The next morning, the grayish sky still dusted with light snow. Martha watched me with quiet relief as I lay obediently tucked in bed. After clearing the breakfast tray, she urged me to rest. Seizing the chance, I asked about the knights. A trace of surprise flickered across her face before she reassured me, “Everything will be fine.” In my previous life, I’d read the battle records—*“Everything will be fine”* was exactly when disaster struck. Once Martha left, Alessia dropped her act again. Lounging on the sofa, she drifted into unrealistic daydreams: Freud suddenly noticing her, sweeping her into his arms. Days ago, I might’ve worried for Lilia’s standing. But now that I knew she was the imperial princess? Not a flicker of concern. How could a daughter of a minor noble house even dream of comparing herself to Her Highness? Arrogance has its limits.

“Alessia, I’m taking a nap.”

“Sleep, sleep,” she muttered impatiently—a reply that grated on my nerves. Juliana, my other maid, hadn’t come today. Only the two of us remained. I fastened the Psionic Headband, sank into the soft velvet pillow, and initiated the link.

“Connection initiating. Enter!”

The ornate ceiling blurred backward. Vision cleared—I was back in the icy cockpit. The de-icer swept snow from my visor. I commanded the exoskeleton to rise; loose snow slid off the thermal cloak. Servos hummed, the Arcane Reactor purred, joints moved freely—no frostbite. I’d kept the reactor at low power all night, its warmth shielding both cockpit and frame. With the cloak’s insulation, my prototype and puppet had weathered the winter safely.

Perfect. The test succeeded.

I flipped the right-side switch. The prototype’s mechanical feet unfolded laterally and rearward into pony-hoof shapes, widening ground contact to prevent sinking. I guided it through soft snow toward the camp, then ducked into nearby woods to observe. At the camp’s heart, Lilia stood firm in wind and snow, directing the knights to mobilize. They’d reach Dusksnow Town by noon—where a deadly foe awaited. This battle would bring the knights their worst losses yet. And for me? The perfect chance to prove my research’s worth to House Northenberg.

Right. I wasn’t here for Lilia. I was here for myself.

Keeping discreet distance to avoid scouts, I trailed them. Jet engines hissed; skis sliced fresh powder as the prototype weaved through snow-laden pines. The thermal cloak fluttered, ice glazing the chrome-red armor. Through the puppet’s eyes, I watched distant peaks wreathed in mist, monochrome cliffs battered by biting wind.

Winter had come. Silence reigned.

The Winter Queen ruled Casworth—her domain rejected all life.

Yet through the storm, Lilia’s knights pressed onward like rebels defying her throne. I envied her galloping at the vanguard: her fire, her smile, even the curve of her back stirred courage in others.

If only I could be like her…

Twenty kilometers from Dusksnow Town, I broke off, detoured through a winter-blocked valley. Jet wash scattered snowflakes; skis carved cleanly through new snow. Twenty minutes later, I arrived half an hour early. Crouched beneath a snow-heavy cedar on a hillside, I vanished under the cloak’s camouflage. Peering through the helmet slit, I studied the town nestled in the valley—a circular frontier settlement ringed by a two-meter log palisade. Arrow platforms lined the battlements; watchtowers flanked east and west gates.

Yet even this defense fell to the snow beasts.

When hunger drove them mad, no settlement was safe. The western wall lay shattered, logs buried under snow, defenders’ bones hidden beneath drifts. Five hundred townsfolk, plus evacuees—nearly a thousand souls. All devoured.

Hulking, bipedal apes roamed the ruins, thick white fur bristling, fanged maws exhaling foul vapor. Casworth’s infamous snow beasts: two-meter primates, strong, cunning. Worse—they absorbed ambient magic from the Demon Realm far easier than humans, twisting into horrors. In the town square, corpses formed a frozen mound—men, women, children—preserved by ice as winter larder. Beside it, a massive black snow beast crouched by the fountain. A melanistic variant. Rare. Magic-swollen to five meters. No longer beast. A demon beast.

In Casworth, it bore a dreaded name—the Black Mountain Ghost.

*This* was what shattered the knights.

Could I… truly defeat it?

I’d seen records. But seeing it live? Honestly—chills. Too late to retreat. Lilia’s knights approached from the south. Guarding snow beasts erupted from the snow, claws slashing at the flank, aiming to scatter the cavalry before formation. But House Northenberg’s knights reacted instantly. Swords and spears drove the beasts back—formation unbroken. Lilia, spearheading the charge, cleaved two adult snow beasts aside. Behind her, the standard-bearer hoisted the House banner. Momentum surged. They breached the gate, stared at the broken wall, bones in the ditch.

Too late. Dusksnow Town held no survivors.

“Slaughter these monsters!” Lilia raised her sword, voice raw. “Avenge Dusksnow! Kill! KILL!”

“WOOOOOOH—!”

Morale ignited. Squires dismounted first—infantry by role, clad in chainmail, shields, iron helms. They shoved the gate open, seized high ground. Then two squires on the watchtower froze.

“It’s the Black Mountain Ghost!” one cried—I heard it clearly. “In the square!”

Lilia’s lips curled into a cold smirk.

“Brothers—let’s take this thing down!”

“OOOH—!”

Knights split. One group cleared beasts near the square. Spears impaled apes; dying roars echoed. Cavalry tactics toyed with the monsters. But casualties came fast: a squire’s throat torn in a ruined hut; a knight and steed overturned. Chaos swirled in streets and rubble—balance held.

White Wolf Knights of House Northenberg—truly the North’s elite.

Imperial Capital’s Imperial Guard? They’d be snacks by now. Yet even elites faltered before true demon beasts. Casworth bled Demon Realms. Forests teemed with predators. This land hated humans. To survive these frozen peaks, beast and man fought with everything. Watching this battle, I finally grasped Freud’s past resolve. He didn’t want war machines for human wars. Casworth *needed* Arcane Golems—to flip the balance against beasts, against demon beasts.

And my past self? An incurable naive do-gooder. Terrified my tech would fuel war, blind to its true purpose here.

I could’ve given them Arcane Golems to fight winter and monsters.

But I ran. Selfishly.

Stole Freud’s Iron Man prototype.

Now I see it clearly: that past me was a hopeless fool. “Hypocrisy” was the only word for it.

No wonder I deserved to burn.