Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 66

Having been deeply entrenched in noble society, Aiselin had witnessed the rise and fall of many houses.

Some families met their downfall through treason, violating noble taboos, or exploiting their subjects beyond limits—committing grave sins that invited righteous retribution.

Others simply failed to adapt to changing times or found their territories pushed to the brink, leading to natural decline.

From observing fallen noble ladies in such unfortunate circumstances, Aiselin had identified common traits among those who managed to survive with some dignity intact:

First, they were tenacious. Second, they didn't succumb easily to despair. Third, they possessed practical skills.

Since Aiselin already had the first two qualities, what remained was developing practical abilities—survival skills.

With servants drastically reduced and barely any external staff like squires or knights left, she now had to handle simple tasks herself.

With most manpower focused on mansion repairs, personal grooming and meals often required her direct involvement.

In short: cooking, sewing, cleaning surroundings, grocery shopping—daily necessities now demanded her own hands.

Rolling up her sleeves for such work, she occasionally wondered if this was appropriate—until an unexpected thought struck.

"...This is... oddly fun?"

"...Pardon?"

About a month after the mansion's destruction, Diela made a baffled expression while eating turkey meat Aiselin had simply seasoned and grilled in the drafty ruins.

"Sister Aiselin...?"

"Ah, no... Given our dire circumstances and others'suffering, I shouldn't voice such thoughts but..."

Raeg and Miriela remained unconscious, servants worried constantly about the mansion's future, and here she was making inappropriate remarks. Flustered, Aiselin fidgeted and averted her gaze.

"Cooking myself, sewing, staring blankly at sunsets... I've never experienced these before..."

"R-really? I thought Sister Aiselin was quite accomplished..."

"Noble education covered many things, but not practical knowledge. I can embroider peacocks but not mend torn skirts, make fancy desserts but not grill meat to preserve juices."

"W-well, I suppose..."

"Don't misunderstand—this might sound strange..."

Aiselin continued slicing the mediocre turkey with oddly refined motions, the contrast stark.

"Bargaining at noisy markets, scrubbing dusty windows till they squeak, deep-cleaning carpets... I think I enjoy this? Seeing grime disappear gives me this... strange euphoria. Am I bizarre?"

"..."

Human nature reveals itself unpredictably.

Just as Diela—a natural Wild School mage—was born into the Discipline School's leading house, one's environment doesn't always match their disposition.

Aiselin, Evelstain's most elegant noble lady, was considered society's most exquisite bloom.

She'd accepted that identity—until crisis revealed unknown facets of herself.

"Today's turkey quality was poor, but Ordert spices improved it remarkably? Marinating since morning really infused the flavors. Next time I'll get more pepper. The servants might appreciate some too."

"Hmm... Bedding stains won't budge no matter how long soaked. Maybe soaking alone isn't enough... Should ask Katarina when she returns from supplies..."

"Found these brooms in the cellar—surprisingly excellent? Just the right bristle stiffness—not a speck of dust escapes. Why were these stored away? I wonder which workshop made them..."

Soon Aiselin kept her sleeves perpetually rolled up unless receiving guests.

She hauled old bedding with maids, sampled wild plants for edibility, even grabbed a shovel for repairs before being stopped—manual labor crossed a line even for a struggling noble.

Diela finally understood.

Her sister possessed an undiscovered talent—she was a born homemaker.

Two months post-destruction:

"Sister Aiselin...! What are you doing?!"

"Diela! Don't come too close! Heave-ho!"

Returning from surveying Evelstain before re-entering Rosea Salon society, Diela found perfectly aligned furrows in a field behind the half-repaired mansion.

Aiselin—now in simple skirts and blouses rather than dresses—wiped sweat with a neck cloth, hair tightly pinned back.

Her natural beauty remained, but this sweaty, practical figure was pure domesticity.

As she set down a heavy barrel reeking of reddish-brown sludge, Diela recoiled.

"Wh-what is that?"

"Fertilizer. Mixing mansion waste, fallen leaves, and sawdust from repairs produces quality compost."

"Y-you're preparing farmland?"

"Self-sufficiency seems essential. The maids delayed me, but doesn't it look good?"

Studying the malodorous barrel with serious consideration, Aiselin mused:

"Grains are better bought, but vegetables for cooking... Easy maintenance, pest resistance..."

"Where did you learn this?"

"Books, and observing tenant farmers during inspections. Turnips, radishes, onions, cabbages..."

The maids had clearly lost control.

Seeing their embarrassed faces, Diela sighed.

"Tomatoes too—for salads. What else...?"

Aiselin's sparkling eyes held genuine excitement.

They say exceptional people are eccentric—but who could've predicted this direction?

Diela gaped in disbelief.

Duplein's fall became Rosea Salon's hottest gossip—understandably.

The mightiest of Evelstain's three pillars (Duplein, Belmierd, Beltus) had crumbled, weakening the Salon's influence while creating opportunities.

Belmierd and Beltus couldn't fill the void alone—new players would emerge.

Some saw this as a chance for advancement, others as a threat to status quo.

Amidst this tense climate, news spread: the Duplein ladies would re-enter society.

"That disgraced family dares show faces at Rosea Salon?"

"How the mighty fall. Lady Aiselin was beautiful, noble, gracious—who knew she'd hit rock bottom?"

"Knowing one's place means withdrawing gracefully. Desperate clinging is pathetic."

Lady Elente overheard such remarks in Elfontaine Hall's corridors.

"Lady Robent—weren't you Aiselin's devoted follower? How swiftly you turn."

"L-Lady Elente?!"

"Such bat-like shifting earns no respect."

Brushing past the stunned noblewoman, the sleep-deprived Elente headed deeper inside.

She'd expected Duplein to face slander—the weak always do—but today it irked her unusually.

'Aiselin must be struggling,'she thought, entering the conference room—

"Lady Elente! How lovely to see you!"

—only to find Aiselin glowing with health and cheer.

Initially suspecting an act, Elente quickly recognized genuine vibrancy.

"The countryside ride refreshed me. Being constantly busy makes carriage gazing delightful!"

"You... look well."

"Health's all I have left! So I'm preserving it!"

Her dress lacked former opulence—no floral hairpieces, minimal jewelry. Yet her eyes sparkled as she continued:

"Thank you for shielding Belmierd from blame! Many followed your lead. Though some still demand reparations..."

"It was just."

"Regardless, Duplein owes you. If you ever need—"

"Actually..."

Aiselin pounced on the polite offer.

"We're liquidating artworks and magic items at steep discounts. Interested?"

She produced a catalog with alarming enthusiasm.

"Odelton's grimoire—300 gold! Drest Academy would faint at this price! Northern sculptor Theon's collection—100 gold for all! Duplein's former staff weapons—unbelievable deals!"

Elente nearly succumbed to temptation—the quality was undeniable.

"Selling heirlooms?"

"Better than starving servants. Art doesn't feed mouths."

Remembering Aiselin's past elegant art discourses, Elente felt conflicted.

"Count Antras'portrait—under 100 gold! Disrespectful to the artist, but needs must!"

"You're... pitching to everyone?"

"Business is brisk! Lady Denise is next—don't miss out!"

Clutching her catalog, Aiselin beamed:

"This could be our sales peak!"

"This is a social venue..."

"The rules permit'artistic exchange'!"

The door creaked open—new prey arrived.

"Lady Denise! Perfect timing!"

Aiselin straightened her dress with salesperson-like eagerness.

Denise entered wearily, then startled at Aiselin's expression.

"You look beautiful! Might I interest you in—urk!"

Her pitch died upon seeing Denise's companion.

"You seem well, Lady Aiselin."

"Derek?! Why are you—?"

"The royal magic advisor requested me. I escorted Lady Denise here."

"I-I see!"

Elente noticed Aiselin's unusual fluster—cheeks reddening, gaze dropping.

Like prey sensing a predator.

"Those documents?"

"J-just items for Lady Denise... not important..."

She stammered inexplicably.

"Attendants often accompany nobles here..."Denise noted.

"Y-yes, but... How are you, Derek?"

"Well enough."

"Good...!"

The conversation died awkwardly—uncharacteristic for Aiselin's usual eloquence.

Her fixation on Derek wasn't new. From hiring mercenaries for Diela to seeking his tutelage, she'd long pursued him as an instructor—now an impossible dream given Duplein's finances.

Yet her reactions had intensified—flushing whenever their eyes met, remembering him tending her wounds in the rain.

"D-Derek!"

"Yes?"

"You're amazing!"

"...Pardon?"

"The royal summons means they're honoring your Duplein service! You might receive magic artifacts or weapons!"

"An honor, but Lord Melberot's involvement suggests complications..."

"L-Lord Melberot?! Th-that's concerning!"

Aiselin's voice cracked oddly. She covered her mouth, mosquito-whispering an apology.

Such unpolished speech from the ever-graceful lady made Denise and Elente narrow their eyes.

"..."

"...?"

An awkward silence fell.

Aiselin's darting eyes and muffled mouth radiated panic.

While Elente simply looked puzzled, romance-novel-obsessed Denise instantly recognized the signs.

Her face froze as cold sweat poured.