“Carlson, go inform His Lordship the Count.”

“Yes, Captain.”

I watched Jack order a soldier to notify my father. The man set down the drawn heavy crossbow and dashed down the wall.

Under my control, the Observer quietly glided to the crossbow. I stowed it in the Item Vault, then guided the Observer to the adjacent watchtower. No soldiers were stationed there—but the spot offered a perfect angle to strike House Saxony’s troops below.

I retrieved the crossbow, directing the Observer to mount it on the snow-dusted battlements with its two short mechanical arms. Thanks to that soldier for drawing the string and loading the bolt: an iron arrow engraved with House Lude’s crest. It would become decisive evidence.

Still, the Observer’s arms were stubby, its arcane motor weak. I could only roughly aim at House Saxony’s formation. Didn’t matter. As long as the bolt landed among them, mission accomplished. I wanted the *fact* of “House Lude’s attack”—not a real kill.

Aim. Fire~

Bang—!

The bowstring snapped forward, hurling the bolt. Recoil flung the crossbow into the snow. The Observer jerked backward but stabilized fast—luckily avoiding collision. I steered it back to the battlements and peered through its lens. Knight Lawrence, who’d just lifted his helmet to speak, now lay sprawled. An arrow pierced diagonally across his nose. Likely dead…

Ah… this… I really didn’t mean to!

Before Count Lud even emerged, House Saxony’s troops scrambled into retreat. They lashed the poor man’s corpse onto a horse, abandoning his bloodstained helmet half-buried in snow—a silent witness to their fleeing dust. Chaos erupted on our walls. Jack barked orders for weapon checks, hunting the shooter’s origin. Calmly, I shaped a shoe mold with ice magic. The Observer dangled it, faking footprints across the tower—blame successfully shifted. Then fire magic melted the mold. All traces gone.

Now… let the show begin.

Count Lud’s roar shook the attic. Suppressing a smirk, I finalized the Arcane Formula. Conversion efficiency: 95.1%. Perfect—homework done for tonight. I tucked the parchment into the Item Vault and slipped into the Eternal Night Library.

Over the next three days, I casually deployed the Observer. Events unfolded exactly as planned. Jack’s team found the crossbow and my planted footprints—but no shooter. Every adult was interrogated. Useless. A heavy crossbow required bracing the stirrup and waist strength to draw. A six-year-old girl? Instantly cleared.

House Saxony sent an ultimatum: explain or face invasion. But between our houses lay a primeval forest, linked only by an ancient post road. House Lude had fortified it with a sturdy checkpoint—gate, front and rear ramparts intact.

My father scrambled: hunting a culprit for peace talks while mustering defenses. Selfish and foolish as he was, this task he managed. Ten castle soldiers plus village militia swelled our checkpoint force to fifty.

The checkpoint sat midway on the road, ten kilometers from the nearest village. Winter snows choked paths, yet the ancients’ road stayed wide and flat—sleds moved troops and supplies smoothly. House Saxony? Thirty kilometers through barren borderlands. Snowbound. Costly. And that was *before* counting supplies. War burns coin.

The day after deployment, House Saxony arrived. The log palisade sealed the road shut. No bypass. Only assault.

They tested us. Jack’s men repelled them easily. Five corpses left behind. Retreat beyond crossbow range. A squad tried circling through the woods—until a scout triggered a snow-hidden bear trap, losing a leg. They abandoned flanking attempts. Stalemate set in.

Ten days later, messengers shuttled back and forth. House Saxony’s resolve wavered. Bargaining began. Through the Observer, I eavesdropped. Knight Lawrence? Husband of Duke Saxony’s eldest daughter. The Duke demanded the culprit and 10,000 gold coins—nearly five years of House Lude’s income. Elizabeth had long emptied the treasury. Taxes barely covered basics.

My father: no money, no culprit. Trapped.

Yet victory gave us leverage. Sharp words flew—but envoys remained unharmed, per custom. A week passed. Talks stalled.

Hehehe. How delightful.

As the troublemaker, I had little to do but study in the Eternal Night Library and attend Aleister’s nightly lessons. I was House Lude’s idlest soul. No one noticed me. Some probably hoped to find my frozen corpse while cleaning the attic next spring.

“Take it. Scram.”

I caught the tossed black bread and turned. The kitchen cook glared like I was a pestilential little monster. To them, I was the devil’s child—the obstacle to Elizabeth’s inheritance. A stale crust was “kindness.” They’d forgotten: *I* am House Lude’s rightful heir.

No matter. I was nudging this house toward collapse.

First Reese. Then this clash. Hehehe. Let’s see how long their coffers last. Feeding fifty soldiers in winter? Costly.

Passing Elizabeth’s lavish third-floor chamber, I heard crashing. She wailed over reduced sweets, blind to the household’s ruin. Such an insatiable little brat. Smirking, I walked on—until Erica, her maid, blocked me.

“What’s that smirk for, you little bastard?” *Slap.* “I’ll wipe that smile off!”

My cheek swelled. My frail body crumpled. She stomped my bread, kicked my stomach hard.

“The young mistress suffers because of *you*,” she snarled, yanking my hair up. “Everyone here prays for your death. Just die quietly. Why cling to life so shamelessly? *Die!*”

Two more slaps. A violent shove against the wall.

“Disgusting.” She spat the word and left.

Damn you, Erica. Think I’ll break? Hehehe. Don’t be absurd. I won’t die. I’ll live—*better* than all of you.

Wiping blood from my lip, I pushed upright. My tattered cotton jacket gaped open, useless against the cold. Stored for decades, rotten in patches. On my tiny frame, it once hung like a robe. Now? Ruined. I’d liked this jacket… Damn you.

Leaning on the wall, I limped back to the attic. Locked the door. Crawled onto the bed. Stomach throbbing. Just a few more months. I must stay—until I see House Lude shatter.

Damn… it hurts. Another tooth loose.

Permanent teeth regrow. But the pain? Real.

Erica… you asked for this. To hasten House Lude’s fall, I needed more fire. I linked the standby Observer above the castle gate. Hearth heat had melted wall ice; refrozen drips formed icicles. One—nearly a meter long.

Perfect.

I engraved a fire-attribute Arcane Formula onto it. Clutched the activation sigil. Waited.

Two hours later: House Saxony’s envoy rode his pony into the gate tunnel, two guards flanking.

*Now.*

I triggered the sigil. The icicle snapped. The shard plunged—piercing his skull cleanly.

Innocent one… at least your end was painless.

Heh.