Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 149

As morning arrived, the chilly winter air seeped into the gardens of Count Renuel's residence.

With each exhale, a puff of breath briefly appeared before dissipating, while droplets formed at the edges of the winter coat. Tricia blankly watched the forming droplets for a moment before brushing them away with her sleeve.

She'd come out early to enjoy the crisp morning air, but her heart remained burdened with worries.

'Mother will undoubtedly ask again how things are progressing with the Ravenclaw family.'

Every time she returned home, Countess Rodea would interrogate Tricia with burning intensity. The constant inquiries about whether she needed any assistance clearly showed how desperately the countess wanted to bring Baron Ravenclaw under her influence.

'Even if I were to enroll at Ravenclaw Academy and achieve excellent grades, I have no idea whether I could become his direct disciple...'

How difficult it was to gain recognition from none other than Diela herself needed no explanation—it was common knowledge.

Diela, who had recently risen to the highest position among Derek's official disciples, clearly showed no intention of taking on more students.

This was entirely separate from Tricia's personal grudge against Diela.

She stood like an impenetrable wall, effortlessly suppressing all noble ladies and reigning as the queen of Rosea Salon.

Faced with what felt like an insurmountable barrier, Tricia could only sigh repeatedly.

Even if everything miraculously aligned and she somehow became Derek's direct disciple, new problems would arise.

Among the constellation of brilliant figures like Diela, Elente, Denise, and Sirine, Tricia would never be able to hold her own. Worse still, joining now would relegate her to the position of the youngest—practically the lowest rank. The thought of navigating such social dynamics made swimming through hellfire seem preferable.

Yet in this situation, she couldn't simply ignore Countess Rodea's expectations. Trapped at the edge of a cliff with nowhere to run, she'd already wasted nearly a month in helpless indecision.

"I heard he's coming to Renuel County regarding academy establishment support. We should welcome him grandly. Though he's just a baron overseeing some backwater frontier, his achievements warrant proper respect."

And as always, disaster struck without warning.

Baron Ravenclaw, who'd been tirelessly traveling between academy preparations and territory stabilization during the winter break when the training institute had no classes, was finally visiting Renuel's residence. Given the Renuel family's status as one of the most influential in the southwestern continent, his absence would have been more surprising.

Countess Rodea seemed determined to use this opportunity to formally connect Tricia with Baron Ravenclaw, already making arrangements.

"The head butler prepared a new frilly dress for you. We've also acquired new accessories—be sure to check what suits you."

"R-really? Th-thank you, Mother..."

"As I've said, I've little interest in superficial adornments and my taste is rather crude. You've cultivated aesthetic sensibilities through social engagements—you should choose for yourself. If anything bothers you, speak up."

Though not entirely ignorant of noble etiquette, Countess Rodea had little experience in high society, having spent most of her life on battlefields, making her somewhat rough around the edges.

For her to pay such attention to attire was unusual—clear proof of her determination to firmly secure Baron Ravenclaw this time.

Politically backed by Melberot and economically stable through collaborations with Duplein, the only remaining way to bind him was through romantic ties. Countess Rodea's relentless drive stemmed from her willingness to use any means necessary.

Tricia smiled stiffly at Rodea before retreating to her room to examine herself in the mirror.

A sigh escaped her lips unbidden. As she splashed water on her face, sweat beaded on her forehead while she pondered.

'Right. Without interference from other disciples at the count's residence, I might actually have a chance to sway him as I wish. My confidence has been waning lately... but I need to pull myself together. I'm Tricia of House Renuel, a noble lady.'

After several deep breaths, Tricia straightened her posture to reclaim her usual haughty demeanor.

Chest out, hands on hips, chin raised with a haughty laugh... she finally felt a semblance of her desired regal presence returning.

As Rodea said, her appearance was passable, and the backing of House Renuel was nothing to scoff at.

Therefore, there was no need to feel inferior before Baron Ravenclaw. She simply needed to be herself—confident, proud, and laughing haughtily with her head held high.

After convincing herself before the mirror several times, she felt somewhat lighter.

"..."

Yet shadowy figures loomed behind her—individuals whose mere glances could silence entire rooms through sheer authority.

Whether Diela, Elente, Denise, or Sirine... all were figures who could effortlessly suppress Tricia.

To commoners, Tricia—a count's daughter—might seem like a celestial being, but to those who truly inhabited the heavens, she was just one among countless noble ladies.

Admittedly, with House Renuel's rising influence, Tricia's status wasn't easily dismissed.

Yet an unbridgeable gap existed between the newly emerging family's only daughter and traditionally dominant houses—a disparity titles couldn't explain.

No matter how arrogantly she tried to ignore or suppress them, that distance remained insurmountable.

Especially with Baron Ravenclaw, who had all of them under his wing... the gap was beyond description.

Tricia lowered her gaze again.

From worldly authority to magical prowess and innate character... Baron Ravenclaw's disciples were all on a completely different level from Tricia. There was no way she could join their ranks.

Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to lose confidence.

To cower and live with bowed head would be tantamount to a death sentence in noble society.

Losing confidence meant accepting death.

Such was the unwritten law of high society—the battlefield of noblewomen.

Though currently the most renowned figure in Evelstain and the southwestern continent, Baron Ravenclaw always dressed modestly.

A leather vest over a tunic, snug pants for mobility, well-oiled boots, and a cloak draped like an afterthought... at first glance, he resembled a wandering mercenary more than a noble.

This eccentricity among nobility often drew attention, leaving servants flustered when he descended from his carriage.

His appearance bordered on austere—utterly devoid of ornamentation. Some might consider it rude or lacking refinement, but Countess Rodea found his pragmatic demeanor reliable and trustworthy.

Perhaps her judgment was clouded by affection, but her battlefield-honed values played a role too.

"Your injuries from the last battle must have been severe, yet you've recovered remarkably—what a relief. You've traveled far—you must be exhausted."

"Not at all, Countess. Thanks to your assistance then, matters didn't escalate further. I should have visited sooner to express my gratitude... I apologize for the delay."

"Gratitude? Nonsense. I saw how grievously you were wounded—I'm not unreasonable."

Countess Rodea smiled contentedly upon seeing Baron Ravenclaw after so long.

She already regarded him as a son-in-law, contemplating dowry gifts and whether to provide a separate estate for the newlyweds.

Unlike her battlefield persona where she slaughtered necromancers, Rodea showed a surprisingly simple-minded side in these matters—a stark contrast.

From a distance, Tricia broke into cold sweat watching Rodea's honeyed gaze and satisfied smile.

Clearly, Rodea hadn't yet grasped how impenetrable Derek truly was. She seemed to believe Tricia's looks and demeanor could easily sway him—a notion only possible for someone as romantically inexperienced as Rodea.

Derek was essentially a madman obsessed solely with magic—a blockhead who'd gathered dazzling female disciples without developing a single romantic attachment.

Stirring emotional turbulence in him would be like trying to topple a mountain.

Tricia wished Rodea would realize how unreasonable her expectations were.

"Ah, this is my daughter Tricia. You've met before, but never properly conversed—as her mother, it's been bothering me."

"Ah, hello, Baron Ravenclaw. We meet again."

When Tricia bowed nervously, Derek studied her before returning the greeting.

"Not at all. Lady Tricia and I have spoken several times—she even visited Duplein Manor recently."

"Oh, right. My aging memory fails me. Tell me, did our precious Tricia cause any trouble?"

"Of course not. Lady Tricia has always treated me with the dignity and courtesy befitting Renuel's daughter. The servants mentioned how graciously she conducted herself throughout her visit—quite moving."

One habit Derek developed from social engagements was avoiding unnecessary enemies.

Truthfully, Tricia's behavior at both Ravenclaw and Duplein manors leaned more toward arrogance than dignity, but Derek diplomatically polished her image.

Such consideration came naturally to him. Tricia found this somewhat surprising.

Despite his baronial title, his manners were practically commoner-like.

'Perhaps prolonged exposure to nobility changes people after all.'

Tricia cleared her throat several times before lifting her dress slightly and bowing again.

"Baron Ravenclaw, you're too kind. Compared to the other ladies at Rosea Salon, I'm quite lacking."

"Not at all."

His firm denial when necessary showed skillful lady-handling.

Countess Rodea smiled approvingly at Derek before promptly leading him inside.

Tricia gulped, clenched her dress, and followed.

Her nervousness threatened to soften her sharp gaze, so she tensed her arms and hardened her expression.

To overcome this crisis, she had to steel her resolve.

-'In social circles, you'll encounter countless people who seem far superior to you in every way.'

Tricia's father, Hutton, had been a renowned merchant before necromancers killed him.

Though a commoner, he'd expanded his network through high society by issuing promissory notes for western continent trade posts and selling marine insurance.

Remarkably opposite to Rodea's straightforward warrior nature, Hutton had been a timid opportunist—their unlikely marriage remained a mystery.

Where Rodea was brave and just, Hutton was cowardly and pragmatic.

Where Rodea focused solely on martial arts, Hutton mastered commerce, painting, and charm.

Where Rodea remained principled, Hutton changed values like a snake shedding skin.

Yet opposites attract, as they say.

The passionate love story between young Rodea and Hutton... wasn't entirely incomprehensible to Tricia.

A young merchant amassing gold through trade and a warrior woman devoted solely to sword and magic—a tale romantic enough to stir any girl's imagination.

But that was all in the past.

The worldly wisdom Hutton imparted while stroking young Tricia's head were lessons Rodea could never teach.

-'You must learn to hold your head high even when the world seems poised to crush you beneath its heel. Survival in high society demands nothing less.'

-'But... I'd be too frightened in such situations...'

-'Fear is inevitable—what matters is never showing it. Wear a mask of arrogant smiles, act as if the world belongs to you. Even at a disadvantage, never grovel.'

Life inevitably presents moments when everyone else seems like monstrous titans striding the clouds.

Faced with insurmountable walls, one feels insignificant—a pitiful, worthless speck.

Compared to dazzling luminaries, you might seem like a wretched earthworm... or a prickly hedgehog.

In such moments, never reveal your underbelly.

Even teetering on the edge of collapse, smile leisurely and sit tall with chest out.

Commoners among geniuses must always maintain such audacity.

-'Do this, and even those who see through you won't easily dismiss you.'

So said Hutton, who rose from nothing to become a renowned banker.

Though his voice could no longer be heard, Tricia remembered it clearly.

A rather old memory.

"The Clementine territory matter? Indeed... a decision must be made immediately."

In the corridors of Renuel Manor.

While heading toward the parlor where refreshments awaited, the head butler whispered something to Countess Rodea.

Some incident in the territory's outskirts apparently required her immediate judgment.

Rodea massaged her temples with a pained expression before addressing Derek and Tricia.

"An urgent matter requires my attention. I'll return shortly—entertain yourselves in the parlor."

Being suddenly left alone with Baron Ravenclaw made Tricia's breath hitch.

Though feeling suffocated, she had no choice.

"My apologies for cutting your visit short."

"Not at all."

"Tricia. Baron Ravenclaw is an honored guest—mind your manners."

"Y-yes, Mother."

With that, Countess Rodea hurried toward the main hall.

She took most servants with her, leaving only a few maids behind.

Alone with Derek in the corridor, silence descended.

"..."

Tricia swallowed dryly, cleared her throat, and spoke.

"Th-thank you for speaking well of me earlier. B-but... such consideration isn't necessary. I maintain my position in the family just fine... and Mother sees through transparent flattery... it might backfire."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. So just be yourself. Mother dislikes obvious pretenses. Of course, she seemed pleased earlier since your consideration was for my sake... but that was luck. Understand?"

Though rambling awkwardly, Tricia repeatedly cleared her throat and lifted her chin.

"S-so... unnecessary consideration isn't needed. I'll handle myself..."

"Lady Tricia."

Derek's interruption made Tricia flinch.

For someone whose considerate demeanor seemed ingrained, such bluntness was rare.

Trying not to show surprise, Tricia averted her eyes while stealing glances at Derek.

After studying her silently, he finally spoke flatly.

"You needn't push yourself so hard."

- Creak

With that, he entered the parlor first.

"..."

Tricia had braced for anger or dismissal—anything but this.

Derek's casual remark before nonchalantly entering the room completely defied expectations, leaving her breathless.

Whether mistaken or not, she felt as if he'd seen through her psychological defenses, leaving her momentarily stunned.

'Eek...!'

Tricia gulped, clenched her dress, and hurried after him.

A cold sweat trickled down her back.