Logically speaking, Demon Eyes couldn’t be inherited. Legend said they were gifts from the “Hundred-Eyed Demon King,” randomly appearing on newborns. Yet over half of the twelve types killed their hosts—and mishandling could trigger disasters. Thus, a Demon Eye bearer’s status remained… delicate.

The odds of father and son both possessing one? Astronomically low.

Maybe Freud wore a magical artifact shielding him from the Beguiling Eye’s influence?

Just as I drifted in thought, the second main course arrived: butter-fried fish. The vertically sliced fillet soaked in creamy sauce, crowned with caviar, radiated an irresistible aroma. The fish melted on my tongue like candy. Cream and butter fused into a rich fat bomb. For a moment, I felt utterly without regret.

Unintentionally, I caught a stranger’s gaze. Freud across the table smiled, raising his glass with a slight nod. I set down my utensils politely and lifted mine. Sparkling wine lacked brandy’s punch, but it was still alcohol. Warmth spread through me. A faint blush tinged my cheeks—a hint of charm. Absurd, really, to speak of “charm” for a six-year-old. I cared only for the warmth.

I resumed eating. Flawless transition. *Hmph.* In my past life, I drilled table manners for a full year. Though House Lude had gone bankrupt by the time I earned coin, I was still a count’s daughter—nobility by blood. And by succession order, I outranked Elizabeth. Etiquette? Self-taught.

Never imagined using it here. Truly, fate’s cruel joke.

Then—dessert. My favorite. Since rebirth, sweets were rare. Only Brother John occasionally brought mountain fruits. After Thomas was imprisoned and Katherine fled, everyone flocked to Elizabeth. My life grew bleaker. I ate servants’ leftovers.

Nearly all hoped I’d die soon—so Elizabeth could claim first heir status cleanly. If Father could alter the registry, he’d have “erased” me long ago. But noble records were sealed in the Imperial Capital’s Peerage Archives. For a border count? Nearly impossible.

At least they hadn’t poisoned me. Just hoped I’d vanish “naturally.”

After all, child mortality was tragically common here.

Too bad. I wouldn’t die. I’d escape. I’d crafted a precise revenge plan for House Lude. You scum would all meet your end. I was a demon contractor. Kindness? Tossed into the gutter long ago. I’d brand you. Sacrifice your souls. Wash your necks and wait.

The first dessert: strawberry mousse. After rich mains, this cool, fruity slice soothed the grease perfectly. I savored each bite of this hard-won sweetness, memorizing every note—so I could dream of it later.

“Count,” the Duke said, raising his glass with a smile, “my son Freud wishes to take one of your daughters as lady-in-waiting to his wife. Your thoughts?”

“A lady-in-waiting?” Father blinked. “Not… a concubine?”

“Hah! Lilia’s temper? If she heard of a concubine, she’d storm out sword in hand.”

“Ahaha, Your Grace, you jest.”

A destitute count’s daughter serving the duke’s son’s wife… twisted, yet plausible. Father hesitated—but couldn’t part with Elizabeth. “Lady-in-waiting” often meant concubine: a noble’s plaything, lower than a secondary wife. Yet Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with ambition. Already scheming to oust Lilia.

Hey. Aren’t you five? Shouldn’t you be playing house with dolls?

Elizabeth’s unnatural maturity unnerved me. More proof she, like me, retained past-life memories. Blessed with the Beguiling Eye, she seized every advantage.

“In exchange,” the Duke continued, “House of Northenberg pays ten thousand gold coins as betrothal gifts and covers all reparations House Lude owes House Saxon. This strengthens ties between our houses.”

“T-ten thousand gold coins!”

My selfish, foolish father valued coin over alliance with the North’s de facto ruler. How blind! This connection was worth far more than gold. How money-obsessed could he be?

“We consult the daughter,” Count Lud said with feigned grace. “Elizabeth, would you serve Lady Lilia?”

“I’d be honored, Father.”

The little brat sprang up, fawning. I shook my head and focused on my mousse.

“You misunderstand, Count,” the Duke corrected gently. “I want your other daughter—Victoria.”

Silence. The air froze.

“A mistake! I’m prettier than her—why not me?” Elizabeth’s eyes welled, cheeks flushed, voice trembling. A display to melt any man’s heart.

The Duke and Freud remained unmoved. Her cute act had failed.

But *I* was stunned! I knew the Duke wanted me—but as a *servant*? I can’t even care for myself!

Last life, Freud proposed me as concubine to bind my mind to his house. I refused. Technically proper: a fallen count’s daughter as concubine fit norms. But a paralyzed woman? Useless. He only wanted my intellect.

Now—downgraded to servant?! What the hell? Were the Fates blind? You have *six eyes*!

“Elizabeth,” Count Lud beamed, “sit. Quickly.”

“Y-yes… Father…”

She knew tantrums were pointless. Clever. Scheming.

“Becoming lady-in-waiting severs ties with her birth house,” Father said, smile slick with hypocrisy. “I must remove Victoria from our registry.”

At “remove,” Elizabeth’s lips curled. Sold as quasi-concubine *and* stripped of inheritance. With Royce gone, she’d rise to first heir. In the Empire, girls could inherit—she’d become Countess of Lude. *How… congratulatory.*

Like hell it is! Why does *she* get everything?!

The injustice burned.

Father’s bluntness drew contrasting reactions: Freud’s lips curved into his trademark mischievous smirk; the Duke of Northberg stroked his beard like a lion deep in thought.

“Count,” the Duke concluded, smiling, “deal sealed. Ten thousand gold waits in the carriage. Payment upon delivery.”

“As you command, Your Grace.”

Two old men sealed a pact. To me? A mouse trading with a lion, unaware of being devoured. Ludwig Barony bordered Northenberg Duchy—but a vast primeval forest isolated us on Casworth’s edge. Reaching our castle from Golden Lion City required a two-week southern detour. Yet the Duke arrived in *one day*. He’d forced a path through the woods with his knights.

Worthy of the Empire’s “Silver Sword Specter.” Awe-inspiring might.

Meeting Freud a decade early let me witness this hero alive—not just mourn his portrait.

Perhaps… fate’s design.

The banquet ended. Sold by my father for ten thousand gold to serve the duke’s son’s wife. Bitter? Yes. But better than hostage to House Saxon. Freud and the Duke knew my worth. They’d use me well.

And I’d use their prestige and resources.

Win-win.

Yet… how did Freud know *I* controlled the puppet? Observer Unit 1? Did its self-destruct fail? Unlikely… unless his arrow struck the control core—*directly behind the optical lens*.

Wait. That iron arrow hit *dead center* on the lens, didn’t it?

Heart pounding, I headed to the attic. “Pack now,” Father ordered—to expedite the “handover.” Lost in thought, I didn’t see the foot thrust before me. I tripped. Face-planted hard.

“Congratulations, dear sister,” Elizabeth hissed, yanking my hair, breath hot at my ear. “Father sold you well. Don’t worry—the coins will all be spent on *me*. I’ll cherish your ‘generosity.’ And inherit the title. Soon, I’ll be Countess of Lude. Do live long enough to see it… hehehe.”

She stomped my waist and sauntered off.

Damn it! That little brat! Pain flared—but her words barely registered. What I possessed dwarfed her dreams. Her trinkets? Garbage.

Could a pretty dress rival a priceless grimoire?

Could House Lude’s castle compare to the “Eternal Night Library”?

Gold versus pebbles. Obviously.