Smack! Smack!

  Anastasia’s mind went bnk. She—Anastasia, the genius, the once-ruler of three lifetimes—was now dangling upside down, firmly held under Zenith’s arm like a misbehaving child. “Unhand me, woman! This is undignified!” she hissed, squirming in fury, but careful not to actually hurt Zenith. She still had some morals left.

  “What barbaric method of discipline is this?!” Anastasia protested, her pride crumbling under the relentless spanking. “I didn’t even do anything wrong!!”

  Smack!

  “It doesn’t even hurt, but—my image!! My image is in ruins!” she cried out, still trying to maintain some ounce of superiority.

  And then fate decided to mock her further—Zenith’s hand nded with full intent.

  SMACK!

  “Ouch!!” Anastasia yelped, her eyes watering a bit as the sting finally broke through her magical arrogance.

  Roxy, Rudeus, and Ange stood nearby, watching the whole spectacle unfold like an audience at a py. Roxy covered her mouth, stifling a ugh. Rudeus smirked smugly. Ange, meanwhile, watched her fearsome “master” getting humbled before her eyes—and for the first time since being summoned, she felt safe.

  “Truly,” Ange whispered, smiling softly, “this world has its own gods.”

  Anastasia stood silently in the corner of the room, facing the wall with her head bowed in shame. Her cheeks still faintly red—not from pain, but from the sheer humiliation. The once-prideful tyrant now looked like a sulking child in time-out.

  At the table, Lilia gracefully poured a cup of tea for Ange and pced a small pte of biscuits beside it. “Please, have some,” she said politely.

  “T-thank you...” Ange replied, clutching the book against her chest like a lifeline. Her eyes drifted toward Anastasia briefly—there was pity, and maybe a little justice, in that gnce.

  Roxy and Rudeus had already gone back outside, resuming their lessons like nothing happened.

  Zenith sat down across from Ange, her expression calm but sharp. “So you're telling me… my daughter summoned you?” she asked softly, but with unmistakable weight behind the words.

  Ange nodded, curling her fingers around the warm teacup. “Yes… Though I can’t recall all of my memories yet, I know for certain—she’s the one who brought me here,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

  Zenith fell quiet for a long moment. Her eyes didn’t move from Ange’s face, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere—deep, complicated.

  “I always believed Anastasia was gifted… perhaps too gifted,” Zenith finally said with a gentle sigh. “But now I see—it’s more than genius. Her fate… it stretches further than anything I’ve ever imagined.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, as if trying to foresee the future… and failing.

  “If she can summon a living person—summon you—then what else is she capable of? What will she face? What kind of burden is she carrying?” Zenith murmured to herself.

  Ange sat silently, her teacup trembling faintly in her hands. She didn’t have the answers. But somehow… she feared Anastasia did.

  Anastasia's ears perked up the moment she heard her mother’s words. She whirled around dramatically and proudly decred, “Indeed, Mother! This moment marks the beginning of my path to domination! The gods themselves must be watching—no, waiting—to be beneath my feet!”

  Her voice echoed with confidence that only a truly delusional level of self-belief could muster.

  Zenith, Lilia, and Ange all stared at her, completely bnking out for a moment. That kind of decration was not something you could prepare for.

  Then Zenith chuckled softly. Despite everything, Anastasia’s fearless ambition—no matter how insane—always left an impression. She could probably scale any mountain she set her eyes on.

  “…Anastasia. Reflect more,” Zenith said, this time raising her voice slightly.

  “Tch…” Anastasia clicked her tongue and spun back to face the wall, cheeks puffed in protest. “You’re just stifling greatness,” she muttered under her breath.

  Ange scratched her cheek with a wry smile, unsure how to process all this. “Um… Although Anastasia is… like that, please take care of her, Miss Ange,” Zenith said, her tone shifting to something more genuine. She even moved to bow slightly.

  “N-no, please don’t!” Ange quickly stood up and waved her hands. “It’s fine. Really… If anything, I should be the one grateful.”

  She looked down at the book she was hugging. Her eyes softened with something close to sadness.

  “I need Anastasia more than she needs me. My companions… they’re in this book. I can’t remember all their names, or even their faces, but I know they’re there—sleeping. If Anastasia can summon me… then maybe she can summon them too. And maybe, just maybe… they’ll be alive again, like me.”

  Zenith’s expression grew serious. She reached out and gently pced a hand on Ange’s shoulder. “Then we’ll make sure she does. For all of you.”

  Ange’s lips quivered into a faint, hopeful smile.

  Meanwhile, Anastasia grumbled from the corner, “Don’t plot without me, I'm the protagonist of this world after all…”

  Ange stood anxiously beside Anastasia, eyes locked on the book as the girl flipped it open with practiced confidence. Strange glyphs shimmered faintly across the pages—alive, yet faded by time or perhaps trauma. Then, two names began to glow clearly amidst the blur.

  “Velvyr and Wistoria,” Anastasia said aloud, eyes narrowing slightly. “Only these two are readable. The rest… still locked.”

  Ange’s face lit up in quiet joy. “That means… they can be summoned,” she said softly. “I won’t be alone anymore…”

  Then her expression shifted with concern. “Um… if it’s alright with you, could you summon Wistoria first? Not Velvyr. At least… not yet.” Ange bit her lip before continuing. “Velvy is a bit hotheaded. She won’t obey you unless you defeat her first. But Wistoria… Wistoria is dependable. Like an older sister to us all.”

  Anastasia gave a slow, thoughtful nod. She knew exactly what Ange meant—Velvyr’s strength wasn’t just in her skill, but her temperament. A Saint-ranked swordswoman in the Sword God Style, advanced in fire and earth magic… and the creator of her own Magma Magic, also Saint-ranked. That woman was a walking disaster in human form.

  Wistoria, meanwhile, was a different beast. An Emperor-ranked ice magician, known for bnketing entire regions in tundra during emotional surges. But with Ange nearby to soothe her, she’d be manageable—and even an ally worth relying on.

  “I’ll try,” Anastasia said, eyes scanning the name again. Then she scoffed lightly, “But seriously, who names someone Wistoria? That’s such poor taste. Sounds like a rejected flower.”

  Ange looked away and muttered under her breath, “She is named after a flower…”

  “What was that?” Anastasia raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing!” Ange waved her hands quickly. “Please be gentle when summoning her. She’s very kind, just… fragile inside, okay?”

  Anastasia rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. “I’ll treat her kindly if she acts accordingly. If not—well, the wall’s still warm from my punishment.”

  Ange paled.

  Anastasia led Ange to the open field, the cold afternoon wind brushing past them as they stopped just a few steps from where the frostbitten ground began to shimmer.

  She clutched the book tightly, a grin curling on her lips. "Third iteration... Maiden of Frost," she muttered. "Or more famously, Maiden of Sorrow."

  Would Wistoria be spared from Anastasia’s bullying just because she used to be her? Of course not. That would imply Anastasia had even an ounce of empathy for her previous selves—especially the mencholic ice princess version of herself. To her, they were different people entirely now.

  Still... there was one thing gnawing at her curiosity. Why were all her past lives suddenly women? Just because she was born female this time, doesn’t mean reincarnation retroactively applied gender swaps. Right?

  She brushed the thought aside with an annoyed click of her tongue. “This is going nowhere,” she grumbled and jammed her mana into the book.

  The pages flipped violently, each turn sounding like thunder in the air until it locked on Wistoria's page. The moment it did, a fierce gust of wind exploded outward—unnaturally cold and wild. Ice crystals began to bloom from the ground, carving a magic circle in the earth with shimmering frost.

  Ange quickly conjured a shimmering barrier around Anastasia. “You’ll need this,” she warned. “Wistoria’s summoning is... emotionally reactive.”

  From afar, Roxy and Rudeus stopped their training and turned to watch, the sudden drop in temperature making them tense. Inside the house, Lilia and Zenith peeked from behind the frosted windows, breath fogging the gss.

  As the wind died down, a thick mist settled before Anastasia.

  Then... she appeared.

  A woman stood within the fog. Cd in an elegant white and blue dress, her long white hair flowed gently behind her. Pale skin as soft as moonlight glowed faintly, her deep blue eyes calm and endless like the depths of a frozen ke.

  She was breathtaking.

  Anastasia looked at her for a beat. Then tilted her head, squinting slightly.

  “…Are you a zombie?”

  The wind stopped. The air froze.

  Wistoria blinked. Her serene composure cracked in real time as confusion fshed across her face.

  Ange immediately spped both hands to her face, letting out a muffled groan. “Why... why would you open with that…”