Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 88

Those who studied under Derek knew it well.

The noble ladies who became his apprentices not only improved their magical abilities but also strangely developed more straightforward thinking and behavior.

Clearly influenced by Derek's rough mercenary background, yet they didn't completely discard the basic etiquette expected in high society.

But Diela was different.

As the first to receive Derek's teachings and the most deeply influenced, she learned to suppress personal emotions for greater causes—unless it involved her sister Aiselin.

If struck once, she'd return ten blows. She'd pounce, crush, bite ears, and stab eyes to ensure no one would dare cross her again.

That was her way.

"The Renuel family's military achievements keep rising, and you think it's all your doing? Expecting titles to keep climbing until the world bows before you?"

"Ack!"

Grabbing her skirt hem, Diela stomped on Lady Trisha's chest with her shoe, glaring down with beast-like eyes.

Trisha excelled at subtly crushing people—finding faults while maintaining plausible deniability, eroding others'self-esteem through veiled attacks.

Such skills might serve well in noble society where decorum mattered.

But she picked the wrong opponent.

Diela knew.

Living luxuriously in noble circles made people forget they could get punched anytime.

Those who crossed lines while blinded by hollow authority needed stomping to regain their senses.

Having been on the receiving end, Diela knew exactly when to strike for maximum impact—when arrogance peaked with absolute confidence in their invincibility.

"That's why you'll never make it."

- Smack!

Another slap sent Trisha reeling up, finally snapping out of her daze.

She grabbed Diela's hair, abandoning all decorum as she screamed and lunged.

"What... what is this! Kyah!"

"Let go! I said let go!"

Pushing Diela away while hissing threats, Trisha got kicked in the stomach by Diela's shoe.

- Crash!

Sent sprawling again, Trisha still refused to release Diela's hair.

Dragged down, Diela rolled across the floor before biting Trisha's wrist.

"Kyaaaah!"

Trisha's scream made her let go, allowing Diela to rise and grab her collar again.

Servants rushed in to restrain Diela—letting this continue would endanger everyone present.

- Bang! Thud!

"Lady Diela! Please calm down!"

"Let go! That's an order!"

Growling while glaring at Trisha, Diela remained held back by servants.

Trisha slowly rose, panting heavily with half her hair undone and drenched in sweat. Her trembling eyes showed equal parts shock and terror.

"Wh-what is this... No matter what... Such indecency...!"

"Decency? Right. I ditch decorum when my buttons get pushed. But you think you have any?"

Diela glanced at Aiselin, still speechless in shock.

Tea droplets kept falling down her cheek. Seeing this reignited Diela's fury as she coldly continued:

"Rather than slyly provoking people, a straight slap is far more decent. How laughable for a two-faced opportunist to preach decorum."

"Do you think you'll walk away unscathed after causing this scene?"

"Or what? Did the Renuel family already get higher titles?"

Brushing off her dress, Trisha regained composure.

"Since you prefer directness—bow your head and apologize now. That's your best option."

Catching her breath, Trisha untied her remaining hair while glaring.

"At least in Rosea Salon, I can fully suppress Duplein."

Though Duplein currently outranked Renuel, the power balance would soon flip.

Followers care less about official ranks than real influence.

Rosea Salon's ladies would side with Trisha. Even Aiselin's charisma couldn't save Diela from her notorious behavior.

And noble society's ostracism was crueler than words could describe.

Aiselin knew this better than anyone, having endured such exclusion.

Assuming noble ladies were all open-minded was naive—the masses follow power, especially ambitious lower nobles.

"Still, Lady Diela is young and impulsive. Her love for family clouded judgment. We can forgive this... if she apologizes."

"Want to die? Keep running your mouth and you won't walk home today."

"I expected nothing from Lady Diela. But Lady Aiselin must atone for her sister's misconduct."

Trisha's gaze shifted to Aiselin.

Pressuring the gentler sister was more effective—exactly as planned.

"You know how harsh noble society is toward outcasts. I'd hate to see Duplein fall so low."

Trisha only wanted one thing—to crush Aiselin and secure her own rise.

Her implied offer: bow your head now, and I'll spare you.

Given Aiselin's peaceful nature, she'd likely comply—or so Trisha thought.

"Aiselin! Don't move! We didn't come to Evelstein to grovel! Don't bow!"

Though sharing blood with Diela, Aiselin was her opposite.

Just as Trisha smirked, confident of victory—

- Drip, drip, drip.

Cold tea dripped down Trisha's hair.

Not just Aiselin's white dress—Trisha's navy skirt also started staining with tea.

"Wh-what...?"

Their eyes met.

Aiselin emptily tapped her teacup over Trisha's head, her gaze icy.

Biting her lower lip with narrowed eyes—an expression no one had seen from her before.

Aiselin was furious.

- Drip, drip, drip.

"Wh-what is this..."

"Don't cross the line, Lady Trisha."

Though equally cold, Aiselin's tone carried weight Diela's never could.

Even Elente and Denise stared wide-eyed—they'd never seen Aiselin so stern.

"Lady Trisha... it was just... a mistake, right...?"

"Huh?"

"Right? Yes?"

"Ah, yes..."

Siern grabbed her robe's edge, turning to glare at Trisha.

Seeing her stammering, Siern suddenly recalled etiquette lessons from Aiselin.

Her small frame bowed slightly, loose hair swaying.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Sieren Aleina Rocheste."

A simple greeting—but her next words shocked Trisha.

"I'll debut in Evelstein's social circles before late spring. We'll meet often."

The news of Rocheste's lady joining high society was thunderous.

Her entering Rosea Salon was inevitable.

Trisha's face froze.

"Here, wear this."

"..."

Derek offered a ring, making Pellin recoil as if receiving a marriage proposal from a brother-like comrade.

Derek equally uncomfortable, barely holding back remarks.

"Derek... shouldn't you say something romantic when giving this...?"

"Want me to?"

"...Just imagined it. Horrifying enough to lose my mind."

"Good. Be grateful then..."

At"Beldern's Tear"tavern, the two sat at the bar—hardly looking like soon-to-be nobles.

- Thud.

"Congrats. Take it. Seeing my kids marry and start families warms my heart."

"..."

Jayden brought Pellin's favorite apple and honey wines, laughing heartily.

Knowing neither saw each other romantically made this amusing.

Derek and Pellin stared at their drinks with sand-chewing expressions.

"Lighten up. Might as well be positive about necessary arrangements."

"Right... preparations for the title are done... should think positively."

"With your growing connections benefiting Velderun Mercenaries, drinks are always on me."

Jayden's opportunistic nature remained unchanged.

Derek's rising fame was a goldmine—hence his cheerfulness.

Derek didn't mind, accustomed to Jayden's ways.

"Speaking of nobles visiting—first those noble ladies, then Count Belmierd... your noble ties bring us high-profile customers."

"Most nobles I know are ladies from the noble district..."

"Really? Lately some noble sons drink here too... unfamiliar?"

Noble sons weren't rare, but their distinctive air made Jayden cautious.

"Coming here to drink means they know you... right?"

"Hmm... names?"

"Don't know. Keeps charging tabs—annoying. Seems noble but penniless... can't kick him out either."

Nobles tipping generously—not running tabs—was the norm.

Derek tilted his head, recalling no such eccentric noble.

"Owner's so cold. I'll pay eventually... hic... so stingy..."

A man suddenly slumped beside Derek, making even sharp-eyed Jayden jump.

Red long hair tied back, scruffy beard—expensive clothes poorly maintained.

He grabbed Derek's honey wine, toasting loudly.

"Hic... thought we were close... so hurt..."

"Ah, sorry... hand-to-mouth living, you see..."

"Seven years gambling... my big break's coming. I'll clear debts and treat everyone... burp..."

Chugging the wine, he wiped his mouth carelessly before belching again.

"Ugh... strong yet sweet. Ladies might get wasted on this. Must be Ronen honey wine."

"..."

"Ah right. Derek, right? Heard all about you. Famous in Evelstein's social scene now. Honored to meet a celebrity."

"And you are...?"

"Owner didn't say? Forgot to introduce myself? Burp..."

Jayden shrugged at Derek—possibly too drunk to recall.

"Ryner. Name's Ryner. Wanted to meet you, Derek. Burp. Hic. I'm Ryner, you're Derek."

Derek and Pellin exchanged disgusted looks at the drunk noble.

'That name sounds familiar...'

Ryner. The name rang a bell, but they'd clearly never met.

"...Do me a favor, Derek. Heard you're obsessed with magic? Got something you'd like."

At least he was a potential client.

Though his payment ability seemed questionable.