Mary was dead—frozen to death in the courtyard.

To nobles, punishing or even killing a commoner was no big deal, especially since Mary had “stolen” kitchen food. For thieving servants, nearly every noble house used such methods to make an example.

The next morning, I watched Mary’s stiff corpse being taken down from the stone pillar. Heavy snow had frozen her joints solid; she remained locked in her final pose like a statue, loaded onto a cart and hauled away.

Brother John and his father, Kent, handled the body. In my past life, Brother John had been whipped for shattering Elizabeth’s favorite flowerpot—and later died from infected wounds.

Most Imperial nobles showed zero mercy toward commoners, wielding land and private armies to crush any resistance. Nobles lived in lavish excess while peasants huddled in damp, chilly hovels, surviving on moldy bread scraps. No one doubted Mary stole food—bacon and sausages were winter hard currency.

After framing her, I grew cautious. One big haul secured my winter stores. Aside from occasionally swiping a fresh loaf, I barely stole anymore. A few missing buns, handled discreetly, went unnoticed.

Winter provisions: secured.

Next…

Time to build the Arcane Automaton!

Under Aleister’s guidance, I crafted the body using Ancient Alchemy. To match “the mysterious alchemist’s servant,” I designed a tall young woman around eighteen. A larger frame allowed extra functions: more mana circuits and the hidden weapon—Mantis Blade.

Deep winter blanketed the Ludwig Barony in white. Beyond the window, the monochrome forest flickered through swirling snow; distant peaks melted into the blizzard, leaving only hazy outlines.

I stayed secluded in the attic, focused on the automaton. Chris occasionally helped, but mostly vanished. After so long in cat form, I half-wondered if he’d truly become one.

A month later, the Arcane Automaton neared completion—until a new problem arose.

How to craft the face mold?

Surely not my own?

“Simple,” Aleister mused, stroking his chin. “Old portraits litter the attic. Try one of those faces.”

His words reminded me: while cleaning, I’d found many ancient paintings—some decades old, others dating to the Imperial Civil War.

I crawled out of my cozy nook through the hidden passage. Without the windbreak, cold bit sharply. Pulling my shawl tight, I crossed to the attic’s dark end, far from the chimney’s warmth.

“Shuiyin Deng.”

A white light orb bloomed beside me, pushing back the chill darkness. Dusty frames emerged from the shadows. Aleister’s translucent form phased effortlessly through the barrier. As a ghost, his only limit was appearing at night—his wall-walking ability made me deeply envious.

“Victoria,” he lifted the top painting, “what about this one? I think she’s splendid.”

I shifted the Shuiyin Deng closer. The portrait showed a beautiful woman around twenty-five: silky black hair, night-dark eyes, gentle curves, a faint elegant smile.

Her face faintly resembled mine—but her aura was utterly different.

Decision made. This was her.

With Aleister’s help, I carried the painting back to my shelter. The windbreak of old furniture carved a warm corner in the attic. (Unlivable in summer—I’d prepare another spot then. The attic was vast enough to partition or relocate, as long as I avoided the rotting ceiling.)

Crafting the face mold took all night.

The material—a silicone-like biomimetic compound—Aleister swore was “incredibly useful.” Skeptical at first… turns out, he was right. It mimicked skin perfectly, resisted blade cuts, and self-repaired with a mana infusion. Ideal.

The bare facial mechanisms looked unsettling. Carefully, I fitted the mold. Instantly, the automaton shifted from cold machinery to eerily human.

“Subarashi!” Aleister clapped. “Well done, Victoria! Soon you’ll move freely. Just add full-body skin, and your double’s complete. But first—clothes. A gentleman like me feels… awkward otherwise.”

“Skin only on exposed parts,” I said. “Wrists, chest. As for the… chest area…”

“Victoria, trust me—bigger is better!”

Like I’d believe that!

I chose a practical B-cup. Aleister looked crushed. What was he expecting? After final tweaks, dawn broke. I ate a sandwich, snuffed the light magic, and burrowed into bed.

I woke near noon.

First stop: the attic-end washroom I’d secretly upgraded—complete with shower. Ancient Alchemy solved water supply: mana could generate nearly anything. Gold demanded absurd mana; water? Trivial.

The toilet connected to the rain pipe, flushing waste out the castle’s rear drainage into the forest. With a thirty-meter cliff behind the castle, no one would ever find it.

Mary’s soul now burned in abyssal hellfire. Her replacement: Erica Pasos, Baron Pasos’s fifteen-year-old second daughter. Though Elizabeth was too young for a formal lady-in-waiting, doting Count Lud ordered his retainer to offer her daughter.

Erica quickly fell under Elizabeth’s Beguiling Eye—a devoted lapdog. Yet as a well-bred noble, she never used violence like arrogant Mary. Everyone wished me dead to clear Elizabeth’s path… too bad. I refused to die. Hehe~

But Royce’s return changed everything.

Katherine—that shameless schemer! Winter halted all judiciary hearings in the Duchy of Northberg, pausing Count Lud’s divorce case. She seized the gap to send Royce back.

“I am this household’s mistress! Why can’t I return?!”

Shrill shouts echoed. Rubbing my eyes, I slipped into oversized slippers, clomped to the window, and stood on my stool. Through double-paned glass, four carriages blocked the gate—bearing the House of Saxony crest. No guard knights, only soldiers and drivers.

Clearly, Katherine—having cuckolded Count Lud—was unwelcome at home. In the Empire, noble men’s affairs were overlooked; noblewomen’s? Unforgivable. Especially with a commoner lover. Bluntly: “This woman was screwed by a dog (beep).”

Count Lud’s case was nearly won. Yet Katherine made one last move: force Royce back into House Lude.

She’d fled with him, fearing loss of her “old-age tool.” Now, deeming things stable, she sent him to compete with Elizabeth. Royce remained first heir—ahead of me. She aimed to plant him firmly before being cast out.

He was only eight… no, nine? Used as a pawn by his own mother.

Poor kid.

Katherine ranted at the gate, shoving shivering Royce forward as a shield. I felt no pity—he’d bullied me daily with Elizabeth. Jack, Thomas’s replacement, stood smirking, blocking the path with soldiers. The Saxony carriages stalled outside.

“Madam, please calm down. His Lordship comes shortly.”

“I enter NOW! Step aside, wretch!”

As chaos peaked, my father emerged: Count Lud in ancestral armor beneath a padded robe, sword at his waist, ten soldiers behind him. (We only kept twenty total—this was half our force.)

Oh ho~ Looks like forceful eviction time.