“This spatial magic is called the ‘Item Vault.’ It’ll be incredibly useful for you, Victoria. Master it thoroughly within a week—don’t disappoint me.”

Didn’t we agree you’d help me research the Arcane Automaton? Yet Aleister shifted the topic straight to spatial magic. To be fair, it *was* useful—it created a private pocket dimension, letting me open a spatial rift anytime, anywhere to store or retrieve items. I’d heard most mages’ Item Vaults were no bigger than a basketball, but mine spanned two meters across. Aleister was utterly stunned.

Mastering the Item Vault took a full week, but the results were worth it. Now I could stash all the kitchen food I stole inside. Time stood still within, so nothing spoiled or rotted—even days later, it stayed piping hot. Even better: while controlling Observer Unit 2, I could open the Item Vault right at its location to deposit food directly. No more cobwebs or rat droppings while crawling through air vents.

But I accidentally swiped the apple pie specially made for Elizabeth. Without it, she threw a massive tantrum, triggering the “Hunt for the Kitchen Thief” operation. Servants took turns guarding the kitchen, dead set on catching the culprit.

Ohohoho~ A bunch of fools!

Observer Unit 2 was equipped with next-gen optical cloaking—nearly invisible when active. The Item Vault’s aperture could be placed anywhere within a one-meter radius of the Observer, size adjustable at will. No matter how hard they tried, I still pilfered food with ease.

But why waste such a perfect chance? Framing others? That’s just standard villainess procedure, isn’t it? I’d long abandoned kindness. Justice and nobility turned to ash in the flames that killed me. I live for revenge alone!

The plan launched swiftly. From that day on, I only stole during Mary’s shifts—and in large quantities. Sharp-eyed servants noticed the pattern and reported it to my father, Count Lud.

Fine, I’ll admit my father was selfish and foolish. Yet here, he dutifully upheld his role as head of house. Mary’s quarters were searched. Stolen bacon, sausages—and half an apple pie—sat plainly on her table. Confronted with ironclad proof, Mary was dragged to the courtyard, bound to a stone pillar. Rusty shackles clamped her wrists. The biting wind tousled her disheveled hair; tears froze mid-fall.

“It wasn’t me! Truly, it wasn’t me!” she wailed. “Young Miss, save me! Please, save me!”

I watched the “performance” through my handmade glass window, savoring steaming apple pie and fragrant tea. Jack, the new head butler who replaced the lanky Thomas, was tall and burly—a stark contrast. Eager to impress, he strode to Mary, ripped her clothes open, exposing her pale back.

“Wait—what are you doing? I didn’t do it! Truly—Aaaaah—!”

Crack!

The whip cut through snow, leaving a bloody welt across Mary’s back. She shrieked like a slaughtered pig, tears and snot streaming, legs trembling. Before she could plead further, the second lash fell. Skin split open—a gaping wound. Blood sprayed into the wind, freezing before hitting snow.

“Forgive me! Please! My Lord Count, I confess everything! Forgive… please… Waaah—!”

Mary babbled incoherently, as if high on stimulants. Jack’s whip fell without mercy, carving fresh wounds.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Each crack echoed her wails through the courtyard. To my ears, that agony was beautiful music. Every scream chipped slightly at my rage—just a trace, yet it eased my torment. Even the apple pie tasted sweeter.

Ahh… this was the taste of revenge. Truly exquisite.

Utterly addictive!

Unconsciously, my lips curled upward. My calm smirk twisted into a demonic, grotesque grin. Anyone seeing me now would mistake me for a demon in disguise. I even wondered… had I become one?

After a dozen lashes, Mary’s cries faded. Kneeling in snow, suspended by rusted shackles, her back a mangled mess of blood and flesh. Her mind fogged; a yellow stream trickled down her thighs, staining snow gold.

“Forgive… me… Forgive…”

Even as her breath grew faint, the punishment continued. My cruel father sat silently behind the warm glass door, calmly observing the courtyard-turned-execution ground. Sweat beaded Jack’s brow—zealous, sadistic, merciless.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Blood splattered. Mary hung limp, screams reduced to faint whimpers.

“Enough,” Father finally said. “Leave her hanging.”

He rose and left. Minutes later, he picked up Elizabeth’s new gift from the foyer. His cold mask melted into a gentle, loving smile as he hurried to his daughter’s room. I’d never seen someone change faces so fast. Through the Observer’s lens… truly astonishing.

“Victoria,” the black cat leaped onto the windowsill, “that soul—offer it to me.”

“Precisely my intention,” I stroked the ring on my index finger. “You shall have your wish, Chris. Savor this soul of despair—but it’s still slightly underdone.”

The cat fixed its gaze on me, as if smirking.

“Excellent, Victoria. You’ve grasped the knack. Only the most despairing, agonized souls satisfy me. So—create pain. Create despair!”

Hehehe… Exactly as I wished.

Servants dispersed. Jack wiped his whip with a rag, tossed the gore-stained cloth onto snow, shot Mary one last glare, and strode into the manor.

Dusk deepened. Snow fell heavier. Wind sealed her torn wounds, burying bloodstains. Mary’s life slipped away—numb wounds, frozen limbs, cold dragging her toward the abyss. Though common-born, she’d bullied others under Elizabeth’s favor. No one came. I hid in shadows, watching until full night fell. Then I crept along the wall to the pillar.

“How utterly pitiful…”

I crouched, gazing into her dim eyes. Snow blanketed her body and hair. Shackled hands frozen solid. Only faint white breath from her nose and mouth proved she lived.

“Mary,” I stroked her forehead, “still alive?”

“Save…” She opened her eyes, summoning her last strength. I straightened, a cruel smile spreading.

“This farce—entertaining, wasn’t it?” I opened a spatial rift before her eyes, pulled out a crust of bread. “Truly amusing, right?”

Seeing my Item Vault magic, Mary’s eyes widened in terror. She seemed to understand—straining to lunge, but her legs were frozen solid.

“It… was… you… demon’s… spawn…”

“Correct. I orchestrated this. I reduced you to this.” Magic surged into the ring. “Hahahaha! Never expected the attic girl waiting to die would take your life? But Mary—did you think death brings relief? Don’t be foolish. Where’s that arrogant smirk? That cold laugh when you kicked my stomach? You weren’t even on my list. Ignore me like others? You might’ve lived long.” The ring glowed crimson. “By the name of Victoria Flamel von Lud, Priestess of the Abyss—I offer you as sacrifice! Repent in eternal torment, you bitch!”

I pressed the ring to her forehead. A burning sigil flared—the mark of Chris. Any soul branded thus could never escape the Abyssal Demon’s grasp.

“No… please… spare me…”

Mary glimpsed hellfire at the abyss’s depths—tormented souls feeding the Abyssal Demon, endlessly generating pain and despair.

“Rest assured—I’ll join hell soon. We’ll meet again.” I sneered through wind and snow. “But first… I’ll send your beloved Elizabeth down. Look forward to it.”

I tossed the bread before her, turned, and left—abandoning despairing Mary alone in the snow.

This was a test. Of myself. In my past life, I achieved earth-shattering feats… but I’d never killed anyone. Could I truly slay my enemies? Would I forgive them at the last moment?

Turns out, I worried for nothing. Killing my enemy felt… incredibly satisfying!

Watching these bastards die—this **… was utterly exquisite!