Nestled within a fertile valley ringed by the towering, jagged peaks of the Alps lay the sovereign territory of the Barony of Karsfeld.
A broad tributary of the Danube sliced straight through the heart of the valley, its crystalline, azure waters breathing vibrant life and rich harvests into the entire realm.
As the very first slivers of morning light bled across the tranquil estate, the crowing of roosters dragged the peasant women from their beds, summoning them to yet another grueling day of breaking their backs in the fields.
While the aristocracy typically slept in far later than the commoners whose sweat watered their lands, the young heir rose exactly at the crack of dawn to execute her punishing morning routine.
If Seraphine intended to completely eradicate her innate frailty, she had to drive her body twice as hard as any seasoned knight - and she was doing exactly that.
The previous evening, she had already hammered out an agreement with Sabine Keller regarding the forging of a proper set of free weights and kettlebells to streamline her daily regimen.
Sabine commanded immense respect within the town and held deep connections with every master artisan in the district. She had done her new ally a solid favor, passing the blueprints straight to a trusted local blacksmith who promised to cast the equipment for a highly reasonable sum, personally negotiated by the chief engineer.
However, until those tools were finished - feudal manufacturing speeds being exactly as abysmal as one might expect - Seraphine mercilessly squeezed every ounce of utility out of what little she had on hand.
She wore a tight, feminine linen top and flexible, skin-tight leggings that ruthlessly accentuated the firm curve of her buttocks, her long thighs, and the distinct anatomical traits of her futa biology.
As she hammered out brutal sets of squats and push-ups in the courtyard, the thin fabric instantly soaked through with sweat, clinging to her skin like a damp, practically translucent second skin.
Her rounded, firm breasts heaved violently against the binding fabric with every jagged breath, while beads of sweat rolled down the deep valley of her cleavage, catching the morning light.
Following another torturous morning session came the absolute necessity of bathing.
Her obsessive hygiene habits were already sending ripples of genuine bewilderment through the castle staff. Seraphine bathed twice a day without fail: once immediately following her morning torment, and again right before slipping into bed.
While she tried pushing her family to adopt the practice, she repeatedly slammed into the brick wall of people stubbornly clinging to archaic traditions. Although the nobility in this world bathed with surprising frequency compared to the grim reality of Earth's medieval period, absolutely no one matched the borderline-compulsive standards of cleanliness Evelyn had dragged over from the 21st century.
Undeterred, Seraphine laid down an ironclad mandate for the entire domestic staff: every single servant was commanded to scrub their hands vigorously after using the latrines and immediately before touching a single scrap of food.
She quickly became infamous for mercilessly tearing into the kitchen staff the second she caught them cutting corners on hygiene. The buxom, round-hipped young maids practically trembled whenever the heir personally strode in to inspect their palms.
Baroness Adelgarde didn't outright condemn her daughter’s draconian measures, though a gleam of stark curiosity had undeniably settled in her eyes regarding these sudden eccentricities.
The sole exception within the family was Marielle. Playing the part of the dutiful younger sister to perfection, she obediently swallowed every single directive the elder futa handed down without a word of complaint. She even began drawing her own hot baths right before bed. This brought Seraphine an immense wave of relief - the terrifying odds of the sweet, golden-haired girl catching some horrific, fatal plague plummeted drastically.
The longer Seraphine turned the problem over in her mind, the more absolute her conviction became: she had to construct public bathhouses in the town.
It would be years, perhaps decades, before total industrialization allowed the average peasant woman the sheer luxury of a private tub in her own hovel.
After her bath, smelling sharply of herbal lye soap, Seraphine stood before the polished mirror.
Lacking the heavy pomade Evelyn had constantly relied on in her former life to slick back her hair, she attacked her golden strands with a stiff brush, settling for a sharp, elegant side-part. She made a mental note that during her next foray into the market, she would purchase raw animal fat and essential oils to personally whip up a proper batch of the stuff.
Next, she donned a highly fashionable garment befitting an heir: an elegantly tailored gown featuring a plunging neckline and a tightly laced corset that cinched her narrow waist perfectly, while the sweeping silk underlayers allowed for completely unhindered movement.
Truthfully, Seraphine vastly preferred the far more practical court fashions of later centuries, but she was willing to grit her teeth and tolerate the local trends for the time being.
When she finally strode into the dining hall, her family was already waiting.
This had practically become a new morning tradition. Seraphine spent an agonizing amount of time soaking in the tub - behavior considered completely standard by someone armed with modern sensibilities, but viewed as an utterly baffling anomaly in this grim, unwashed reality.
Settling into her heavy chair at the oak table and bowing her head for the morning prayer, Seraphine instantly felt the prickle of a cold, venomous glare boring into her skin.
It was Cordelia Karsfeld, watching her intensely over the silver tableware.
The stare was highly discreet, and had it not been for the predatory instincts honed across two entirely different lifetimes, Seraphine might have missed it completely. But with Cordelia, this had become standard operating procedure: the girl’s lips would curve into a painfully sweet, innocent smile, while absolute, murderous fury burned behind her icy blue eyes.
The younger futa sister wore a tightly fitted velvet doublet cut in a highly feminine style, perfectly emphasizing the swell of her breasts and the gentle flare of her narrow hips - yet beneath that incredibly alluring exterior lurked a utterly ruthless schemer.
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Seraphine was rapidly piecing together the grim suspicion that her recent, near-fatal "fever" was directly tied to the younger girl. In an era like this, slipping poison into a sibling's cup to secure the line of succession was essentially a family pastime.
Seraphine's political position was incredibly fragile.
Due to her history of crippling illness, she had been entirely isolated from the vicious court politics of the region, leaving her with absolutely zero allies among the local aristocracy.
They had all flocked to Cordelia.
Until incredibly recently, the younger futa had been the undisputed rising star of House Karsfeld - she wielded a blade with lethal grace, bled charisma, and possessed a razor-sharp mind. She had even managed to completely charm Emilia Falkenrath, securing the terrifying political backing of the sovereign house for their betrothal.
Seraphine knew full well that there were likely a dozen highborn ladies across the County of Tyravia perfectly willing to help Cordelia quietly slip a dagger into her older rival's back. She would have to tread with extreme caution, slowly and methodically clawing back her own political leverage within the highborn circles.
But above all else, she intended to violently seize the loyalty of the common folk.
She was absolutely certain that by aggressively modernizing agriculture and heavy industry, she would bind the peasantry to her so tightly they would never tolerate another ruler.
While the arrogant aristocrats of this world looked down on the peasantry as little more than mindless, talking cattle, Evelyn Weiss’s modern memories served as a chilling reminder of exactly what happened to tyrants when the crushed masses finally snapped.
And thanks to the impending tidal wave of military technological innovation she was about to unleash, the glorious era of knights clanking around in heavy plate armor was about to be violently and permanently buried.
Marielle watched Seraphine with a heavy dose of caution lingering in her beautiful, azure eyes.
The young girl saw perfectly well how radically her elder sister had mutated overnight. She genuinely agonized over whether some dark, supernatural entity had pulled the strings, even though Seraphine had yet to show her an ounce of malice.
Despite her lingering terrors, Marielle obediently carried out every single command. Had the girl known that Cordelia was the one who had slipped poison to their eldest sister, she likely would have smothered the younger futa in her sleep.
Fortunately for the fragile peace holding the castle together, that particular treason remained buried in the dark.
The heavy silence at the table was finally shattered by Adelgarde Karsfeld’s deep rumble. The Baroness, clearly eager for an update on yesterday’s summit with Sabine, fixed her firstborn with a heavy stare over the rim of her goblet:
"So, Seraphine, how did your parley with Sabine Keller go yesterday?"
Seraphine elegantly sliced off a thick piece of roasted fish. Dabbing the corner of her lips with a linen napkin, she met her Sire’s gaze with a proud, utterly composed smile:
"You may rest easy, Sire. Construction will commence as swiftly as humanly possible. Sabine merely needs to mobilize the necessary workforce of laborers and masons to break ground. I have absolute faith in her technical mastery."
Adelgarde let out a heavy sigh of visible relief, the harsh, unforgiving lines of her face softening slightly. She was deeply relieved that her daughter’s sudden burst of ambition wasn't merely a fleeting, manic whim.
However, that exact news sent a spike of pure dread straight through the only other person at the table who mattered - Cordelia. The young futa instantly plastered on a mask of breathless, innocent curiosity.
"Construction? What grand project are we speaking of? Are we building something magnificent?"
Every single woman seated at the table bought the sickly-sweet act hook, line, and sinker - except Seraphine. In her previous life, Evelyn had dealt with far too many sociopathic defense contractors not to smell a rat from a mile away.
Cordelia’s performance was undeniably good, but it was nowhere near flawless enough to blind the razor-sharp instincts of a former military engineering officer. This barely sixteen-year-old futa was utterly rotten to her absolute core.
Adelgarde, thrilled that her second futa was finally showing an active interest in the domain’s administration, eagerly spilled the details regarding the advanced blast furnace and the Bessemer converter:
"Your elder sister has presented me with some truly staggering concepts for refining steel. With these new mechanisms in place, we will be mass-producing iron and high-grade steel on a scale never before witnessed!"
Raw pride bled through every syllable the Baroness spoke. While Cordelia kept her dazzling smile firmly pinned in place, her insides were boiling like a sealed cauldron.
Where in the deepest pits of hell did this walking corpse acquire such knowledge?!
Why did no one breathe a single word of this to me?
Damn it all, I was supposed to inherit those mountain mines and ore veins!
Those vicious, spiraling thoughts clawed at the inside of the younger sister's skull as she drilled her gaze into Seraphine.
However, she was utterly unprepared for what happened a fraction of a second later - Seraphine snapped her gaze up and locked eyes with her.
The elder futa's sapphire eyes narrowed into icy, predatory slits.
It was the terrifying, unblinking stare of someone who knew exactly where the bodies were buried and was merely biding her time for the perfect moment to violently return the favor.
The sheer intensity of the look froze the blood solid in Cordelia’s veins. Those were absolutely not the eyes of the naive, perpetually terrified sister she had grown up manipulating.
Before Cordelia could force a single word past her suddenly dry throat, Seraphine elegantly swallowed her final bite, rose smoothly from the heavy oak chair, and slipped seamlessly back into flawless court etiquette.
"Forgive me, Sire, but may I be excused? I have urgent logistical matters to hash out with Sabine."
A soft, genuinely pleased smile graced Adelgarde's face, the Baroness remaining entirely oblivious to the vicious, silent war that had just detonated between her children.
"Of course, go. May fortune favor your endeavors."
Seraphine bowed perfectly and swept out of the hall. She left her family sitting at the table, while Cordelia’s right hand - which had been gripping a heavy carving knife with white-knuckled force - began to shake so violently that the steel blade loudly clattered against her silver plate.
The elder sister’s freezing, dead-eyed stare was still permanently burned into the back of her skull, a look that had effortlessly shattered her flawless mask and peered straight down into the darkest, rotting corners of her soul.
Isolde Karsfeld, instantly noticing the violent tremor, leaned forward with genuine maternal alarm:
"Cordelia, my sweet, your hand is trembling. Are you feeling unwell?"
The young futa snapped her gaze down to her violently shaking fingers and reflexively dropped the heavy knife entirely. She clamped her left hand over her right wrist in a desperate bid to smother the spasm, forcing a terribly pale, strained smile onto her lips:
"I am perfectly fine, Mother... I simply feel a wave of sudden fatigue. If you will permit me, I shall go lie down in my chambers for a short while."
The moment permission was granted, Cordelia walked out of the dining hall at a strictly measured, dignified pace. But the very second she cleared the threshold and vanished from her mother’s line of sight, she broke into a dead sprint, tearing down the stone corridor straight toward her quarters.
She violently threw herself inside and instantly slammed the heavy iron deadbolt shut. Pressing her back against the thick oak planks, her legs finally gave out. She collapsed to her knees, burying her flushed, burning face in her trembling hands as she dragged in ragged, panicked gasps of air:
"What kind of foul demon has possessed her... how the hell does she know what I did?!"
Paralyzed by sheer terror, the trembling futa could not shake a single, horrifying conclusion: her poison had successfully murdered her frail sister, but it had left an empty, perfectly preserved vessel behind - a vessel that had immediately been hijacked by a ruthless, omniscient demon.