Volume 2

Chapter 27: The Hell in Hydra’s Eyes

“Hey… Young Master.”

Laurence, perched on Anselm’s shoulder, scratched its head, “If you’re looking for sheep shops, why not just ask me?”

“I didn’t come to the black market specifically for this.”

Anselm sliced the fruit on his plate, his tone calm, “Just a whim.”

“…A whim, huh.”

The plump rat climbed down Anselm’s shoulder, settling by the table’s edge, saying no more.

Three years ago, the Young Master carved his way from one end of the street to the other with Gleipnir, also on a “whim.” Was another big scene coming?

—That’d be awesome!

Of course, Laurence’s love for excitement didn’t mean it wanted Anselm to stir up trouble for its amusement.

The rat, lazily wagging its tail on the table, looked up at its ever-perfect Young Master and sighed inwardly.

At the Young Master’s age, the boss was either chasing noble ladies or showing off, living carefree.

A Hydra’s life was meant to swing from ecstasy to agony.

Why not revel in the divine authority of a godlike species at an age untainted by the world’s erosion, instead of plotting and studying all day?

It made no sense!

What troubles couldn’t the boss blast away with the Notun’s cannons?

A Hydra who wasn’t a bit reckless wasn’t a Hydra.

With this mindset, when Anselm tasked Laurence as their guide, it resolved to ensure the Young Master had a blast—and maybe catch some fun itself.

“So, Anselm, when are you smashing that shop?”

Hitana, having devoured four plates of meat, rubbed her hands eagerly, “Can I join in?”

Anselm and Marina had returned to the restaurant shortly after lunch because Hitana, fresh from training, hadn’t eaten.

Now, stuffed and brimming with energy, she was raring to go.

“But you’ve got to protect Marina,” Anselm said, wiping his mouth with a smile, “Hold back this time.”

“Mr. Anselm, I can stay somewhere safe.”

Marina, sitting primly with hands on her lap, said gently, “I won’t trouble you and Hit.”

“No trouble at all,” Hitana scoffed, “This tiny black market? Anything here that can threaten me and Anselm? Plus, Laurence is here.”

Marina meant to lecture her sister but, seeing Anselm’s faint smile, sighed inwardly and stayed quiet.

She realized… she wasn’t used to this leisurely pace anymore.

Relaxation and fun… when had they become so distant?

She’d grown accustomed to it.

But since she was here to help Anselm and Hit unwind, she shouldn’t dampen their mood with lectures.

Maybe I can find what Madam meant… the thing Anselm gave up.

Marina looked at the two most important people in her life, silently resolving.

Meanwhile, Hitana, full and restless, didn’t want to just watch.

She shook Anselm’s arm, “Can Laurence protect Lina? Laurence is probably stronger than me right now and can keep her safe. I want to beat those bastards with you!”

“Laurence is our guide, not a bodyguard,” Anselm, immune to Hitana’s antics, ruffled her hair.

“Protect Marina this time. Next time, you can take the lead.”

Knowing it was futile, Hitana reluctantly agreed, “Fine, I’ll keep Lina safe.”

But I really want to break those scumbags’ legs and hang them at the black market entrance… ugh!

The memories Anselm showed her made her hypersensitive to such things.

Thinking of the suffering of those trafficked slaves, her rage burned uncontrollably.

Still… since Anselm said so, I’ll hold back. He’ll handle it perfectly anyway!

Laurence wanted Anselm to have fun, Marina pondered how to unravel Anselm’s burdens and Hitana believed Anselm would thrash the bad guys.

Pure, caring, simple… all their thoughts revolved around the quietly napkin-wiping Anselm.

Though Hitana suggested the outing to relax and Anselm intended to let the sisters unwind, somehow, the focus circled back to him.

What Anselm was thinking, Laurence couldn’t guess, Marina couldn’t fathom, and Hitana didn’t try to.

“Let’s go,” the young Hydra set down his napkin, smiling, “Time to have our shopkeeper friend point us in the right direction and see who’s taken up this trade in the past three years.”

***

The Thousand-Legged Insect closed his stall early today.

He thought he’d snag a big score—that kid’s clothes were so fine he couldn’t even tell their make.

The mask was high-end, with powerful detection-blocking spells.

From his years in the black market, he pegged this as some rich kid showing off in the “exotic” black market for his ladies.

These fat sheep lacked discernment, talked big, and cared about faces—easy marks.

As for crossing the wrong person?

Please, he was the top fence in the outer market.

He switched spots and faces after every job—who could track him?

But he didn’t fleece the sheep; he played hard.

He still couldn’t forget his old friend’s shocked look at lunch.

“What? You sold that thing for two hundred gold coins?”

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me it’s worth more. I don’t miss things—it’s a fake, tops a hundred coins. Can’t fool anyone with half a brain.”

“Damn, I went to that fake jewelry shop this morning to make a quick buck, and they said that the thing's crafting cost was a hundred ninety coins! They planned to sell it for four hundred! Thought I’d make a killing. You slipped up too?”

The Thousand-Legged Insect hadn’t expected to misjudge.

As the outer market’s top fence, he’d handled countless items and jewels.

A fence’s key skill was appraisal—some sellers didn’t even know their goods’ value, and it was all about his eyes and words.

To him, that fake Deep Blue Tears was worth a hundred coins at most… how could its crafting cost be a hundred ninety?

He thought he’d doubled his money, only to be mocked and played.

Recalling the snow-haired girl’s elegant “it’s worth this price,” he burned with frustration.

As a second-tier transcendent, he fenced in the outer market for money and fun—fooling idiots and sparring with experts were both thrilling.

Rarely outdone, this sting hit hard.

But he didn’t plan revenge.

First, black market rules applied.

Second… if the lady had such sharp eyes, that “fat sheep” was no sheep.

Why bother? Just do business!

“With Grand Duke Sainthue dead, Hyena’s not far from being a dead dog… If I can bring the boss a big client, our supply chain could expand!”

With this in mind, the Thousand-Legged Insect sprang into action.

Using his black market connections, he quickly tracked the trio—obvious despite their “fat sheep” disguise.

They’d entered the inner market, fresh from the black market’s priciest restaurant, Hell’s Cauldron.

Even for a flush fence like him, a visit there hurt.

The head chef, formerly of Glutton’s Maw, fled there after trouble.

Even a fruit carving cost hundreds of coins.

Certain of his hunch, the “fat sheep” moved with such ease and calm—he wasn’t new. He had to connect with him!

The black market was due for a shake-up.

The “leaders” splitting it had varied backers.

Hyena, backed by the Sainthue family, had gobbled up most of the market.

His boss, Vulture, was supported by three old marquis families in the capital, second in power.

The elusive Rat King, rarely seen, had unknown but vast influence—Hyena didn’t dare touch his turf.

Lastly, Lan Zhi, a slave who rose during the black market purge three years ago, carved a bloody path with her transcendent strength.

With no backing but some ties to Rat King, she was the weakest.

Now, with Sainthue’s fall, Vulture grew ambitious, aiming to crush the desperate Hyena and wary of the mysterious Rat King.

If he could bring his boss a strong ally, his cushy days would soar!

With this thought, the Thousand-Legged Insect cautiously tailed them until they entered a lavish, opulent shop.

“Damn,” he cursed, watching them enter, “Just my luck!”

The shop appeared to sell transcendent tools but was Hyena’s turf—the black market’s biggest “sheep pen.”

Most customers were rich ordinaries with backers, but the sheep were high-quality, attracting transcendents or high nobles too.

Hyena, scrambling for new backers, might target big shots visiting his shop.

That noble in the plain black mask was no simple figure… If Hyena won him over, his boss’s odds would shrink, and his outer market days wouldn’t be so easy.

The Thousand-Legged Insect weighed his options.

Though he followed Vulture, his fence status was fairly independent… Hyena was too busy to bother with him, and he’d love to see Hyena fall—that dog had cut his supply lines before, openly and not.

So…

Gritting his teeth, the man stepped into the sin-built building.

***

With the shopkeeper’s proof, Anselm’s group easily entered the building’s basement—the hidden slave-trading den.

“Anselm.”

Hitana whispered in his ear, “That guy tailing us—really no need to deal with him?”

“No need. We’ve got more important things to handle, don’t we?”

Anselm whispered back, “If you lose control of your emotions later, it’s fine. I’ll protect Lina.”

“I’m not gonna lose it that easily.”

Hitana huffed, “Don’t underestimate me, Master!”

Mingfuluo’s words had left a deep mark.

Hitana was now hyper-aware of her emotions, despite Anselm’s repeated assurances not to dwell on it.

She couldn’t let it go.

After all, Mingfuluo’s warnings sounded exaggerated but had a basis.

“Sir, how may I address you?” A waiter approached Anselm in the basement hall, smiling warmly and bowing respectfully.

“Faust.”

Hitana kept gawking carelessly, but Marina’s expression shifted slightly under her mask at the name.

For work, she’d studied adventurers and knew the name Faust…

The mysterious adventurer of West Kingdom legend… was that Mr. Anselm?

Faust left tales across the Empire, unknown to most outside the West Kingdom, especially after fading from view half a year ago.

But Mr. Anselm didn’t seem the type to wander alone as an adventurer.

Why use another identity and what was he planning?

Faust’s first legendary battle was the Dragon Calamity in the West Kingdom three years ago… Three years ago, Anselm purged the black market.

Three years ago, he left the capital.

So much happened three years ago… What happened then?

Could it be the key to what Anselm gave up?

Marina pondered, head lowered, as the waiter, unaware of Faust’s fame, greeted Anselm warmly, “New guest, please let me know your needs. If I may, what are your preferences for those lovely lambs? Mature or cute? Cool or soft? We’ve got a fresh batch, being trained to ensure your satisfaction!”

“Do you have a public auction today?” Anselm asked with a grin.

“A regular, then?” the waiter said, slightly surprised, “You haven’t been to Dream Demon’s Haven before.”

“Three years ago, I left from Eastern Port to the other side of the Tianlu Mountain Range. Just got back,” Anselm shrugged, “Wanted to buy a couple of sheep at the old spot, but heard the black market changed right after I left.”

“I see…”

The waiter’s enthusiasm grew.

The Tianlu Mountain Range blocked the Empire’s ambitions to the other continent.

The northern seas had relentless cold currents, the southern seas were encircled by the Lost Sea, impassable to the other side.

Only Eastern Port had a single route, long and through the Lost Sea’s shallow zones—risky but manageable.

That was the only way to cross.

There were rumors of another way over the Tianlu Mountain Range, but their truth was unknown.

Eastern Port was the sole link, and ordinary folk couldn’t afford the ship fare, let alone treat it like a casual trip.

“You’re in luck, Mr. Faust,” the waiter’s smile widened, “There’s a public auction in twenty minutes, with two unreserved private booths. Shall I book one?”

“Lina,” Anselm tilted his head.

The girl beside him placed her pouch in the waiter’s hand.

“There’s ten thousand imperial gold coins. Add more if needed,” the inscrutable noble youth smiled, “Lead the way.”

The casual handing over of ten thousand coins made the waiter bow eagerly, quickly guiding Anselm to a private booth at the auction.

“Mr. Faust, need anything?”

Treating Anselm as a seasoned client, the waiter’s smile turned suggestive, “Some pretty candy, or…?”

“Not interested in mind-altering stuff, and no need for company,” Anselm waved him off, “This is fine.”

The waiter nodded hastily and left the booth.

“…Looking around,” Hitana sat on the armrest of Anselm’s large chair, puzzled, “this doesn’t seem like a shady business place.”

“That’s how you know our shopkeeper friend didn’t lie. This is a ‘business,’” Anselm chuckled, but Marina caught the faint disgust and coldness in his voice, tucking it away in her heart.

“Real businessmen make their goods dazzling, refined, luxurious—not just tossing them in cages like monkeys for show.”

“…” Hitana’s brows furrowed deeper as she listened, “This is really irritating.”

“Indeed,” Anselm propped his elbow on the other armrest, gazing through the one-way glass at the nearly full auction hall, his eyes slightly lowered as he murmured, “It’s… displeasing.”

As time passed, the public auction began.

Two hosts took the stage—a tall, muscular, handsome man and a sultry, alluring woman.

With just a few gestures and words, they whipped the crowd into a frenzy.

“Like two chickens strutting with fancy feathers,” Miss Hitana remarked.

The first “item” brought on stage was a towering, dark-skinned man over two meters tall, his limbs bound in shackles and a steel chain around his neck.

“…A man?”

Hitana looked at the first “merchandise” up for auction with surprise, “Men… get sold too?”

“Did you think people buy slaves just for that sort of thing?”

Anselm shook his head, “Hitana, they don’t buy slaves to satisfy physical desires but psychological cravings… They want something that seems so much more perfect than themselves yet can be trampled at will.”

“Look at the buyers below—at least half are women.”

“Huh, yeah, you’re right.”

“Though the Empire hasn’t progressed further in ages,” the young Hydra gazed indifferently at the frenzied bidders below, “with current productivity, slaves aren’t needed anymore… Add five hundred gold coins.”

While chatting with Hitana, Anselm casually threw in a hefty bid, outmatching competitors.

Though Hitana didn’t fully grasp Anselm’s words, she asked, “So… they buy slaves just to satisfy those disgusting urges?”

“To me…” Anselm smiled, “it’s more like pitiful, hysterical venting. Hm… Marina, come here.”

The girl standing by his side obediently approached, leaning slightly to hear her master’s command.

“…Got it.”

After responding, Marina returned to her place behind Anselm, head lowered, seemingly occupied with something.

Subsequent “items” were brought to the stage and without exception, Anselm aggressively outbid everyone, claiming them all.

When the sixth item—a high-quality mature woman—was presented, a buyer in another booth couldn’t sit still.

“Mr. Faust in Booth Six… you’re quite aggressive today,” a sultry female voice said, “Buying so many lambs—are you building a little paradise in the Imperial Capital? Can I come to play?”

“I could never match you, Lady Horamom,” Anselm sipped his wine, chuckling, “Your feat of tormenting eight poor women to death in a month, each in a different way—I could never.”

The woman in the booth fell silent, then laughed lightly, “Horamom? The wife of Marquis Horamom, here buying slaves? Mr. Faust, you’re quite imaginative.”

“It’s precisely because of your status that you’re here, isn’t it?”

The young Hydra’s lips curved slightly, “Your father and brother are transcendents, yet you, without any talent, were married off as a tool to the capable Marquis Horamom. In your birth family or marriage, you, an ordinary person, have no standing.”

“You—”

“Your father sees you as a family disgrace, your husband treats you like air. How long has it been since you shared his bed? How many more transcendent mistresses has he taken? You’re still childless—is it Marquis Horamom’s failure, or does he not bother wasting his—”

“Bastard! Animal! I’ll kill you!”

Hysterical screams erupted from the booth.

Hitana frowned, stepping forward, but Anselm stopped her.

“Hitana.”

The viper swayed its tail, slowly baring its venomous fangs, “Do you know what despair means to someone like her?”

“…No,” Hitana answered honestly, “But I want to smash her mouth. She’s too loud.”

“The answer is… cold reality.”

“Loren…”

A gruff, hoarse voice sounded in Anselm’s booth.

Hitana jumped, turning to see a communication crystal in Marina’s hand, unnoticed until now.

The ranting woman in the other booth fell silent instantly, as if choked in a moment.

“You shameful, suicidal wretch… Get back here now!”

A furious roar echoed through the auction hall, “I’ll break your legs—no, your spine! You useless trash who only causes trouble! Get back to the mansion now, or I’ll come for you!”

Bang!

The booth’s door burst open.

A stunning, curvaceous woman scrambled out like a dog, stumbling repeatedly.

“Look, Hitana.”

The Hydra retracted his gaze, satisfied, “This is why I don’t like using violence to make people submit.”

“—Because that’s too merciful, a grace, a release.”

“The best punishment is singular.”

Anselm leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, “Let them live in the hell they created… Hm, I hope this didn’t remind you of anything unpleasant, Hitana.”

“An-Anselm, sir.”

The voice from the crystal, moments ago raging to tear the woman apart, now trembled with fear and humility, “Her offense to you—I’ll make her pay, I swear…”

“No need to be so tense, Marquis. It’s not your fault. I didn’t take your wife’s words to heart.”

“Wife? No, no… how could she be my wife? You jest.”

“Oh? She's Marquis Lakan’s daughter. No need to apologize for a stranger’s words.”

“Marquis Lakan wouldn’t claim to have such a daughter, surely.”

“So, she doesn’t exist in this world.”

Anselm laughed, “Perfect. How could I hear words from someone not in my world?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, Lord Anselm. I understand.”

“Heh, enjoy your new marriage in a few days, Marquis.”

The call ended. Anselm stretched, turning to Marina, “Well done, Marina. Contacting Marquis Horamom so quickly.”

“After arriving in the Imperial Capital, I stored contact details for all nobles above count in my communication crystal. It wasn’t hard.”

Marina bowed slightly to Anselm, “Helping you is my greatest pleasure.”

“Ha, that foul-mouthed woman,” Hitana laughed gleefully, “Serves her right! And… Anselm, did she really torment eight women to death in a month?”

Anselm glanced at Hitana, tapped his temple, and said no more.

Miss Wolf understood—he’d gleaned it from a memory—and felt the woman got off too lightly.

She couldn’t imagine the horrors awaiting a former noblewoman, likely to have her spine broken by her husband, disowned by her family, and cast out.

Marina knew but didn’t care.

As Anselm said, it was the hell she’d made for herself.

Yet Anselm cared deeply, or he wouldn’t have had Marina contact Marquis Horamom.

Though such cruelty was trivial to him, what mattered was…

The vast hell reflected in his eyes.

Transcendents despised ordinaries, who created slaves to deflect their crushing inferiority, relying on the resources and authority transcendents granted.

Yet the lofty, all-dominating transcendents were themselves slaves to a silent, higher-dimensional terror.

So absurd, so hateful, so despairing… this hell.

And the thought that someone was trying to create a similar hell within this vast one…

That fueled the blazing, vivid displeasure and loathing in Anselm’s heart.

Three years ago, he’d have destroyed it all on impulse.

Now, he saw destroying this petty hell as meaningless while the eternal, vast hell endured.

“Come on, keep the auction going,” his pleasant voice rang out in the booth, “Fair competition, take it slow.”

In the booth, the Hydra smiled down at the varied expressions of the buyers, his eyes cold and joyless.

You’re not kind, nor are you saving anyone, Anselm.

Your so-called punishments, your past slaughters—they’re just for your own amusement.

—He told himself.

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