Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 102

"The dormitory building should be completed within the next two weeks, but the lecture hall still needs more work. The progress itself is decent, but I'm not sure if we'll meet the deadline."

"Maintain the current pace for now. While delaying the opening date is an option, let's first monitor the situation further."

Aiselin sat at her desk piled high with ledgers, architectural blueprints, and workers'reports, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair.

From the next funding schedule to construction progress, the backgrounds of noble ladies enrolling, assistant instructor recruitment status, and the barony's finances—she juggled countless details with the demeanor of a seasoned businesswoman.

"..."

Pellin, ostensibly playing the role of Baroness, couldn't even read basic ledgers while Aiselin had already seized full control of financial affairs.

'Why can't she just be the Baroness?'

Sweating in an ill-fitting dress from her corner of the office, Pellin watched as Aiselin shuttled between construction sites and paperwork, wholly absorbed in the academy project despite the rising heat.

"Oh dear... Lady Pellin, my apologies. As you can see, Ravenclaw Barony is at a historic turning point. I've neglected my duties as host."

"N-no, technically I'm the lady of the house while you're our honored guest..."

"Ah, right... My apologies. When immersed in work, I sometimes lose all sense of propriety..."

No one could fathom why this noblewoman—practically the pillar of House Duplein—would bury herself in provincial baronial accounts, but she seemed convinced Derek had some grand design.

"As mentioned, Lady Pellin must attend the academy's opening as our honored guest. As the Baroness, you'll receive the utmost respect."

"...Where exactly is Derek?"

"He's currently attending urgent business at House Belmiere. He said he'd return once matters are settled, so we must complete all critical tasks beforehand."

"B-Belmiere Count's family?"

Pellin couldn't help tilting her head at Derek's sudden involvement with that distant house.

"I heard Lady Elente faces grave danger... something about necromantic magic being involved. It's quite concerning."

Aiselin had written the letter Derek requested after hearing of Elente's predicament at Belmiere Manor—a missive supporting Elente's innocence which Derek now carried back to the estate, likely to resolve major developments soon.

"How did Derek... get involved with Belmiere's affairs?"

"Circumstances aligned somewhat... Also, it seems former heir Ryner made a special request of Derek."

Ryner, the previous heir, had helped Derek obtain his barony on condition that Derek would support Elente in times of crisis. Thus Derek's current involvement was natural, though some aspects remained questionable.

'Come to think of it, why did Ryner renounce his position as Belmiere's heir?'

'And how did he anticipate Lady Elente would face such danger?'

'Even if he needed noble support, why specifically Derek when so many others could help?'

The seemingly free-spirited Ryner's actions defied comprehension at every turn. Yet since he'd played a pivotal role in Derek's barony, Derek didn't question it deeply.

'I hope everything concludes without incident.'

With that thought, Aiselin resumed her quill work.

Watching from her corner, Pellin began doubting whether this girl truly was Duplein's flower—she looked more like Ravenclaw Barony's chief strategist.

The next day, Border Count Belmiere assembled all senior retainers and direct blood relatives in the manor's main hall.

Rows of key servants stood behind the head butler and head maid, while the hall seated the count's right-hand men—the chancellor, mercenary commander, treasurer, magistrate, intelligence officer, and magical advisor.

Gathering these busy figures forcibly signaled one thing—today would decide Elente's fate and proclaim it to the entire house.

How the Count handled his daughter's alleged necromancy would determine House Belmiere's future.

- Creak

- Thud, thud.

The doors opened to admit Countess Lienklof, her graying hair framing a somber expression as she addressed her husband.

"Why... have you gathered everyone like this...?"

"..."

"Have you... reached a decision...?"

The obedient, demure countess rarely opposed her husband's policies. Today too, she simply lowered her gaze with a dark expression.

The Count's heart ached at her demeanor but revealed nothing.

"Take your seat."

As the countess sat at the high table, youngest son Leonard entered with equally grave bearing, bowing respectfully before taking a corner seat.

When all key figures were assembled, the central figure made her entrance.

Escorted by squires, she appeared with crimson hair cascading down, posture straight as a rose stem.

Elente stood before the retainers without altering her expression. Regardless of circumstances, all present acknowledged her breathtaking beauty.

"Such an early assembly. Being confined for reflection was so tedious... I almost welcome this situation."

Before anyone could speak, Elente addressed the gathering in honeyed tones.

"I've heard no explanations, so I assume this isn't an apology for misunderstandings... but my sentencing?"

"That depends on you, Elente."

Border Count Belmiere's voice rumbled from the high seat.

He placed investigation materials on the table, continuing heavily:

"I must now decide your fate, Elente."

"..."

"Our week-long investigation uncovered much from your quarters. Necromantic traces in a long-abandoned basement, your personal effects there—hairpins, magical tools, and such."

"My, is that so?"

Elente remained unflappable.

Leonard studied her intently. Having observed her psychological strain days prior, he now sensed an unnatural composure.

'What's this...?'

He'd isolated her completely—bribing servants to spread rumors, fabricating evidence, co-opting potential allies. Even Derek's unexpected arrival had been neutralized.

Yet now she radiated confidence.

"And we confirmed you corresponded with Duplein's Valerian."

"I see."

Elente strode to the hall's center, letting her dress train sweep gracefully as she smiled.

Leonard's confusion grew—he'd anticipated every possible defense, but Elente simply nodded along.

Their eyes met briefly, and Elente flashed a knowing smile.

'What game is she playing?'

Leonard had prepared for every scenario—except this.

"──How unfortunate. You've uncovered everything."

Her words dropped like stones in the silent hall.

No one expected this.

Whether the Count, Countess, Leonard or other retainers—all anticipated Elente would fight to prove her innocence.

"M-my lady! What... what do you mean...?"

"Lady Elente! Is... is this true?"

Murmurs erupted.

Elente's unexpected confession left everyone wide-eyed.

- Bang!

The Count's fist silenced the room.

"Elente...!"

His face contorted between rage, grief and suspicion.

"What... what are you saying, Elente...? That you practiced necromancy?"

"Father. Knowing me better than anyone... surely you understand?"

Elente beamed.

"Those walking the path of power need weapons none possess... daggers hidden until the perfect strike. For me... that was necromancy."

"Elente!"

"But since we're here, I'll confess. Yes... I wielded necromancy as my weapon, my foundation of power. Even forbidden arts become swords when used properly."

She shook loose her hair, smiling wider—beauty tinged with eeriness.

"Dismembering corpses, painting with blood, kneading flesh—it may seem grotesque at first. But human life is fleeting. If serving greater purposes, such research has value. Surely... you understand my philosophy, Father?"

Senior retainers broke into cold sweats.

Even loyalists like Briana and Milton swallowed hard.

"A... witch..."

A mercenary's whisper went unchallenged.

Tension thickened.

Leonard alone was stunned.

He knew the truth—Elente never practiced necromancy. This was his fabrication.

So why confess?

He'd prepared for every rebuttal—except this.

-'Why fight on the enemy's battlefield? Let's redraw the map.'

Derek's words in that dark room echoed as Elente smiled wildly.

"You all look troubled. But don't mistake me for some madwoman. Necromancy isn't humanity's only bloodstained path. Forget our bloody evolution at your peril."

"Elente! You... you...!"

"Father! I've said since childhood—I'd spare no means for power!"

Her voice softened wistfully.

"This was my method."

Silence.

The Count staggered back before collapsing into his chair.

"Elente... I... believed in you..."

"Oh dear... So even you can't understand me..."

His words signaled abandonment—her last ally gone.

Like dominoes, the retainers'trust crumbled.

"How... how could you...! After our loyalty...!"

"A witch...! A curse-seeking witch stands before us...!"

"We can't repeat Duplein's tragedy...! This blight must be excised...!"

"I served Lady Elente for over a decade...! To end like this...!"

"I always sensed she'd cross lines for power...!"

"I knew too...! But not to this extent...!"

Condemnation rained down.

Elente closed her eyes, smiling as admiration turned to revulsion.

'So this is rock bottom.'

That abyss of despair—one must experience it to soar higher.

Countless souls wallowed in darkness—girls who lost half their family to necromancy, boys clawing up from slums.

Compared to them, this was a gentle hell.

If she couldn't endure this, what right had she to greater ambitions?

Elente smiled brighter—locking eyes with Leonard.

- Thud, thud.

Leonard hurried down the corridor.

Though maintaining noble composure, his steps betrayed urgency.

'What's happening? This makes no sense.'

Events spiraled beyond his calculations.

Superficially, all proceeded as planned—Elente stood condemned, abandoned by all.

Yet her conduct defied expectation. Some gambit remained unseen.

He rushed to the heir's private chambers—soon to be his—where a secret basement held his fabricated evidence.

The servant who'd helped arrange the grisly workshop now lay among its corpses.

'There must be clues I missed. I'll search everywhere her influence reached.'

At the bookcase's hidden handle, he paused.

- Rumble

The secret door revealed descending stairs.

As he pondered Elente's possible moves, a realization struck—on this battlefield of her making, she had no moves left.

Reaching the basement's blood-scented darkness, he grasped the wooden door.

- Creak

"...?!"

"Ah."

A guest awaited.

In the darkness, crimson eyes gleamed through white hair.

A cloaked figure sat polishing a sword that caught the light.

"Young Master Leonard."

"Baron Ravenclaw...? What brings you here...?"

Leonard instinctively stepped back.

The man rose, turning the blade—its edge gleaming cold.

─Then who was the prey?

As Leonard pondered, Derek stood.

Despite the warm spring, an icy chill permeated the basement.