What exactly is the rank of Anselm, or rather, the Hydra lineage? Countless people are curious about this.
To understand this, one must first truly comprehend what each stage of the Beyonder means.
Is it classified by the amount of aether contained within the body? By the level of aether one can manipulate? Or simply by the magnitude of destructive power? No, none of these.
The fundamental principle behind the classification of beyonder ranks lies in the transformation and transcendence of ordinary beings into the realm of the beyonder.
According to the most prevalent Pathway of Heaven, the first stage involves transforming oneself through rituals and beyonder items, reshaping the frail mortal flesh inside and out to become compatible with aether, thereby establishing the [Foundation] for the journey towards the beyonder.
The second stage is to ascend on this transformed body, continuously refining one's capacity to contain and control aether. At the final step, the soul bound by the flesh is liberated, achieving a perfect unity of spirit and flesh, and the completion of the [Crystal Staircase] leading to the Imperial Throne is attained.
In the third stage, when the transformed body and the elevated soul merge perfectly, one's existence truly transcends mortals, able to freely command aether from the air, land, and sea without relying on rituals, effortlessly wielding the mysteries—this is the exalted [Imperial Throne] of the beyonder.
And beyond that, the Scepter, the Royal Crown, and the truly Supreme few who gaze down upon the world, all ranks of the beyonder are not classified by level or power, but by the fundamental... ascension through the limit.
Only a transformation on the fundamental essence could bring unimaginable power to the beyonder, while mere accumulation of power won’t lead to any self-elevation.
Therefore, Anselm, along with all Hydras, were predestined in rank from birth, and even though they have transformed from ferocious beasts into beings indistinguishable from humans, their essence remains unchanged.
—From the very beginning, all Hydras had already reached the end of the beyonder ranks, the Abyss's [Terminus].
Their "growth in strength" is merely a calm and effortless absorption of power, continuously until it matches their predetermined rank. Even if they do nothing, without deliberately seeking to become powerful, just living and breathing will naturally lead them to grow in might that comparable to the apocalypse.
In this world, there are very few creatures with such characteristic—the dragon clan residing in the Skyway Mountains, the Callers of the Deep hidden in the deepest part of the Lost Sea, the eternal rulers of the Empire, the Feastflame royal family, and... the indestructible Supreme calamity, the Hydra.
These four creatures, or rather, races, possess the unique ability for their most powerful members to be born at the pinnacle of the Beyonder Pathway. The Hydra, in particular, is distinct; it does not form a community, with each generation producing only a single offspring at the end of its life, and this pattern remains constant.
To return to the topic: in an essence, Anselm had always been at the Terminus-level of the beyonder, yet his present strength, naturally, does not match his designated rank.
The might of the Hydra originates from the unique powers brought by its nine heads, each endowed with a "talent" that would drive any beyonders to madness over envy. Anselm, with just one main head and no Contract Heads, appeared to outsiders as the weakest Hydra in history.
So, just how weak was he exactly?
"Shadow jump and shadow transformation essentially use aether to protect and immerse oneself in the Shadow Realm."
Anselm, with one hand behind his back, waved his whip blade, effortlessly piercing through the assassin who leaped out from another shadow.
But just like the punch from the Howlingwinds Viscount that did not cause actual damage, the assassin killed by Gleipnir turned into shadows and dissipated, eerily.
"However, this is extremely dangerous; the majority of shadow-based spells are forbidden, not due to their propensity to induce madness, but because they pose a significant risk of fatal consequences."
The golden-haired young man, with a leisurely pace, lightly flicked his wrist, and the black, sharp whip blade tore through the air, emitting a piercing howl.
"And the essence of Crystal Staircase rank cannot support frequent incursions into the Shadow Realm, which means...this assassin, unlike the real assassin I killed yesterday, is not human at all."
"It's just a construct disguised as a living being."
Whoosh!
A section of the blade on the whip unexpectedly broke away without warning, spinning and smashing into the ground, cutting through a patch of burning grass and extinguishing the flames.
"Therefore, expecting him to exhaust his aether and stamina, or attempting to overpower him, are both wrong options, because he is merely a shadow construct of that arcanist over there, and conventional methods cannot eliminate him until the arcanist's aether runs dry."
"—Sitana."
Anselm, still with some leisure, turned his head to glance at the solitary young wolf lady: "What choice did you make? Haha... no need to answer, I can tell from your expression."
"One death." The young Hydra turned back, ignoring Sitana's distressed expression, and continued his lesson.
"But the threat of the shadow construct remains paramount. Observe, with my intervention, the Howlingwinds Viscount, despite being heavily injured, is still able to engage in a fairly even fight with a heavy armor warrior wielding sword and shield."
The heavily wounded Howlingwinds Viscount seemed to be fighting for his life, wildly pounding his fists against the warrior assassin's shield, pushing the opponent back step by step.
"Therefore, eliminating him remains the primary option, but the question is... how can we kill a lifeless shadow construct?"
"Kill the arcanist? He is on guard against Gleipnir. If I fail to hit, even if a single shot could kill a Royal Crown, it would serve no purpose, especially considering... as a student under instruction, you wouldn't be able to strike him anyway."
"So, continue to wear him down, wait until his aether depletes? Can you estimate how long it will take? Can you guarantee he didn't bring any recovery potions? And during this time... what if that sniper comes back? How would you handle that situation?"
Anselm didn't hear any sound from behind, and without turning his head, he raised two fingers: "Second death, Sitana."
"Think carefully... there are indeed arcanists in this world capable of casting lethal spells from thousands of miles away, so if this assassin arcanist possessed such ability, why would he choose to approach so closely?"
Finally breaking her silence, Sitana spoke, her gaze fixed intently on the arcanist who hadn't moved from his high position, whispering, "Casting... distance!"
"Exactly, distance. So, do you choose to change the battlefield and increase the distance?" Anselm raised an eyebrow slightly, and another blade on the whip broke away, flying off somewhere unknown.
"I..."
"Fearful, hesitant, unable to advance, third death." Anselm interrupted Sitana, "Observe, the warrior engaged with the Howlingwinds Viscount is being suppressed but has been specializing in defense, persistently keeping him within this vicinity. Are you certain you can break free from his restraint?"
The young man sighed, and as the whip blade swirled, it easily dispatched the leaping assassin, reducing him to an intangible shadow: "Distance, distance, when he's not throwing fireballs from a distance, he's manipulating constructs from a distance. Even puppeteering requires strings, and if this shadow assassin's body lacks a central control mechanism, then there must be—"
"Another spell medium!"
Freed from the peculiar sensation, Sitana exclaimed loudly, finally uncovering the true intrigue of this battle. She surveyed the ravaged fishing spot, where the ground had been ripped apart by the intense combat, and scattered flames still burned here and there from the explosion of the massive fireball.
...Flames?
"Flames are light, and where there's light, there's..."
Ching—
The densely arranged blades of Gleipnir instantly scattered, sending out over a dozen pieces, spinning with unmatched sharpness to cut and shred the burning grass.
"...Shadow." As Sitana murmured her answer helplessly, Anselm had already cleared away all the large and small fire clusters on the field.
From the very beginning, from the first blade that broke away and flew off... Hydra had already seen through everything. This insight left Sitana feeling unreal and preposterous.
He's was just a jerk who drank all day and spouted crap with nobles, so why would he—
Wait...
Sitana suddenly realized, she realized that in the past few days, her workload seemed... not very heavy.
Except for going out, Anselm never took her along, instead providing resources for her to train herself.
At that time, Sitana had secretly mocked Anselm, disdainful of his laziness, and confident that it wouldn't take long for her to amaze him to the point of prostration.
But Sitana had never considered what Anselm was doing when she couldn't see him.
Or rather, she thought about it, but it was nothing more than those things that made her look down on Anselm. She had never considered the possibility that Anselm was also learning and honing himself.
"You're daydreaming, Sitana, fourth death."
Anselm shook his head: "Reflect on things after class, now is the time for practical combat, and it's not over yet."
The whip blade deftly swept across the grass, drawing all dozens of blades back into its main body.
"This heavy armor warrior was teleported here by the arcanist over a short distance, which means that the arcanist at least masters fire, space, and shadow magic systems, with shadow magic being particularly proficient."
Anselm strolled towards the intense battle between the Howlingwinds Viscount and the heavy armor warrior, his voice remaining steady, but as the distance increased, Sitana found herself compelled to catch up... or perhaps there was no real compulsion, just the necessity to actively keep pace.
The bewildered young wolf, who had never witnessed such a fierce battle, willingly trailed behind Hydra's steps.
"While keeping this information in mind, what should be done next? Attempt to kill the opponent with full force while he is isolated and without support?"
"...Shouldn't we?" Sitana hesitated for a moment, asking somewhat reluctantly.
To Sitana, the heavy armor warrior was visibly faltering, his shield and armor riddled with cracks from the Howlingwinds Viscount's relentless punches. It seemed only a matter of time before the enraged Viscount would shatter them completely.
"From the perspective of the battle situation and the balance of power, it indeed seems like the right choice, but... have you considered one thing, Sitana?"
"A pawn used to keep the Howlingwinds Viscount in the battlefield, facilitating the arcanist and sniper to execute the final kill, bearing the brunt of the frontal firepower, a disposable piece almost certainly doomed to die..."
As the Howlingwinds Viscount roared and swung a punch towards the warrior's head, Anselm's whip blade had already moved ahead of him, directly wrapping around the pawn warrior's neck, and then throwing him high into the sky—
"So as an arcanist with a decent grasp of fire magic, why don't I add a little seasoning to him, for example..."
As the whip blade mercilessly shredded the warrior whose armor was torn to pieces, Sitana saw... the gradually erupting crimson molten light from the cracks in the armor!
"...A self-destructing explosion?"
BOOM!
An explosion more horrifying than the castle's safe detonation burst overhead, and Sitana could even feel the scorching heat wave burning her cheeks.
The girl stared blankly at the flames and smoke dissipating in the air, as the voice of her "teacher" reached her ears.
"Fifth death."
Anselm looked at the pitiful young wolf with a helpless but tolerant gaze: "In this practical combat, even if all the previous choices were correct and you barely made it to the end, you still wouldn't have a chance of survival, Sitana."
"...”
The snow-haired young girl lost all her strength and slumped to the ground.
Her eyes were somewhat vacant, trembling, and even more so... filled with disbelief.
She couldn't believe how vulnerable she was.
But the facts were laid out before her, presented by Anselm so vividly and meticulously, almost as if it had been broken down into pieces for her to see.
The fact was, she would have died five times, or rather, without Anselm's guidance, she would have been killed immediately upon being surrounded by these assassins.
Even with such patient guidance, almost as if being supported every step of the way, she would still have to pay with her life for her wrong choices in the end.
Sitana didn't think about how such high-level combat was beyond her current ability to participate in, or that if it were a real battle, her instincts would surely come into play. She didn't think that way.
Because the person who easily saw through the assassin's every move, every purpose, every tactic, easily defused them, and still had the leisure to teach her what to do, was standing right beside her.
Showing care, tolerance, and patience towards her, without saying, "You've disappointed me."
But with a look that said, "Although you didn't do well, it's not your fault," he gazed at her calmly and gently.
The young girl's body trembled, her sharp canine teeth pierced her lips, and the sweet and salty taste of blood flowed into her mouth, but it couldn't extinguish the burning sense of unwillingness and shame in her chest.
How could she, who looked down on him and underestimated him so much, have the face to find any excuse?
"You seem very upset, Sitana," Anselm said gently, standing beside her, "It's just a lesson, there's no need to take it to heart."
"…You talk too much, mind your own business."
The girl's lips, stained with blood, slightly parted, and she didn't lash out with harsh words, just spoke in a low, hoarse voice.
A bit fragile, a bit helpless.
After Anselm shattered the pride in her heart, Sitana was once again faced with an indescribable immense pain—the talent and abilities she was intensely proud of, were so vulnerable.
Just as Anselm had told her before.
[To those nobles, you are worthless, the only reason you gain their goodwill is because of my mercy.]
Anselm observed the girl for a long time, then chuckled softly, and the laughter grew louder, without any intention of hiding it, yet strangely... it didn't carry any sense of mockery or disdain.
"Sitana, my dear Sitana."
Anselm gently stroked the young girl's snow-white short hair, and the latter's body only trembled slightly, not resisting forcefully.
"Do you know what kind of price I've paid to become who I am today?"
Payment.
Monsters like the Hydra never need to pay any effort; they just need to find suitable Contract Heads, and eventually, wait for the right moment to come to look down on all living beings.
Yet, from the moment of birth up to this sixteen-year mark, Anselm had not chosen any Contract Heads, meaning that if he wants to become strong, he must pursue it like any ordinary person.
Pay the effort.
"I started learning combat skills at the age of six, nine hours a day; from the age of seven, I began studying basic magic knowledge, six hours a day."
"From the age of ten, I spent twenty hours a day studying, learning everything I needed."
In Sitana's incredulous eyes, Anselm's tone remained calm and gentle.
"--Up until now. All the knowledge and training have shaped me into who I am today."
"I trust in your talent, Sitana. What you lack is simply what I have gained through my efforts up to this point."
"And all of this, I will give to you."
He glanced at Sitana's hand gripping the collar and chuckled, "So, do you want it?"
"…There's no such thing as a free lunch, isn’t it?"
Following Anselm's gaze, Sitana's eyes fell on the collar in her hand.
"You know the price."
"…"
The girl remained silent for a long time, then finally raised her hand, lowered her head, and slowly put on the thing she deeply detested around her neck.
"You said…" she murmured softly, "You said you would become my nourishment, right, Hydra?"
"Of course," Anselm smiled, "I can provide you with everything you desire to devour."
"…Good."
The young wolf raised her head again, her eyes burning once more with that indomitable defiance.
Click—
She viciously fastened the collar tightly, snarling fiercely, "Then just wait to be sucked dry by me!"
"I eagerly await it."
The successful Hydra chuckled softly.
⏴ Previous chapter 丨Main丨 Next chapter ⏵
Comments
Post a Comment