Taming the Protagonist

Volume 2

Chapter 43 : The Unfulfilled Promise

A deafening roar echoed through the alchemical workshop.

Tilting his head at Mingfuluo in the thick mist, Anselm couldn’t help but laugh: “Thirteenth failure. I told you, you’re too impatient, Arlo.”

He snapped his fingers lightly, creating a crystal-clear water sphere beside Mingfuluo.

“...At least, we’ve ruled out another wrong option.”

A delicate face, smeared with ash and soot, emerged from the dust, diving skillfully into the water sphere.

“Phew...”

Mingfuluo gently shook her head as it emerged from the water sphere, wiping her wet cheeks with both hands.

Crystal droplets clung to her long lashes, others sliding down her tender, fair face.

Her drenched appearance resembled a fawn that had just drunk water, though her expression was far from cute.

“Thorough research into the Universal Ether Furnace should wait until you’re at fourth-tier.”

The young Hydra glanced at the scrap in the alchemical furnace, shaking his head: “No matter how hard you try now, it’s just a waste of energy and materials. This is different from other things, Arlo. Its design principles and elements are too complex.”

Mingfuluo also looked at the blackened, ruined mass from the explosion, silent for a moment before replying softly:

“I know, but I can’t let it go, Anselm.”

She turned to the boy on the sofa, the only person in the world who could understand her, who could see the same vision as her, and said:

“The moment I think that even a single step forward in the Universal Ether Furnace’s progress, even hastening its creation by a day, would bring the new era closer by a moment, I can’t resist the urge to create it.”

The petite yet striking woman, at that moment, revealed a longing, almost intoxicated emotion she never showed to outsiders, reaching toward the now-extinguished furnace’s edge:

“The world will take another step forward, no longer stagnant. The harm from disasters and chaos will be minimized. This continent will transform completely in decades, not centuries—eradicating barrenness, eliminating suffering. Even the most ordinary people won’t be fodder for transcendents but will make the transcendent... a part of the ordinary and commonplace.”

Mingfuluo rarely spoke such emotionally charged words to Anselm.

Clearly, the “Universal Ether Furnace” they spoke of carried all her hopes and dreams for over a decade, and she pursued this dream with unspoken determination.

“...”

Anselm looked at his first and best friend, listening to her unreservedly share such a vision.

He knew better than anyone how difficult it would be to achieve, yet his lips curved slightly, his voice softening:

“Arlo, you must understand... achieving this isn’t as simple as inventing a Universal Ether Furnace.”

“I know.”

Mingfuluo turned to look at Anselm, quickly reining in her emotions.

She disliked appearing overly emotional in front of him, partly because he’d tease her, and partly because, though they were the closest of friends and perfectly aligned companions, she was five years his senior and couldn’t afford to seem... immature.

After all, she was already immature enough.

“So we’ve been working toward that moment, creating more alchemical devices to push it forward, to change...”

“What I mean is,” Anselm interrupted, “no matter how many or how great the inventions, some things are hard to change.”

“You mean... the resistance we’ll face?” Mingfuluo frowned slightly.

Mingfuluo was truly intelligent and true intelligence meant she wasn’t an idiot outside of alchemical creation and spell research.

“That’s... indeed a problem.”

The woman calmed down: “To push such a transformation touches too many interests. After all, my grandfather—”

Her gaze turned cold and fierce, brimming with deep hatred.

Only in such moments did the usually aloof scholar reveal such intense emotions.

Mingfuluo took a deep breath to compose herself, looking at Anselm and saying softly: “This matter can’t rely entirely on you. It’d cause you big trouble.”

“No, no, no... that’s secondary.”

Not yet exposed to the Empire’s core circles, Anselm didn’t grasp what godlike beings meant to the Empire, so he only gave Mingfuluo a cryptic smile: “I don’t mind that kind of trouble, Arlo.

The issue is, even if we overcome the resistance, a ton of problems still await us.”

“...A ton?”

“Social transformation is rooted in material change but can’t be limited to it.”

Whenever these topics arose, Anselm grew somewhat loquacious, but Mingfuluo showed no impatience, listening with utmost patience and seriousness.

“To change the Empire, it’s not enough to just elevate society’s productivity with transcendents—I explained productivity to you when we discussed the Universal Ether Furnace, right? Anyway, just giving commoners transcendent-level productivity is far from enough.”

The young Hydra gestured animatedly, both excited and earnest: “It’ll cause class conflicts. The interest issue you mentioned is just the surface. Even if I resolve that issue quickly and push it forward, once society runs for ten years... no, if the Universal Ether Furnace works as we expect, in just five years, even more terrifying conflicts will erupt. If mishandled...”

He paused, saying gravely: “The Empire is splitting, collapsing, everything going to waste... it’s not impossible.”

Mingfuluo froze, Anselm’s words sounding almost unthinkable. She pondered for a long time, unable to find the reason, finally asking:

“Why? With you and the Empress at the time, that couldn’t happen.”

“How many transcendents see commoners as their equals?”

“There should—”

Mingfuluo instinctively wanted to say “quite a few,” but recalling her grandfather’s fate and the transcendents she’d seen since childhood, she fell silent.

She vaguely began to grasp what Anselm meant.

“You see, you know it too,” the young Hydra said softly. “Transcendents like you and your grandfather are always the rarest minority.”

“In most transcendents’ eyes, commoners are... no longer on their level, like the gap between humans and unthinking animals. The stronger the transcendent, the wider the gap—equivalent to... humans and ants.”

“Why? Because power warps their personality? That’s just one reason, a superficial one.”

“The root lies in this world’s distortion, Arlo.”

Anselm lowered his gaze slightly: “The transcendent drives souls to chase further advancement, an eternal pursuit of life’s elevation, but the abyss’s nature makes it impossible for transcendent beings to fulfill this desire, driving them to madness through repeated torment.”

“The Celestial Path emerged, but it’s an imperfect path. Beyond the Crown, no one has found the gate to the Supreme. For nearly a millennium, countless transcendents linger here, unwilling to perish, none succeeding, and in this state...”

The young Hydra gave a mocking smile:

“In this state, there are godlike monsters eternally above them—Arlo, transcendents see commoners as ants, but before that...”

The emotion in his sea-blue eyes was incomprehensible to Mingfuluo, but she was certain it wasn’t disdain but something... harder to articulate.

“Before that, they’re even less significant in our eyes. Commoners’ pure weakness makes them endlessly revere, rely on, and adore us, while those who think they wield power will never have such purity.”

“...Tools to please gods.”

Mingfuluo murmured, her tone complex.

Anselm had discussed this openly with her before and she held no hostility toward him for it.

She knew if Anselm were like the Empress, seeing commoners as mere tools to please himself, he wouldn’t have worked with her for so long.

“Exactly. Commoners can accept—or rather, don’t even know—they exist for that purpose, but transcendents can’t accept that reality.”

“The anxiety and madness of being unable to advance, the resentment and unwillingness of being dominated by godlike beings... these combine, forming... heh, a malignant curse from top to bottom—”

Anselm shook his head, laughing, the sarcasm in his voice vivid yet not just sarcasm.

“High-tiers dominate low-tiers, just as the Empress dominates them. Unable to resist, they emulate the Empress, oppressing, controlling, manipulating everything beneath them. This passes down tier by tier; no one escapes the cycle. All the malice, resentment, and unwillingness of transcendents... are inflicted on commoners. Then, like the Empress, they amuse themselves by toying with commoners’ lives.”

“That’s the Empire now.”

“It’s not just power’s effect, Arlo... it’s the transcendent itself, the malice and distortion of the entire world.”

“In this situation,” Anselm sighed, “if commoners gained unfettered access to the transcendent, if transcendents’ last sense of ‘superiority’ and ‘privilege’ were shattered, what do you think would happen?”

“...Collapse.”

Mingfuluo murmured: “Transcendents would choose to destroy everything.”

“Exactly. Who’d want to see the pigs they’ve raised stand upright, speak human words, and lose their former humility?”

Anselm said, picturing that scene in his mind.

Transcendents would intensify their oppression, dominating commoners to ensure their supremacy.

The world wouldn’t improve but would slide toward collapse amid mounting contradictions.

“If it’s irreparable, the Empress at the time might choose to... ‘restart’ the Empire.”

The boy shrugged: “After all, he only needs praise and adoration, not to watch bigger ants tear at smaller ones. If he gets bored, he’ll just knock it all down and start over.”

“...No.”

These chilling, casual words didn’t plunge Mingfuluo into despair.

Instead, she stared into Anselm’s eyes, her vibrant purple eyes shining brightly:

“What if... what if it were you, Anselm?”

“What?”

“I mean, if you were in control of the Empire,” the woman said calmly, uttering such treasonous words, “if it were you... you’d never choose to destroy everything. You’d find a way to elevate the entire Empire, not keep it trapped in this absurd, diseased stagnation.”

Anselm froze for two seconds, then burst into laughter: “You really dare say that, Arlo. If our Empress heard, you’d be burned to ash.”

“But that’s who you are. You’re different from them, from all godlike beings.”

Mingfuluo didn’t hide her thoughts:

“You’re that remarkable, aren’t you?”

The young Hydra swung his legs, his smile carefree and joyful: “Keep going, I love hearing this.”

“So... Do you have a solution?”

“The road is long, and I’m still thinking. Actually, while pondering these things, I came up with another creation, something... remarkable, that could lay the groundwork or test the current state.”

“...What?”

“A network.”

“...”

Seeing Mingfuluo frown in thought but utterly unable to imagine it, Anselm raised his brows cheerfully: “Can’t picture it at all?”

“Even if I can follow your train of thought,” Mingfuluo shook her head, “I can’t understand what a ‘network’ could do.”

“Imagine a spell that records, searches, and handles vast, complex knowledge and information. What could it do?”

The scholar thought for a moment, then frowned: “A portable library—what use is that?”

“Okay, what if we expand what it can record? Let it perform calculations, deductions, and add more complex functions like automatic recording, scanning, analysis... even recording spells themselves. What then?”

Such an abstract description would be incomprehensible to anyone, even a genius, constrained by the era’s vision.

But before Anselm stood a genius who could transcend even the era.

The woman froze at his words, clearly trying to recreate the thing he described in her mind. But it was so abstract she couldn’t even grasp a starting point.

Yet, while thinking about it, Mingfuluo already recognized... its immeasurable value.

Before she could speak, Anselm continued: “What if this spell—not a spell anymore, this... thing—could connect to others?”

“Con...nect?”

“Yes, imagine someone in the North holding this thing, inputting information about unique northern magical beasts, and someone in the South, holding the same thing, could instantly access that information across time, space, and even medium?”

“It’s like a network, a web connecting the entire Empire, allowing countless people to bypass countless limits, breaking through—”

“Breaking through the... iron wall of knowledge that’s stood for millennia!”

Mingfuluo’s trembling voice finished his sentence.

“Yes—Whoa, Arlo, you—”

“Anselm, you’re a genius... No, genius doesn’t begin to describe your talent. You’re practically, practically...”

Mingfuluo hugged Anselm tightly, too excited to form coherent words. The thought of that vision overwhelmed her.

“From material to knowledge, from knowledge to thought... What do you think of everything? How do you know so much? Are you really only thirteen?”

Embraced by her soft body, Anselm froze for two seconds before comfortably wrapping his arms around the petite scholar’s slender waist, half-closing his eyes contentedly: “Of course I’m only thirteen. As for why I can think of so much... like you said, because I’m a genius.”

“I know... I know.”

Mingfuluo whispered, utterly reassured: “I’ve never doubted your ability, Anselm.”

“Hm... you might be disappointed this time. For this ‘network,’ I can only propose the concept. I have no clue about its inner workings, so it’s just talk—”

“I’ll make it,” Mingfuluo said, locking eyes with Anselm, her tone resolute.

“Anselm, I will, I absolutely will create it. Compared to the Universal Ether Furnace, its value and difficulty... lie in the concept you’ve proposed. In this world, even in a hundred, two hundred... or a thousand years, no one might reach your heights.”

“I won’t... I absolutely won’t let such great work be buried in my hands.”

Anselm chuckled: “Then I’ll be watching.”

Mingfuluo gave a soft hum, then realized how tightly she was holding Anselm.

She quickly let go, stepping back and averting her gaze.

Anselm just looked at her with a half-smile, saying nothing more to embarrass the very un-adult-like Miss Mingfuluo.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, but neither felt awkward.

In this quiet harmony, the companions who shared a vision beyond their era felt only perfect understanding.

“Anselm, I can’t imagine now how I’d change the world alone without you.”

After a long pause, Mingfuluo said this.

Anselm teased: “Maybe without me, you’d find another partner?”

“No,” Mingfuluo shook her head. “I don’t believe there’s anyone in this world whose talent can rival yours—not just talent, Anselm, but your thoughts, those I can’t understand or touch.”

“Godlike beings, the Empire, transcendents, commoners... honestly, I haven’t delved as deeply as you have. Even now, I only half-understand your words.”

Anselm’s smile grew brighter: “No worries, I’ll teach you, Arlo.”

“...Thank you, Anselm.”

A rare, heartfelt smile spread across the woman’s delicate, striking face:

“You and I are so compatible, so complementary... it’s almost like fate.”

Anselm’s smile suddenly froze.

“Yes, without you, how many obstacles would there be to change the Empire, the world? But with you, Anselm... with you, everything is different.”

Mingfuluo gripped Anselm’s hand, resolute and fearless:

“You and I are destined to change the Empire, to change everything, Anselm.”

“Destined...”

“...Anselm?”

Calming from her surging emotions, Mingfuluo quickly noticed Anselm’s oddity.

The boy’s strained attempt at a smile, his rigid expression, made her tense.

“What’s wrong?”

“Destined...” Anselm lowered his head slightly, obscuring his expression from Mingfuluo.

“Arlo.”

The young Hydra said softly: “You think I’ll definitely change the Empire, that I’ll be a great help to you, right?”

Anselm’s unusual state worried Mingfuluo, but she didn’t know how to handle it, only responding to his question: “...Yes, isn’t that obvious?”

The woman hesitated, clumsily trying to encourage him: “You and I, in ability and ideals, are so... aligned, compatible, aren’t we?”

“Ideals... heh heh... ideals, yes, I too want to change the Empire, change this damned everything.”

Anselm suddenly laughed, lifting his head with a radiant smile.

The profound gleam in his sea-blue eyes left Mingfuluo momentarily dazed, as if, in that instant, she saw... an unfathomable darkness?

“I will change the Empire, Arlo.”

He said with absolute certainty: “No doubt about it, the Empire will... become better, I guarantee.”

“...But you,” Mingfuluo, still watching his expression, couldn’t help asking, “you seem like you’re thinking about something...”

“I’m thinking about one thing.”

Anselm suddenly pulled the petite Mingfuluo close, cupping her cheeks, their foreheads touching.

“Arlo.”

The young Hydra, the thirteen-year-old boy, stared into Mingfuluo’s eyes.

“No matter when, no matter what happens.”

“You’ll always... be on my side, right?”

Mingfuluo gazed into those close, clear, bright eyes.

The darkness she glimpsed earlier seemed an illusion.

Now, in those eyes... she saw a worry and vulnerability she’d never seen, and something like... compromise?

“...I don’t know what you’re worried about, Anselm.”

Mingfuluo sighed, hugging him tightly: “Besides your side, where else would I stand?”

Anselm closed his eyes, as if recalling something, and asked softly: “You promise?”

“I promise, Anselm.”

Mingfuluo didn’t know what Anselm was suddenly thinking, but only at that moment did she realize.

Anselm... was really only thirteen.

***

Anselm always appeared at the right time, in the right place.

Because of this, Mingfuluo never saw anything that happened between her and Anselm as coincidence; because of this, she could always hold firm to her convictions amidst bewildering situations.

But now, no matter how clearly she saw it, it was useless.

Or rather... it was because she saw too clearly that the unremarkable, incidental test had pierced her defenses.

Relationships, status.

The difference between past and present relationships, the disparity in status between her and Hitana—not out of jealousy, but because of... loss.

“...Anselm.”

Mingfuluo stood, head slightly lowered: “What brings you here?”

Anselm looked at her for a moment, then raised an eyebrow: “From your expression, you don’t seem very welcoming.”

“No, I just...”

The petite scholar glanced at Anselm but quickly averted her gaze: “I’m just thinking about some things.”

“No need to guess what.” Anselm propped his cheek.

“About your grandfather? Did you get anything from the Essence Grand Duke?”

“...”

Mingfuluo was silent for a moment, then shook her head: “He said he’s not sure who’s suspicious, just pointed me toward the Ether Academy.”

“Is that so...”

Anselm chuckled: “Then you didn’t fully achieve your goals, did you, Arlo?”

“The Data System... such a precious thing. Besides securing Babel Tower’s position and proving your value to me, you also wanted to use it to gain information about Erlin’s death.”

“The first two goals were decently met. Attributing all glory and ability to me, showing your subservient position, proves you clearly understand your place now.”

Using such an intimate nickname, such a casual tone, to say words that so clearly divided them, Mingfuluo’s fingertips twitched instinctively.

“Yes, I understand, An...selm.”

She wanted to say “Your Grace,” but her instincts resisted so fiercely—only now did she realize, was her previous use of honorifics for Anselm out of respect or resentment?

Now that their boundaries were clear, and she truly intended to address Anselm respectfully, “Your Grace” was so hard to utter.

Anselm seemed entirely unconcerned, as always.

He never showed deliberate distance, just... simple indifference.

“So the trail’s gone cold again.” Anselm sighed.

“Troublesome, isn’t it? Has Her Highness Sulun contacted you again?”

“...No.”

“Hm... should be soon.”

Ending the small talk, the young Hydra leaned back on the sofa, saying lazily: “To business, then. The day after tomorrow is Hitana’s birthday. I want to give her a gift, a truly perfect one... and I think you’re the best person to make it.”

“...”

“What’s wrong?” Anselm looked at the silent Mingfuluo with interest.

“Don’t want to?”

“...No, I’ll do it, Anselm.”

Mingfuluo’s voice was soft: “Before that, can you answer one question?”

“Hm...”

Anselm rubbed his chin: “Am I to understand you’re setting conditions?”

“I—”

“Is that so?” the young Hydra asked nonchalantly again.

The petite scholar lowered her head, her voice softer: “Sorry, Anselm, I... I didn’t mean to.”

“Good,” Anselm smiled again.

“I thought after just a few days, you’d forgotten your place, dear Arlo.”

Such words, paired with such a nickname, were dripping with irony.

“The gift must be absolutely perfect. All materials will be reimbursed through me—contact Marina. Remember, I want something absolutely, absolutely, absolutely worthy of Hitana, perfect.”

“I’m arranging this personally, so you should understand how much I value it.” Anselm pulled a blueprint from his coat, placing it nearby. “The blueprint’s here. All design concepts are explained clearly. It won’t be a problem for you.”

“...Yes.”

“I trust your ability, Arlo.”

Anselm said with satisfaction: “The day after tomorrow... Hitana loves lively events, and you’re one of the few people she knows in the Imperial Capital.”

“So, bring the gift and show up.”

“...” Mingfuluo’s hand slowly clenched into a fist.

Anselm propped his cheek, smiling: “Unwilling?”

“No, I’m... honored, Anselm.”

“Good. Make sure you’re there.”

“I will.”

The young Hydra nodded with satisfaction, standing to leave but pausing as if remembering something.

He tilted his head slightly, his sea-blue eyes reflecting the petite figure unchanged over three years.

“You promise?” he asked.

“I—”

Past memories were so vivid, splitting her mind like lightning, choking the two words she was about to say, unable to speak them.

Anselm just looked at her, smiling: “Forget it. Just show up. I won’t... make things hard for you.”

With that, he left the workshop with steady, natural steps.

“...”

In the silent workshop, Mingfuluo’s body trembled slightly.

Even for something so small, she couldn’t say those three words again.