The bruises on Velvet's arms had faded into yellow ghosts, but her strength was growing—enough to lift a sword, parry twice, and still look like she belonged at a tea party right after.
The estate was starting to buzz.
Servants whispered behind their hands. Trainers exchanged glances. Ser Garett had an impressed expression and said, "Not bad."
Of course, she only nodded and said, "Thank you."
Meanwhile, under candlelight, she devoured books on magical theory and mana convergence. She'd already taught herself how to form a basic barrier—just enough to stop a falling book or a light tap of a blade.
Still, she hadn't told anyone.
The mine she purchased was still "barren," and that was how it would stay—until she could safely infuse it with magic and hire a trustworthy mage to examine it under a false name.
Secrecy was survival.
And the Duke?
He watched her every move even yesterdays call was more of a test then to praise her for winning against her brother. He sees velvet as a lab rat testing her in different environment thinking what her reaction would be, "pervert" velvet muttered under her breath.
Every morning he'd review a report from her sword instructor, her tutors, and even the kitchen maids. He said little.
But he was observing—calculating.
---
Secret Studies and Not-So-Secret Schedules
Velvet spent her nights sneaking into the library, pulling old books on magical symbols and historical battle enchantments. She was teaching herself, because to enter the royal academy where the plot of the novel begins, she needs to know advanced magic, and that is something the teachers don't teach. They just spend hours talking nonsense and showing baby magic like little fireworks.
Magic.
She couldn't risk letting the Duke know. Not yet.
He would just try to put her against her brother, and it's not time for that kind of nonsense. If she doesn't gain power, she would just fade away as a fanatic dying at the hands of the crown prince.
Besides, this library is special—available only to the family heir—but she doesn't have that much time. So after facing many difficulties, she somehow managed to obtain the key. And now, once every week, she tiptoes to the library, gets the books she wants, and finishes them in a week. This plan isn't perfect, but it's better than nothing.
---
Later That Week
The Welton estate hosted a formal gathering of allied noble families.
Velvet wore a deep burgundy gown, elegant but sharp—no frills, no softness.
She moved with ease through the crowd.
And the nobles? Oh, they were in rare form.
"I heard Lady Welton's new hobby is sweating in the dirt," one countess whispered too loudly.
"Must be some peasant blood finally awakening," another muttered, pretending to sip wine.
"Isn't it adorable," said Lord Hollis with a smirk. "Trying so hard to matter when she's second-born."
"I heard she even lifted a sword. Poor girl, she must be compensating for something," Lady Verona sneered.
"Maybe she thinks she'll scare off suitors with calloused hands," chuckled a baroness draped in lilac.
"I suppose this is what happens when noble blood gets diluted. All ambition, no direction," came the dry voice of Lord Emeric.
"Do you think she'll duel for a husband next?" whispered a lady in emerald lace.
"I think she's just trying to win Daddy's affection. Pathetic, really," said another, lips curled.
"Honestly, if she wanted to be taken seriously, she'd stop dressing like a blade in a dress," murmured one viscountess.
Velvet didn't flinch. She smiled.
"Lord Hollis," she said, approaching him smoothly, "I admire your consistency."
He blinked. "Oh?"
"Yes," she continued with perfect politeness. "You always sound like a donkey in heat."
Nearby nobles nearly choked on their drinks.
Her brother arrived moments later, wearing his navy cloak like a trophy.
"You look nice today, Brother. Less angry than usual."
He stiffened. "Try not to embarrass the family tonight."
"Oh, darling," she said, plucking a glass of grape juice from a tray because she was still a minor, "I don't need to do that because the embarrassment is already walking around all dressed up."
Her brother flushed and stalked away.
"Poor thing," Velvet murmured under her breath. "He's lucky thoughts can't stab."
Moments later, she drifted toward a quieter corner of the hall where a heavyset nobleman stood sipping his drink beside a slim, sharp-eyed woman in a red mask.
"Lady Welton," the man greeted, surprisingly warm. "An impressive entrance, I must say."
Velvet bowed slightly. "Lord Redgrave. Lady Imira."
Lady Imira tilted her head. "We hear rumors. Not all of them are flattering."
"Then I hope you enjoy the more entertaining ones," Velvet replied, voice as smooth as silk.
Lord Redgrave chuckled. "You've grown sharper. The capital may yet agree with you."
Velvet said, "Oh my, thank you for the compliment."
After a polite exchange of compliments, both parties walked away. Lady Imira—a major figure of High Society—was someone she needed to bring to her side no matter what.
Velvet moved on with grace, stopping near an old war general-turned-lord, Lord Salvarin.
"Ah, Lady Velvet. I heard you're swinging swords these days."
"I find steel is honest," she replied. "Unlike most rooms full of titles."
He barked a laugh. "Good answer. Come to me if you need real sparring partners. Or war stories. Both hurt, but one leaves scars."
"Scars build character," she said with a curtsy.
"Or kingdoms," he replied.
One new ally—not bad for one evening.
---
Elsewhere
From the upper balcony, two figures stood hidden in the shadows.
"Her behavior doesn't match previous records," said one—a tall man in a long hooded cloak. "Lady Welton used to faint during thunderstorms."
"Maybe nobility finally got some spine," said the second—a younger woman with unnaturally silver eyes.
"No. You felt the spike in her mana aura too, didn't you?"
"I did. But she's not a mage. She has no formal training. That's... dangerous."
"The ritual summoned an outsider into this realm. We still don't know who. We monitor them all until we're sure."
"She's on the list now?"
He nodded. "Number 12. Assigned for daily observation."
---
That Night
Velvet returned to her room, removing her earrings and rubbing her aching shoulders. Her maid helped unlace her corset as she yawned.
"I think I'm getting better at swordsmanship," Velvet said.
The maid blinked. "You didn't even cry today when you fell."
"One time," she groaned. "I cried one time."
She lit a candle with a flick of her finger—just a spark, just a second.
But someone had seen it.
Through a narrow gap in the slightly ajar door, a single eye blinked. A servant…? A spy…? Or perhaps something worse.
They turned, slipped into the shadows, and vanished.
---
Velvet's Thoughts (as she flopped onto her bed)
Nobles are snakes, my brother's a decorative sword stand, and I'm exhausted.
Still... it was a good day.
I have a lot to do. I need more allies and influence in High Society.
Velvet then sat on her bed and opened her diary where she recorded all the important future events of the novel then with a smirk said, "Found it"
To be continued...