A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Chapter 338: Before the Storm - III

It was less an investigation and more... a perusal of records. Though the death of that alchemical master remained an unsolved mystery, to the all-seeing eyes of Flamefeast, it was merely an anecdote, a trivial tale to be recounted over leisurely tea.

Unfurling the scroll, Evora devoured the essential details of Eileen's demise. As her eyes swiftly scanned the document, her expression grew increasingly animated, her lips curling into a smile that, by the end, erupted into boisterous laughter.

"Ha... Hahaha! Ziegler... Ziegler! So it turns out your family is nothing but a band of jesters, delightful, how utterly delightful!"

The princess on the throne laughed heartily, "Is this what you've been chasing? I'm quite looking forward to the moment you discover the truth, oh... and Ansel, that devil, must be anticipating it as well."

Evora's face twisted with a fervent and excited grin, "With this, I can utterly destroy everything about your little puppet and bring it entirely under my control. In doing so, you've inadvertently played no active role; you could even claim ignorance of how Eileen met her end. After all, it was the puppet's own pursuit, its own choice... exquisite, truly exquisite!"

The woman exhaled a heated, desirous breath, and with a gesture, she enveloped the informant in a blaze of blood flames, sending them to an unknown fate.

Then, she casually lifted the hem of her split gown, sent her fingers downwards, seated herself upon the throne, tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and began to fantasize excitedly about the devil kneeling before her, eagerly licking… her fiery flowers.

"I must say... I absolutely adore your malevolence, Ansel... ah...ha..."

Evora's voice quivered intermittently as the fantasy grew more intense, her movements becoming increasingly frenzied.

"Excellent... deep down, you are still the one I favor. Allow me to assist you, for I too wish to savor the sight of your little puppet's… despair and collapse."

*

Within the grand hall, this hall diverges starkly from the mere opulence of the Evora Palace.

Its stature, eminence, authority, and, most importantly… its power.

"That is all… for this experiment,"

Suellen, kneeling with forehead pressed to the ground, whispered apologetically, "Forgive me, Your Majesty, mother, I failed to fulfill your command."

"...It matters not… I had no expectation of success,"

From the everlasting source flame, the aged voice of Ephesande echoed: "The Tidecaller... hmph, the continuation derived from that worthless relic is hardly preferable to death. I merely repurposed Flamelle's trinket."

Her voice rose inexplicably, "Moreover, I have already found what I need."

"...If so, congratulations to Your Majesty."

Despite not knowing what Ephesande had obtained, Suellen promptly responded.

"And, your other task?" the aged sovereign inquired.

Indeed, beyond the superficial, cultivating the Tidecaller and disrupting Evora's hunting grounds, Suellen... had another task.

"As per your request, I have been observing Miss Marlowe,"

Suellen humbly answered, "I have also utilized the alchemical artifacts you provided, and ultimately confirmed that she bears no trace of corruption from the Abyss."

Suellen was unaware of why Ephesande had given her this peculiar task, but she knew it was not her place to ponder.

"... No trace?"

The voice from the flame became lighter.

Suellen immediately felt uneasy but could only reply, "Yes, none... except for the inevitable erosion due to the pact head's link, there are no traces of Abyssal corruption."

"None... how can that be... how can it be none!"

A roar of fury emanated from the fire, and Suellen's delicate skin at once blistered, then peeled, revealing a gruesome wound.

The young girl's forehead, riddled with veins, perspired as she remained prostrate, swallowing the unbearable pain and saying with difficulty, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, perhaps it's because—"

"... No, it's nothing."

After a few seconds, the infernal heat dissipated, and the embers ignited on Suellen's skin, not scorching but healing her wounds.

"It might be Flamelle's machinations, no... it must be his doing, hahaha... how could he let me know about Ansel's awakened essence?"

Ephesande chuckled, "In this world, how could there be someone capable of withstanding two pact heads' powers, with such that feeble, laughable beast essence?"

"You are indeed cautious, Flamelle. But I am more so... I would never peek at even a fraction of Ansel's loyal hound's essence, nor would I give you the chance to discover that I have already known this secret."

Kneeling on the ground, Suellen dared not move a muscle as she etched Ephesande's lunatic soliloquies into her memory. In the hellish crevices of this world, if she were to grasp that thread of hope—fragile and elusive as a spider's silk—she could not afford to overlook any opportunity.

Ansel's... essence?

Could his essence truly aid mother in escaping her madness? And what does that have to do with the Abyss? Is Seraphina Marlowe the beneficiary of his power?

If such a capability exists, could he possibly...

"Enough, Suellen, you may leave."

Ephesande's indifferent voice reached her: "Keep an eye on Ansel and his loyal hound. As for Evora's punishment... see to it yourself, and do not disturb me frequently."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Only then did Suellen rise, her head bowed, making her way out of the grand hall.

Once outside the palace, the reverence and obedience on her face instantly transformed into a visage of intense coldness and fury.

Evora, Ephesande... sister, mother...

How could I share blood with the likes of you?

How can the empire be ruled by such madmen?

I will change everything. That throne, that crown, they should belong to the one who is most deserving!

The key lies in... the key is the young Hydral, who possesses the power to… change everything.

The self-indulgent pursue her heart's every desire, seeking satisfaction in all that pleases her; the doomed exhaust every effort to resist impending destruction, searching for a glimmer of life amidst chaos and madness; the lowly tread upon a precarious thread, where a single misstep could spell ruin, yet she yearn for the power that is beyond her reach.

And all of this... is somehow connected to that youth.

So, what exactly is Ansel of Hydral, at the eye of the storm, doing now, and what does he plan to do?

*