“Laurenst family? What even is that?”

Morningstar hadn’t even sorted out the nations of this world—let alone some obscure noble house. Sensing her master’s confusion, the Little Dragoness instantly sent a telepathic whisper: “Master, don’t worry. Just a moderately influential clan—the Frost Empire’s top arms dealer, nothing more.”

“I see. So flashing their family name was meant to intimidate me? Or impress me?”

“My father always taught me to show deepest gratitude to my benefactor. Please, honor us with a visit—I’d be glad to host you properly.”

“Sure, sure. Of course.” Morningstar nodded. She’d need her treasure back—and this family might come in handy.

Overwhelmingly powerful, yet unusually cautious.

“Thank you so much! Rest well—I won’t disturb you further.” Leticia’s gratitude shone plainly; after repeating her thanks, she finally left.

“Hmph. Hope you keep that smile when the time comes.” Watching Leticia’s retreating back, Morningstar’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Master… won’t you tell her about her condition?”

“You noticed?”

“Zombie venom from that dark sorcerer’s summoning… she’ll turn into a corpse slave soon.”

Leticia bore the venom within. Without intervention, transformation was inevitable.

Curing it would take Morningstar a flick of the wrist—but she had zero reason to.

“She claimed to be a noble lady, right? Such a ‘minor’ wound must have a remedy. If she’s not worried, why should I be?”

“Understood, Master.”

“Alright, you two—out. I’m sleeping. Ah~”

Morningstar yawned. No fatigue lingered in her body, yet sleep called to her—a nap promised pure comfort.

“Master… can I sleep with you?”

“Absolutely not!” Morningstar shot back. If the Little Dragoness shared her bed, perverted antics would surely follow.

No. No intimate contact. Ever.

“Fine…” The Little Dragoness pouted but relented. Letting her master sleep deeply would awaken more darkness within.

Her master was already mischievous—but true evil? That required more. As the embodiment of worldly malice, “naughty” barely scratched a Dark Sorceress’s nature.

“Mmm… the big bed in the Witch’s Spire is cozier. Should I teleport back?” Lying in the black-substance sleeping bag, Morningstar’s connection to the material made her feel both inside and not quite.

“Nah. Too comfy—I might oversleep. This is fine.”

She closed her eyes slowly. Yet the crimson Demon Eye nestled between her breasts stayed wide open, piercing the tent walls. Everything lay bare to her sight: the Little Dragoness, Freya, the distant knights. The Demon Eye read their strengths effortlessly—but Morningstar still lacked context.

“To avoid today’s confusion… time to assign levels.” A quick mental tweak, and a new spell took shape.

She set the Little Dragoness as Level 100. Freya: 83. Leticia: 21. The knights? Twelve to twenty.

The dark sorcerer she’d glimpsed via Demon Eye replay: around Level 30.

Meaning one casual spell from her could erase a Level 30.

“Huh. Spellcraft feels kinda like coding.”

Now, levels would display automatically—no mental math needed. Game-like, sure. But she had no system cheat. Didn’t need one.

“Sleep time.” Only then did she gently close the Demon Eye and drift off.

Her breathing evened quickly. Long lashes, peaceful face—adorable, utterly devoid of earlier menace.

Yet cuteness couldn’t mask her essence. As sleep deepened, her mind relaxed… and true darkness seized her soul.

True evil had arrived.

“Mmm… such a refreshing sleep.” Morningstar stretched luxuriously; the black sleeping bag melted into her skin.

Sleep was her joy—waking felt like rebirth.

“I had another dream… dreamed that…” She yawned, stepping from the tent—then froze.

“Dreamed… I destroyed everything.”

Black snow blanketed the ground like volcanic ash. But the real horror lay ahead: the knights’ camp, reduced to scorched earth. Twisted figures stood like grotesque sculptures—limbs bent unnaturally, faces locked in agony, bodies desiccated and charred.

“What happened?”

“Nothing unusual, Master. Just an ordinary night,” the Little Dragoness said casually, utterly unfazed.

“You… don’t remember what happened!?”

A figure stirred in the black snow—Freya, bloodied, one arm gone. She dragged the unconscious Leticia from beneath her.

“What happened? So last night… wasn’t a dream?”

“Of course it wasn’t! You did this! Why?!”

“A Dark Sorceress needs no reason,” the Little Dragoness retorted coolly.

“I… could only save her…” Freya rasped, clutching Leticia.

“I… why did I do this?” Morningstar rubbed her temples. She’d walked here. Knights attacked without warning. And then…

The absolutely evil Dark Sorceress showed no mercy. She slaughtered them—brutally, completely.