In the grandeur of the warm parlour, Ansel nonchalantly discarded his wolf cloak onto the ground, casting himself into the sofa by the hearth. He curled up bonelessly, oozing an air of languor.
Outside, the adulation crying for Hydral continued unabated. Ansel sighed and idly scratched his ear, "Such a racket… Saville."
From a corner of the room, the elegant elder smiled, "I thought you relished such spectacles."
"Occasionally, they're tolerable. But incessantly... that would be unbearable."
The boy, devoid of his earlier wickedness and kingly aura, gazed lazily at the roaring flames in the hearth.
"Loyal hounds, a few can be tolerated, but too many could pose a problem."
"But that is your obligation."
"It's too strenuous," Ansel sighed again.
Saville shook his head, "Then you need to acclimate sooner."
"I know." Ansel stretched out his legs, slouching in the manner of the bald man from the grand library in his mind, "But there's still time, Saville."
"The master's days are numbered, as are the emperor's." The old man, watching his young lord's casual demeanor, could only advise resignedly, "Even if not for duty, for your own sake, you need to take control of the eight pact heads as soon as possible."
The pact heads, a unique existence tied to Hydral, which pertains to the essence of Hydral and also involves the supreme Flamefeast Royal within the empire.
Legend had it that millennia ago, the progenitor of Flamefeast defeated the then rampant, unstoppable ultimate beast Hydral, successfully tamed it, and under the witness of the gods, they signed a pact, became eternal allies, and established the great and prosperous Sky Conquering Dynasty, the precursor of the empire.
Of course, Ansel was well aware that such legends were mere fabrications. While the story of the Flamefeast progenitor and the beast Hydral was largely accurate, there was never any "pact", and it had nothing to do with any so-called gods.
No pact could bind them.
The only reason that Hydral had been serving the Flamefeast Royal in a subordinate capacity throughout the millennial history of the empire, and even earlier, was one.
Only the Flamefeast Royal could burn away the madness in the blood of Hydral—The Flamefeast progenitor, who transformed Hydral from a wild beast of madness into a wise "human".
And Wisdom is an irresistible poison, thousands of times more addictive than power, for any beast.
Any creature with wisdom cannot accept returning to its beastly state. That's the leash binding Hydral's neck.
Over the long years, the burning of the Flamefeast fire even changed the very nature of Hydral, truly transforming them from beasts into creatures hardly distinguishable from humans, except for the madness still flowing in their blood.
With time, the Flamefeast clan thought it was too extravagant to suppress Hydral's madness with their own power, which not only consumed their lifespan and slowed their progress but also risked being infected by that ultimate chaos and madness, leading to insanity in their later years.
Therefore, the founder of the empire, Norland Caesar Flamefeast, blazed a new path for Hydral with his astonishing talent.
The reborn Hydral would be smelted by the Flamefeast fire while still in its embryonic state, dividing its nascent power into nine parts. The source was held by Hydral, while the other eight parts were preserved in the form of "seeds", growing in tandem with the strengthening of Hydral's source without stagnation. Most crucially... they could be bestowed upon others.
Those who accepted the power of Hydral became the pact heads of Hydral, and only a Hydral with each part of the power finding its master can be a complete Hydral.
In this way, the pressure on the Flamefeast Royal was greatly alleviated. Although there was still a negative impact, it was no longer a significant burden.
As for the Hydral? Initially, the Hydral were indeed vehemently opposed to this arrangement. Their beastly nature could not accept the division of their mighty power into nine parts, and the founders of the Empire nearly severed all ties with that generation of the Hydral.
In the end, what transpired remains a mystery, even to Ansel. All Ansel knew was that his forebears... had succumbed to the yearning for reason and humanity.
"Nevertheless, if it were up to me, I would undoubtedly make the same decision," Ansel murmured to himself, idly perusing the library in his mind.
"However, the matter of the pact head..." he rubbed his forehead.
As far as Ansel was concerned, selecting a candidate was not the issue. In fact, it was almost too straightforward.
Those people best suited to be his pact head in this world were already decided when Ansel was just ten years old.
The problem was that getting these people to willingly prostrate themselves beneath him was not something that could be accomplished overnight.
"But indeed, time waits for no one."
A few seconds later, Ansel stretched languidly, forcefully tapped his forehead as if to shift his state of mind, and dispelled all traces of his previous lethargy.
"Saville, bring those sisters to me." Ansel, with his back to Saville, waved his hand, "Have the maids prepare wine, cake, and jerky."
The butler, clad in a tailcoat, bowed and withdrew. The young nobleman, dressed in a black suit vest and shirt, continued to gaze at the firelight.
In the flames, he foresaw the future - his mad father indiscriminately slaughtering everything in the midst of a great fire, the millennial glory of the family annihilated in blood and flames. His own survival led him into a place more desolate than any abyss.
"No matter how many times I see this scene, it still gives me a headache," Ansel chuckled lightly, murmuring in a casual tone.
"If it weren't for my transmigrating friend, I wouldn't know that such despair awaits me."
Yes, a transmigrator, an unfortunate one, who, at the moment when Ansel's embryo was forming and the current emperor was refining her essence with the flame of Flamefeast, had the misfortune to transmigrate into Ansel.
Under the onslaught of the Flamefeast fire and the terrifying essence of Hydral's spirit, the transmigrator died on the spot.
His memories were burned by the emperor's flames, nearly forty percent destroyed, and the remaining sixty percent... in a very peculiar way, were "devoured" by Ansel.
His memories became books with images... precisely, using the terminology of that world, they are stored in Ansel's consciousness in a form similar to "movies" for him to retrieve freely. But as they are only "image books" and "movies", they can't directly affect Ansel's consciousness and thought.
Even so, these memory books have had a profound impact on Ansel. Even though he received the most orthodox, um... according to the library's content, the most orthodox "feudal aristocratic" education since he was a fetus, he's not particularly interested in this system, even though these memories burned by the Flamefeast fire are incomplete in many ways. Ansel's way of thinking does not belong to this era.
The most straightforward example is that compared to his almost tamed ancestors and his father, he has no loyalty or reverence for the royal family and emperor.
However, due to the incompleteness of the memory books and the influence of the growing environment, his thought pattern does not belong to the world of the transmigrator either.
But for Ansel, all these are secondary. The most important thing he saw from those memory books was—
"Young lord, the people you want have been brought here." Saville's voice came from outside the door.
"Come in."
The stooped yet upright butler walked in with two girls of similar age. Both had immaculate white hair, one long, one short. Their beauty was beyond words, even the battle-hardened Ansel was astounded at first sight.
Ansel stood up, shifted to another sofa, and observed the two girls with his chin resting on his hand.
The short-haired girl protected the timid and frail girl behind her, her face convulsing, baring canine teeth, reminiscent of a wolf sprinting on a cold wilderness.
Ansel's lips curled up uncontrollably at the corners.
Be it concepts or thoughts, science and technology, or art and poetry from another world, Ansel didn't care, or rather, in the face of "that thing", these were not important.
—Fate.
Ansel discerned the scars that destiny had etched onto this world.
The young girl before him, her countenance fierce yet seemingly weak, bore the name Seraphina Marlowe.
The impending commander of countless armies; the Conqueror of Winter; the Eternal Ally of Dragons; a war deity walking among mortals; the undying and undefeatable Sky Wolf Emperor.
The chosen protagonist and... heroine.