Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

Fish gather in schools, sharing the tide; birds overturn, sharing the spoils.

Charlotte raised her arms and took a step forward, facing the splashing waves.

Those massive fleets had not yet faded from view, and the roar of their cannons continued to stir up waves on the sea, raining down a mocking downpour over each other's heads.

She smiled without saying a word: "Every qualified hunting dog—"

"Everyone must learn to retrieve their prey from the fire."

The gun misfired, and the shockwave overturned half of a nearby lighthouse. Flying debris rained down on the breakwater behind them.

"You have to earn your own opportunities."

“Go, Ansuna. Use your hands to dig out the filthy heart of that beast for me, for therein lies the path to the extraordinary.”

The acrid smell of sulfur and saltpeter lingered, and greedy sea beasts devoured the scaled dragon's shell—a blatant act of reproach and harassment.

However, the black-haired girl did not hesitate for a moment. When the ensuing artillery fire once again turned her vision into daylight, Ansuna leaped into the burning sea.

Without hesitation.

How loyal, how trusting.

Yes, both she and I need to rely on such a whale fall to obtain everything we need.

The war will be led by the siren, reborn from hatred, the newborn herself.

Chapter 198 The Third Puppet

"The scriptures say that when you get out of bed, you should roll it up and smooth out any traces of where you slept..."

Her long, sky-blue hair cascaded down to her waist, unkempt and slightly knotted, messy yet natural. A loose robe was draped over one shoulder strap, partially revealing her delicate collarbone; the asymmetry only enhanced her purity.

Her delicate, pretty face and innocent eyes, along with the hem of her dress which couldn't conceal the white skin between her legs, made her bare feet creak as she walked on the wooden floor. Even though she moved very lightly, the loose joints still made her creak.

Dust cannot tarnish her pristine beauty; the mud adds a touch of innocence. As your gaze follows the pleasant curve of her calves downwards, you can see her small, white toes.

The sea breeze swept in through the window, lifting a few stray hairs on one side. The dirt that had somehow gotten on her cheeks couldn't hide her radiance; instead, it added a touch of liveliness.

Look, she is just like a newly blossoming flower, born alongside the green shade, a creature born of nature.

She moved a small stool over, stood on tiptoe, and with a slight sway, the girl struggled to pull out a thick book with a gold-embossed cover from the top shelf of the bookshelf—"The Age of the Broom Flower."

"History is like tragedy. Without passion, sin, and disaster stirring up trouble, it would appear lifeless and disgusting."

She softly read the words on the title page, thus offering her own evaluation.

"Compared to nature, it is more severe and brutal to humankind. Nature demands that people merely satisfy their innate instincts, while it forces human reason to submit."

Suddenly, the sound of flapping wings came from outside the window. Looking to the side, she could see a seagull with its wings drooping, quietly landing in the girl's eyes.

"Hello, sea breeze."

Those tender hands cradled this ocean spirit.

“You’ve come back. You always have to come back here. Look, this is my little jar, a little jar made of meat and bones, your favorite food, and the scraps cut from my own body.”

With a sudden burst of force, the fingertips pinched the fragile wings, breaking the former's freedom and causing it to flap and scream in pain.

"Hush, you have drunk my flesh and blood, so you must pay the price. Birds do, fish do, those powerful ships and cannons do, and the empire that sits high above is no exception."

The hanging wind chimes were pushed against the door, and amidst the pleasant clattering sound, a hand veiled in black gauze gently pressed on the girl's shoulder, slowly moving upwards along her neck, like a quill pen dipped in ice water, tracing her spine segment by segment.

"So you're going to start a war, stain the ocean blood-red, and make the world no longer peaceful, my lovely little nymph?"

A silky, smooth voice drifted over her ear, and the girl could smell the rich fragrance without turning around—a blend of violet and myrrh in the aftertaste, as if the entire spice market had been condensed into that graceful body.

It's Melissant.

“Mother, I am only seeking revenge. They have invaded our land and trampled on our dignity. Can generations of grudges be so easily forgotten, like a fairy tale?”

The girl released the dying seagull, letting it fall onto the open pages. The title on the title page was instantly stained with blood, becoming "The Golden Broom Blossoms in Full Bloom..."

"Of course not, neither will we, nor will they."

Melissant chuckled and nudged her prey with the tip of her shoe, inadvertently crushing the bird's skull. The murky sap dripped between her toes, creating an impromptu painting.

"But you've only been born a few days ago, you're just an innocent child, is it really necessary to hold such a grudge?"

The beautiful woman's slender hand ran through the stray hairs at her adopted daughter's temples, her nails, painted with henna, gently scraping the skin behind her ear.

"Like your elder sister Watson, you were born with a cruel heart. Like this seagull, first gently fed, then silently having its wings broken, and completely losing its freedom."

"How pathetic and pitiful."

Clearly, this was a knowing joke and provocation.

Yes, the corpse of that Scaled Dragon, the shell of that extraordinary creature, has become the girl now known as the Nymph, a naive, innocent girl, untouched by worldly concerns.

A new identity, a new mask, has been created, and the instigators are Charlotte herself and the Mélisande before her.

Unless absolutely necessary, she did not want any outsiders to know about the puppet she had created. However, even though the creature was dead, it still contained a huge amount of impurities. Its life form was even equivalent to a Sequence 5 Extraordinary. Without the help of outsiders, Watson alone would inevitably be unable to do it.

Therefore, even though she was unwilling, she had no choice but to seek help from her 'adoptive mother' who knew her inside and out.

At least, a cooperative relationship is more reliable than forced appropriation, and paid demands are easier for Charlotte to accept than unwarranted pampering. She has always regarded the pleasures of love and affection as a price she can pay.

As for the reasons for the choice, the opportunity for revenge?

Alright, after settling the matters concerning the healer and completing the original owner's advancement, neither side needs to push anymore; they can simply wait for time to settle things.

But due to an unexpected encounter, she glimpsed a corner of the world through the words of the god of the steam church, which made it impossible for her to find peace of mind, and she then wasted her time aimlessly.

She was a wicked woman who couldn't stand loneliness or resist her interests. After the original owner of this body took the potion of the Balancer, strong premonitions rippled through her mind, driving her to the coast, where she saw this scaly dragon that had been registered in the newspapers months ago.

Ms. Z once said that those who are destined for love may occasionally feel the pull of fate and be favored by destiny, but Charlotte never worshipped gods; she only trusted herself, and trusted the power and reason within herself.

Over the course of several months, she frequently paid attention to events that might affect her in the future. Even without any extraordinary spiritual guidance, through step-by-step deduction and proof, she was able to determine that the sea beast had been driven away from the near sea and was slowly approaching the other side of the continent, near the Kingdom of Golden Flower.

Since the Enlightenment Society is now the state religion of emerging countries, and Melissand is so devoted to herself, whether or not to try it should be based on reality.

In terms of appearance, her original intention was to imitate her past life and depict an elegant and dignified beauty. However, Melissant's so-called "remodeling" made her only able to be the naive and innocent blue-haired girl she is now.

Never mind these trivial details. Differences in appearance and personality can sometimes be deceptive. The purpose and direction are what matter most.

This Scaled Dragon was already full of vitality, and even in death, the accumulated resentment was still enormous. It was inevitable that there would be gains and losses in using a human body to contain and digest it.

Its heart was originally the main material for advancing to the sixth rank of 'Priest'. The nymph who consumed it naturally also became a sixth rank extraordinary being. However, the forced compatibility made its spirituality unstable, and its physical body, being made from the former, was tainted with the corresponding habits and shortcomings.

His strength was too great to control; he was naturally adept at swimming; and he was often overcome by drowsiness and appetite...

It was for this reason that Charlotte stayed in the Enlightenment Society's library during this period, gradually becoming skilled at controlling the physical strength of the deep-sea behemoth through the meticulous action of turning the pages of books.

Who could imagine that such a young girl could casually crush ships and stir up endless raging waves?

As her thoughts faded, revenge became nothing more than a convenient slogan, and war could be seen as a joke that flowed from her lips. Ultimately, Charlotte's true desire was to climb to the top of the path and seize the power to determine right and wrong.

She needed the truth, but the promotion of a 'priest' required bloodshed, so war, the most cruel word and the word that most easily consumes life, came to mind.

"That's why you added ten liters of Scaled Dragon marrow to the wine at yesterday's naval banquet. That's enough to make those greedy officers who crave positions and rewards become extraordinary without even realizing it, albeit in the form of out-of-control monsters."

Despite the reproach in her words, Melissant simply reached out her fingertips and gently wiped the dirt off the girl's cheek.

“Everyone has value, Mother. Aren’t they the ones who are vehemently opposing you in Parliament? If you can’t tame them, then drive them mad. That’s the best way.”

The most cold and heartless words came from the mouth of that innocent girl.

"Do you know how history will describe us if we are exposed?"

"Of course I know, but we—"

"We won't lose."

Nymph closed her book and brushed past Watson, who was walking in from outside the door. They both said in unison:

"The process is like the sand on the beach, easily washed away. As long as the ending is correct, beautiful, and ingenious, it will make every follower stop and appreciate it."

"So, that's history."

Image: "Nymph Image Reference", Location: "Images/1749561137-100417737-113459668.jpg"

Chapter 199 Good Morning

Florence is shrouded in a thick morning fog, naturally shrouded in a layer of somber cumulus clouds. Only half of the spire of the upright clock tower is visible, and a muffled sound pierces through the dampness, long and far-reaching, as if the bronze tongue is wrapped in a soaked wool blanket.

The brown-haired beauty awoke from her bed, the scent of orchids and fragrant jade still lingering on her neck. She raised her hand, her fingertips touching her lips—still seemingly warm and moist from last night's farewell kiss. Morning light streamed through the blinds, casting long, thin streaks of light across her delicate face.

"That's ridiculous."

He was clearly murmuring reproaches, but the doctor's thin lips inadvertently curved upwards.

Last night's events in the mountains felt like an overly vivid dream. Eliza's tears, her heart-wrenching confession, and an unyielding kiss. Most intriguingly, she actually softened and responded—as a healer, she responded to her patient's affections.

She slowly sat up, the collar of her white-trimmed nightgown slipping down to reveal a faint red mark on her collarbone—a lingering bite from a small animal.

Just looking at it, the black-haired girl's ambiguous breath from last night seemed to linger again: "Please leave a mark... so I can be sure this isn't just a hallucination in a dream..."

She was so uneasy, so fearful, that simply expressing her love exhausted all her courage. It's unimaginable how heartbroken and devastated she would have been if the doctor had refused; perhaps, she might have even developed a morbid mentality due to unrequited love.

Of course, Eliza was not that kind of girl. She was so careful even when expressing her love, so how could she bear to hurt herself? In her heart, the healer named Bella was everything. She was a symbol of bidding farewell to the past, a faith that had long awaited rain, and a saint who was different from those high-ranking officials and nobles, and who was upright and selfless.

Yes, a doctor should not develop unnecessary emotions with patients. Professional ethics bind them and they should not interfere with the feelings of visitors. Helping patients understand themselves and restore their health is their duty. However, in the days and nights of being relied upon and cherished, Isabella ultimately failed to uphold her inner bottom line and agreed to the one and only request.

For this reason, she became an unconventional healer, and as a result, the spirit of the stage became even more attached to herself.

A wrong path, a cyclical knot, yet a romantic opera; the Muse of Florence favors one man, and the saint who saves the world makes an exception only here.

If the face were different, if it were a vibrant, youthful face, perhaps this story wouldn't be perfect. Simple moral values ​​and a passionate heart might have made the same doctor hesitate, but he wouldn't have been able to grant the mountain's request. The ensuing disputes would have ultimately led to irreparable mistakes, resulting in a tragic and regrettable ending.

Perhaps, a clever misunderstanding could cause this small act of rescue to be thwarted by a world shrouded in gloom, by the doctor's dedication and kindness, and by the dancer's misinterpretation and sacrifice.

Eliza has never received care from her family or tolerance from society. Family, status, and power—everything is forcing her to break her wings and become a delicate doll.

Bound by her circumstances, she was destined to become twisted, inevitably descending into madness. That's why she cared so deeply and hoped so much when she first saw the doctor who had created Bella and received his ordinary yet genuine care. The cruelty of her childhood only taught Eliza to use the clumsy methods her mother had etched into her memory to gradually fulfill the promise called love.

For the first time, she encountered the crutch that lifted her up in life, slowly healing the eyes and brows obscured by the old era. Naturally, she would do everything in her power to help that figure pursue his ideals, even if the people she treated had faces similar to her own in the past, even if they suffered inner torment, she would still dedicate everything she had.

They were never meant to be on the same path, never to understand each other, never to see each other for who they truly were. Fortunately, Charlotte was a wicked woman, and being a doctor was merely one of the choices that shaped her. She had already seen through that veil and understood Eliza's true feelings.

Therefore, Charlotte was willing to nod slightly to accept that humble request, allowing the fairy of the stage to have her wish granted.

Why?

She probably felt lucky and was very excited. She not only got promoted, but also got to see a corner of the world and climbed up smoothly.

I was in a good mood, so I agreed.

The answer is so frivolous, so simple, so ridiculous.

"Sleep is a form of rest, thinking is a form of rest, and chatting is also a form of rest. Are they not entirely equivalent? Considering that you are deep in thought, I would like to ask this question from a human perspective."

The buzzing of the steam piston on her chest interrupted Charlotte's thoughts as the goddess's whispers echoed in her mind.

“Environment and outcome are key to this question, Ms. Adeline. For exceptional individuals, rest is no longer important, but good results and a pleasant process bring genuine relaxation.”

Charlotte spread her five fingers out, then slowly tightened them, her gaze returning from the distant cape.

"Hmm, your explanation is quite reasonable. Based on what happened last night, Miss Eliza will likely visit this mansion again today."

The mechanical female voice paused abruptly, then continued in a different tone.

"Should I ask if kissing quickens the heartbeat and causes uncontrollable hormone release? To me, expressing affection is a biological mating signal, but last night you..."

“Enough, Ms. Adeline. You need to respect other people’s privacy and be open with your conversations, especially in this area.”

Barefoot, Charlotte stepped across the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, her fingertips merging to ignite a spark.

After advancing to a Sequence 7 Nest, she was able to alter most of her body's structure in a short time in order to shape different limbs, and even characteristic organs of certain creatures.

The electric discharge of eels, their active ignition, the mantis shrimp's instantaneous leap...

Although most of the creations consume a lot of their own energy reserves and will give out hunger signals later, their unexpectedness at critical moments is enough to make up for these minor shortcomings in life.

Just as the bread in the oven was turning golden brown, the doorbell downstairs suddenly rang.

Without wearing cotton shoes, she walked across the oak floor, letting the chill creep up her ankles.

Through the stained glass of the foyer, she saw a dark blue outline distorted by the mist—it looked exactly like the skirt that had been spread out on the lawn last night.

The moment the door lock clicked, dew-kissed white roses rushed in through the crack, almost crashing into her arms.

As the former had predicted, she was his lover, Eliza.

Perhaps because of the haste, her hair was still damp with morning dew, and tiny water droplets clung to her eyelashes. She held the bouquet between the two of them, but in her nervousness, she knocked off a few petals.