Veloria sat in silence for a long while on the rose-carved chair.
The candle in her chamber flickered, shaken by the wind sneaking in through the tall window.
Her breath came heavy, cold sweat dripping down, as if her body was still trying to remember who its true master was.
Then the wave came—flashes of light, the crack of gunfire, the acrid stench of gunpowder.
Not a palace chandelier.
Not velvet carpets of crimson.
But wet earth, a pitch-dark night, and the sound of rain mingled with blood.
Once, her name was Veloria Hwang.
A soldier—not just any soldier, but a member of a special forces unit forged through merciless training.
Her body was honed to sprint beneath storms of bullets.
Her hands trained to wield steel blades, combat knives, even modern bows during drills.
She could ride horses in battle simulations and steady a machine gun in the middle of a tempest.
The military world was one without mercy.
Discipline, blood, and sweat were her daily bread.
Yet behind it all, Veloria was simply human, with modest needs.
She lived in a cramped apartment with peeling paint on the walls.
Her wages vanished into rent, fast food, and meager savings that couldn't even buy a small home.
Her comrades had married, built families, or opened businesses after retirement.
Veloria? She only had ledgers filled more often with red than black.
Sometimes, in the lonely nights, she would stare at her phone with a bitter smile.
"It's absurd. I can hit a target from 500 meters away, but I can't hit the simple target called financial freedom."
That night arrived as usual—a border raid.
"Just a small operation,"
they said.
No one suspected it would be her end.
"Alpha-3, position ready?" her commander's voice crackled through the headset.
Veloria pressed against the concrete wall, rifle aimed. "Ready. Awaiting orders."
She led her small squad forward, quick and efficient.
Boots pounding, breath steady, finger firm on the trigger.
But the battlefield was never predictable.
As they neared the weapons depot, the ground rumbled.
A thunderous explosion tore everything apart.
Veloria was hurled to the ground, ears ringing, vision blurring.
As she struggled to rise, she saw something more bitter than her wounds: her comrades fleeing, abandoning her.
A searing pain pierced her chest—not only from the shrapnel lodged there, but from betrayal itself.
So this is how I die? After years of sacrifice, I'll end here, on foreign soil, abandoned by my own squad…
Blood spilled from her lips. Her sight dimmed.
In those final moments, she thought not of her country, nor of honor.
Only of her pitiful bank balance, her life of poverty, and the cruel irony that all her sacrifices had never brought her the freedom she craved.
"If there's another life…" she whispered faintly, "…I don't want to be poor. I want to be rich."
Darkness consumed her.
When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer Veloria Hwang.
She awoke in a lavish chamber, within the body of Duchess Veloria Ardent.
A grand mirror reflected a stranger: long silver hair shimmering like moonlight, violet eyes both beautiful and cold, flawless pale skin.
A graceful, delicate frame… fragile to the touch.
Veloria stepped closer, brushing the reflection.
"…Me? Or not me?"
A maid rushed in, pale and flustered.
"Your Grace, you fainted for a long time. Please, you must rest."
Veloria gave only a slight nod.
But her mind spun.
So this was the body of the ill-fated Duchess, slandered and doomed to a tragic death.
This world was exactly like the novel she had once read.
And now… she was the one living it.
She tried to rise from the bed. Her legs faltered. Three steps—then she collapsed into the plush carpet.
The maid shrieked in panic.
"Your Grace! Are you all right?"
Veloria chuckled softly, half-bitter, half-amused.
This noble body was beautiful, yet utterly feeble.
Once, she could do hundreds of push-ups. Now, three steps left her sprawled on the floor.
Her eyes flicked to a decorative sword on the wall. Without hesitation, she seized it and swung.
The result? The blade nearly slipped from her hands.
"…So weak. Like jelly"
But behind her murmur, her eyes gleamed.
Fine. If this body is fragile, then I'll forge it.
I once built my strength from nothing as a soldier.
I can do it again.
Night fell, the sky outside deep violet.
Veloria sat in a grand chair, gazing upward, recalling her two lives:
A modern soldier—dying poor, in vain.
A noble duchess—meant to die slandered, disgraced.
No. This time, nothing will be in vain.
"Love? Eldric? Court politics? Forget it. I have only one goal: wealth."
A cold smile curved across her lips.
"I'll turn this world into my fortune. And anyone who dares to bring me down… they'll regret it."
She shut the window, sinking onto the velvet sofa.
Her mind replayed the glittering ballroom scene from the novel—the night that was meant to end her life.
Veloria sighed.
"How ironic. I was a soldier who died on the battlefield, and now I'm a frail duchess who gets winded after five minutes of walking."
She studied her hands. Slender, pale, delicate—so unlike the calloused, iron-strong grip she remembered.
She tried clenching them, but they trembled like those of an old woman lifting weights for the first time.
"Honestly, this body is sugar glass. I once did a hundred push-ups without pause. Now? I might die just climbing stairs."
A knock came at the door.
The young maid entered once more, face still pale, tray of tea in hand.
"Duchess… are you well? Usually… you don't—"
"Don't what? Never touch your own tea? Never wake late? Never smile?" Veloria cut in, voice calm but eyes sharp.
The maid swallowed "You… are different, Your Grace."
Veloria nearly laughed. Of course she was.
The former Duchess was a vain doll, obsessed with jewels and jealous of the heroine.
And her? A soldier whose mind knew only strategy, weapons, and money.
"If I say I've changed my mind, is that forbidden in this palace?" Veloria sipped the tea.
The maid stammered. "N-no, Your Grace. Of course not. I only—"
"Good. From now on, I want a physical training schedule every morning. I don't care how weak this body is—I'll train it. And bring me market reports—especially on metals, fabrics, and spices."
The maid gawked, as though hearing an alien speak. Duchess Ardent… asking about market prices?
Veloria set the cup down with a faint smile.
"And don't you dare tell anyone I've changed. Just say I've… found a new hobby. Understand?"
"Y-yes, Your Grace."
When the door closed, Veloria buried her face into a pillow and laughed quietly.
"Gods, this is ridiculous. A Duchess obsessed with market prices. If the nobles heard, they'd think I've gone mad."
But that was exactly what fueled her spirit.
This world was full of pompous fools shackled by etiquette and empty grandeur.
To Veloria, those were mere masks.
True value lay only in two things: strength and wealth.
She lifted her hand, studying her slender fingers.
"All right, Veloria. You're no longer a soldier in the barracks. You're a Duchess in a nest of vipers. But the principle stays the same: whoever holds the blade and the gold… wins."
Her eyes gleamed.
"And this time, I won't die in vain. I'll live—filthy rich."