Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 100

"A letter arrived from Baron Ravenclaw?"

Early morning, while being groomed by the manor maids, Lady Trisha wore a bewildered expression.

Less than ten days had passed since her rejected commission to Derek.

Though the request itself was partly a ploy to maintain contact with Evelstain's most renowned magic tutor, uncovering Rodentz Island's necromancers remained undeniably important.

It was meant to curry favor with Countess Renuel while keeping ties with Derek—a perfect two-for-one scheme that collapsed when he refused, deeming it too dangerous.

Yet Derek's dawn-delivered letter rendered all that meaningless.

-'I believe I've found a necromancer who survived Rodentz Island.'

That single opening line froze Trisha's expression as she read.

Nearly ten days into Elente's house arrest, a beleaguered Count Belmierd finally gathered senior retainers, direct family, and trusted servants in his study.

Every clue from Elente's room pointed to one conclusion: she'd researched necromancy.

"Your Excellency..."

Briana studied the Count's face with concern.

His expression mirrored Elente's—haggard and cornered.

Public opinion had soured daily. Servants now whispered of seeing Elente wandering the manor grounds at night—likely just sleepless moon-gazing, but rumors festered.

Eyewitness accounts piled up—her tired appearance from late studies (or was it dark magic sessions?), her avoidance of necromancy discussions (or mere taboo adherence?).

Suspicion bred suspicion.

From the shadows, Leonard barely suppressed a smirk.

Only two direct pieces of"evidence"existed—the hidden lab beneath Elente's room and the damning letter. Both his handiwork.

The secret basement was actually an emergency shelter known to senior staff, forgotten over decades of peace. Leonard had spent months converting it into a necromantic den, planting Elente's belongings during her absence.

The letter cleverly wove truth (her Duplein visit) with fiction (collaboration with Valerian). Just enough plausibility to sow doubt.

Once planted, rumors grew legs. Truth became irrelevant—perception was everything.

"Father."

Leonard stepped forward, the picture of reluctant piety.

"You must... harden your heart."

His pained delivery was masterful—the devout lamb forced to speak harsh truths.

"Sister Elente is but a lost sheep... even she stumbles sometimes..."

"Leonard!"

"I take no pleasure in this! But consider Duplein's tragedy!"

He played his trump card—Elente's infamous ambition. What mage wouldn't be tempted by forbidden power?

"I crave no succession rights,"Leonard lied smoothly."Recall Ryner if you must. Just... act before Belmierd burns like Duplein."

Ryner would never return. With Elente disgraced, Leonard remained the only heir—a fact his"selflessness"highlighted.

Count Belmierd rubbed his temples.

"I'll hear Elente's defense tomorrow. All evidence will be presented. Then... we decide."

Leonard inwardly cursed the Count's caution. But he'd seen Elente's deteriorating state—she was already broken.

"Hah... hah..."

A viscous sensation dripped through Elente's mind—the first true taste of unraveling.

Under guarded meals, suspicious glances, and garden whispers, the mighty Lady Belmierd sat alone in her gilded cage.

Her brilliant mind, sharp instincts, and peerless magic meant nothing against rumor's slow poison.

"Ridiculous... that I'd... falter at this...?"

Gnawing her nails, she repeated hollow words. Only pride remained—a flickering candle against the void.

She finally understood—the crowd's loyalty was windblown chaff. Power's glow attracted moths; darkness scattered them.

"If... if Duplein replies..."

A dry heave cut her off. She collapsed.

When had she last combed her hair? Applied cosmetics? The mirror showed only a wraith.

Memories surfaced—a theater play she'd once scoffed at, where a lord renounced power for love. The actor's mournful song now echoed mockingly.

She'd chased power's illusion, never realizing its flowers were painted—beautiful until the rain came.

*Plink plink*

Raindrops hit the window, swelling to a downpour that mirrored her despair.

Why had she lived? For sand slipping through clenched fists?

Her blurred vision settled on a ceremonial dagger in the corner.

If she pressed its edge to her throat now—would morning find her with tears frozen in death, finally believed?

The impulse made no sense. Yet despair rarely did.

As her trembling hand reached—

*CRASH!*

Lightning flashed as the window shattered inward.

A cloaked figure rolled through the storm, illusion magic masking the noise. He stood dripping, then—without hesitation—grabbed the dagger's blade.

*Drip drip*

Blood ran down steel as he wrenched it away, shoving Elente back.

Before she could scream, he tossed two letters on the table—one bearing Duplein's seal, the other Renuel's.

"Guh—!"

Lightning illuminated his bloodied hand and crimson eyes.

Even when all others turn away—one remains.

Elente knew, without knowing why:

This man was her ally.