“Survive this strike—this is your final test!”

Clang—!

The deafening clash of steel echoed across the training ground. If Knight Captain Zord had held back before, this strike carried his full power. I knew Zord was no brute—his first two blows had matched the candidates’ strength to assess them. But this third strike, the final test? Absolute. No mercy.

Sparks flew in the biting wind. Brother John was hurled backward, his slender frame tumbling across the frozen earth before barely regaining balance on all fours. The training sword remained clutched tightly in his grip. As long as he held the blade—he passed.

Whoa—!

Knights and squires gasped, then erupted in applause. No one but me sensed the danger.

The Demon Eye was both blessing and curse. It answered its wielder’s deepest wish—and manifested it. Yet control was fragile. Fail, and berserk madness followed.

Crimson energy now seeped from beneath Brother John’s hair, curling around his left eye.

“Not bad, kid!” Zord strode forward, hand outstretched. “Holding your sword through that? Congratulations—you’ve passed!”

That seemingly friendly gesture would kill him.

“Victoria,” Lilia released my hand, voice sharp, “get out. Now.”

My heart skipped—but Lilia had already drawn her blade.

“Zord! Run!”

“Huh?”

Clang—!

Lilia lunged between them, forcibly blocking Brother John’s slash. The impact sent her flying straight into Zord. They tumbled backward, crashing to the ground.

“Sword—!” Brother John’s left eye blazed crimson. “I am the sword! The sword is me!”

A surge of power erupted beneath his feet, scattering snow. Crimson light crawled up the training sword, staining it blood-red. Beneath tangled strands of hair, a sword-shaped sigil bloomed in his eye.

Disaster. It was the Sword’s Ocular.

In my past life, Brother John died of infection after Thomas whipped him for breaking Elizabeth’s vase—long before his Demon Eye awakened. But now, at fourteen, it had truly ignited.

His longing for the sword triggered it. Yet the Sword’s Ocular was the most volatile type. Berserk, it attacked indiscriminately—until its master fell dead or exhausted.

Worst possible scenario.

Last life? I’d have rushed in, naive and selfless, dreaming of everyone’s happiness. Where did that get me? Now I was a demon contractor. I’d forsaken gods, abandoned light, let kindness burn to ash in darkness. My thoughts weren’t of saving others—but exploiting this moment for gain.

If I stopped Brother John’s rampage, Lilia and Zord stayed safe. The Duke’s household would owe me. My standing would solidify. Pure advantage.

I ducked behind cover.

Crack—! A spatial rift opened beside my hand. I pulled out the psychic link headband and secured it through the snow.

“Connection initiating—Enter!”

Scenery blurred. Vision cleared. “I” stood inside the old warehouse beside the training ground—my workshop. My puppet sat waiting.

I commanded it upright, rushed to the alchemy workstation, tweaked the program, and channeled mana.

Amid crimson sparks, a small vial formed. An anesthetic from the Era of the Ancients—a formula not unearthed for five more years. Through work, I’d learned its composition. With Ancient Alchemy, I recreated it.

I loaded the syringe, checked the compressed air canister—originally for warhorses—but no time to hesitate.

I burst outside. Lilia and Zord fought Brother John fiercely.

Even against two elites, he moved with eerie grace. One hand swung the crimson-wreathed training sword. Scarlet sword energy slashed outward—cleaving the castle wall, gouging deep into icy stone.

Sword energy—!

The Sword’s Ocular’s deadliest trait. Range spanned meters to dozens. Ranged attacks? Suicide. Berserk wielders fought like predators—dodging, hunting. A crossbow shot would invite instant retaliation.

Sword energy forced Lilia and Zord apart. Brother John lunged for Lilia.

My opening.

Combat module active—I leaped onto his back. He spun. Crimson energy shattered my barrier. The puppet flew backward.

Joints groaned, near-breaking—but I held. Light wings flared behind me. I twisted midair, dodging two slashes, then *click*—deployed the Mantis Blade.

The Monomolecular Edge sliced his training sword clean. Battle-damaged, it shattered like paper. Without a blade, the Sword’s Ocular weakened—but berserk, he was still a beast. Claws. Teeth.

“Sword—I am the sword! Give me a sword!”

He babbled in ancient tongue, discarded the hilt, and seized the Mantis Blade’s titanium rod.

Damn it—! Only the tip held the edge. He gripped the harmless section. We strained, locked face-to-face.

“You are… Lady Jenny?”

Huh? He knew my mother? She died when he was six. He couldn’t remember…

That flicker of doubt decided it.

Lilia struck his skull from behind. Demon Eye wielders were rare assets. As the Duke’s daughter-in-law, she chose capture—not death.

Exactly as I’d predicted.

So I had to deliver. Complacency meant discard. Usefulness meant survival.

“I am the sword! I am the sword!”

Dazed but not down.

Now!

The puppet headbutted his nose—blood sprayed. Most fragile spot. He recoiled. I disengaged the blade.

*Click.* The rod detached. I yanked the syringe from my maid apron, plunged it into his neck. Compressed air hissed. Anesthetic flooded his veins. Seconds later, his strength vanished. *Thud.* He collapsed, still.

“Deputy Commander Lilia—unharmed?”

Kuro ran up. He’d evacuated the exam candidates earlier. No casualties—thanks to him. But Zord and Lilia, focused on John, saw only his late return. To them, he looked like a deserter slinking back.

“You little rascal,” Zord smacked his head. “Where were you?”

“Why didn’t you help?”

They beat him without hesitation. I stayed silent. I’m no hero. Why speak up?

I bound Brother John with rope, sealed his eyes with a custom blindfold. Even awake, the Sword’s Ocular wouldn’t rage again.

Good enough.

I glanced once at Kuro pinned beneath their fists, then turned away—walking calmly toward the garden to report to the Duke.