Two moons hung in the night sky, each guarding opposite horizons. Stars twinkled as pale moonlight spilled over the world. Along the frost-dusted dirt road, withered bushes hummed with hypnotic insect chirps. Aelina trudged forward, wrapped in a coarse linen cloak, pulling a rickety cart over the uneven ground. She cursed this primitive planet. She cursed this body. She cursed that damned Golden Ape—may his whole family suffer endless torment, choke on water, and die horribly.

"Those despicable apes!" Aelina gnashed her teeth at the thought. "Using my own money to hire thugs to catch me!" Just two days ago, she’d barely escaped a tunnel, searing her last scrap of beef into a steak, when bandits suddenly appeared on the hillside. They’d tracked her scent with some skeletal hunting dog. She’d fled, shoving the half-cooked beef into her mouth—a humiliating scramble.

Worse, they’d offered the cart’s food as a reward, rallying starving refugees to hunt for a silver-haired maiden. A hundred gold coins. Plus a cow and three sacks of wheat.

So Aelina pulled her cart, exploiting her mechanical body’s sleepless edge, racing day and night toward the east.

"Energy at 30%."

Annoying progress bars flickered before her eyes. She stopped cursing, halted, and sighed. Lifting her gaze, she watched the starry sky flash the time: 5:49 AM. Slowly, she turned to the disappointing cart behind her. It was heartbreakingly empty—just a silver metal block and a few deflated burlap sacks. She crouched, rummaging with fading hope. Nothing edible. She shook each sack hard. Ugly potatoes tumbled onto the metal block. Their gnarled faces looked like old crones beaten senseless.

"As a citizen who once ruled the galaxy," Aelina sighed again, "I’ve sunk so low—digging through empty sacks, shaking out moldy potatoes. And potatoes at that." She paused. "Who’s to blame? That brain-dead Golden Ape Fro? His brain capacity’s smaller than my big Golden Fur’s. But no—he’s a decent ape compared to others, just dumb as rocks.

Blame society’s toxic political correctness? Sure, it stinks worse than my Golden Fur’s droppings. But I flew into that danger zone myself. Hope they give up the search fast—freaks aren’t worth dying for.

So logically? I blame myself. If I’d loved my maid purely, I wouldn’t have coded those twisted sex settings. I wouldn’t have disabled my second body’s defense system. My isekai trip wouldn’t be so rough. Maybe I’d be napping on the Elven Queen’s chest right now."

Muttering to herself, Aelina hauled the cart up the hilltop. She leveled the ground with her Molecular Reconstructor, melted the metal block into a pot, and picked up a potato. "No appetite just looking at it. No wonder ancients thought it was poison."

She was sick of potatoes. Beef stew with potatoes. Spicy shredded potatoes. Potato pancakes. Mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Potato fries. That was the menu after the beef and wheat ran out. She sniffed a moldy tuber. The sour, earthy stench churned her stomach.

"No choice. Survival first." She aimed the Molecular Reconstructor at six potatoes, bathing them in soft blue light. Under the glow, lifelike potato sculptures emerged—Golden Ape Fro’s face. Pointy ears. Short fur. A pretty-boy mug. Even the scar. Almost perfect Fro.

If not for the crossed eyes, the stroke-like gaping mouth, and the hand scratching his butt.

Aelina raised the Molecular Reconstructor and smashed it down on the potato figure. "Fro! You Golden Ape bastard—die!"

*Splat!*

The cross-eyed Fro-potato snapped at the waist. She didn’t flinch. Smash. Smash. Smash harder. Shatter that pretty-boy face. Crush that butt. Her misery was all that Golden Ape’s fault! Sold as a slave at the start. Just as she gained footing, he’d fled in armor and weapons she’d crafted herself.

Without outsmarting that dumb ape, she’d be starring in *Reincarnated as a Cow Queen: A Mech Girl’s RBQ Life*.

All his fault!

Panting, she stopped. She swept a stray silver strand behind her ear, staring at the splattered potato mash.

"Guess it’s mashed potatoes for dinner."

She gathered the mash with the Molecular Reconstructor, dumped it into the searing pot, and dumped in random seasonings. Her "spices" came from roadside weeds, moss in rock cracks, and dull pebbles. By day, she’d scanned the dirt road with her device while fleeing, hunting materials. So far, only weird additives.

She turned the mash pure white.

"Actually, this is rice dough. Today’s not mashed potatoes—it’s rice cake. Yeah. Just like that." She stared at the heaping spoonful, closed her eyes, and shoved it down fast. Too fast to spit out. A wave of potato stench surged from her gut. She forced down each bite, spoon after spoon.

*Burp.*

A belch escaped. The foul odor flooded her nose. She clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing the thick, potato-scented sludge. Her throat rebelled, muscles clenching. Teeth gritted, she counted down: "Ten... five... four... three... two... one!"

Aelina couldn’t hold it. She dropped her hands, gripped the cart, and retched over the ground.

Nothing came up. Her mechanical stomach had already converted the mash into energy in ten seconds. The faint red energy bar swelled, crawling to 35%.

"Consumed 1,023 grams of potato mash. Gained 795 kcal."

"Wonderful. Swallowed six moldy potatoes through nausea for 9.93% of my daily energy." She watched the rising sun. "Ah, another hopeful day. Time to march with a smile, full of vigor, building my harem on this godforsaken rock. No food left—just twenty pounds of iron, 893 grams of leather, and 124 grams of junk. But as a mech girl burning 8,000 kcal daily? I’ll make it. Absolutely."

Some vent by locking themselves in rooms. Some find lovers for wild sex. Some smash keyboards. Aelina? She mocked. She loved sarcasm. Early in this world, she’d held back. Now, alone, she let loose.

"A settlement ahead?" Her eyes lit up.

Where there were people, there was hope. With her skills, she could feed herself. Maybe find more.

She rebuilt the lone hilltop tree into a wooden tower with her Molecular Reconstructor, climbing as it rose. At the top, she saw a rushing river. Dawn light turned its white rapids into molten gold. A black-wood bridge spanned from shore to a mid-river island, then to the far bank. On that island—where the bridge rested—stood a sturdy wooden wall. Inside, a military camp: thirteen identical white tents. Four archers patrolled the wall, swords at their hips, bows ready. A fresh stag-horn banner fluttered above them.

Aelina zoomed in. Pointed ears. An Elf army.

Both bridge ends teemed with makeshift tents. Most were crude—rough logs draped with hole-riddled canvas. One pale gray tent, taut ropes holding it straight, bore a flaming fist emblem. Probably a church; refugees knelt devoutly before it. Others huddled near burned brick ruins, using soot-blackened walls as windbreaks. Across the river sprawled a massive refugee camp, tents stretching along the shore. Wagons and carts lined the dirt road—a long queue. The Elves clearly blocked westward escapes.

"Lucky break." No sarcasm this time. She spotted a waking market—chaotic but alive.

She climbed down, dismantling the tower back into a withered tree.

Aelina pulled her light cart for half an hour until the noisy refugee hub appeared. She wasn’t worried about the bounty. Day-and-night travel had surely left rumors and pursuers far behind.

"What to sell? Weapons? Many need them, but not everyone can afford a sword. Might attract trouble. Shoes. Yes." She ducked behind a tree, crafting two leather boots and ten straw sandals with wood and hide. Sturdy boots for the wealthy. Sandals for the poor.

She loaded the twelve pairs into her cart, pulled up her hood, and masked her face. During her escape, she’d made a hooded robe to hide her looks and curves. She’d even stuffed cloth around her waist to flatten her chest.

Her cart’s suspension system rattled softly as the bustling market drew near. Her mood lifted. What was there to fear? With the Molecular Reconstructor, she’d reclaim everything. Immortality meant time was on her side.

Humming happily, she skipped along.

"La, la. Lalala, lalalalala."

The last "la" died abruptly. She froze, frowning at two sweaty men raising a tall wooden sign.

A black "X" was painted on it.

The exact mark she and Fro had casually agreed upon earlier.