The envoy’s death instantly ignited the powder keg. Though House Lude claimed it was a misunderstanding, it couldn’t erase the fact: the negotiator had died right at their castle gates. House Saxony moved to initiate arbitration—with the Duke of Northberg presiding.

In truth, both House Lude and House Saxony were vassals of House of Northenberg. Imperial nobility held no formal hierarchy—but in this northwestern frontier, that rule held little weight. The ducal house itself had pioneered this land. Shortly after the empire’s founding, the first Duke of Northberg led his forces into this abandoned wasteland to expand northwestward. After 140 years of toil and expansion, the current order finally took shape.

Yet the northwest remained desperately poor. Since the Great Expansion ended, the regional layout barely shifted. Harsh climate, hostile terrain, and endless monsters spilling from Demon Realms of all sizes made survival grueling. Population growth crawled. New frontier plans stalled indefinitely.

“Sis~ Sis~~~”

Lilia ambushed me from behind as I waited at the counter. She looped her arm through mine, pressing the cold metal of her chest armor against my doll body. Icy steel dug into my arm—far from pleasant… honestly, uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon, Knight-sama.”

“Just call me Lilia.”

Staring into her hopeful eyes, I felt like facing an eager giant puppy—so vividly I almost saw beast ears and a tail sprout.

“Knight-sama, I’m merely a commoner.”

“But aren’t we already best friends?”

“I’m sure you don’t have many friends…”

“How did you know?!”

Bingo. I’d hit the mark. Lilia, a combat-focused knight defying imperial noblewomen’s norms, naturally received no social invitations. In my memory, noble ladies gathered for tea or embroidery chats—few wielded swords or fought monsters.

“Sis… you’re all I have. Don’t abandon me~~~~”

“Yes, yes. I won’t.”

“Yay!”

Just then, Amyti appeared at the window, membership card and coins in hand. She opened her mouth—but seeing Lilia clinging to my arm, fell silent.

“Thank you for supporting the Guild. Congratulations—your master has reached Rank C.”

“I’ll convey it.”

As I took the card and coins, Amyti steeled herself.

“Um… P-please… may I know your name?”

“Hm?”

I froze slightly. I posed as servant to Victoria Flamel von Lud—but this doll body had no name.

“Sis,” Lilia’s eyes welled up, “you never told me your name! How can I introduce you to Father?!”

Trapped between two fronts. No escape.

“Jenny,” I said. “No surname.”

Amyti’s face lit up like she’d conquered the impossible. Heh. She wore every thought plainly—and I didn’t dislike that transparency. Mant sent her, no doubt. That sly old fox hoped a name would unravel my past.

Too bad. “Jenny” didn’t exist.

“No way!” Lilia gasped. “Sis… are you Sister Jenny’s reincarnation? Wait—the timeline’s off! She died six years ago, but you look eighteen!”

*(Truthfully, I’m six. My apologies.)*

“Miss Jenny,” Amyti straightened, switching to a professional smile. “Thank you for your continued support of the Alchemists Guild. We sincerely hope to keep working together.”

“I’ll inform my master.”

“No—this greeting is for *you*,” she beamed. “Thanks to you, I ranked third in sales this month!”

“Congratulations,” I bowed lightly. “Keep it up.”

“Thank you, Miss Jenny!”

Her flower-bright smile lifted her whole spirit. So a name held such power? I should’ve named this doll sooner.

Leaving the Guild, I stepped onto marble stairs dusted with ice chips. A cleaner swept the center hourly; he’d just finished, resting under an eave. Futile effort. Snowflakes drifted ceaselessly—steps would vanish under white again soon.

*Why do humans chase pointless labor? So foolish…*

“Jenny,” Lilia tucked hair behind her ear, smiling. “Take me home?”

“Regrettably, my master dislikes visitors.”

“Eh?! Why?!”

“She simply dislikes *noisy* guests.”

I stressed “noisy.” Lilia’s face crumpled.

“Wah… my heart feels wounded…”

A faint tremor stirred in my chest—a whisper of guilt. Hurting such a candid girl felt wrong. Though Freud’s wife now, she radiated girlish warmth. She was only sixteen—five years his junior. Marriage at fifteen was lawful here.

She’d die at eighteen. Only two years left. A pang of wanting to help flickered—then hollow emptiness returned. In those roaring flames, I’d cast away kindness. Now, only vengeance remained.

“Oh! Jenny—remember that magic stone? From the Abyssal Brigade’s artificial Demon Realm you cleared?”

“I presented it to my master.”

“Um… House of Northenberg wishes to purchase it.”

“…I see.”

I needed that stone—but if the Duke wanted it, better to yield. I knew better than most: *to hold treasure is to invite disaster.*

“I must consult my master. May I reply tomorrow?”

“Yes!”

Amid wind and snow, Lilia’s smile felt like spring sun. Ice in my heart softened—a dangerous sign. To walk this revenge path, my heart must be steel. Or rage might make me kill Elizabeth too soon. She must live. Suffer. Survive until she meets Edward. Only casting that vile pair into hell together would quench my fury.

“Jenny! Let me treat you!”

“I’ve got—*wah!*”

Lilia yanked the doll body across the street. My consciousness drifted helplessly until she planted me before a snack stall.

“This one! Boss—twenty skewers of seasoned grilled meat!”

“Right away, young miss!”

I stared, dumbfounded. One skewer would overwhelm me. *Twenty?* Unimaginable appetite.

*Did those muscles come from this?*

Snow swirled around the doll’s black hair. No cold—no touch. Taste and smell existed only as environmental sensors. Wait—the real issue: *this body can’t eat. It’s a doll!*

“Lilia! Skipping work again?”

“H-Husband?!”

“Don’t run—!”

Startled, she tried to flee—but Freud seized her by the scruff, lifting her like a kitten.

“Victoria. We meet again,” he turned to me. “How have you been?”

“Poorly,” I replied coldly. “Since you drenched the cooks in leftovers, I’ve been banned from the kitchen for a month. Only cold, hard bread.”

Freud frowned. Lilia blinked in confusion.

“So,” I held his gaze, “cease involving yourself with me.”

“My apologies… I’ll resolve it. Soon.”

He bowed slightly and carried Lilia away.

“Um…” the stall owner hesitated. “The twenty skewers… are ready.”

*She didn’t pay.*

Damn it. Tricked again!

“I’ll take them all. I’ll pay.”

A hearty voice boomed beside me. The owner flinched, bowing so fast his hair nearly kissed the coals. I turned the doll body—and saw him. Full beard. A silver mane like a lion’s. I knew that face: Freud’s father. The previous Duke of Northberg. The “Silver Sword Specter.”

“Harry. Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir!”

In my past life, his portrait hung in the ducal gallery. Today, face to face—he was every bit the white-maned lion: majestic, formidable, extraordinary.