Ansel Hydra tightened the wolf-fur cloak that his butler, Saville, had draped over his shoulders.
In the single month since he had arrived in the Frostfrost Territory, he had hanged eleven officials and nobles—sheriffs, tax collectors, minor lords…
Did he carry an imperial edict? Did he go through any official procedures? Did he hold any permits?
No. Of course not.
For Hydra needed no such things. Even though Ansel had not yet inherited the full authority of the Hydra family from his father, so long as he had a reason—a sufficient, valid, necessary reason—he could kill anyone in the entire Empire, save for the royal family. If the reason was good enough, even a duke would die the same.
Such was Hydra—the greatest villain in the Empire, the one who made all other villains tremble.
Soon, he would depart to meet the Earl of Frostfrost, the territory's overlord, for a "friendly discussion" on various matters concerning the land.
As for why he had come… why he had suddenly arrived in Frostfrost and run amok, killing without restraint—something that baffled every noble in the Empire, including the earl himself—some did not understand. Some thought they did.
After all, Hydra was reasonable.
And also utterly unreasonable.
Only Ansel knew the truth.
This was the first step of his mad plan—the insane scheme concerning fate.
"Let us go, Saville."
The young noble took from his butler a jet-black serpent-headed cane, its eyes inlaid with scarlet rubies, and stepped forward.
"We must not keep His Lordship the Earl waiting."
The moment Ansel stepped through the manor gates, deafening cheers erupted along the streets.
"Lord Hydra! Lord Hydra is leaving!"
"The damned Earl of Frostfrost is done for! He's dead meat! Lord Hydra will hang him at the city gates!"
The wild, fanatical shouts drowned out the howling blizzard. Even in such brutal weather, a massive crowd had gathered near Ansel's temporary manor.
Ansel smiled, leaning on his serpent-headed cane. He stopped beside his carriage and raised a hand, pressing it gently downward.
At once, the crowd fell silent.
"I have heard your voices, people of the Empire."
His bright golden hair fluttered in the snow. His voice, still touched with the last traces of youth, rang out firm and unshakable—not even the northern gale could drown it.
"That is why I have come. So you may pour out your anger before me.
And they—"
The righteous Ansel Hydra bowed slightly to the crowd, then raised his hand and pointed to the right, where a wide wooden frame stood.
As his finger rose higher, the commoners held their breath, growing more and more fevered. They were like hunters gathered 'round a campfire after a kill, ravenous.
"They… belong there."
Ansel lifted his chin, gesturing at the eleven hanging, desiccated corpses, and declared it.
"OOOOOOOH—!"
The cheer was almost a roar, a mix of tearful ecstasy and rage hot enough to outburn the winter.
Amid this tidal wave of noise, the young noble smiled calmly, as serene as a madman standing atop an isolated lighthouse, watching the stormy sea.
When the noise quieted, he raised his head again.
"Now, I will go to meet the Earl of Frostfrost—your lord."
Ansel glanced around. "What do you want me to say to him?"
The crowd fell silent for two heartbeats… then exploded into unintelligible curses. The tide had turned into a spewing volcano.
This time, Ansel did not wait for them to calm down.
His young, powerful voice cut through the uproar.
The kind noble who had come in the name of justice and mercy laughed loudly as he promised the commoners:
"I will tell him this—"
"I have saved a place for him here."
Ansel bowed elegantly once more, then climbed into his waiting carriage. Soon, it vanished into the snow.
"HYDRA!"
Someone shouted the name after a few seconds.
"HYDRA! HYDRA! HYDRA!"
No one doubted the young man's zeal or compassion anymore.
A month ago, he had arrived in Frostfrost. From the border villages all the way to the capital, he had executed three sheriffs, six tax collectors, even two minor lords. One villain dead every three days at the hands of Lord Hydra.
Now, he was going to see the Earl of Frostfrost.
He would keep his word. No one doubted it.
No one doubted the merciful, just Ansel Hydra.
Clink!
A wine glass tapped against another in a gilded banquet hall.
"You have my deepest gratitude, My Lord."
The tall, obese Earl of Frostfrost chuckled deeply.
"The unruly peasants haven't been this obedient in ages. In just one month, nine insignificant wastes were enough to quiet Frostfrost. All thanks to you."
The merciful, righteous Lord Hydra was now surrounded by beautiful concubines. His head rested on a woman's stomach, his legs laid across another's soft, firm thighs. His free hand was buried deep in the clothing of a kneeling girl, caressing and squeezing.
Ansel half-opened his sea-blue eyes, swirling his wine glass lazily.
"These are trivial matters, Earl." He yawned, lacking all the passion from his speech to the commoners.
"I will make Frostfrost much easier to rule… on one condition."
Clap, clap.
Ansel did not need to say more. The earl immediately clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward, holding a stack of documents with both hands, presenting them respectfully to Ansel.
"Everything you asked for is here."
The Earl of Frostfrost did not even glance at the papers. He did not want his bitter expression to be seen by the harmless-looking young noble before him, lest it displease him further.
For the man sitting opposite him… was Hydra.
The Hydra family—the Emperor's mad hounds—held unlimited judgment, unlimited hunting rights over the Empire's nobles. They answered only to the royal family… no, only to the Emperor alone.
Though the current Hydra was still young. Until he wore all eight rings, he was not yet a full Hydra. He had not yet inherited from his father the blade hanging over every noble's neck.
Still, the Earl did not dare underestimate the young man idly fondling his concubines.
Because he was… the strangest Hydra of all.
The Hydra bloodline ran wild, uncontrollable. In the Empire's thousand-year history, every Hydra had been a madman—some completely unhinged, some quietly deranged.
But Ansel Hydra… he seemed like an anomaly among the mad bloodline.
Without warning, at the age of ten, he began appearing frequently in the circles of the Empire's nobility—attending banquets, events. No one could connect that well-behaved, charming child to the Hydra name.
As he grew, the sweet boy became a polite, graceful youth. All those years, while his overly serious father exposed his true nature time and again—the Massacre at Blacksea Manor, the Kankafran Tragedy, the Great Silence of Deepblue Harbor—while the current Hydra ran around killing like a rabid dog, the young Ansel Hydra had…
…cleaned up his father's messes.
And so, the Empire's nobles gradually came to believe the young man was truly a mutation of the mad bloodline. Elegant, kind, approachable—a noble among nobles.
After all, who could fake their nature from age ten to sixteen without a single mistake? Was he born knowing how to manipulate people?
That was why the Earl of Frostfrost was willing to deal with Ansel. He did not know how Hydra had caught him, but at least dear Lord Ansel was willing to negotiate… not just tear his head off on the spot.
"Earl, you might think I am asking for too much."
Ansel smiled and wiggled his fingers amid the girls' coquettish glares, speaking in a relaxed tone.
"But if my father were here… you would already be, hmm… I am not threatening you. I am merely stating a fact."
Under the earl's slightly terrified gaze, the grinning young noble casually scanned the documents on the table.
Smuggling routes. Raiding paths. Human trafficking networks. Black market distributions.
Every detail of Frostfrost's shadow web, inside and outside the territory—all here.
"Incredible," Ansel murmured, his eyes glinting with obsession. "Truly remarkable."
As he spoke, he easily caught the relief spreading across the earl's face.
Ansel understood nobles all too well.
When you knocked on their door with a blade, they screamed, panicked, did reckless things that cost them their lives.
But if you held a bloodied blade in one hand… and an empty purse in the other, they bowed and smiled obsequiously. The bigger the purse, the safer they felt.
The Earl knew full well that if his years-long network was exposed, the Emperor—old and dim-witted, yet still arrogant—would never let him live. In short, he would be torn to pieces by the mad hound named Hydra.
So even though Ansel had demanded the entire vast web he had built for years, the earl only breathed a sigh of relief.
Ansel taking the dark scepter meant he was shielding the man who offered it.
That was the unspoken rule among nobles.
After all, the kind and gentle Lord Ansel was normal! He loved wine, and he loved women even more. What normal person could refuse one of the largest shadow domains in the North?
Just then, someone burst into the hall.
Before the relieved earl could snap in anger, the man hurried over and whispered in his ear, glancing nervously at the seemingly indulgent Ansel.
The two-meter-tall, four-hundred-kilogram Earl of Frostfrost's eyelids twitched.
Fat hung loosely from his face.
He forced a smile and asked tentatively:
"My Lord… if I may inquire—"
"Yes?" Ansel turned his head, teasing a concubine's chin, making her blush and pant softly. "What is it, Earl?"
"Ukalid and Nakiset…"
"Ah, your two sons. I hanged them yesterday. Forgot to inform you. My apologies."
For a moment, the candlelight and the faint perfume seemed to freeze.
Even the earl's carefully selected, strictly trained concubines stiffened.
"How pitiful. Your neck is especially lovely," Ansel sighed tenderly, his palm sliding gently onto the pale, slender neck of the girl he had just caressed.
The flawless beauty trembled uncontrollably. She felt something slimy, cold, coiling around her throat—squirming, tightening.
"Beautiful girl… am I frightening you?"
The young noble, who at not even twenty could charm a married woman he'd only met once from a ballroom to his private chamber, spoke in a soft, gentle voice.
The woman whimpered and shook her head.
She did not know why she was terrified. The youth's touch was sweeter, gentler than any cruel tutor's. Under normal circumstances, she would have melted into his arms long ago.
But now, she only felt darkness—black, wet, cold, thick darkness closing in, binding her, dragging her deeper into the unknown.
"My—My Lord!" the earl stammered, panicked by Ansel's casual dismissal.
"If those two fools offended you, then their lives are forfeit. But… before you arrived, you… you said some things—"
"—things rather unflattering about you?"
"W-well, haha… I know you must have had your reasons—"
"Naturally!" Ansel released the girl and spread his arms, laughing heartily.
"It was all just a joke to fool the commoners! Don't you find it amusing to watch them boil with anger, placing all their hope in me?"
The Earl froze… then burst out laughing.
"Yes! You are right! How amusing it must have been! Shame I wasn't there to see it! Hahaha… ha…"
"…Ha."
The laughter in the hall died down.
Ansel smiled and said nothing.
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Ansel Hydra (Chapter 1)
Ansel Hydra tightened the wolf-fur cloak that his butler, Saville, had draped over his shoulders.
In the single month since he had arrived in the Frostfrost Territory, he had hanged eleven officials and nobles—sheriffs, tax collectors, minor lords…
Did he carry an imperial edict? Did he go through any official procedures? Did he hold any permits?
No. Of course not.
For Hydra needed no such things. Even though Ansel had not yet inherited the full authority of the Hydra family from his father, so long as he had a reason—a sufficient, valid, necessary reason—he could kill anyone in the entire Empire, save for the royal family. If the reason was good enough, even a duke would die the same.
Such was Hydra—the greatest villain in the Empire, the one who made all other villains tremble.
Soon, he would depart to meet the Earl of Frostfrost, the territory's overlord, for a "friendly discussion" on various matters concerning the land.
As for why he had come… why he had suddenly arrived in Frostfrost and run amok, killing without restraint—something that baffled every noble in the Empire, including the earl himself—some did not understand. Some thought they did.
After all, Hydra was reasonable.
And also utterly unreasonable.
Only Ansel knew the truth.
This was the first step of his mad plan—the insane scheme concerning fate.
"Let us go, Saville."
The young noble took from his butler a jet-black serpent-headed cane, its eyes inlaid with scarlet rubies, and stepped forward.
"We must not keep His Lordship the Earl waiting."
The moment Ansel stepped through the manor gates, deafening cheers erupted along the streets.
"Lord Hydra! Lord Hydra is leaving!"
"The damned Earl of Frostfrost is done for! He's dead meat! Lord Hydra will hang him at the city gates!"
The wild, fanatical shouts drowned out the howling blizzard. Even in such brutal weather, a massive crowd had gathered near Ansel's temporary manor.
Ansel smiled, leaning on his serpent-headed cane. He stopped beside his carriage and raised a hand, pressing it gently downward.
At once, the crowd fell silent.
"I have heard your voices, people of the Empire."
His bright golden hair fluttered in the snow. His voice, still touched with the last traces of youth, rang out firm and unshakable—not even the northern gale could drown it.
"That is why I have come. So you may pour out your anger before me.
And they—"
The righteous Ansel Hydra bowed slightly to the crowd, then raised his hand and pointed to the right, where a wide wooden frame stood.
As his finger rose higher, the commoners held their breath, growing more and more fevered. They were like hunters gathered 'round a campfire after a kill, ravenous.
"They… belong there."
Ansel lifted his chin, gesturing at the eleven hanging, desiccated corpses, and declared it.
"OOOOOOOH—!"
The cheer was almost a roar, a mix of tearful ecstasy and rage hot enough to outburn the winter.
Amid this tidal wave of noise, the young noble smiled calmly, as serene as a madman standing atop an isolated lighthouse, watching the stormy sea.
When the noise quieted, he raised his head again.
"Now, I will go to meet the Earl of Frostfrost—your lord."
Ansel glanced around. "What do you want me to say to him?"
The crowd fell silent for two heartbeats… then exploded into unintelligible curses. The tide had turned into a spewing volcano.
This time, Ansel did not wait for them to calm down.
His young, powerful voice cut through the uproar.
The kind noble who had come in the name of justice and mercy laughed loudly as he promised the commoners:
"I will tell him this—"
"I have saved a place for him here."
Ansel bowed elegantly once more, then climbed into his waiting carriage. Soon, it vanished into the snow.
"HYDRA!"
Someone shouted the name after a few seconds.
"HYDRA! HYDRA! HYDRA!"
No one doubted the young man's zeal or compassion anymore.
A month ago, he had arrived in Frostfrost. From the border villages all the way to the capital, he had executed three sheriffs, six tax collectors, even two minor lords. One villain dead every three days at the hands of Lord Hydra.
Now, he was going to see the Earl of Frostfrost.
He would keep his word. No one doubted it.
No one doubted the merciful, just Ansel Hydra.
Clink!
A wine glass tapped against another in a gilded banquet hall.
"You have my deepest gratitude, My Lord."
The tall, obese Earl of Frostfrost chuckled deeply.
"The unruly peasants haven't been this obedient in ages. In just one month, nine insignificant wastes were enough to quiet Frostfrost. All thanks to you."
The merciful, righteous Lord Hydra was now surrounded by beautiful concubines. His head rested on a woman's stomach, his legs laid across another's soft, firm thighs. His free hand was buried deep in the clothing of a kneeling girl, caressing and squeezing.
Ansel half-opened his sea-blue eyes, swirling his wine glass lazily.
"These are trivial matters, Earl." He yawned, lacking all the passion from his speech to the commoners.
"I will make Frostfrost much easier to rule… on one condition."
Clap, clap.
Ansel did not need to say more. The earl immediately clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward, holding a stack of documents with both hands, presenting them respectfully to Ansel.
"Everything you asked for is here."
The Earl of Frostfrost did not even glance at the papers. He did not want his bitter expression to be seen by the harmless-looking young noble before him, lest it displease him further.
For the man sitting opposite him… was Hydra.
The Hydra family—the Emperor's mad hounds—held unlimited judgment, unlimited hunting rights over the Empire's nobles. They answered only to the royal family… no, only to the Emperor alone.
Though the current Hydra was still young. Until he wore all eight rings, he was not yet a full Hydra. He had not yet inherited from his father the blade hanging over every noble's neck.
Still, the Earl did not dare underestimate the young man idly fondling his concubines.
Because he was… the strangest Hydra of all.
The Hydra bloodline ran wild, uncontrollable. In the Empire's thousand-year history, every Hydra had been a madman—some completely unhinged, some quietly deranged.
But Ansel Hydra… he seemed like an anomaly among the mad bloodline.
Without warning, at the age of ten, he began appearing frequently in the circles of the Empire's nobility—attending banquets, events. No one could connect that well-behaved, charming child to the Hydra name.
As he grew, the sweet boy became a polite, graceful youth. All those years, while his overly serious father exposed his true nature time and again—the Massacre at Blacksea Manor, the Kankafran Tragedy, the Great Silence of Deepblue Harbor—while the current Hydra ran around killing like a rabid dog, the young Ansel Hydra had…
…cleaned up his father's messes.
And so, the Empire's nobles gradually came to believe the young man was truly a mutation of the mad bloodline. Elegant, kind, approachable—a noble among nobles.
After all, who could fake their nature from age ten to sixteen without a single mistake? Was he born knowing how to manipulate people?
That was why the Earl of Frostfrost was willing to deal with Ansel. He did not know how Hydra had caught him, but at least dear Lord Ansel was willing to negotiate… not just tear his head off on the spot.
"Earl, you might think I am asking for too much."
Ansel smiled and wiggled his fingers amid the girls' coquettish glares, speaking in a relaxed tone.
"But if my father were here… you would already be, hmm… I am not threatening you. I am merely stating a fact."
Under the earl's slightly terrified gaze, the grinning young noble casually scanned the documents on the table.
Smuggling routes. Raiding paths. Human trafficking networks. Black market distributions.
Every detail of Frostfrost's shadow web, inside and outside the territory—all here.
"Incredible," Ansel murmured, his eyes glinting with obsession. "Truly remarkable."
As he spoke, he easily caught the relief spreading across the earl's face.
Ansel understood nobles all too well.
When you knocked on their door with a blade, they screamed, panicked, did reckless things that cost them their lives.
But if you held a bloodied blade in one hand… and an empty purse in the other, they bowed and smiled obsequiously. The bigger the purse, the safer they felt.
The Earl knew full well that if his years-long network was exposed, the Emperor—old and dim-witted, yet still arrogant—would never let him live. In short, he would be torn to pieces by the mad hound named Hydra.
So even though Ansel had demanded the entire vast web he had built for years, the earl only breathed a sigh of relief.
Ansel taking the dark scepter meant he was shielding the man who offered it.
That was the unspoken rule among nobles.
After all, the kind and gentle Lord Ansel was normal! He loved wine, and he loved women even more. What normal person could refuse one of the largest shadow domains in the North?
Just then, someone burst into the hall.
Before the relieved earl could snap in anger, the man hurried over and whispered in his ear, glancing nervously at the seemingly indulgent Ansel.
The two-meter-tall, four-hundred-kilogram Earl of Frostfrost's eyelids twitched.
Fat hung loosely from his face.
He forced a smile and asked tentatively:
"My Lord… if I may inquire—"
"Yes?" Ansel turned his head, teasing a concubine's chin, making her blush and pant softly. "What is it, Earl?"
"Ukalid and Nakiset…"
"Ah, your two sons. I hanged them yesterday. Forgot to inform you. My apologies."
For a moment, the candlelight and the faint perfume seemed to freeze.
Even the earl's carefully selected, strictly trained concubines stiffened.
"How pitiful. Your neck is especially lovely," Ansel sighed tenderly, his palm sliding gently onto the pale, slender neck of the girl he had just caressed.
The flawless beauty trembled uncontrollably. She felt something slimy, cold, coiling around her throat—squirming, tightening.
"Beautiful girl… am I frightening you?"
The young noble, who at not even twenty could charm a married woman he'd only met once from a ballroom to his private chamber, spoke in a soft, gentle voice.
The woman whimpered and shook her head.
She did not know why she was terrified. The youth's touch was sweeter, gentler than any cruel tutor's. Under normal circumstances, she would have melted into his arms long ago.
But now, she only felt darkness—black, wet, cold, thick darkness closing in, binding her, dragging her deeper into the unknown.
"My—My Lord!" the earl stammered, panicked by Ansel's casual dismissal.
"If those two fools offended you, then their lives are forfeit. But… before you arrived, you… you said some things—"
"—things rather unflattering about you?"
"W-well, haha… I know you must have had your reasons—"
"Naturally!" Ansel released the girl and spread his arms, laughing heartily.
"It was all just a joke to fool the commoners! Don't you find it amusing to watch them boil with anger, placing all their hope in me?"
The Earl froze… then burst out laughing.
"Yes! You are right! How amusing it must have been! Shame I wasn't there to see it! Hahaha… ha…"
"…Ha."
The laughter in the hall died down.
Ansel smiled and said nothing.