A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

The Duke of Bloodust’s plan failed to materialize, with a third of the extraordinary beings present voicing their opposition.

Blatcher Bloodust, a devotee of biological alchemy, stood among the most radical of those who held mortals in contempt. The casual consideration of nine million lives as mere resources was a notion that even numerous fifth-stage extraordinary beings found unconscionable.

However, the dissenting third could not sway the course of the plan. The true catalyst for the demise of this cruel design was singular in nature.

Ansel’s rejection.

The moment Ansel heard of the proposal to transmute nine million souls into fuel, an overwhelming revulsion surged within him.

His instinctive veto of the proposition was immediate, despite the undeniable efficacy of the Duke of Bloodust’s suggestion when viewed through an amoral lens.

Every iota of power preserved augmented their chances of vanquishing Evora, yet to avoid squandering ether in the process, an external barrier against the feasting flames was imperative. Though no less than five alchemical masters were present, the creation of efficacious artifacts within such a constricted timeframe proved impractical, constrained by both materials and methodology.

Yet, the Duke of Bloodust’s brutally expedient approach could circumvent these temporal constraints. The masses of civilians fleeing the cataclysm provided an abundance of raw materials; his demeanor suggested a relatively uncomplicated conversion process.

With the backing of other fifth-stage extraordinary beings and sufficient efficiency, the transmutation of nine million individuals into ample blood gems could potentially be achieved within half a day. This would allow for an immediate assault on the Enigma rift, affording Evora no opportunity for reaction.

This aligned with Ansel’s stratagem: to leverage the dire circumstances, compelling the other extraordinary beings to confront Evora without time for contemplation.

Nevertheless, Ansel still vetoed the plan.

Gazing down at the raven-haired girl kneeling before him, Ansel spoke softly, “You, of all people, should comprehend my reasoning, Crow the Ninth.”

“You intend to exploit this calamity to eliminate all threats in one fell swoop.”

Nine’s raspy voice resonated with palpable excitement and joy. Once again, she had divined Ansel’s thoughts with unerring accuracy.

“Indeed,” Ansel nodded, “They cannot face Evora unscathed. As they navigate the spatial labyrinth, I must ensure a judicious reduction of their numbers by one-third.”

To avoid arousing suspicion, Ansel refrained from outright rejecting the proposal. Instead, he leveraged the objections of other extraordinary beings to suggest an alternative approach—if no superior method emerged within a day, they would proceed with the Duke of Bloodust’s plan.

Granting an additional day for deliberation posed a considerable risk for Ansel. The possibility of an extraordinary being discerning inconsistencies or, under the influence of fate, detecting Ansel’s murderous intent could precipitate a catastrophic turn of events.

Nevertheless, this course of action was imperative; both the elimination of Evora and the orchestrated demise of the other extraordinary beings were indispensable components of his strategy.

… That’s all.

“One day…”

Nine mused, her head bowed in contemplation.

Suddenly, her form stiffened as an audacious and perilous notion crystallized in her mind.

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“Do you intend…” the girl raised her gaze to Ansel, her tone tinged with disbelief, “to eliminate the Duke of Bloodust within this day?”

To nullify the Duke’s proposal, only two avenues remained: either devise a more “advantageous” plan than the transmutation of nine million souls into fuel, or… eliminate the proposer himself.

While the Duke’s method was unorthodox, had a more effective alternative existed, the Alchemical Association, led by Pablo, would have already presented it. A single day was patently insufficient for such an endeavor, leaving only one viable option…

Ansel’s surprise at Nine’s swift deduction was fleeting. However, considering her unique ability to discern only that which held value for him, the young Hydral smiled, his tone eerily calm despite the chilling nature of his words:

“Indeed, I intend to eliminate Blatcher Bloodust today.”

Upon hearing Ansel’s confirmation, Nine’s immediate concern was not her potential role in this assassination, but rather the danger it posed to Ansel himself.

“Mr. Ansel,” her raspy voice, laden with worry, emerged from behind her mask. “The Empire’s most formidable fifth-stage extraordinary beings are congregated in the Western Lands. The Duke of Bloodust is undoubtedly surrounded by numerous peers of similar caliber… Any rash action on your part would be fraught with peril!”

Shadewell’s ability to operate freely in the Western Lands and establish an extensive network was not due to omnipotence, but rather the inherent chaos of the region that provided opportunities for exploitation.

However… the current situation was far more precarious. With twenty-nine fifth-stage extraordinary beings gathered in the Western Lands, all on high alert due to Evora’s cataclysmic fire, the challenges extended beyond the difficulty of assassinating the Duke of Bloodust. Could Ansel truly guarantee absolute concealment of his involvement in the aftermath?

Weighed against this risk, allowing the Duke to sacrifice nine million lives seemed a lesser evil… Surely, Mr. Ansel should be more adept at such cost-benefit analyses than me.

As this thought flashed through Nine’s mind, Ansel gently placed his hand atop her head, stroking it softly.

“Crow the Ninth, when you resolved to leave Garden and join Shadewell, I was surprised, but I respected your choice,” Ansel said.

“Your determination to endure the transformation is truly admirable.”

“…”

Nine’s lips parted, but no words emerged. Ansel’s praise should have filled her with immense joy, yet her heart was steeped in bitterness.

“But I… I squandered this opportunity,” the girl whispered, her left arm, concealed by her shawl, trembling slightly.

“I’m too mediocre, Mr. Ansel. Despite that was your last shadow crow left in Shadewell, I could only reach the third stage, and…”

And there was no possibility of further advancement.

It wasn’t a forcibly imposed limit like the Water of Redemption, but rather the boundaries of her own innate abilities.

Even with a ritual that had consumed vast resources from two Dukes and the use of incredibly rare materials, her inherently unremarkable vessel had locked her potential at this level… insignificant in Ansel’s eyes.

While her sister proclaimed her superiority with absolute talent and brilliance, Crow the Ninth, despite her desperate yearning for strength and unwavering resolve, had been defeated by the cold, cruel reality.

Though her desire for further advancement grew increasingly frantic, this burgeoning ambition could not suppress the anguish and… hatred she felt towards her own mediocrity.

If I were in charge of everything, if I were Mr. Ansel’s pact head, I would never… leave him to face everything alone for the sake of saving those insignificant commoners.

As these thoughts coursed through Crow the Ninth’s mind, a gentle hand caressed her mask-clad face.

“I have never doubted the judgment of Crow, nor my own discernment, Nine,” Ansel intoned, crouching to meet her gaze. Through the mask’s apertures, he peered into eyes seemingly engulfed by shadow.

“You are worthy of this gift, and I believe you, more than anyone, understand the true nature of your value.”

Ninth’s hands trembled imperceptibly. She instinctively raised her hand to touch Ansel’s, but halted midway, letting it fall.

Her sister’s icy stare flashed in her mind, along with those arrogant, cruel, yet painfully truthful words.

In my current state, I am unworthy of responding to Mr. Ansel.

“I trust you won’t dwell in shadows forever,” Ansel smiled, rising and extending his hand.

“I eagerly await the day you reclaim your name.”

Nine slowly reached for Ansel’s hand. Upon contact, her fingers instinctively curled, but ultimately grasped firmly onto that warmth and trust, which to her represented hope and life itself.

“I will, Mr. Ansel…”

The girl murmured dreamily, unaware of Ansel’s true intentions.

“I shall… give my all for you.”

*