Facing the sudden appearance of the Duke of Northberg, I bowed politely.

“Oh? So you already know who I am, girl? You look so much like Jenny.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Here. Eat up.”

The Duke handed me ten sizzling kebabs, glistening with aromatic spices and dripping oil, their mouthwatering scent curling through the cold air. I accepted them gracefully and stored them in my Item Vault before they cooled.

“Spatial magic—the Item Vault,” the Duke mused between bites. “Hmph. Rare indeed. Are you a mage?”

“No, Your Grace. Merely a servant.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that,” he said, tossing the skewer into the bamboo tube beside the stall. “They say you serve an alchemist. But… does your master even exist?”

A chill crept up my spine at his smile. Had he… seen through everything? Impossible.

“It is I who do not exist,” I replied calmly.

“No breath. No heartbeat. Only the faint hum of machinery. Girl, you are not human.”

“As you have discerned, Your Grace.”

No wonder he was the Empire’s hero, wielder of the Sword’s Ocular. Lying would only backfire—truth was my safest shield.

“How about working for my household?”

“I would be honored… but not yet.”

“Oh? Why?”

He tossed the second skewer into the tube, eyes fixed on me with quiet curiosity, studying my features.

“There are matters I must finish first.”

“I see.” He devoured the third kebab with lion-like boldness. “House Lude and House Saxony have submitted their dispute to the judiciary. I’ll mediate. As alliance leader of the West, I won’t let two earldoms tear the region apart. Rest easy.”

Was he comforting me? Or probing deeper?

Had Freud told him? How did he uncover me? I may have unknowingly used my mother Jenny’s likeness for the puppet’s face—but suspicion alone couldn’t reveal the controller.

Could Freud possess a special ability? A certain Demon Eye?

Clues were scarce. I sorted the facts in my mind:

First, my identity was exposed—known to the Duke and the young duke, though Lilia seemed unaware.

Second, opposing the Duke’s peace efforts meant defying House Northberg. Dangerous.

Third, I couldn’t escape Casworth yet. Not now.

Damn it. I was so close to toppling House Lude.

“Thank you for your grace, Your Grace,” I bowed again. “I truly hope this turmoil ends soon. The West is fragile. If these earldoms rally kin into war, the devastation will be catastrophic.”

“Hah! You’ve struck a chord, girl,” he chuckled, tossing another skewer into the crowded tube. “Chaos dooms us all. Only unity keeps us alive in this harsh land.” He handed me the remaining kebabs. “Farewell. I hope to meet your true self next time.”

He turned and vanished into the swirling snow.

I glanced at the kebabs in my hand—oil already solidified. The northern wind froze everything in moments.

“Miss, shall I reheat them for you?” the vendor offered.

“Please.”

I passed them back. The oil melted swiftly over the coals. Before they cooled again, I stored them safely in the Item Vault.

“Disconnect. Linkoff!”

I awoke from the void—no discomfort this time. Routine first: restroom. Returning, I found Chris sprawled on my recliner, batting my Psionic Headband with a tiny cat paw. I snatched it away just in time.

“Chris, don’t play with that. It’s fragile.”

“Hmph. My magic is limitless. I could craft you a new one anytime.”

Eh? Was he sulking?

I lifted him onto my lap and stroked his head. Chris melted instantly, golden eyes narrowing to slits. From the Item Vault, I pulled the “ultimate cat toy” bought on the commercial street—the cat teaser wand. The shuttlecock swayed. His eyes widened. A tiny paw reached out—then froze. As if remembering something, he flipped to the floor and transformed into a golden-haired, golden-eyed youth of twelve.

“Victoria… do you really see me as a cat?”

“Hm? Didn’t you enjoy it?” I smiled, waving the wand. *Five copper coins, you know.*

Watching his “black history,” Chris’s face flushed crimson. Tiny fists trembled.

“Hmph. Ignoring you~”

He shifted back into a black cat, slipped through the old-furniture windbreak, and vanished into the dark. I stared at the wand, then the hole. …Had I gone too far?

*I’ll apologize later.*

“Time to check the manor.”

I reclined and linked with the Observer. With only visual sharing, remote flight, and basic arm control, a single Arcane Formula sufficed—no puppet-grade gear needed. Vision synced. I guided it into the duct above Count Lud’s office.

Instantly, the invisible Observer witnessed Jack being berated mercilessly.

“Still no culprit? You’re a true waste of space!”

“My deepest apologies.”

“Enough. Get out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack exited, face dark. My selfish, foolish father rose, paced twice around his desk, then sat to write. I angled the Observer to read the letter.

The words extinguished my last thread of attachment.

Mostly hollow pleasantries. The final two paragraphs mattered: House Lude offered only 3,000 gold in compensation. And as “peace assurance,” they’d send their heir—eldest daughter Victoria—as a hostage to House Saxony.

*That bastard. Remembered me only to trade me away.*

*What am I to you?*

*I am your daughter. How could you?*

Black fury ignited. I severed the link, choked back a scream, and strode to the old desk. Crimson transmutation circles bloomed under my magic. Flickering red lightning forged an ominous sphere—thirty-two control rods buried deep in its core. Eject them, and the compressed magic stone would obliterate everything within ten kilometers.

I gazed at the newly formed Arcane Fusion Bomb. My twisted smile glinted on its cold surface.

*Perish. Everything I hate.*

Exhausted and drained, I crawled into bed early. *Just… a little rest…*

Days passed. I fine-tuned the bomb’s yield—enough to erase House Lude, spare Brother John’s village. The nearby town? Let it burn with them. Thousands might die. I didn’t care.

All I wanted: my father and sister dead.

If sent to House Saxony, I’d be tortured to death. That house was infamous for twisted desires—limbs severed, turned into a “meat pot.” Unimaginable horror.

I packed what I could into the Item Vault. Destroyed the rest. My Arcane Formulas couldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

A maid summoned me to Count Lud. He feigned kindness: “You’ll live well at House Saxony,” he said, ordering hot meals. *Afraid I’d die before delivery.* I nodded blankly—and cheerfully placed the bomb beneath his office duct.

Elizabeth’s death would shatter my original plan. I no longer cared.

Rage consumed me. *Let them all die.*

I sold my soul to the devil. I won’t pray to gods who ignored me lifetime after lifetime.

Only the devil answered.

The price? My soul.

How ironic.