A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

At the entrance of the dimly lit tavern, Marlina closed her notebook and shifted her gaze away from the wooden door from which muffled groans emanated.

Behind her, Inothea followed with crossed arms, wearing a sullen expression.

"You have no right to boss me around, Margarete."

Who knew how many times she had repeated this? Inothea, suppressing her fury, reiterated, "If you need a bodyguard, fine, I'll find you one. But it shouldn't be me—"

"Do you have such confidence in your subordinates?" Marlina glanced back at Inothea. "They disregarded my plans that day."

"I crippled them all, isn't that enough for you?"

"I do not harbor unnecessary emotions; I care only for the results. The result is... my situation was perilous, and my plan nearly failed. That's all there is to it."

Marlina didn't even look at Inothea, as if the woman behind her, capable of demolishing a city in a rampage as a fourth-stage extraordinary being, was nothing more than a dim-witted servant in her forties.

"Punishing them doesn't change the result, so I don't care what punishment you exacted."

Passing the last window of the bar, Marlina glanced at the intertwined shadows inside and lowered her gaze slightly, "I only care if you can provide flawless assistance from now on."

Veins bulged on Inothea's forehead, and she clenched her fists tightly, enunciating each word, "I serve Faust, not you! You mortal... don't overestimate yourself!"

Marlina paused slightly, a hint of surprise in her eyes, "Shame... Miss Inothea, are you actually feeling ashamed because of me? I'm somewhat flattered."

"I said, I'm not—"

"So what?" Marlina cut Inothea off, "Do you think Mr. Faust needs you that much?"

"I..."

"Don't get it twisted, Miss Inothea."

The slender girl slowly turned her head, staring at the creature who could kill her with a flick of a finger, her face devoid of any expression.

"You have value now because you are valuable to me. Whom you serve is your choice, but the fact is... if I find you useless, then you are useless to Mr. Faust as well."

"Facts have nothing to do with choices."

With that, she glanced again at the tavern where she had just placed two slaves. The muffled sounds and intertwined shadows glimpsed through the door crack suggested that the slaves were faring poorly.

However, Marlina never expected them to think, "This is at least better than being a slave," nor did she concern herself with Seraphina's rigid mandate that every slave must live well.

Facts... have nothing to do with choices.

The girl softly murmured this phrase in her heart and continued walking.

The lower district at night was perilous, exceedingly so. Thus, Marlina required a bodyguard. She couldn't let Seraphina know she was out late at night, so the bodyguard couldn't be someone from her inner circle.

Hence, she sought out Inothea—not to arrange an adventurer, but to act as her bodyguard.

Such extravagance seemed absurd, yet achieving it was equally unfathomable.

"Miss Inothea."

Catching the scent of blood, Marlina halted and asked, "What happened to the group I entrusted to you?"

"I followed your instructions," Inothea replied, evidently irritated. "They'll be released into the lower district by tomorrow."

Marlina nodded slightly, "Thank you for your cooperation... Now, could you please deal with the source of the blood scent? If there are any survivors, please spare them."

Inothea's temples throbbed. She took a deep breath and walked expressionlessly into a nearby alley.

Seconds later, she emerged, dragging a tall, slender man with a blood-stained torso as if he were a dead dog, and casually threw him at Marlina's feet.
Your journey continues on empire

Marlina knelt down, gazing intently at the seemingly dangerous man, and softly said:

"Sir, it's already late at night. Why aren't you home resting?"

As she spoke, she opened her notebook, ready to take notes.

Without waiting for the man's response, she continued:

"No signs of blood loss, so the blood on him belongs to others. Clear scratches and abrasions on his face and hands indicate a recent fierce struggle."

Marlina's gaze slowly moved to the dagger at the man's waist: "Or perhaps a murder and robbery?"

Under the man's bewildered and panicked gaze, Marlina slowly spoke:

"Why not find a job, sir?"

"Miss Fenrir has provided numerous new job opportunities. Why choose robbery and murder over legitimate work?"

Of course, those job opportunities had nothing to do with Seraphina; they were entirely created by Marlina's own efforts in the lower town. These were long-term positions that allowed many lower-town civilians to earn a living.

Asking a murderer, "Why don't you get a job?" was clearly absurd and laughable, but Marlina was sincere, for she was also asking herself.

Have you done well enough? Can you do better? If you've already done your best, then why do they still live in the same dark conditions?

"Surely, you don't kill for pleasure," Marlina softly said to the man, "It's just that such plundering is all too common in the lower town, isn't it?"

The answer was simple: they were accustomed to it.

Changing these civilians, to some extent, was akin to changing extraordinary beings. The distortions of extraordinary beings had accumulated over time, and the maladies of the civilians were no different. However, in terms of difficulty, changing civilians was far easier than changing extraordinary beings.

Gazing at the man, Marlina wrote the word "time" in her notebook.

Time... Time is what revolution needs the most.

It takes time to wash away their meekness, their weakness, their diminutiveness. It takes time to slowly establish a rigorous heritage, allowing their descendants to achieve cognitive progress and transformation over generations, so they are no longer slaves to the extraordinary.

But how long will that take? Ten years? A hundred years? Perhaps even a thousand? Coupled with the evolution of the extraordinary and the countless potential conflicts over these many years... does that possibility truly exist?

How far into the future has Mr. Ansel seen, and how does he intend to proceed?

Time... Time should be on Mr. Ansel's side, yet I always sense an inexplicable urgency about him.

Even though Mr. Ansel's mindset has changed, this sense of urgency has not entirely dissipated. He doesn't seem to look a hundred years ahead, perhaps not even ten years.

Decisive in action, efficient in style, yet no matter how thorough he is, I have almost never seen Mr. Ansel exhibit a state of "relaxation" or "laziness."

—Perhaps to others, Mr. Ansel always appears to live effortlessly, but I can distinctly perceive, and have perceived for a long time, that there is something unusual about him—a constraint, even suppression of some sort.

But regardless, that must surely be Mr. Ansel's enemy.

Thinking this way, Mr. Ansel's journey to the Western Lands... could it also involve setting a trap for that unknown enemy?

It should be so; no, it must be so. Mr. Ansel would not merely focus on the present.

One more thing to keep in mind, then.

*