Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 56

Noble balls were inevitably scheduled around nighttime.

This was especially true for debutante celebrations like this one. The guest of honor would only arrive at the mansion after sunset.

"This must be your first time attending such a ball, Derek?"

Denise sat sideways on the bed in their assigned room, arms crossed as she explained with thoughtful hums.

As Lady Denise of House Beltus who had debuted in high society herself, she had experience being the centerpiece of such grand events.

"A noble lady's debutante day is exhaustively busy by design."

From dawn, they'd be dressed in frilly gowns adorned with narcissus and roses, then ride ornate carriages to the imperial capital for an audience with the emperor.

After greeting royalty and formally announcing herself as Lady Diela of House Duplein to receive their blessings, she'd exchange pleasantries with the capital's elite.

Then tea with relatives serving at the palace before returning in lavish carriages to host the ball at Duplein territory.

A single day—or two depending on distance—packed with meetings with high society's most influential figures, leaving no room to relax.

Most would nap in carriages en route, hence maids typically brought blankets aboard.

"In short, Lady Diela won't arrive at the ballroom until nightfall. Until then, early arriving guests may rest in their rooms, mingle at tea parties, or stroll through the mansion gardens."

"I've read about this in etiquette books. They call this pre-ball intermission'Middle Time'—an opportunity to network and make impressions."

"Exactly. Though that's more for lower nobles desperate for connections. Those from the Three Great Noble Families like myself usually just rest in their rooms."

"..."

"Derek. That face says you think I'm just lazy."

Derek hung his coat on the chair.

Though accompanying Denise, lingering in a lady's resting room seemed improper. He considered greeting the Duplein household instead.

But Denise flopped onto the bed with complete indifference, carefully gathering her dress skirts to avoid wrinkles as she arched backward.

Her practiced movements betrayed extensive research into lounging elegantly without damaging her attire.

"Will you be resting here, Lady Denise?"

"Obviously. I need to conserve energy before donning my smiling mask for the banquet."

"Then I'll step out to greet some acquaintances. There are many familiar faces I should acknowledge."

"..."

Denise abruptly sat up from her comfortable sprawl to glare at Derek.

"...Is something wrong?"

"Hmm... Quite a few ladies here would love to snatch you up the moment I'm not looking."

"...I'm officially contracted to House Beltus. How could I forget that?"

"One never knows. Fine. I'm getting peckish anyway—let's head to the main hall's tea party together. Lady Elente should be there too. That overachiever will be working the room relentlessly."

As House Beltus's representative, Denise was immediately swarmed by nobles offering greetings upon entering the tea party.

From merchant princes trading herring in the outer territories to the archbishop of Olberon Cathedral—the Ramic Church's largest branch—and Vilak, leader of the northern Kremlin Mercenary Group—the room brimmed with distinguished figures.

"Oh my, the furs your house provided from the north were such a blessing last winter. Father specifically asked me to convey his gratitude to Merchant Aldon—"

While Denise engaged in full noble lady mode, Derek lingered near a corner sipping poured wine.

From this vantage point, he observed lower nobles desperately vying for even one more conversation with elite guests.

Lady Denise held court amidst a buzzing crowd while Lady Elente similarly held sway across the hall.

The scene resembled wolves circling for prey.

Occasional nobles made eye contact with Derek but quickly averted their gazes upon noting his mercenary attire and lack of engagement.

'These people live exhausting lives.'

As a slums-born commoner, Derek had little firsthand experience with noble culture.

Teaching noble ladies had granted some familiarity, but their calculated social maneuvering remained alien to him.

Not that Derek was particularly sociable himself—he simply observed the gathered nobles like exotic animals.

"Ohoho, thank you, Archbishop. We'll surely visit with family elders during the next holy day."

As Derek idly observed, his gaze caught on an unfamiliar girl at the hall's periphery.

'...Who's that?'

Having operated in Evelstain long enough, Derek recognized most notable figures—especially high society regulars.

But the girl quietly nibbling cake at a round table was completely unknown to him.

Her dress's straight silhouette followed eastern imperial fashion.

Exquisitely styled aquamarine hair in an intricate side braid clearly required dedicated handmaid attention.

Her poised mannerisms and practiced social smiles indicated proper etiquette training.

'An outsider?'

Between conversations, she kept returning to the dessert table to heap plates with Mont Blanc, financiers, apple pies, tarts, and croissants, blissfully savoring each bite.

Her delighted shivers and sparkling eyes at each taste would flatter any pastry chef.

She resembled a gourmet tourist more than a noble lady, holding Derek's attention until their eyes met.

Derek bowed slightly before setting down his glass.

"Already scouting marriage candidates?"

"Pardon?"

Denise, having finally escaped the greeting gauntlet, sat beside Derek looking weary.

"That elegant lady is Lady Freya of House Elvester. Merchant Aldon mentioned greeting her earlier."

"Her?"

"Honestly... I can't tell if she's here for the ball or a culinary tour..."

"I heard three former royal pastry chefs work in Duplein's kitchens. Their desserts are supposedly legendary."

"...At this point I worry her brain might be pickled in sugar. I should try some too..."

Denise sighed deeply between sips of chilled water.

Knowing more nobles would soon descend, she savored this brief respite.

"You seem to have some breathing room now."

"Naturally. The guest of honor just arrived at the mansion."

"Lady Diela?"

"That little wildcat won't arrive until nightfall, remember? I meant her sister. She went ahead to finalize preparations after assisting with the debutante."

As if on cue, the tea party doors opened to reveal an elegant woman leading an entourage.

Aiselin's dark hair might seem gloomy at first glance, but paired with her impeccable poise, it resembled beautifully bloomed petals.

Her entrance instantly electrified the room.

Who could deny it? Aiselin currently reigned as queen of Evelstain's social scene.

Though many nobles itched to approach, none dared make the first move amidst so many higher-ranking guests.

Who would earn the first audience?

After scanning the room, Aiselin briskly crossed the hall toward Denise.

Nobles nodded approvingly—starting with familiar Rosea Salon associates was wise diplomacy.

- Clack, clack.

Just as Denise sighed and straightened her posture—

"Mr. Derek. You've traveled far—I hope our staff hasn't been discourteous?"

—Aiselin addressed Derek standing behind Denise instead.

Silence blanketed the tea party.

As all eyes turned to him, Derek noticed Aiselin's purely genuine greeting contained no political calculation—she simply felt most comfortable approaching him first.

"Ah."

Reading Derek's expression, Aiselin realized her actions might burden him.

This was Duplein mansion, and she commanded everyone's attention.

"This isn't the place for proper greetings. After mingling and paying respects to Father, would you accompany me?"

Being personally escorted to greet the Duke implied noble-equivalent status.

Noting the nobles'shifting expressions, Derek bowed.

"A commoner like myself couldn't possibly accompany you. As Lady Denise's aide, I'll pay my respects separately when time permits."

"I see... Father would have been pleased... Regardless, thank you for celebrating Diela. She'll be delighted you came."

"The honor is mine."

Derek's terse response politely declined further conversation.

Aiselin regretfully nodded before blending back into the crowd.

'The banquet preparations seem perfect. No wonder letters went unanswered—everyone's been so busy.'

Aiselin had rushed from the capital after overseeing Diela's debutante.

She wanted to personally verify everything was flawless for her sister's ball.

Her sole wish was for Diela's debut to proceed perfectly. Amid her hectic schedule, this thought alone sustained her.

'Eastern and northern nobles all attended, and Derek came as Diela hoped... Just need to confirm schedules now.'

After obligatory tea party greetings, Aiselin proceeded down the main hall's interior corridor.

Servants bustled about transporting dishes—this area was restricted to Duplein household members.

Watching their efficient movements filled Aiselin with pride, gratitude, and appreciation.

She resolved to request vacation time for the staff after this overlapping celebration.

"Lady Aiselin, your luggage has been placed in your room. Shall we proceed to His Grace's office?"

"Yes. I should greet Father first. Though I haven't seen Valerian or Raeg brothers yet—everyone seems so busy."

"Indeed. They're occupied receiving guests. But His Grace has been awaiting your return."

"I've missed him too. Assisting Diela in Evelstain kept me from visiting home."

As they navigated the busy servants, Head Maid Katarina's unusually stiff responses struck Aiselin.

"Your complexion looks brighter, Katarina."

"Thank you."

"Did you change perfumes? You seem paler... I hope you're not overworking?"

"Your concern honors me."

Conversing while heading to the Duke's office, Aiselin felt growing unease.

The Katarina she knew would have responded more warmly to compliments.

The disjointed conversation made her study Katarina's expression for signs of exhaustion.

Yet Katarina's unchanging demeanor felt more unsettling.

'Strange... Why does the staff feel so awkward today?'

Their movements lacked normal fluidity—almost mechanical.

'Perhaps everyone's tense? Diela's debut is crucially important...'

As they ascended the main hall's rear staircase—

- Swish!

- Thump!

"Hrk!"

Katarina suddenly produced cloth from her sleeve, covering Aiselin's nose and mouth while twisting her arm into a lock.

"Mmph! Hmmph!"

As Aiselin struggled, her vision darkened instantly from the"Shadeflower"extract's potent hypnotic effect.

No servants reacted as Katarina caught Aiselin's limp body.

A cerulean glint flashed through Katarina's unfocused eyes—mirrored by all staff present.

- Twitch!

A mercenary's battlefield instincts sometimes triggered inexplicable alarms.

As evening approached post-tea party, Derek frowned while reading a magic tome beside the napping Denise.

A faint magical presence seeped beneath their door.

"..."

Derek closed his book and studied the door.

An indescribable sense of wrongness prickled his senses.

- Screech!

His chair scraped loudly as he stood.

Denise jerked awake from her drowsy state.

"Nngh... Banquet time already? *Yawn*"

Stretching sleepily, she noticed Derek's expression.

"What's wrong? Something bothering you?"

Without answering, Derek strode to the door and tried the handle.

It wouldn't budge.

No physical lock—just eerie blue magical energy pulsing from the mechanism.

"The door won't open."

"Huh? Really? Call a servant to check—"

Ignoring her, Derek marched to the window.

The banquet would begin soon.

Guests should be strolling gardens while servants attended them, with carriages steadily arriving.

Yet outside remained unnaturally still.

A mercenary's honed instincts screamed warnings.

Derek pressed his ear to the door—only silence.

His detection magic revealed dense magical energy beyond.

"Lady Denise."

"Yeah?"

Derek's unusually grave tone made Denise sweat nervously.

His expression remained neutral as he declared:

"I'm breaking the window."

His decision came instantly.

A battlefield veteran knew hesitation meant death.