Joseph Badan’s fingers slowly sank into my neck. A series of sharp cracks echoed from my spine—seconds from snapping. For a grown man, snapping a six-year-old girl’s neck was effortless. Worse still, the entire castle was at the banquet. After killing me, Badan would have ample time to steal my research notes and vanish.

Damn it… am I really dying again?

No. I can’t die. Not before I drag that treacherous pair—Elizabeth and Edward—straight to hell. I absolutely, *absolutely* cannot die!

A fierce will to live ignited within me. Badan’s fingers dug deep, cutting off blood flow. Consciousness flickered. Only seconds left. I shifted my gaze. On the workbench sat the Arcane Automaton, its glass-bead eyes fixed on me with cold, inorganic indifference—it was just an object.

It wouldn’t answer my cries. But I could control it.

“Connect… En… ter…”

With my last breath, I forged a psychic link. The axe Badan used to smash the door was lodged in the bench—just grab it.

*Move!* Automaton, *move!*

*Thud!* A massive crimson-armored fist slammed into Badan’s left side, hurling him across the room. I collapsed, coughing violently. In that life-or-death sliver of time, I’d psychically activated something.

*Cough! Cough!*

Spitting blood, I lifted my head. The automaton sat perfectly still. Cables snaked from its back to the exoskeleton prototype powering it. That iron fist? It belonged to the prototype.

“Ah—Aaah—my hand!” Badan writhed on the floor, blood bubbling at his lips. “It’s broken! You’ll pay! I’m a mage of the Arcane Spire! The Spire won’t let this go! Just wait!”

He couldn’t stand, yet snarled like a beaten cur. Troublesome, yes—his mage status mattered.

The Arcane Spire trained mages and headed the Mages’ Association. In theory, it deployed mages continent-wide. All were shielded by the “Spire Protocol,” granting certain immunities. In my past life, I’d dreamed of becoming a mage. But paralysis shattered half my magical circuits. I settled for Arcanomechanical Artificer.

Badan hadn’t yet broken from the Spire to pioneer “Arcanomechanics.” He remained under Protocol protection.

So what?

Because of him, the Empire seized Arcane Reactor schematics last life. They forced me to surrender market share, crushing my company. They never mastered the core component tech—so we “settled.”

What a humiliating “settlement.” All because of this deceitful academic thief. I nearly lost everything.

Fury burning, I stepped toward the immobilized Badan. He glared up, face pale with terror, blood frothing at his mouth.

“Get back, devil’s spawn! Stay away!”

“Devil’s spawn?” He’d enraged me again. “Congratulations. You’re right. I *am* tied to an Abyssal Demon. I am its High Priestess—and you? You are the sacrifice.”

I raised the ring on my finger.

“In the name of Victoria Flamell Northenberg, High Priestess of the Abyss—I offer you! Repent in eternal flames, you despicable thief!”

Arcane sigils seared a blazing brand onto his forehead. I almost heard demonic cheers. His soul would plummet to hell after death, burning until the world’s end.

“No—NO! A true demonic brand?! Impossible! My soul… save me! I don’t want hell!”

A third-rate mage, yes—but Badan knew demonic pacts. Never thought *you’d* wear the brand? That’s what happens when theft becomes assault. I never expected him to sneak in during the celebration. Only my late-night automaton repair saved me.

Truth was, I knew his limits from last life. He never cracked the Arcane Reactor’s core. That sliver of failure spared my company.

What a useless fool.

I gently touched the bruises on my neck and sighed deeply.

I’d failed completely. I could’ve chosen strategy—but rage made me confront a greedy adult head-on. All because he’d betrayed me last life. Honestly, Badan wasn’t my main target. A researcher’s protectiveness over their work blinded me. What if I lose composure again facing Edward and Elizabeth together? I must strengthen my will. Never again.

“Miss! What happened?”

A bearded knight burst through the side door—likely drawn by the noise. He froze, then examined my neck by mana-stone lamp light.

“How cruel! Attacking a child!”

He lunged at Badan. I grabbed his winter cloak with my small hand.

“Uncle… please fetch Mr. Frankenstein.”

“Of course, Miss.” He knelt, rechecking my neck. “You should see a doctor first.” He wrapped me tightly in his cloak and barked, “Kuro! Stop gawking and get in here!”

Lilia’s attendant rushed in, snow dusting his thick cloak.

“Guard him. Don’t let him escape.”

“Yes, Knight Captain Zord!”

Zord carried me briskly toward the infirmary. My neck throbbed. My head pounded. The forced psychic link drained me utterly. Halfway through treatment, darkness swallowed me.

---

(Third-person perspective:)

“Devil’s spawn! She’s a demon contractor! Believe me!”

Confined for questioning, Joseph Badan shrieked “demon” and “contractor,” omitting his attempt to murder Victoria. Outside, Freud’s jaw tightened. Victoria’s power was mysterious—but undeniably ancient forebears’ tech. And forebears were sworn enemies of Abyssal Demons. Archaeology confirmed it.

Victoria being a demon contractor? Extremely unlikely.

Yet Freud left no stone unturned. He summoned an exorcist priest from Golden Lion City’s church. The priest pressed the “Three Gods” emblem to sleeping Victoria’s brow. Nothing happened.

“My lord,” the priest said, “no trace of darkness lingers on the young lady. Her nightmares stem from shock. We can do little.”

Freud exhaled in satisfaction. Even experts dismissed the “demon” claim. Badan’s lies, pure and simple.

He drew a slow breath, suppressing fury. It only burned hotter. *Dare touch my family? I’ll erase you.* A plan crystallized. His lips curled into a cold, malicious smile.

The Spire Protocol barred even House Northenberg from punishing a mage arbitrarily. But Freud had methods. He was usually a law-abiding Imperial noble—but law was a guideline. For him, crime only mattered if caught.

At dawn, House Northenberg expelled Badan. Their Imperial Capital proxy lawyer filed a formal complaint with the Mages’ Association. Before investigators reached Golden Lion City, witnesses saw Badan flee into the night. Vanished.

No one saw Joseph Badan again.

He disappeared forever into Casworth’s frozen woods.

“Son. Well done.”

“Father? What did I do?”

Duke of Northberg grinned. A warrior, a rough man—but he knew his son’s schemes perfectly.

A week later, delayed mages found Badan’s residence stuffed with House Northenberg items—silver candlesticks, gold brooches, even copper coins abandoned in the vault. He’d fled in panic. The Mages’ Association stayed silent. A fugitive’s death served them better.

Even in Casworth’s bitter cold, snow eventually melts.

Two years later, I turned eight.

(End of Volume One.)