Freud rescued me from a thoroughly displeased Lilia and guided me back to the desk. His gaze suddenly fell on my application form—he picked it up and scanned it swiftly.

“Victoria, did you do this?”

“Yes, Fre… Brother,” I nearly slipped. “Since the Duke will review it this afternoon, I’m double-checking the numbers. Miss Daphne is helping too, so don’t worry—it’ll definitely be finished before noon.”

Freud neatly arranged the papers and gently placed them before me. He cast a thoughtful glance at Daphne seated at the tea table verifying forms, then at Juliana standing beside me, clutching the teapot with a flustered look. Under his gaze, Juliana quickly lowered her head. She seemed slightly afraid of Freud—a detail I observed clearly through Observer Unit 2’s visual feed.

“Victoria,” he said, “I think what you need isn’t a tutor, but a personal aide.”

I couldn’t help but wear a confused “?” expression. Alas, my golden eyes and ashen-gray hair held zero cuteness. If Freud was the “Silver Noble,” a magnificent white lion, then I was just an ugly duckling—and a particularly unattractive one at that.

“Do your best,” he murmured, ruffling my hair. “Do what you set your heart on.”

With that, Freud turned and left, whisking away a fidgeting Lilia.

Footsteps faded down the hall. Everyone except me let out a quiet sigh of relief. I noticed Elexia’s gaze had clung to Freud since he entered—a burning, lovesick stare only a smitten girl would wear. Suddenly, I understood. Becoming my maid was just a stepping stone; she aimed to be Freud’s concubine.

My goodness, is she lovesick? Based on my past life’s assessment, Freud was absolutely, utterly unsuitable as a spouse.

That man was ice-cold—like a blade sheathed in frost.

To embrace him meant frostbite; to touch him, a cut. Any closeness brought harm.

“Miss,” Juliana asked cautiously, “shall I pour you tea?”

“Of course, thank you.”

Only then did I realize Juliana had been holding the teapot for ages. It seemed an arcane artifact—warm to the touch yet perfectly insulated. Black tea swirled into the porcelain cup, releasing a delicate aroma. Habitually, I held the cup in my left hand, documents in my right, sipping while reviewing. If I were an adult, this would scream “workaholic.” But I was just a frail six-year-old. Through Observer Unit 2’s lens? Slightly ridiculous.

Just a child imitating grown-ups.

“Finally… done,” Daphne placed the form before me. “Miss Victoria, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never believe this meticulously detailed budget was your solo work. Are you a prodigy? No wonder the Duke’s household values you so highly.”

“Thank you for your help, Miss Dulitt,” I said, organizing the pages. “I’m just an ordinary little girl.”

“You’re too modest—it feels like you’re calling me a fool,” Daphne huffed, displeased. “Even educated adults would struggle with this. Honestly, I have nothing left to teach you. Forgive my inadequacy.”

She left, tears streaming.

I was utterly baffled.

“Martha,” I turned to the head maid, “did I do something wrong?”

“Miss,” Martha smiled wryly, “you misunderstand a tutor’s role. They prepare you for noble academy basics. But clearly… you need none.”

“Ah… right.” I sipped tea, wondering if I’d been too hasty.

Elizabeth had already seized House Lude via the Beguiling Eye. For my sake, the Duke’s household settled Count Lud’s feud with Count Saxony’s family and granted him 10,000 gold coins—undoubtedly spent on her. Next, she’d climb higher using House Lude’s resources, ascending to Empress. These were events of the coming decade. Without preparation now, my revenge against Edward and Elizabeth would stall.

*(Maybe just kill that little bitch now.)*

Chris’s voice echoed—a demon’s whisper, tempting me to ruin everything. Heh. I won’t fall for it.

Elizabeth, did you think death alone would satisfy me? No. Not nearly enough. Killing you won’t fill this void. You must fall at your peak—I’ll kick you off the summit and grind you into dust.

So I must prepare early.

After lunch, I arrived promptly at the Duke’s office. The guards opened the door immediately—word of their comrade’s hundred-lap punishment had spread. Inside, the Duke of Northenberg awaited, seated on a gold-leaf chair, his white beard like a lion’s mane.

“I pay my respects, Your Grace.”

“Ah, daughter! Budget ready?”

I bowed and presented the forms. He glanced, then scratched his head.

“Son! Son! Your old man’s lost!”

Freud emerged from the adjoining chamber, resigned. Facing both Duke and Young Duke, pressure tightened my chest.

“These numbers… complicated,” the Duke handed him the forms. “Son, how much does your sister want?”

Freud’s eyes swept the figures. “Four months. 856 gold coins.”

Impressive—he grasped it in under a minute. But 856 coins? In the Imperial Capital, commoners earned 1–5 coins monthly. A colossal sum! My heart raced. Would the Duke really approve it?

“Hah? That’s *all*?” the Duke boomed. “Daughter, you’ll get 1,000 gold coins monthly as allowance. Spend freely!”

“1,000…? Per month?” I froze, certain I’d misheard.

“How about,” he glanced at Freud, “two thousand?”

“Father, you’re startling Victoria,” Freud sighed. “Though wealthy, casually tossing thousands frightens people. Victoria, the household grants you 1,000 coins monthly. You manage it. Acceptable?”

More than acceptable!

If my body allowed, I’d have jumped. But nobles show restraint. I bowed politely to my future adoptive father and brother.

“I’ll deliver results swiftly. Please look forward to them.”

“Regarding the location,” Freud nodded toward the garden’s old warehouse, “why that building?”

*Because I researched there in my past life… and I need familiarity.* Unsayable.

“Brother, it’s near the training ground—we can deploy golems directly. And isn’t leaving it vacant wasteful?”

“True,” Freud nodded approvingly. “I’ll have it ready by tomorrow. For equipment or furniture—Victor.”

The door opened. A butler entered—monocle, gold chain linked to a pocket watch. Victor Frankenstein, the household majordomo. In my past life, he’d aided me greatly. Now, decades younger, spine perfectly straight.

“At your service, Young Master.”

“Victoria, this is Victor. Request anything through him. The household won’t hold back.”

“Thank you.”

I clenched my tiny fists. Finally… the hardest part of the plan was solved.

Arcane engineering, centered on the Arcane Reactor, brings joy—or kills with chilling efficiency. Yes, last life I was a coward. I fled, fearing my work would be weaponized. Result? Those fools enjoyed my inventions while screaming “burn the witch!” This time… I’ll bring you misery.

Elizabeth and Edward led the charge—but weren’t the mob equally guilty? Foolish white sheep need a black sheep to sacrifice. Now this black sheep crawls from hell to repay you. Soon, you’ll pay.

I was reborn for revenge. I’ll let none of you enjoy even a shred of what I once gave.

I hate you all. Die, you scum.

Militarizing arcane tech is just step one. New weapons ignite wars. Hand ambitious generals a shiny new toy—they’ll rush to test it.

Once Casworth fields mass-produced Arcane Golems, its might will surge. Civil war may soon tear the Empire apart. And when it does, House Northenberg will stand unshakable—perhaps even topple the throne and claim it.