Memories flickered like a rearview lantern, freezing on the day the Falmore Family fell.

The Falmore Family—once hailed as the "Imperial Hand"—was impeached for treason by the Imperial Court.

That night, flames licked the sky. A dazzling storm of magic erupted over the Falmore estate like fireworks.

Screams. Clashing steel. Wails. They rose and fell, drowning the entire street, the entire Imperial City.

The fire raged for six days and five nights.

Greedy civilians rushed into the blaze to loot, unchecked by Imperial soldiers. Perhaps the soldiers wanted to plunder too—desperate for a windfall—but their posts chained them. Her Majesty’s decree forbade touching anything Falmore: not an inch of soil, not a single brick…

They feared losing their iron rice bowls. So they watched helplessly as tides of looters stripped the Falmore estate bare…

Until sudden torrential rain drowned the flames.

Revealing crumbling ruins. Charred corpses. A land scarred beyond recognition…

Lenna witnessed both destruction and rebirth.

Her home was gone. Yet like a whale fall nurturing new life, the Falmore legacy was devoured by greedy nobles and commoners alike.

"Everyone will pay the price."

Lenna perched on the latticed balcony atop a Gothic spire, gazing into the distance.

The night sky was beautiful. The moon, perfectly round.

A serene portrait of imperial prosperity.

But who knew this glittering First Empire had already been gnawed hollow by endless vermin?

All just a facade…

The Hero’s arrival wouldn’t save the crumbling empire.

Famine. Plague. Riots. Civil war. Foreign invaders… All waited for the ancient imperial edifice to collapse.

Just like that whale fall—the Falmore Family was killed by the Empire, not the Hero.

The Hero merely hastened their end. Like a pistol delivering a one-shot kill—aimed precisely where schemers wanted it, fired with smug satisfaction at targets painted purely evil.

[*Look, I’m the Hero!*]

[*A Hero must save the masses, right? No villain gets a happy ending—not even reformed ones. They’re still threats to the world.*]

Lenna mocked the Hero’s tone from her balcony.

Manic laughter one moment. Retching sobs the next. Tears and snot streaking her face.

She hated everything about the Hero—equally, utterly.

And beneath her feet?

That hollow First Empire.

Worthless. Fragile.

One stomp, and it would shatter.

......

While waiting for Lingling to finish her bath,

Lenna’s mind raced.

Less than three months until the Hero transferred to Saint Lorenzo Academy. She had to clear obstacles first. Secure her footing.

She was already infamous—but only as the "Falmore monster." People didn’t fear *her*; they feared the Falmore name behind her.

Besides, even the foulest hat gets tiresome to wear forever.

Lenna craved what Angela had: adoration. Or what the Necromancy Dean—the Witch Hag—commanded: terror that made whispers die.

Benefits? Plenty.

First: no more idiotic harassers.

Second: harvesting the beauties orbiting the Hero like ripe crops.

Third: signaling the Imperial Court—*The Falmores have another genius mage. Tread carefully.*

As for the fourth…

When the Hero heard of such a formidable, renowned senior, he’d surely seek an audience. And if she held all *his* women in her grasp by then? She’d have leverage. Power.

Just imagining herself surrounded by beauties while the Hero stood awkwardly watching—

"Hahaha!"

Lenna slapped her thigh on the bed, bursting into laughter.

*This* was how a villain should live!

Last life, she’d been too timid. Groveling at the Hero’s feet. Still, the Empire stabbed her family in the back—drowning them in unshakable slander.

So the Hero wasn’t the real threat.

Death? Meh.

She’d died once already.

This life? She’d live wildly before the end.

Go all out! All the way!

But she’d need subtlety before revealing her true colors.

"The Hero’s fiancée… His childhood sweetheart. Angela’s elder sister, right? They never got along…"

Lenna flipped through mugwort-scented files—profiles of future bigshots from her past life.

The Hero’s sister-in-law was already in her pocket.

Time to aim higher.

Like the Hero’s fiancée—Vanessa Cavendy, Angela’s blood sister.

And the woman above the Empire itself: Her Majesty the Empress.

That wretched old hag caused half her past suffering!

The greatest threats always saved the finale.

The Imperial Princess—the "Empire’s Bloom"—secretly plotting a coup. Her personal spy network, the Imperial Eye, saw all. After the brutal foreign wars, *she* ignited the civil war. *She* struck first.

Next? An even heavier hitter.

General Euphemia, commander of the Northern Expeditionary Force stationed in the Iralaba snowfields.

Her authority rivaled the Empress’s. A million battle-hardened soldiers under her command—each worth ten pampered Imperial troops. If Lenna could secure Euphemia’s alliance…

Oh, and that most unreliable entity: the Dark Lord!

Never seen. Never found.

No Dark Lord meant an invincible Hero.

Someday, the Hero *would* rise to godlike heights. The world’s will. The Plane’s Chosen. An unchangeable truth.

"So… could I find the Dark Lord? Let *him* handle the Hero?"

Would serving the Dark Lord cheat death…?

Lenna shook her head hard, crushing the thought. *Survival instincts? Pathetic.*

She glanced toward the bathroom. That Fox Maiden had been scrubbing for nearly an hour. Didn’t she fear rubbing her fur raw?

*Swish—*

The bathroom door slid open.

A petite Fox Maiden emerged in a black silk slip dress. She crept forward on all fours, climbed onto Lenna’s lap, then peered up with golden eyes shimmering with moisture.

"May… may we begin, Young Miss…?"

Her voice trembled, on the verge of tears.

"Where’s my ointment?" Lenna rummaged through drawers. She’d applied some just this morning…

"Young Miss."

Lingling produced a vial—heart-shaped, filled with thick pink liquid.

"P-please… use it on Lingling’s body."