I woke up on a stiff canvas cot inside a military tent.
Before I could even open my eyes, a suffocating rage pressed down on my chest like an iron weight. I gasped, looked down at myself, and froze in terror.
Spilling out beneath my collar was an enormous, unmistakable cleavage.
I let out an involuntary shriek.
"Clara? Are you alright?"
A man strode into the tent. He wore polished steel plate chased with gold filigree over a tailored gambeson, looking every bit the dashing noble knight.
"I'm fine!" I squeaked, my voice coming out as a feminine panic. "Just... just a nightmare."
"A nightmare?" He walked closer, looked concerned as he reached to check my forehead. "You rarely shout in your sleep. Are you burning up?"
"No! No, really, I'm fine," I said quickly, pulling the wool blanket up to my chin. "I just need to wash up and get dressed. Can you... wait outside? Please?"
He looked at me with soft eyes and smiled gently. "Alright, little sister. Don't take too long. Father and the boys are already at the breakfast table waiting for the tactical briefing."
"Right. Give me five minutes."
The moment the tent flap fell shut, my brain shouted: I freaking turned into Clara.
It took several long minutes to accept the reality. Naturally, I couldn't resist sneaking a few shameless glances at her body. After shedding the sleepwear and spending some quality time admiring the view, panic struck again:
What the hell am I supposed to wear?
Clara famously hated letting servants dress her. If I called a maid, I'd blow my cover instantly.
Desperate, I looked around the tent and spotted a stand of tailored plate armor. Fine. When in a camp, wear what the soldiers wear.
Getting her chest shoved into the fitted breastplate took an amount of squeezing and cursing.
"Clara, your boobs are way too damn big..." I grunted under my breath. I couldn’t believe I was saying this.
Once geared up, I stepped out into the crisp morning air. Outside was a sprawling military encampment.
Banners fluttered over rows of white canvas; siege engines lined up along the ridge. We were squared off against a massive hostile force across the valley.
Her brother escorted me toward the main pavilion with a warm smile, chatting casually about the upcoming deployment. Yet, looking at his back, that fury flared up in my chest again.
It wasn't my anger but Clara's. And it’s so damn strong...
Inside the pavilion, the family sat around a long wooden table.
At the head sat her father. He was a silver-haired old man with a weathered face that radiated quiet authority. Behind his high-backed chair hung long triangular pennants bearing a white lion rampant against a crimson field.
Flanking him were her two older brothers, both tall and broad-shouldered in decorated plate, and a younger brother who looked barely eighteen, bursting with youthful ambition and pride.
I was the only woman in the tent.
Or rather, a guy trapped inside a woman's body.
"Good morning, my jewel," the father said, his harsh face softening into a warm smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"I... yeah. Good morning," I mumbled, sliding into the seat.
The atmosphere around the table was cheerful. They passed around fresh bread, smoked venison, and warm ale, discussing battlefield maneuvers like it was a family picnic.
But the longer I sat there, the worse I felt. My stomach burned with resentment.
"You've barely touched your trenchers, Clara," the younger brother noted, tilting his head. "Are you nervous about the vanguard?"
"No, just... my stomach aches a bit," I excused myself.
The older brother who had woken me up chuckled, leaning over to pat my armored shoulder. "It is around that time of the month again, isn't it? Don't push yourself too hard today."
I froze. He even tracks her menstrual cycle?
That’s… sweet but weird.
They seemed so genuinely caring and close-knit. Why the hell was Clara harboring such rage toward them?
"Let us review the deployment," the father announced, unrolling a heavy parchment map across the plates. "The insurgent peasant rabble has massed across the lower valley. Clara, you will remain with the rear guard. When the signal flare rises, channel the Blessing of Agnesia and unleash the Grand Area Restoration spell. Give our knights the stamina they need to break their lines in a single strike."
"Understood," I answered softly.
Inside Clara's mind, a dark voice drowned out his words: Swap the scrolls. Cast the ruinous spell. Kill them all. Slaughter every single one of them.
Right on cue, two squires entered carrying a wooden chest, presenting me with an array of spell scrolls shimmering with a golden aura.
To my eyes, these were alien, but Clara's hands moved with instinctual familiarity.
As the tactical discussion continued, everyone remained supportive, offering encouraging smiles and tactical advice.
The scene was a loving family united against common enemies. I felt a pang of bitter envy. That’s the opposite of my broken family.
Why would she want to destroy this? I thought, trying to suppress the murderous impulses.
Then it hit me: This is only part of her memories. The past is already written. I can't change a single thing.
By now, I had guessed what was coming.
Clara was going to slaughter her own family. The realization sent a chill down my spine, but I didn't turn against her. I didn't know the full context. What if they had subjected her to horrors before this? A traumatic family could drive anyone over the edge.
Besides, hearing her father trying to slaughter the peasant confirmed that these lords were just oppressors.
My sympathy evaporated quickly.
Once the briefing ended and the tent cleared, the older brother who knew her cycle lingered behind.
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and crushed his lips against mine, forcing a heavy French kiss.
HOLY SHIT.
Incest?! What the actual fuck, Clara?!
I shoved his chest plate with all my strength, gasping for breath. "I... I feel sick! I need fresh air!"
Without waiting for his response, I bolted from the tent.
Alright, fine, I thought, scrubbing my mouth violently. It's the dark Middle Ages. Aristocratic bloodlines are messed up. I get it now.
The horns of war blared, and battle commenced.
I stood on the raised platform at the rear of the lines. Below, thousands of crimson-clad knights clashed with the ragged peasant militia.
True to the dark intent echoing in Clara's head, I swapped the holy restoration scroll for a blackened parchment covered in jagged, bleeding runes.
I raised my hands. Dark thunder cracked across the clear sky, and pitch-black lightning rained down from the heavens.
Wait...
The blast didn't hit the nobles. But turning the peasant army into ashes in seconds.
Did I aim wrong?!
Before I could process the mistake, the ground tore open with a roar. A towering, horned Demon of obsidian and molten fire crawled out of the shattered earth.
The demon roared and began slaughtering everything that moved, tearing through the noble retinue.
Clara's father was crushed underfoot; her older brothers were ripped in half within their armor; the younger brother was hurled fifty feet into the air and dismembered before he hit the ground.
HOLY FUCK…
Watching the bloodshed, the rage inside Clara's chest finally subsided. Her mana emptied, and the world faded to black.
When the memory reconstructed itself, I was sitting alone on the cold stone floor of the high castle tower.
Clara was terrified. I could feel it.
She believed that without terror and an iron fist, the same fate would befall her. Violence had liberated her from her family, but it had also forged a prison around her soul.
I looked out the high arched window. The iron gates were decorated with rotting heads on pikes.
I don't know how to rule. Everyone will betray me. Everyone wants my blood.
Driven by sheer terror, Clara fell to her knees before the stone altar, weeping as she prayed to the dark gods:
"Grant me an outlander from another world. Bind our very souls together. Make him useless with zero ambition, zero capability, and zero threat to my power. Make him someone who will fall in love with me at first sight and follow me like an obedient dog..."
My jaw dropped. The prayer finished, and the terrifying truth slammed into my mind.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Clara was the one who cast the curse on herself?!
I wasn't some chosen one randomly linked by fate. I was hand-picked by a dark prayer because I was the most pathetic, easily manipulated loser in the multiverse!
I'm not her partner. I'm her fucking emotional support pet!
Oh my god… it made so much sense now.
Her forbidding me from using the Glock? Because having a gun gave me lethal competence, and a competent man was a threat to her paranoid control!?
And people who try to assassinate her? Hell, after seeing this, EVERYONE has a damn good reason to kill her! I want to shoot her myself right now!
And where the hell did that summoned demon go? How many innocent lives had this crazy woman destroyed across two dimensions?!
Just as I tried to dig deeper into the memory to see the aftermath, the connection was severed.
Luna's calm voice echoed through the void: "Enough. You have seen all that is necessary."
"Wait! Let me—"
Before I could finish the sentence, darkness consumed my vision once more.