”

She paused, then once again lifted her skirt and curtsied to Anselm.

“Then, I hope you obtain what you need from this, Lord Anselm. And I hope you will honor your promise.”

“Of course,” Anselm replied with a smile. “I always keep my word.”

“That, I do not deny.”

Sulun nodded, and after a brief silence, she asked another question: “Pardon my boldness, but this floating cannon production line, which is meaningless to you… why are you so insistent on restarting it?”

“For what?”

The wicked Hydra narrowed his eyes slightly. He only smiled, saying nothing, but the gentle wave of his snake-headed cane, moving like a conductor’s baton, was enough to reveal his current delight.

Of course, it was to make a certain genius young lady… slide into an abyss from which she could never escape.

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