The moment Marielle dashed out of the bedchamber, a profound silence descended upon the room. Seraphine slowly leaned back against the headboard, her gaze drifting up to the vaulted stone ceiling. The chaotic tempest in her head had finally begun to settle into logical threads, but what she was uncovering only fueled a mounting vertigo.
“All the names of countries, duchies, and cities sound completely different from my world…” she muttered under her breath, her voice ragged.
“The Alarian Empire, Ardenia, Tyravia, Karsfeld… Yet the rivers, seas, oceans, and mountains? The Rhine is still the Rhine, the Alps are the Alps, and even the Baltic Sea is exactly where it should be.”
She raised a hand and scratched the crown of her head, shaking her face in sheer disbelief.
“This is ridiculously strange and unintuitive. The physical geography is pristine, but the entire political map has been turned upside down…”
Suddenly, she froze.
Another switch flipped in her mind, and the resurfacing childhood memories of this body violently collided with Evelyn’s encyclopedic knowledge. Seraphine’s eyes snapped wide open, utterly paralyzed by the revelation. For a long moment, she simply stared into the void, as if struck by lightning.
“Wait…” she whispered, entirely bewildered. “In this world… there are no men? At all?!”
She began to talk aloud to herself, frantically filtering through Seraphine Karsfeld’s memories to piece together this biological and social revolution.
“Futa… The futa took over the exact roles that men fulfilled back home. They sire the children, hold the same rights of succession, wear the armor, become knights, and inherit the titles as Sires… Socially, they function exactly as men do, but biologically…”
Seraphine trailed off.
She looked down at the thick duvet draped over her hips. Deep, utter confusion washed over her face, laced with a heavy dose of uncertainty. She swallowed hard, and then carefully - with palpable hesitation - slid her hand beneath the covers, reaching straight under her linen nightgown.
The moment her fingers brushed against a definitive, anatomical shape, she went rigid. For an entire minute, she sat there with her eyes blown wide, staring blankly at the wall and holding her breath.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand from under the bedding, still unable to completely process it.
“I… I have one too,” she stammered in disbelief, staring down at her own palm. “I have a cock. A real, fully formed…”
She shook her head vigorously, attempting to force her highly engineered, scientific mind to coldly analyze the phenomenon. How the hell could evolution possibly have branched in this direction?
Alright, think logically, Evelyn… I mean, Seraphine, she thought intensely, hunting for a rational explanation.
How is this even biologically viable?
Maybe some prehistoric virus, or a Y-chromosome mutation during the early stages of hominization that integrated the genes for male organ development directly into the X chromosome, completely eliminating the need for a separate male sex altogether.
Or perhaps extreme environmental selection, where the sheer pressure to survive favored phenotypes with heightened hormonal plasticity - fusing physical strength with a female-centric social structure.
Unless… it was a phenomenon akin to congenital adrenal hyperplasia that somehow mutated into a perfectly stable hermaphroditic phenotype capable of successful reproduction...
Before she could formulate another wild hypothesis, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and Marielle reappeared on the threshold. While the girl's face betrayed deep, agonizing worry, the leech-wife accompanying her clearly didn't share the sentiment.
Seraphine sat up straighter against the pillows, the agonizing dryness in her throat making every word a struggle. Evidently, this frail body had sweated out the vast majority of its fluids during the raging fever. There were likely very few souls in this castle who had believed the young heir would survive the night.
The leech-wife, a stout woman named Lena, examined Seraphine closely. A flicker of genuine shock danced in her eyes at the sight of the young futa pulling through - just a few hours ago, she had been given zero odds of survival. Despite lacking the rigorous foundations of modern medicine, Lena demonstrated at least a baseline of diagnostic competence.
“There is no cause for alarm, Lady Marielle. Your sister's fever has broken. Aside from being severely dehydrated, she is perfectly healthy.”
With that, she handed Seraphine a heavy goblet of water. The young heir drank greedily, draining the vessel almost in a single, desperate gulp to extinguish her burning thirst. She wiped her lips with her sleeve, nodded, and spoke with measured politeness.
“Thank you, Lena. I appreciate you watching over my health.”
Deep down, Seraphine’s words were pure courtesy. If her two lifetimes had taught her anything, it was that flaunting superiority and acting condescending toward the staff yielded terrible returns. And so, she maintained impeccable manners, exactly as a firstborn heir should.
Hearing that her elder sister was feeling well for the first time in ages, Marielle beamed with absolute delight. To her, this was nothing short of a miracle. Seraphine had been notoriously sickly since childhood - born with dismal stamina and a fragile constitution, ailments that were only exacerbated by a noble’s sedentary lifestyle.
However, her next words caught the girl entirely off guard.
“Dear sister, could you instruct the servants to prepare a hot bath? I feel that washing off this filth and sweat will do wonders for my strength.”
Lena let out a soft snort under her breath at the request. While bathing wasn't a completely alien concept among the aristocracy, it certainly wasn't practiced with the religious frequency Evelyn was accustomed to. But Seraphine remained adamant.
Marielle offered a gentle smile.
“Of course, sister. I will go see to the maids right away.”
The girl hurried out of the room to carry out the task. Seeing that her presence was no longer required, the leech-wife offered a slight bow.
“I shall go inform the Baroness that the fever has passed…”
Seraphine arranged her features into an indifferent mask and nodded.
“Do so.”
Once Lena pulled the heavy door shut behind her, Seraphine was left alone once more. She cast her gaze downward, sniffed her collar, and visibly winced in disgust. Her linen nightshirt reeked of stale sweat and sickness.
“Once I take the reins of this barony, there are going to be some radical changes around here…” she muttered to herself.
Her very first mandate upon assuming control of Karsfeld would be the implementation of universal hygiene standards, followed eventually by the construction of a network of Roman-style public bathhouses. She fully intended to teach her subjects cleanliness, even if she had to force it down their throats by royal decree.
She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, struggling to stand as she stretched her stiff, aching muscles. At that very moment, a soft knock echoed through the room. A maid stood in the doorway.
“Your Grace, the bathhouse is ready.”
Seraphine swung the door wide open with a broad, enthusiastic smile, a reaction that clearly threw the servant off balance.
“Lead the way.”
After navigating a labyrinth of chilly stone corridors, they arrived at the baths. Seraphine pulled the massive door shut behind her, threw the heavy iron bolt, and stripped off her sweat-soaked clothes.
She stood naked before the mirror-like surface of the water, casting a highly critical eye over her new physique. The body wasn’t entirely malnourished, judging by her rather sizable breasts, but the utter lack of muscle tone and her frail bone structure were glaringly obvious. And resting below her belly was the undeniable futa anatomy that her modern mind was still struggling to fully acclimate to.
A diet rich in protein and calcium is the baseline, she assessed clinically in her head.
Before I even think about rolling out any industrial plans, I need to forge this skeleton into a fully functional tool.
She dipped her toe into the wooden tub to test the temperature, then slowly stepped into the basin, sinking down right up to her neck.
She let out a long sigh of relief.
In the still reflection of the water, she studied her own face. She had pale, spun-gold hair and a piercing, sapphire gaze. Her features were aristocratic, almost statuesque in their symmetry, perfectly accentuated by her milky, porcelain complexion. If not for her pathetic lack of muscle mass, she would look truly imposing. Beauty was a natural asset that didn’t require tinkering - physical form, on the other hand, could be forged in the fires of discipline like high-quality steel.
She spent nearly half an hour submerged in the steaming water, vigorously scrubbing her skin with blocks of gray lye soap, washing away not just the physical grime of the fever, but the lingering mental shock of her transmigration.
Stepping out of the tub and toweling herself dry, she found a fresh set of noble garments laid out for her. She dressed with immense relief, savoring the crispness of the clean fabric against her skin. She slicked her damp, golden strands smoothly back away from her face. Mental note, she filed away, invent the recipe for hair pomade.
When she exited the bathhouse, the same maid was waiting in the corridor.
“My lady, Baroness Adelgarde and Lady Isolde are expecting you in the dining hall…”
Seraphine slipped on a calm, thoroughly composed expression.
“Lead the way.”
Following another series of winding corridors and staircases, she arrived at a spacious dining hall.
Her family was already seated around the long table. Interestingly enough, despite Karsfeld being merely a modest barony within the sprawling Alarian Empire, their resources clearly afforded them lavish meals.
Following a brief prayer of gratitude, Seraphine immediately got to work. Her body was screaming for building blocks, so without a shred of hesitation, she piled a massive slab of steamed fish onto her plate, followed by a hefty roasted cut of poultry, a handful of nuts, and fresh greens, before filling a clay goblet to the brim with milk. She began to eat with razor-sharp focus, completely ignoring her surroundings.
It wasn’t until a few moments later that she noticed the absolute, suffocating silence gripping the table. She glanced up from her plate to find her family staring at her in unadulterated shock. With a chunk of fish suspended mid-air on her fork, she furrowed her brow.
“Is something the matter?”
Adelgarde Karsfeld - the Sire and reigning Baroness - was a tall, broad-shouldered futa with a fiercely commanding presence, cropped blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and the flawless posture of a seasoned warrior. She was staring at Seraphine’s plate in mute, slack-jawed stupor. Until this very moment, her firstborn heir had categorically refused to eat meat, surviving solely on thin mushes and vegetables.
Adelgarde wordlessly pointed a finger at her daughter’s portion.
Sitting beside her was Isolde Karsfeld, the girl’s mother - a buxom, fair-haired woman with gentle sapphire eyes. She asked in a quiet, thoroughly bewildered voice, making no effort to hide her confusion:
“You’re… eating meat?”
In that split second, the context of their reaction clicked into place for Seraphine. The previous owner of this body had been an extreme, ascetic vegetarian. Well, that certainly explained the crushing anemia and utter lack of vitality.
Seraphine offered both her parents a relaxed, easy smile, flawlessly hiding her internal realization.
“I decided it was high time for some radical changes in my life. Starting today, I am eating meat, completely overhauling my diet, and beginning regular physical training. I have no intention of vegetating as a frail weakling any longer.”
Upon hearing that bold declaration, the strict, hardened lines of Adelgarde's face blossomed into a wide, beaming smile of pure pride. In her eyes, Seraphine had used her sickly constitution as a shield to dodge her duties as heir for far too long; it was about damn time she finally grew up. The Baroness reached out with her serving fork, speared a massive, bloody slab of roast beef, and unceremoniously dropped it right onto her daughter’s plate.
“Eat up, then. You are going to need the strength.”
Seraphine gave an appreciative nod and went right back to tearing into her meal. While the state of the kitchen’s hygiene would undoubtedly require a thorough inspection later, right now, the only thing that mattered to her was the caloric intake.
Sitting on the opposite side of the table was Cordelia Karsfeld - her younger futa sister. She shared the exact same striking aristocratic features and pale blonde hair of their lineage, but swimming within her cold, icy blue eyes was a look of barely concealed, seething fury.
Seraphine registered the hostile glare from the corner of her eye. While she hadn’t yet untangled all the complex political animosities simmering within this household, her survival instincts screamed at her to keep a very close watch on Cordelia. Under the uncompromising laws of Sire Primogeniture, the elder sister’s sudden, miraculous recovery definitively shoved the younger sibling back down the line of succession.
The moment she finished eating, Seraphine promptly excused herself from the dining hall. She had no intention of wasting a single second - her physical conditioning regimen had to begin immediately. If she imposed an ironclad discipline upon herself, within a dozen months or so, she could forcefully forge this fragile shell into a vessel worthy of a battle-hardened warrior.
As she jogged at a steady pace along the castle's inner battlements, fighting to lock in a rhythmic breathing pattern, she remained completely oblivious to a grim silhouette standing in a narrow window of one of the watchtowers.
Cordelia was observing her from above. The younger sister bit down on her own lower lip until she drew blood, her knuckles turning bone-white as her hands clamped viciously onto the stone sill.