A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Chapter 3: Insane As Me

"Oh, right, Count, you reminded me that I indeed cannot arbitrarily execute a Count at present. The necessary formalities must still be observed, so—"

Ansel lifted his right hand, the snake-headed ring on his thumb began to reflect a flame-like glow.

"In obedience to the flame, Ansel of Hydral declares the temporary imperial court to commence here."

Above the snake ring, a round symbol of blood flame was projected with a hum. Within the circle, the pattern was of a strange beast, like a lion and a wolf, devouring a large cluster of blood flames.

This was the insignia of the entire continent's Flamefeast Royal, which no one dared to counterfeit.

Ansel, who was holding his scepter with one hand, joyfully announced: "I, Ansel of Hydral, will serve as the presiding judge, judge, clerk, prosecutor, bailiff, jury members, and executioner of this court—oh... wait a moment."

He suddenly turned around, beckoning to the beauty he had touched several times.

"Beautiful lady, please come over."

After a full three seconds of shock, she fearfully approached Ansel.

Before she was fully close, the young nobleman who was chuckling cheerfully, directly pulled her into his arms.

He held her trembling waist with one arm, and caressed her hand with his right hand.

"Aside from your neck, your hands are also quite beautiful, slender, delicate, yet full of strength... hmm... Lord Count, your taste is indeed not bad."

Ansel, like a lover, whispered into the woman's ear, "What's your name?"

"Eu, Eula... Eula Leclerc."

The woman curled herself into a ball, her voice barely leaking out from her lips.

"Miss Leclerc, you were once a pianist, were you not?"

Eula's body froze. In her extreme terror, she had never anticipated that Ansel would utter such a phrase—and he was correct.

"It seems I was right." Ansel chuckled lightly, "Ah... I beg your pardon for my audacity, but indeed, such beautiful hands would be a sacrilege not to play the piano."

Following that, he began to hum a lively tune next to Eula's ear, causing her to clutch her exposed dress subconsciously and cry out in surprise: "Spring, the Spring Concerto..."

"Do you not think this piece is very suitable for you to play?"

Ansel's fingers lightly tapped on Eula's slender waist, as though he was truly playing the piano, all while whispering in her ear: "Imagine yourself in a gown, your hair pinned up, your neck—white as a piece of art—glowing under the lights of the Imperial Theater like the pure radiance of angel wings."

"Your hands... the moment you lift the lid of the piano, all eyes will be on you."

Eula fell into chaos under Ansel's murmuring. She could feel it, the terrifyingly dark, cold, and sticky thing wrapping around her again, caressing every inch of her. Despite this, she was completely... uncontrollably, as if drowning in his young, slightly hoarse voice.

—Even if she were to be strangled at this moment, she could not extricate herself from the warmth in that darkness.

"—But, it's all an illusion."

Eula's heartbeat stopped at that moment.

The youth continued to whisper in her ear, only now his ambiguous, warm voice carried a suffocating sadness.

"You know, Miss Leclerc, it's all an illusion, you don't have that future anymore. From the moment you were captured and imprisoned by the Count, trained to be a plaything for people like me, that beautiful dream had already drifted far from you."

"...Guh, uh, ah—"

First her fingertips, then her palm, her arm, and finally her entire body began to tremble violently. Poor Miss Eula gripped Ansel's collar tightly, tears streaming uncontrollably from her chaotic eyes, uttering meaningless sounds.

Perhaps when she first saw Ansel, she might have felt relief, that as a "plaything", she could offer her most precious first time to such a handsome young man.

But now? What did she feel? Fear? Despair? Eula didn't know, she didn't know what she was thinking anymore. After a brief intoxicating warmth, the malice that cruelly pierced her heart tore her self into humble fragments.

Ansel lovingly stroked her hair: "I truly feel sorry for you, Miss Leclerc. And I know, just this, offers you no consolation."

He cradled Eula's face with one hand, staring into those gray eyes that were void of any coherent emotion.

"Do you know what else these beautiful hands of yours can do?"

Ansel whispered in her ear:

"They could be perfect for pulling a trigger."

"...Pull... a trigger?"

"Ah, yes." The young man nodded in response, "Pull a trigger, hmm, it's simple. Grip the handle, aim at the enemy, and pull the trigger."

In her bewildered and shattered gaze, Ansel smiled, tapping his snake-head scepter lightly on the ground.

The next second, amid the delightful symphony of steel friction and interlocking parts, that stern and cold scepter transformed into a massive... black hand cannon!

Ansel pointed the black "muzzle" at the Count of Red Frost, pronouncing judgment without expression:

"Count Cantrell of Red Frost, this prosecutor indicts you on thirty-two charges including corruption, tax evasion, tax fraud, illegal taxation, malicious hoarding of food, market disruption, smuggling of national reserve resources, homicide, widespread looting, and human trafficking."

"Due to the conclusive evidence, the members of this jury, the judge, and the presiding judge declare the charges established immediately. You will be stripped of your countship, all your assets confiscated, and executed on the spot."

"Mode of execution, firing."

"The executioners, Ansel of Hydral, and... Eula Leclerc."

Having made this proclamation, Ansel of Hydral pressed the obsidian hand cannon into the palm of Eula.

"Fear not, Miss Leclerc."

He tenderly brushed against her cheek, his hand enveloping hers, assisting her to position her fingers on the trigger.

Oh... that warmth, enveloping her, beguiling her, redeeming her... a warmth as dark as night.

"I have told you, you are quite proficient with a firearm."

At this moment, that darkness, almost suffocating Eula, returned.

Yet, inexplicably, Eula found herself... no longer afraid.

In her ear, there was only one voice.

"You excel at the piano, and you excel at firearms. Since the Count has deprived you of your right to play the piano, then... what should you present to the Count in return?"

"I..."

Eula stared at the Count of Red Frost, a man she dreaded and despised day and night, who at this moment, was strangely immobilized beneath her, like a dead pig.

"I think..." the woman murmured in her shattered sense of self, "I think..."

"You want to fire the gun, don't you?" The voice that seemed to emanate from the abyss enveloped her, but she had never felt safer, more fulfilled, more... free.

"Do you want to shoot the one who murdered your dreams, your future, your life?"

"...Yes."

The firearm that was somewhat heavy for Eula no longer trembled in her hand, and in her shattered eyes, something seemed to be coalescing.

Something profoundly dark.

"I want... to fire!"

Eula Leclerc, who had seen the horrors of hell, spewed pure hatred from her throat.

Ansel kissed her earlobe satisfactorily:

"Then proceed, my good girl."

In this instant, Eula felt the darkness enveloping her completely.

She squeezed the trigger, without hesitation.

"Bang!!"

The exaggerated roar echoed in the banquet hall, the slender fingers of the woman, her pale face, were splashed with crimson petals.

Most noticeable was the one that splashed into her eyes.

Those eyes... completely dark, devoid of any luster, but bizarrely alive, fanatically passionate.

Eula felt herself falling, felt herself suffocating, felt as if her insides had been ripped out.

But none of this brought her any pain, only joy, unparalleled joy.

She wanted to be strangled, she wanted those tender fingers to wrap around her neck right now, to tighten their grip, she wanted her body to feel that moment of ecstasy.

She collapsed into Ansel's arms, not even feeling the pain of her fractured wrist, convulsing with the joy of reaching the pinnacle.

"Congratulations, Miss Leclerc."

The source of the darkness said contentedly:

"You are free."

The next second, before Ansel had a chance to announce the end of the execution, he was kissed by the insatiable Miss Leclerc, who grabbed Ansel's hand and put it on her neck, pressing herself against him as if she wanted to meld into his body.

And Ansel did not push her away, he gently embraced her waist like a gentleman pacifying a restless lady at a ball, enveloping her with infinite tenderness, accepting her ardor and madness.

Soothing the woman who had regained her freedom, Ansel glanced at the gruesome corpse whose head had blown apart, the boundary of that beautiful, pure sea-blue eye...

Was aflame with the color from the abyss.

.

When Ansel of Hydral hoisted the decapitated corpse of the Count of Red Frost upon the scaffold, the fervent cheers of the commoners seemed to quell the biting wind and part the cloudy veil for the sun.

The sunlight radiated upon the tall and proud figure of the young noble, his smile haughty, resembling a valiant soldier who had fulfilled his promise, executed a grand deed, and was now basking in the glow of righteousness.

Yet, none were aware. Not the cheering masses, nor Saville, the servant by Ansel's side, not even Ansel's father, Hydral, who currently wielded the imperial authority to hunt, or the senile but still intimidating emperor capable of quelling the world and annihilating anything - they were all oblivious that Count of Red Frost was supposed to die four years later, at the hands of a 'protagonist' destined to be a hero.

A 'protagonist' fated to obliterate the empire, to annihilate Hydral.

But now, that 'protagonist', who was presented as a gift by the Count of Red Frost, was residing in Ansel's temporary mansion.

And the hero who was currently basking in all the cheers and praise was none other than Ansel of Hydral himself.

He was the paragon of perfection praised by the noble imperial gentry, the cruel hunting dog with madness coursing through his veins, the trusted confidant of the emperor, and the singularity of world anomaly who had devoured the world of a transmigrator from the moment of his birth.

A villain attempting to annihilate the 'protagonist', a fanatic dreaming of slaying destiny.

ps.

New book >< Please don't spare your comments and suggestions! I've been consulting with my friends during writing since there's a lot I'm unclear about.

All advice are welcome, thank you!

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