After returning from the dungeon, my mind was in turmoil. I headed straight to my room. The moment I stepped inside, a soft snore drifted from the sofa—Alexia was slacking off again. She probably thought I was the kind of kid who was “easy to handle.” After all, I spent most of the day “sleeping.”

“Mmm… Lord Freud~~~”

What kind of daydream is she having now? Two years have passed, and she still hasn’t faced reality. I genuinely admire her optimism. Honestly, how could a daughter of House Lude possibly aim for the future Duke of Northberg? Especially when her rival is an imperial princess—the odds were never in her favor.

Compared to Alexia, who endlessly fantasizes about suddenly winning Lord Freud’s favor, I kept a closer eye on Juliana. Though her work ethic far surpassed Alexia’s, she wasn’t just playing with Chris—she was quietly observing me. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Every time I wore the Psionic Headband to control the puppet, the Observer monitored the bedroom. I’d caught her examining my headband up close and sneaking glances at books on my shelf more than once. Fortunately, I never brought technical documents to my room. And since Joseph Badan’s attack, my workshop has been guarded 24/7. So far, Juliana has gained nothing useful.

Juliana’s father is expected to launch his rebellion between this winter and next spring, before the thaw. Preparations are already underway. Since her family still serves Casworth diligently, I can’t warn House of Northenberg without inviting trouble. I’ve already decided: I’ll use this rebellion—not prevent it.

Development of “anti-human” weaponry for the Arcane Golems is accelerating.

I will prove through this war that Arcane Golems are far more than tools for slaying monsters. They handle humans with chilling efficiency.

But what to do with Juliana?

For now… leave her to Chris.

“Victoria, you’re back!”

I lifted the blanket. A black furball was curled on my pillow, golden eyes fixed on my puppet. No wonder I couldn’t find Chris—it had hidden under my covers.

“I’m back, Chris.”

“Hurry, hurry! Dried fish treats!”

“Can it wait a little?” I settled under the blanket. “The last batch is gone. I’ll buy more later.”

“Hmph. Fine.”

I reached out and gently stroked the furball. After two years, Chris seemed slightly bigger. Yet its human form remained unchanged—a beautiful twelve-year-old blond boy with golden eyes gleaming like molten gold.

“I’m heading to the workshop. I need to make a device for Brother John.”

“What kind?”

“A suppressor for the Sword’s Ocular.”

Chris let out a quiet “Oh,” lost interest, and curled back into a ball. It always did this when coaxing failed. Adorably so.

I secured the Psionic Headband and closed my eyes.

“Initiate connection. Enter!”

Vision blurred backward, then surged forward. Once stable, I saw the workshop through the puppet’s eyes. I stood the puppet up, adjusting to the sudden height shift. Limbs felt longer—takes a few minutes to adapt.

Will I ever grow this tall? In my past life, confined to a wheelchair, height never mattered. This life… abused by House Lude for years, I remained stunted—still looking younger than peers even after two years.

Enough. Time to craft.

Imperial research on the Sword’s Ocular has always been deep. Its violent rampages provided ample “specimens.” Autopsies mapped the magical circuits. The Ocular appears in dual-eyed or single-eyed forms; the latter is common. Brother John has one Sword’s Ocular, one normal eye. Single-eyed variants are easier to control—only three magical circuits. Disrupt one, and activation falters.

My solution? Interfere with the circuit linked to the optic nerve.

This circuit draws magic from the heart and feeds signals back to the brain. But the Sword’s Ocular is too fierce—its feedback shatters reason, turning the bearer into a berserker.

Knowing the mechanism, the design was clear.

“Deploy! Edit Mode.”

I activated the alchemy program, splitting it into Arcane Formula modules grouped by Ancient Alchemy’s three conditions: materials, structure, craftsmanship. Editing them imported the blueprint.

Repackaged with the activation formula, I placed a magic stone at the workstation’s center—it amplified my magic, reduced drain. Everything set. The program ran with precision, efficiency, minimal cost.

Amid crimson sparks, a metal eyepatch formed. Honeycomb structure preserved vision. Arcane Formulas etched inside disrupted the optic-linked circuit—blocking feedback signals, suppressing rampage.

“Test.”

I channeled magic. Verified function. Pocketed it. Maneuvered the puppet out. Honor Guard soldiers at the door saluted—loyal to the Duke of Northberg, utterly devoted. My adoptive father trusts them. So do I. Thanks to them, intruders into my workshop or lab have “mysteriously” vanished.

I walked the path beside the training ground toward the dungeon. Yesterday’s rampage hadn’t halted squire trials. Commander Zord stood shirtless on the field, swinging a blunted practice sword. *Clang, clang*—steel echoed off icy walls. As the sword flew from his grip, the stumbling boy would likely be eliminated.

I wasn’t overly concerned. Brother John already had a guaranteed spot. Sword’s Ocular bearers are prized by the knights—if they can control it. With my device and training, he’ll master it.

But don’t mistake this for kindness. My motives are selfish.

Brother John will be deeply grateful. Easier to manipulate. A loyal pawn. Willing to die for me. Hidden inside the eyepatch? A remotely triggered Arcane Formula. I can make him rampage at will.

Yes. I am a villainess. Not kind at all.

The dungeon reeked of rot and waste. A guard in a black iron mask led me silently to Brother John’s solitary cell.

“Open the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

He obeyed without hesitation. I’d worried he might refuse. Pushing the iron bars open, I entered. Brother John lay chained head to toe. I reached out, almost gently, and removed his old eyepatch—the one that blocked vision to prevent rampage.

“Are you… Lady Jenny?”

“No. Call me ‘Jenny.’ But I am not the lady you mean.”

“Oh… Sister Jenny.”

“Mm. Good.”

Brother John warms up fast. Still… he did know my mother.

“This is a gift from Miss Victoria,” I said, placing the new eyepatch over his left eye. “It should suppress your Sword’s Ocular.”

“Really? Thank you!”

“Don’t celebrate yet. We must test it.” I turned. “Guard, lock the door from outside.”

“At once.”

Metal scraped. The guard stood beyond the bars, steel fork planted firmly. Its U-shaped, spring-loaded ring could clamp a neck tight.

I stepped back and drew a sword from behind my apron. Yes—a sword. The Sword’s Ocular stirs at the sight of steel.

Crimson energy flickered in Brother John’s left eye. A sword-shaped sigil surfaced in his pupil. His right hand shot up—reaching for the blade—but chains halted him, fingertips stopping centimeters short.

“Sword—! I am the sword! I exist as the sword!”

Chains clanked violently. Hollow ancient words echoed in the dark.

“Miss Jenny,” the guard warned, “Too dangerous. Please step out.”

“It’s fine.” I gestured calmly. “I have control.”

He clicked his tongue, grip tightening on the fork.

“John,” I said, voice steady, eyes locked on his. “Breathe. Deep breaths. Don’t let desire control you. You are not a sword. You are human.”

“I… am… human…”

The Arcane Formulas within the eyepatch took hold. The sigil dimmed. His hand lost strength, slowly falling.

“John. Can you hear me?”

*Gurgle…*

“Uh… sorry. I’m hungry.”

Ahaha. That tone—definitely Brother John.