Taming the Protagonist

Chapter 10: Mighty as She

In truth, the territories granted by the Empire to its nobles, especially high-ranking ones like dukes and marquises, were so vast and prosperous that they were scarcely different from kingdoms.

However, the Emperor forbade the existence of any so-called kingdoms within the Empire’s borders.

Every Emperor harbored such immense control that the Empire itself bore no name—it was simply the Empire, a vessel for the grand ambitions of the Flame-Feasting Royalty to dominate the entire world.

It needed no title, just as the continent was simply the continent, and the world was simply the world.

In the future, the Empire was destined to become a term of common knowledge, requiring no superfluous footnotes.

To return to the matter at hand, despite being merely a “territory,” Chishuang Territory was considered bountiful in the “barbaric” Northlands.

Coupled with its unique attributes, it attracted no small number of Northern nobles and merchants.

Thus, though less than half a day had passed since Count Chishuang’s death, many anxious about their future had already paid exorbitant teleportation fees to gather at Count Ironstone’s manor.

—Why the haste? Naturally, because everyone feared death.

Those who didn’t were still hanging at Lord Hydra’s mansion gate and even those who feared death might end up there.

Thus, the moment Anselm stepped into the main hall, men and women dressed in finery so dazzling it stung Hitana’s eyes swarmed toward him.

True to her earlier words, she stood like a wooden post beside Anselm, clueless about her guard duties, watching them close in.

Those present were people of some influence and discernment, aware of the unspoken rules of “high society” socializing.

Though the Hydras’ fearsome reputation made the initial scene a bit unsightly—everyone behaving like courtesans in a brothel—the rules forged over a millennium of social evolution quickly restored order.

The first to approach Anselm were, naturally, nobles second only to Count Chishuang in influence.

These lords, accustomed to wielding power in Chishuang Territory or their own small domains, were now so deferential that even Hitana shivered, rubbing her arms and stepping farther away.

Anselm, fingering his snake-headed cane, smiled faintly—a smile others saw as warm and approachable.

He conversed with the surrounding nobles, his tone light and congenial.

Even while chatting with four or five at once, he ensured no one felt excluded.

Our white-haired guard, meanwhile, was deeply conflicted.

Anselm’s orders kept her from straying too far, but the stench of the nobles made her nose ache.

Rot, decay, acridness, and an indescribable foul odor clung to them—some stronger, some fainter, but all carried it to some degree.

Watching Anselm laugh and chat amidst these rotten people, Hitana crossed her arms, edging as far away as possible, sneering.

Sure, this effeminate guy didn’t reek, but to mingle so well with this lot—could he be anything good?

…Wait.

Her fingers tapped her arm like a piano, her sharp canines glinting.

What a perfect chance!

To show Lina—no, everyone—his true colors!

Hah!

I’ll remember every word he says and tell them all!

“…Regarding Count Chishuang’s matter, I too express my regret. The rest of the Chishuang family will be treated well, I assure you.” —Regret? See, he’s just as bad as that guy!

“His Majesty has tasked me with temporarily acting as lord. I’ll need your cooperation with several upcoming decrees.” —Mixing with nobles, huh! Just as I thought, he’s up to no good! He killed Count Chishuang to take his place!

“Details? Hm… it’s not inconvenient to share. How about a brief meeting after the banquet to discuss?”

Then came a stream of what Hitana deemed pointless drivel—talk of wines from this place or that, some noble’s painting, or someone acquiring some bizarre trinket… Though meaningless to her, it confirmed one thing:

—This so-called Hydra was no different from other nobles!

He looked down on commoners, cared nothing for their lives, and had eyes only for noble prestige.

The only difference was that other nobles didn’t bother pretending in front of commoners, while he did.

This realization thrilled Hitana.

She finally had a reason to refuse to follow this guy.

Lina, ever reasonable, would never let her continue once she knew Hydra’s true face.

She glanced at the young noble dominating the banquet, accepting flattery without a hint of arrogance.

Everyone he spoke with seemed genuinely at ease, as he navigated the complex web of human interactions, reading their thoughts and moods like flipping book pages.

Be it his image, speech, demeanor, or bearing, even Hitana—vehemently hating him and with near-zero aesthetic sense—had to admit he had… some skill.

But the more she thought this, the more her irritation and displeasure grew, the more she despised him.

Time ticked by.

The high-society guests savored sweet wines and delicacies, admiring singers and dancers under the glow of magic crystals, as if no one was unhappy, as if all who came in fear had shed their doubts.

Hitana, standing beside Anselm, felt utterly out of place in this merriment, anxiously awaiting the approach of her prey and enemies.

If they didn’t show, wasn’t all this suffering for nothing?

Yet the hostility she sensed kept a… safe distance from Anselm?

Useless cowards!

The closest hostile presence was thirteen meters behind Anselm, mingling in the crowd.

If not for his “order” to stay by his side, Hitana would’ve already snapped that fool’s arm and floored him.

In this agonizing wait, the banquet finally… ended.

Hitana stared, incredulous, as Count Ironstone announced the banquet’s conclusion from the stage.

That’s it?

Just like that?

She endured hours among these garbage nobles and money-stinking lackeys, and nothing happened?

A perfect end, with host and guests delighted—except for the barefoot girl in a brown hunter’s outfit, glaringly out of place, grinding her teeth.

Her fierce, savage glare made every noble and merchant bidding Anselm farewell break into a cold sweat.

“Now, esteemed lords, bearers of the Empire’s glorious blood,” Anselm stood, smiling at the circle of Chishuang Territory’s most influential nobles. “Our next discussion will shape the territory’s future for years to come. I’m no expert in governance, so I hope you’ll speak freely and offer valuable insights.”

“Lord Hydra jests,” Ironstone was the first to reply. “Everyone knows Hydra’s lands are a paradise on earth. We’re hardly qualified to advise you—rather, we need your guidance.”

The nobles chimed in agreement, and in this harmonious atmosphere, Anselm followed Ironstone to the prepared meeting hall.

Glancing at the motionless guard, Anselm tapped his cane lightly. “Hitana, let’s go.”

“Huh… go? Then hurry up!”

“I mean it’s time for the next phase. Follow me. Have you forgotten my orders?”

“…”

The nobles observed the stunning snow-haired girl with veiled or blatant stares—her torment at this damned banquet, the baffling extra task, and now these appraising, objectifying gazes pushed Hitana’s barely-contained rage to the brink.

She glared at Anselm’s back, spitting out each word: “You’d better hope someone tries to kill you, Hydra.”

Her words stunned the nobles into silence, even Ironstone, who’d witnessed their odd dynamic, froze for a second or two.

Shock turned to anger.

To the nobles, the flawless Lord Hydra represented their noble blood.

One immediately roared at Hitana, “Vile servant, who gave you the gall to insult Lord Hydra! Kneel and slap yourself!”

Hitana’s lips twitched unnaturally, a guttural, beastly growl escaping her bared teeth.

She couldn’t forget that humiliation—being dominated, butchered, and mocked, her sister begging her to apologize in abject humility.

The words “slap yourself” were a fuse that could instantly drive Hitana into a mindless rage.

But Anselm raised his snake-headed cane before her, the intent clear.

—Do not cross this line.

“Hy… dra—”

Before Hitana’s hate-filled growl could fully emerge, Anselm turned with a genial smile to the viscount who’d spoken. “Viscount Woxue.”

The viscount, named, responded eagerly, “Yes, Lord Hydra! What—”

“What gave you the courage to overstep?”

Anselm interrupted kindly.

Ironstone shook his head slightly, looking at the young viscount with pity.

Viscount Woxue’s expression stiffened, then twisted with immense fear and panic. “No, I didn’t mean…”

“My kindness, or your stupidity?”

Anselm stepped before him, gazing warmly at the young man who’d spoken for him.

In that moment, the viscount’s nobility and prestige vanished—or rather, were obliterated.

Utterly destroyed by the younger Hydra’s gentle words.

“Kneel.”

He spoke with tolerant, merciful tones, resting his cane on Woxue’s shoulder.

“Slap yourself.”

The young noble, face and lips drained of color, collapsed as if under a crushing weight, his trembling hand delivering a harsh slap to his own face.

“Stop when you recognize your mistake—and you, Hitana.”

Anselm tilted his head slightly, glancing at Hitana, whose savagery had subsided a fraction, maintaining his approachable smile. “Prepare for your punishment when we return.”

“…Tch.”

Having disciplined two wayward youths, Anselm turned to Ironstone as if nothing happened. “Please lead the way, Lord Ironstone.”

Ironstone snapped to attention, sparking conversation about wine and art, opening the nobles’ chatter.

The Empire’s noble blood resumed discussing lofty, detached matters, moving on.

Hitana watched Anselm, who showed no discontent and mingled joyfully with the nobles, a surge of intense loathing rising within her.

How could someone be so hypocritical?

Didn’t he feel disgusted by his own facade?

Did he think his actions were fair?

That a few words could make her grateful?

Nameless fury burned her insides.

To her, everything Anselm did was utterly repulsive, mirroring her inexplicable, deep hatred for him.

The volatile young wolf restrained her claws, suppressing the urge to thrash every blabbering noble, silently following Anselm to the meeting hall’s door.

“I’ve reserved a bottle of Red Ice Python blood wine. I hope Lord Hydra will savor it,” Ironstone said with a smile, waving for a servant to open the door. “You must try Chishuang Territory’s specialty—”

Mid-sentence, as the door cracked open, a silent explosion rang out in the snowy night outside.

Boom!

Ironstone, beside Anselm, was flung as if struck by a monstrous beast, crashing into the barely-opened door.

In a flash, a streak of snow-white darted to the edge of Anselm’s vision.

The next moment, a piercing screech of friction and a faint sound of flesh tearing echoed down the corridor before the meeting hall.

—A sharp triangular arrowhead halted an inch from Anselm’s nose, slowly ceasing its spin.

Farther ahead, a pale, slender hand hovered, scarlet blood dripping from its back and palm.

The hand’s owner rose slowly from a charging stance.

The grating friction… was Hitana clamping the arrow meant for Anselm’s skull with her palm bones!

“Hm… hmph, hmph, hmph…”

Before any screams, the girl’s joyous laughter echoed down the corridor.

The two servants who opened the door, after a brief stun, lunged at the unmoving Anselm, daggers sliding from their sleeves toward his throat and heart!

—Or so they imagined.

Before they could even grasp their blades, Hitana yanked the arrow from her hand, hurling it with a flick in a burst of blood, shattering one assassin’s knee in an instant!

His scream was cut short as the clawed young wolf howled with mad glee, diving low, her palm striking an assassin’s jaw.

Her fingers closed—not just gripping his jaw but as if seizing his entire head—lifting him high and slamming him down head-first!

In the heart-stopping buzz of the impact, another arrow shot through the air with deadly precision.

Half-crouched, Hitana twisted her lithe, powerful body as if prescient, her long, strong leg whipping upward with a whoosh of torn air!

Her snow-white foot struck the obsidian arrow like a blade, its spinning tip cruelly tearing her flesh, but her brutal, forceful kick sent it flying, embedding it deep in the corridor wall.

“You should’ve let me deal with the ones outside first,” Hitana grumbled, dissatisfied.

Anselm, as if unaware he’d brushed death thrice, smiled. “So, this is already an unsolvable challenge for our Miss Hitana?”

“Who’re you looking down on?!”

The words set Hitana off, her bloodied foot stomping hard, showing no trace of pain.

She tore a strip from her sleeve, deftly wrapping her foot, and glared at Anselm. “Ten more archers? Same result. I’ve hunted prey a hundred, a thousand times more than them!”

“Hm… I don’t think blocking arrows with your hands and feet is a wise choice.”

“That’s because you stood there like an idiot, letting them shoot!”

Hitana exploded, roughly yanking Anselm from the door, then looting two daggers from the disguised servant-assassin, tossing them lightly.

“Not used to these… fine, they’ll do for blocking arrows.”

With a fierce kick, she flung open the heavy double doors, casually raising a dagger to parry another incoming arrow with almost absurd ease.

“Finally showing up, trash.”

The girl before Anselm licked the gash in her palm, blood staining her sharp teeth, her savage, brutal aura overwhelming the surroundings, chilling hearts!

“Come.”

The ecstatic young wolf bared her fangs.

“Try killing him in front of me.”