Three days later, my father, Count Lud, returned. He didn’t even glance at me—just strode straight to his study. In my previous life, Father had always been this cold. At least when I broke my spine back then, he came to see me. This time? A broken leg, and not a single look. Thomas carried a stack of documents and ledgers to report to the Count—but I knew the truth. The Count couldn’t make heads or tails of ledgers. Hopeless with numbers. Every time Thomas pilfered coins from the treasury, the Count remained utterly oblivious.

Katherine and Thomas were in cahoots. Like two fat rats gorging themselves in the Count’s vault, they invented pretexts to loot the family fortune. And my foolish, selfish father noticed nothing.

How laughable.

Back then, I was just as blind. I tried saving the debt-ridden Lud household—poured endless capital into it. All vanished like water through a bamboo sieve. Only after reincarnation did I see it: this family was rotten to the core. Beyond saving. Better to burn it down myself than let my half-brother seize the title.

“So, Victoria… what *are* you up to?”

The black cat lazily swayed its tail atop the desk, golden eyes gleaming like molten gold—the true eyes of a demon. It never gave me its true name, nor any binding alias. I held no command over it.

“Chris, what do *you* think I’m doing?”

“Using me as a power bank while causing chaos.”

“Power bank? What’s that?”

“Well…” The cat pondered. “A device from another universe that charges phones.”

“Oh? And what’s a phone?”

“This’ll never end. I refuse.” It rolled over, belly exposed. “Using the great Abyssal Demon as a power bank? Rude.”

“But I need magic,” I said, smoothing the transmutation circle onto the desk. “As my contract holder, shouldn’t you pitch in?”

“Call it an investment. But I want better returns.”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

I weighted the parchment’s corners to keep it flat. Outsiders might mistake it for a demon-summoning ritual. It wasn’t. Just Ancient Alchemy—the primordial art, nothing like modern “alchemy” where they boil random junk in cauldrons. A branch of magic modern minds can’t grasp. Yet for me? Easy. I had *talent*.

Ancient Alchemy required three things: materials, structure, craftsmanship.

Materials were simple—copper, iron, carbon, silicon. Nature provided them; alchemy *created* them. Turning magic into matter—that was the wonder. But raw creation meant little to me now. I was six. Leg broken. Weak. Unsteady hands. Couldn’t craft parts alone. Hence: structure and craftsmanship.

Structure defined the shape—triangles, spheres, complex forms—encoded into the alchemical program. Craftsmanship dictated the process: forging, casting, rolling, cutting, heat treatment…

Combine all three with activation and control formulas? A full Ancient Alchemy system. Enough to create life. But crafting an Alchemical Lifeform was taboo. I never tried.

“Activate!”

“Transmute!”

Ink lines glowed—blue, then crimson. Chris’s magic surged into the circle. Crackling light danced. A metal component rose slowly within the array. *Clink.* It dropped onto the parchment as the light faded.

“Whoa. Magic-powered 3D printing?” The cat eyed the part. Terms I didn’t know—but demons traverse universes. They see things.

“3D printing?”

“Refuse to explain. Hmph~~”

“Why? Don’t like talking to me?”

“Too much trouble.”

It leaped down, sauntered to the sofa, curled into a velvet-cushioned ball. The magic link stayed intact. Not unwilling to help—just classic tsundere.

Honestly… felt like I’d adopted a real cat.

Crimson light flickered. Parts materialized one by one. I sped it up—multiple at once. Thanks to Chris, all finished fast. For two hours, I assembled them. Count Lud barred me from family meals anyway. Hours stretched before the maid brought cold leftovers. Freedom.

How absurd—I once thought this treatment “normal.” Blamed my eyes. Blamed *myself*. Then I burned to death… and woke up. One truth burned clearer:

The fault wasn’t mine.

This was never my home.

By lunchtime, done. Final lens slotted in. I admired my work: a fist-sized golem, spherical—a floating eyeball. I fed magic into its core. A soft *hum*. Crimson light glowed in its main lens. Optics shifted focus with faint *shushes*.

I named it “Observer”—my past-life masterpiece. Its optical camouflage enabled stealth scouting. Some perverts repurposed it for bathhouse spying, dubbing it “Peeping Tom.” I kept “Observer.” Why spy? I could walk in openly.

“Engrave: optical invisibility, visual sharing, remote operation!”

Glowing formulas seared onto the metal disc around its cognitive core—*hiss*. Verified. Hatch closed. Standby mode.

“Initiate link… Hm? Failed.”

The feed flickered out. Of course. At six, my magic was a trickle. By eight, it would explode. Had paralysis not halved my circuits, I’d have been mage material. So I chose magitek engineering. Alchemy.

I needed a medium. A magitek device. None on hand. Crafting one? Hours. Rehab awaited.

“Use my ring,” the cat said. “Forged from my condensed magic. Better affinity than anything here. Won’t fail you.”

“Thanks, Chris.”

“Hmph. Just protecting my investment. Not *helping* you.”

*Textbook tsundere.* Even Chris had immature sides. “Analyze” revealed the ring’s magic density—staggering. A true demon’s gift.

“Revise protocol. Visual sync!”

Interface bloomed in my vision. Ancient script flashed. Progress bar filled. Observer’s feed overlaid my sight—semi-transparent. Not full immersion. I liked the HUD style.

“Augmented reality? Seriously?” the cat quipped. “Victoria, if we hadn’t known each other years, I’d swear you’re a transmigrator. These ideas? Wildly ahead. Genius?”

My genius built an empire. Made me the empire’s richest. And made me a target. Elizabeth and Edward—that vile pair—hunted me for my wealth. I yielded for the empire. Swallowed pride. Until they murdered me.

This blood debt? Must be repaid.

But first: escape. Broken leg or not, Katherine won’t spare me. Count Lud won’t lift a finger. Survive? Flee. Fast.

“Test arms. Deploy modules.”

Mechanical limbs unfolded. Nimble. Precise under my will.

“Good. Standby in the underground storeroom.”

*Beep—beep!*

Observer activated camouflage—faded to a wisp, vanished.

Door swung open. No knock. The maid glared, dumped cold scraps, left.

Good riddance. I never wanted your “respect,” wretched servant.