The razor-sharp blade sliced through the frigid air with a sharp shriek, as if cleaving winter itself. After importing Lilia’s exoskeleton combat data into the automaton, it flawlessly recreated her dazzling sword dance. If I refined this technique into an action module, her swordsmanship could truly become mine.

But for some reason… envy and jealousy swelled within me.

I coveted Lilia’s talent, her healthy body—she possessed nearly everything I’d ever longed for. To someone who’d spent a past life paralyzed in a wheelchair, she was perfection incarnate. I wanted to take what was hers. Replicating her swordplay… was only the first step.

“Stop script execution.”

At my command, the automaton snapped to attention, sheathed its blade, and stood motionless. Its delicate face, utterly expressionless, radiated solemn dignity. It still couldn’t operate autonomously—reliant solely on preloaded modules or my remote control. True intelligence remained distant. Aleister must’ve done it on purpose… I’d accidentally modeled its face after my mother, Jenny. No wonder I felt a complicated twinge toward it.

*If Mother were still alive… would she look like this?*

*Would I have been happy?*

Regrettably, the past allows no “what-ifs.” Not even Chris’s power could twist fate. Causality records all. To save me, Chris performed a perilous time regression—a direct defiance of cosmic law. One misstep, and we’d have been shredded by time’s torrent.

Thankfully, he succeeded. That’s why I stand here now, watching my own automaton perform Lilia’s sword dance.

“Victoria, isn’t it about time?” A jet-black cat circled my feet. “Past bedtime for kids, and freezing out here. Time to head back?”

It was right. A warm bed was where I belonged—not this icy workshop.

“Mm. Let’s go.”

“Oh? Tonight’s Victoria’s turned into a well-behaved child.”

“I just don’t want my cold turning into pneumonia and kicking the bucket.”

I scooped Chris up. Fluffy and warm, it was the perfect hand warmer against the biting cold. Bundled in cloak and scarf, I slipped silently through the snow-dusted, night-shrouded garden. The Duke’s office still glowed—Duke of Northberg was working late—so I took a secluded path back to my room.

I hung my outerwear neatly and settled Chris onto its favorite cushion. Somehow, everyone accepted Chris as my pet. Juliana especially—she’d cling to it 24/7, utterly smitten with cats. Pity this golden-eyed lump of coal was actually a demon in disguise.

Snuggled under blankets, warmth seeped back into my bones. Sleepiness washed over me. That night, I dreamed of a gentle figure singing a lullaby… her face forever veiled in soft light.

*Who was she?*

*I didn’t know.*

Half a month vanished. Casworth plunged into deep winter. Under house arrest, I stayed confined to my warm room, tended in shifts by Martha, Juliana, and Elysia. Thanks to my recent cold, the bespectacled doctor visited daily—“Drink more hot water” was his mantra. Martha had other duties, so care fell mostly to Juliana and Elysia. The moment Martha left, Elysia would flop onto the sofa and slack off.

I wasn’t sure how maids *should* act, but this was clearly off. Juliana barely noticed—she cared far more about Chris than me. From the start, I sensed something off about them. But Freud recommended them… I couldn’t refuse.

“Sigh… Master Freud, when will you finally notice me…?” Elysia murmured from the sofa, lost in fantasy. Her goal? Use the maid role as a stepping stone to become Freud’s concubine… then secondary wife… then oust Lilia entirely and claim the title of Duchess.

Sadly, in my past life, I’d walked the castle gallery countless times. Never once saw Elysia’s portrait. She never became secondary wife—let alone legitimate.

“I’m taking a nap,” I said, settling the psionic link headband. “You two, do as you please.”

I heard Elysia’s faint snort. She mistook my silence for weakness. In her eyes, I was just an illegitimate upstart—here today, gone tomorrow once the Duke and Young Duke lost interest.

And she wasn’t wrong. I needed to secure my place. Fast.

“Link initiated. Enter!”

Scenery blurred backward. Vision cleared—I stood in the old warehouse workshop. Adjusting to the automaton’s altered height and limbs, I rose. It walked to the workbench to fine-tune the prototype’s servo system.

Thanks to Ancient Alchemy, the external armor plates were precision-crafted and assembled seamlessly. Too many plates, though—I’d added complex slider mechanisms to preserve mobility. The completed prototype stood locked on its frame; without disengaging the safety, the Arcane Reactor wouldn’t activate. (Just in case Lilia got curious.)

“Huh? Big sister~~~?”

Somehow, Lilia had slipped in again—I *knew* I’d locked the door. She bounced over and wrapped her arms around the automaton’s neck.

“Victoria, let’s play in town!”

“I still have work. If unfinished, I can’t demo to Father tomorrow.”

“Then… I’ll wait!”

She sauntered to the rest area, plopping into the automaton’s usual chair. I switched on the new heater to keep her warm. I’d hoped it’d convince Freud and the Duke to let me work here eight hours daily. They’d refused in unison.

So the automaton worked in my stead—and excelled. Five times human strength, triple jumping power. Tasks needing mechanical arms? Effortless.

*Maybe I should use it more…*

Yet resistance flickered in me.

Free from the wheelchair in this life… yet still trapped. Frustration prickled. Unease stirred.

*How I wish I’d grow up faster.*

Final parameters uploaded. I sealed the control box, locked the armor module. A quiet sigh escaped as I faced the prototype. Full armor now: 20–30mm thick, 40mm at the chest. *Please protect the pilot against monsters.*

Weapons? A chainsaw sword—a miniaturized version of my past-life logging tech. Rotating teeth would shred flesh without issue. Its mechanical buzz alone would terrify human soldiers. Witness it tear a person apart? Most would vomit and tremble.

“Victoria, pleeease go out with me~~~?” Lilia clung to my shoulders, bored and pouting. Married yet childlike. At over twenty-five mentally… it felt like gaining a spoilt little sister.

*Sister…*

Elizabeth’s cruel face flashed in my mind. Darkness coiled in my chest.

Still—Lilia would gorge herself downtown. How did she stay so slim? A blatant taunt to every dieter. (My automaton couldn’t eat anyway. All show.)

“Finished your work, Lilia?”

Her eyes darted away.

*Guilty.*

“Never mind. Let’s go,” I said, taking her hand. “But we’ll stop by the Alchemists Guild first.”

“Ooh! I know cute shops nearby!”

I had the automaton change into a crisp black-and-white maid dress. Lilia draped a cloak over its shoulders—less flimsy now. Truthfully, dragging Lilia to the Guild was strategic: avoid Mant. That greedy scum loved underhanded tricks.

Like hiring thieves to breach my house.

Good thing my barrier held. So far.