Chapter Fourteen: A Fierce Correction!

Emma covered her face and suddenly fled backward. Louis did not pursue her, merely watching coldly. After all, everything was under control. He glanced at his palm.

Soon, Emma vanished into the forest.

Damn it, damn it, damn it... Louis, I will have my revenge on you. I will kill you. I will make you regret this.

Branches brushed against her body, sending sharp pains through her skin.

But Emma paid no heed; her mind raced wildly, plotting how to get back at him.

She couldn’t confront him head-on.

Frame him? Set a trap?

Louis wasn’t an adult; such tactics wouldn’t work.

Assassinate him?

He had no hobbies, never went out—no opportunity.

What about poison? No, she wanted him to feel despair and fear too!

Wait—Louis had once said his family was unusual, so he couldn’t return home. Then...

A sinister plan began to take shape in her heart.

Only then did she realize she hadn’t actually escaped the forest.

It was a tangled root beneath her foot that tripped her, finally bringing her back to the truth.

She... seemed to be lost.

The sky darkened; a cold wind hissed through the trees, like venomous snakes slithering along the seams of her clothes.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and hid behind a tree, shouting for help.

But there was no response.

The vast, empty forest offered no sign of life.

As night deepened, she felt cold and hungry. Forcing herself onward, she wandered aimlessly like a headless fly.

She looked up, trying to find the North Star as she had read in science magazines to orient herself, but thick clouds obscured the sky.

The night wind grew stronger.

She trembled uncontrollably, the cold unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Soon, it was completely dark. She could see nothing.

Rustling sounds whispered nearby.

Like a startled bird, she cowered, filled with fear for the first time.

She longed to go home, to a warm room, to her father’s dinner, to someone speaking to her...

Even that bastard Louis would do.

Tears welled up, but then a wolf’s figure flashed through the bushes, its green eyes glowing, confirming her worst fear.

She clamped her mouth shut, silent, but her eyes brimmed with tears.

So scared, so scared, so scared—she didn’t want to die.

A howl!

The wolf lunged at her, biting her arm fiercely, blood gushing as it tore chunks of flesh away.

“Ahhh!”

A scream pierced the night.

The wild wind swept through as Emma flailed, tears streaming down her face. She was going to be maimed—no, she was going to die—so much pain, unbearable pain...

Suddenly, the pain lessened. When she opened her eyes, all she saw was a blank void. There were no trees, no wolf—only an indifferent Louis and an endless cliff by the sea.

She immediately touched her arm: intact, but a dull phantom pain lingered.

“I... I’m not dead? No wolf?”

“Did you want to die that badly?”

Louis’s voice came coldly.

He looked at her with disdain and pointed at her face and the ground.

Emma froze, instinctively touching her face. It was sticky—snot and tears.

Below, the rock was stained dark and damp.

“Ahhh!”

She screamed again.

Louis raised his palm reflexively, then lowered it with disgust, kicking at her. Emma stopped screaming, wiping her face repeatedly.

“L-Louis, it’s you again?”

“Of course.”

“Why? I—I didn’t provoke you, did I?”

Now resembling a bedraggled calico cat, Emma looked at Louis with a mixture of fear and hatred.

“You actually ask why?”

“Don’t you realize your behavior is problematic?”

Emma shook her head, unaware at first, then caught on. “So, you’re punishing me? What does that have to do with you?”

Louis shook his head. “Hmph, just because I find you unpleasant to look at. This is just treatment.”

“Don’t worry, treatment will be daily. Until I see results, you won’t leave here except in an electric chair. By the way, what color electric chair do you prefer? Or how would you like to die?”

“Drowned like that orange cat?”

“Or with a broken neck like Emilia?”

“Or maybe the way you almost did just now—falling to your death?”

“You can take your time thinking it over.”

“I’ll be watching you, heh heh.”

Louis smiled as he stepped forward and patted her shoulder.

Emma trembled uncontrollably, unable to steady herself.

The look in Louis’s eyes was like that of a blazing demon scolding a mere lowly imp.

The sea wind howled around them; the expressions on these two children, no older than seven or eight, sent a chill down the spine.

“I—I understand. I’ll change.”

Her voice was low and trembling.

Clearly, she still knew fear and how to submit.

But Louis sneered, utterly disbelieving her empty words.

If antisocial brats were so easily fixed, human biology would have made great strides by now.

Still, unless it was an unchangeable genetic anomaly, even inherently evil children could be partially corrected through nurture.

Like the so-called “super-aggressive” type—similar to bad kids but prone to irritability and emotional instability.

In the future, it had been proven that such children could be guided to control their emotions, becoming almost indistinguishable from others by adulthood—just easily provoked.

But for someone like Emma, born with no respect for life and indifferent to her own kind, harsh discipline and mental training were needed, like taming a wild beast—imposing rules and restrictions artificially.

Fortunately, the perfected art of “Thread Manipulation” could accomplish this, tormenting her mind without leaving a single scar—unseen and untraceable.

Looking at Emma’s pitiful state, Louis gestured to one side, telling her to wash her face.

Clap! Clap!

The sound roused Mylo, who groggily stood and followed them step by step, like a duckling following its mother.

Soon, they returned to the small grove near the school.

At that moment, Louis released his control over Mylo.

It had to be said, the perfected “Thread Manipulation” was truly a powerful single-target illusion technique—highly practical.

Its only drawback was that it worked best with the aid of drugs, and its effect on adults with strong willpower was greatly reduced.

After all, if this technique were truly formidable, it wouldn’t be used for child trafficking.

But for now, it was enough.

Louis smiled cheerfully as the still-dazed Mylo returned to his mother.

Then he looked at the obedient, silent Emma and smiled. “Let’s go. Next, I expect a new performance from you.”