A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

The Prologue Wished by the Devil

Food, the fundamental sustenance upon which humanity relies for survival.

Extraordinary beings are not heavily dependent on such sustenance, yet many harbor a significant desire to satiate their gastronomic cravings.

Indeed, some extraordinary beings have transformed agricultural lands and bred special livestock for the sole purpose of indulging in more delectable fare, though such luxuries never grace the tables of the common folk.

In the dining hall of Greenridge City, at the meticulously set table of Count Watson, a carefully crafted cake exuded an alluring fragrance.

After savoring the dessert with composed relish, the young count accepted a napkin from the butler to dab at his lips and murmured in a hushed tone:

"How terrifying, indeed."

In the eyes of Count Watson, it is not merely the wheat, but the very soil that is terrifying... for it yields a harvest so fine that even he finds it remarkable.

The Watson domain may not be exceedingly wealthy, but as a territory in the southern lands, its abundant resources are indisputable, and the count's culinary indulgences from a young age need no elaboration.

Yet even so, he deems the foodstuffs made from that wheat as "quite remarkable."

What the count considers remarkable, for the commoners, would be described as unparalleled.

He now understood why the so-called "Pelican Trading Commerce" could occupy the entire grain market of Greenridge City with a logic-defying swiftness—because the grain it produces is the most illogical of all.

It's not just the production rate that sends shivers down the spine of any grain merchant and drives them to the brink of despair; the quality is such that once the commoners taste it, they can never again tolerate the inferiority of cheap wheat and its products, ensuring that Pelican Trading Commerce has no competition.

The low prices, a result of crops that mature every seven days or even shorter growth cycles, herald the destruction and sound a death knell that shatters the eardrums of all merchants.

However, Count Watson is merely reflecting on the situation; he cares not who dominates the grain market.

For he is merely abstaining from this game for the time being, not making a move against Pelican City or its fields, waiting for Ansel's game to conclude, when all that should be his will not escape.

Even in the current circumstances, it matters little, for after all, taxes must be paid to someone.

"My lord," the butler whispered from behind Count Watson, "Mr. Auberon has just sent a letter requesting contact."

"Auberon..."

Count Watson's demeanor, previously light-hearted, became more reserved upon hearing this name. Auberon hailed from the capital's trading guild, a guild whose master was none other than… Her Highness Evora, who constantly aspires to impress with grand ambitions.

Naturally, the young count could imagine the representative sent to develop interests in his places, shall own a low status within the guild. The guy likely has not had the privilege of meeting Her Highness Evora. Yet, he must tread carefully in his response.

"This may cause some troubles..."

Muttered Count Watson to himself, "If he represents Her Highness's intentions, then what of Lord Ansel's position—wait, wait a moment—"

The young man's fingers intertwined, his eyes flickering with a hesitant yet sharp light.

For he thought of Count of Spirity Lake.

—That damned fortunate soul, who soared to great heights with Lord Ansel's support. Why shouldn't I... find a patron of significant stature?

This young count, capable of using the lives of extraordinary beings as mere tools to gain a sliver of advantage in war, according to Ravenna's wishes, murmured softly:

"Should Her Highness's gaze turn this way..."

Count Watson was uncertain if Ansel would reclaim that magical land after the game's conclusion. But... given Evora's character, if she were to learn of such a thing, she would undoubtedly not let it slip through her fingers.

Even if our Elder Princess has always prioritized force over the welfare of the people, this... this could be profitable!

Moreover, that sense of "dominance" that comes from controlling food supplies and thereby the lifelines of the populace… The Elder Princess, already so thirsty for imperial power, would surely not refuse.

In this way, this land might remain within Watson's domain, and perhaps even... secure a place on the Elder Princess's chariot, which has carried countless significant figures.
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Even if it meant curling up in the smallest corner of that chariot, the benefits to him would be immense!

Having lost all his extraordinary subordinates in that war, even if have ended the internal strife within Watson's domain, his foundation was still so shallow, but now...

The young man's breathing grew heavier, and in his eyes emerged a path to promotion that was more efficient and more perilous than merely guarding an ordinary domain.

Maneuvering, scheming, weighing interests, choosing gambles...

In this twisted, chaotic world, those incapable fools who found themselves in positions they did not deserve, had already perished early on.

"Let him come, and quickly."

Count Watson stood up, his mind made up.

For those born at the pinnacle of existence, there are but a few in this world.

Even extraordinary beings, in their yearning to ascend, may face a desperate choice.

And the choices they make, more often than not, are remarkably similar.

After all, the essence of being extraordinary is the leap in life itself.

And this longing for ascension, it engulfs the extraordinary beings... sparing no effort in pursuit of further possibilities.

*

Ansel and Ravenna strolled along the bustling streets of Greenridge City, the heart of the Watson territory. In comparison to the equally central but less vibrant Red Frost territory, this place was significantly more lively and bustling.

Ravenna was puzzled as to why Ansel had brought her here, given that their game was supposed to be confined to Pelican City and Breeze City. Nonetheless, she felt she had little choice in the matter.

"Ravenna," Ansel said gently, holding her hand, "what do you think is the essence of the world's transformation?"

This question, posed so suddenly, momentarily took Ravenna aback, as it seemed vaguely familiar.

Her remarkable memory soon made her realize why this question felt so familiar—Ansel had asked her the exact same question three years ago, word for word.

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