In response to Anselm's unreasonable demand, Viscount Howlingwinds could not reject it with the excuse of "unreasonableness." He could only claim that there were no necromancers within the city.
Yet, considering Viscount Howlingwinds' role as the overseer of the plundering routes, it would be highly unusual for someone in his position, accustomed to such unsavory tasks, not to have necromancers—the specialists—among his subordinates.
There were too many reasons that could have embarrassed Viscount Howlingwinds in this awkward situation, but Anselm chose to be gracious and spared his dignity, granting him three days to contact the necromancers.
As for the consequences of failing to make contact, Anselm left it to Viscount Howlingwinds' imagination.
Of course, Anselm was well aware that the Viscount would not actually attempt to contact any necromancer. Instead, he would go to great lengths to ensure that Anselm would witness his own demise at the hands of others.
"So, what exactly does this mean?"
In the finest room of Viscount Howlingwinds' castle, Anselm sat by the crackling fire, flipping through a book, while Sitana wore a puzzled expression. "What do you mean by 'he will definitely find a way to die right before your eyes'?"
"Are you familiar with these two viscounts, Sitana?" Anselm inquired, taking a sip of the exquisite wine offered by Viscount Howlingwinds.
"Why should I know them?"
"You see, you're not interested in understanding them, yet you seek to interpret their actions."
The young nobleman, earnestly training his own dog, tilted his head back slightly and remarked, "Isn't that just a fool's dream?"
Sitana detested Anselm's overly caring gaze the most. She retorted with palpable irritation, "You're the one who started blabbing about it in the first place, I couldn't care less about this stuff."
"Alright."
Anselm placed his wine glass down, adopting a nonchalant and carefree demeanor, "Well then, if you don't need my help, I'll just keep my thoughts to myself."
A tiny piece of dog food slipped from the cunning Hydra's tail tip, and Sitana immediately became alert, leaning forward, "What do you mean by 'help'?"
"It means exactly what it says, because I feel that the trial you're facing might be a bit too difficult for you."
Anselm turned the pages of the book, his slender index finger tracing the embossed golden patterns on the page.
"… Do you really have such a good heart?" Miss Sitana expressed her profound skepticism.
"That's why I won't elaborate further," Anselm replied, pulling at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at her, "because you don't need it."
"…"
Sitana, squatting on the sofa, felt increasingly restless. It was true that she didn't fully trust Anselm, but the issue was that she was gradually becoming aware of the difficulty of the trial ahead.
If the assassins were indeed as "professional" as Anselm claimed, then as a hunter, she would effectively be rendered blind and deaf. Even with a sword in hand and a hunting bow on her back, it would all be in vain.
At the age of twelve, she could roam freely in the Tower of Skyfrost without fear because she relied on her all-powerful intuition.
The young people from the academy, how could they easily conceal their impulses and intentions in battle? That's why they often found themselves utterly beaten to the ground by a twelve-year-old girl. However, although Sitana was no longer that young girl, the opponents she faced now are vastly different from the academy youths she once bested.
Without her intuition as a weapon, Sitana could only rely on her physical reflexes to deal with unexpected situations. She wouldn’t dare to guarantee that under these conditions... she would be able to limit Anselm's interventions to less than three, ugh, two times.
Miss Sitana longed to return home and was even more eager for the scene that Anselm casually mentioned, where she could boast to her old friends in the village about how formidable she had become. She didn't want to miss this opportunity.
As for any punishment... well, she would certainly never admit to being afraid of it, at least not verbally!
The young girl pondered back and forth, hesitating for a long time, before finally speaking in a somewhat apprehensive and evasive tone, "I mean, I'm not... completely... You can tell me, I don't really mind."
"If you don't mind, how does that concern me?"
Anselm turned to the next page nonchalantly, "Sitana, do you really think that just because you want to hear it, I would willingly share it with you?"
Leaning comfortably against the back of the chair, he turned his head slightly and chuckled, "This unwarranted confidence of yours, sometimes it's quite endearing, Sitana."
If it were the old Sitana, hearing such overt sarcasm from Anselm would have triggered her to immediately bristled. However, after several days of intense training under Anselm's strict guidance, despite still maintaining her usual rudeness, there had been a significant change in her.
--As long as it directly related to her own interests, she would do her best to restrain her claws and fangs, suppress her wild nature, and show forbearance.
Although it sounded strongly utilitarian and distasteful, her current relationship with Anselm was precisely that—a pure mutual exploitation. Moreover, such utilitarianism was exactly what suited Anselm best.
This proved that she would continue to lap up the honey that Anselm dropped, following the path laid out by the vicious Hydra, inevitably falling into an inescapable trap.
Thinking of the admiring gazes she would receive upon her triumphant return home, Sitana gritted her teeth and asked, "So, what are the conditions?"
She had grown accustomed to dealing with Anselm; she knew that this jerk didn't care about verbal respect or offense. This Hydra with a wicked sense of humor... always only cared about substantive matters.
Therefore, instead of pleading humbly, it was better to be straightforward—after all, Sitana had no intention of speaking to Anselm in that pitiful tone again.
But in reality, Sitana's understanding of Anselm was always just what Anselm allowed her to believe she understood.
So, every time Anselm threw an unexpected and disconcerting request at Sitana, leaving her flustered, it brought a sense of amusement to him.
Since Sitana now feels that showing respect to herself is not necessary...
Then tonight's taming session will focus on "obedience."
"Sitana, do you know where the extravagance of the nobility lies?" Anselm closed the book and set it aside, lazily stretching his body.
"I don't know," Sitana replied, her guard rising. She was already accustomed to this—whenever he started to play his tricks, he would always begin with a long, meaningless discourse. The young wolf had grown used to it.
"It lies in... the waste of human resources."
Anselm gazed at the flames burning in the fireplace and sighed, "Human resources are precious, incredibly precious. But the nobility will squander these resources on meaningless, unnecessary tasks, wasting this valuable resource extravagantly while trampling on the value of others' existence, making others numb and accustomed to this, and placing themselves in a higher position."
"In every word and deed, in the unremarkable routines of daily life..." He supported his cheek with his hand, his expression gradually turning indifferent.
"Eroding oneself, imprisoning others, causing the world and society to stagnate in a stagnant, putrid pool, no longer flowing—this is the nobility, heh, this is the most real and terrifying malice and extravagance of all 'upper-class' individuals."
"Although I can be considered one of them, I do not enjoy such extravagance. I can tolerate many forms of waste, but I will never accept the wanton squandering of human resources."
He glanced at Sitana, whose face clearly displayed the words "empty-headed," and couldn't help but chuckle, "I was just moved to speak, talking to myself. Don't take it to heart, Sitana."
Thinking was the most important thing in Anselm's life. With that vast treasure trove of knowledge, he always believed that neglecting to think was the greatest desecration of his life.
"You just need to understand that if I wished, I wouldn't even need to lift a finger, and someone would help me have a perfect day."
"Washing, tidying, eating, entertainment... even excretion, I just need to speak, or even not speak at all, and someone will help me accomplish it. This is the extravagance of the nobility."
These words made Sitana frown deeply, directly touching the most rebellious part of her heart, causing the girl to almost instinctively retort, "So, does Lord Hydra need my assistance to go to the toilet?"
If Anselm wanted to disgust her, he could have easily described how the nobility "had their excretion taken care of," but he also found that idea too repulsive, so he simply chuckled,
"It's much easier than that, Sitana. I don't need servants to do so many things for me... but it's undeniable that my dear maids always perform perfectly. It's only been half a day since I've been away, and I'm already missing them."
"So, as an exchange for providing you with a little help—"
Anselm raised his hands, waving them like a conductor leading an orchestra, his tone cheerful:
"Tonight, you will be a well-behaved and obedient maid."
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