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Chapter 5: Elidranthia
🕑 Added 2025-04-20 08:49:57 +0000 UTCSunlight spilled through the glass panes, tracing thin golden lines across the windowsill. The white curtains filtered most of it, but Elidranthia stirred—trained to wake at the slightest shift in her environment.
She was always alert. The enemy could come at any time.
With a practiced motion, she sat up and pulled back the curtain on her canopied bed, eyes scanning her surroundings.
A five-by-five-meter room. Tapestries lined the stone walls, each depicting a knight locked in combat with a grotesque, pig-faced monster. Lamps hung from the ceiling and the walls—strange metal fixtures connected by tubes and wires. In one corner stood what looked like an organ. No… a clavichord.
She turned.
A simple desk and chair sat neatly beside the tall window, prepared for study.
Unknown but orderly, she noted.
A knock came from the ornately carved wooden door. Its patterns were foreign—stylized and strange, unfamiliar even to her trained eyes. Elidranthia tensed. She had no weapon. Her trusty dagger was nowhere in sight.
The door creaked open.
Two young women entered, dressed in matching maid uniforms, no older than their twenties.
“Good morning, Lady Elidranthia,” one of them said with a bow. “You’re awake early. Shall we prepare breakfast?”
“…Am I the daughter of a noble?” Elidranthia asked, voice cold, her crimson eyes drilling into the maid. The woman faltered under her gaze.
“Yes, milady,” she answered, stepping back instinctively. “You are the first daughter of Count Shadowstep.”
The two maids bowed again, reverently.
“I see,” Elidranthia murmured, striding toward the window.
From the manor’s upper floor, she could see the town beyond—Shadowstep’s wall rising on the distant horizon.
“…A noble,” she said softly, her tone unreadable.
The goddess kept her word. This wasn’t hell. She had been given a second chance.
No longer someone’s tool. No handler. This time, she was no longer at the bottom.
This time, she would make her own decisions.
She turned to the two maids, who awaited her orders with lowered heads. Their deference was proof enough. People would listen to her now.
“What’s on the schedule for today?”
“Shall we escort you to your writing lesson, milady? Or would you prefer a light snack first?” one of the maids asked.
Elidranthia smiled faintly. It was a simple question. But to her—it meant everything. They were asking what she wanted.
For once, she had a choice.
“I’ll study,” she replied. “I need to, if I’m to become a capable noble, right?”
“Yes, milady. You are wise,” the maid said, bowing quickly and averting her eyes from Elidranthia’s crimson gaze.
Elidranthia frowned. They were being polite, yes—but also… distant. Not once had they made eye contact. Their flattery felt rehearsed. Hollow.
She said nothing, but her instincts remained sharp. She arrived at the manor’s library shortly after. The familiar scent of parchment and dust brought a rare smile to her lips. In her previous life, real books had been a luxury. She had spent more time holding a weapon than a pen.
A middle-aged woman with glasses entered moments later, holding a stack of books: etiquette, language, and fashion. Elidranthia reached out and picked up the top one—only to have her hand slapped.
“You must say, ‘Miss Laura, may I borrow the book about etiquette? I believe it would help with today’s lesson.’ Understand, Lady Elidranthia?” the woman scolded, looking her square in the eyes.
“…Why?” Elidranthia muttered. “You were going to give it to me anyway, weren’t you?”
She dug through her memories. In past lessons, Laura always placed the books before her so she could copy down what mattered.
“That may be true,” Miss Laura said, “but you must learn to be polite. We covered this last month. When you want something, state it clearly. And if you want respect, you must explain why you want it.”
“…Yes, Miss Laura.” Elidranthia sulked as she lowered her gaze.
The lesson began.
She had made a mistake—but that was fine.
Elidranthia had experience. In her past life, she was an assassin. A trained infiltrator. A convincing actor. Pretending to be someone else was second nature.
But playing the part of an arrogant noble daughter? That was new.
She had once posed as a disabled beggar, even rolling through slums in a wheelchair. Back then, she acted to survive. It was no different now. She had to learn how to act to live as someone free.
“So,” Laura began, “when you speak to commoners, you must emphasize your status as the daughter of a count. They should bow when you address them. If they don’t, you may reprimand them.”
She paused.
“The opposite is also true. If you meet someone at least two ranks above you, you must bow to them.”
“That seems… so arrogant,” Elidranthia muttered. She folded her arms and frowned.
“And when someone visits or I visit them, we’re supposed to bring gifts every time? I don’t like that either.”
She scoffed quietly, clearly unimpressed with the lesson. But even as she complained, she felt a chill run down her spine.
The goddess is watching me…
She clenched her hands under the table.
She hadn’t been given a second chance just to act like some spoiled Marie Antoinette. No—she had a purpose. She wanted to build a flourishing county. She wanted her people to be happy.
Laura continued calmly, “That’s how manners work, Lady Elidranthia. Of course, there are exceptions. Those of higher rank determine the protocol. If you dislike the gift-giving, you may set a new precedent. You may refuse gifts from lower ranks. But, you must treat everyone the same. But keep in mind: if you reject everyone’s gifts, house revenue might decline. After all, you still need to bring gifts to those of higher rank.”
Elidranthia gaped. Then frowned. Even in this fantasy world, it was the same. The poor and miserable were still being exploited. She sailed through the rest of the lesson in silence.
At the end, Laura gave her a small nod of approval. “I’m glad you’re not overly vain, Lady Elidranthia. It’s a good trait to have. If only you could do something about those intimidating eyes… I’m sure people would adore you.”
Elidranthia blinked but said nothing.
“Your next lesson after lunch is with Mr. Bexford. It will cover mathematics, accounting, and local customs. While these subjects aren’t required for noble ladies, it would do you well to understand the basics. After all, we can’t have a count’s daughter who doesn’t know addition and subtraction, can we?” M.r Laura giggled.
That’s what I actually want to learn! Elidranthia shouted inwardly.
Outwardly, she straightened her back and replied smoothly, “Knowledge betrays no one, Miss Laura. Even if it’s not required, I shall do my best. Who knows when I may need it?”
“Excellent mindset. Very graceful, too. You’ve sailed through these lessons, Lady Elidranthia,” Laura said with a nod of approval.
“Your praise is wasted on me. Hm— I mean... you’re welcome, Miss Laura,” Elidranthia corrected herself mid-sentence. “I am a noblewoman. It is expected that I excel.”
Laura smiled and nodded once more before leaving in a good mood.
Elidranthia breezed through the math lessons. She may have been a child soldier in Afghanistan, a dropout trained to kill—but she had completed elementary school in America albeit late graduation.
Middle school? Not so much. She had dropped out of life after all. Still, this was simple. Accounting and customs were even easier.
The accounting system used single-entry bookkeeping—not even close to the double-entry nightmares she'd feared. There were no calculators, so it was prone to errors, but it didn’t take a genius to copy tables and check sums.
Customs? Just checking a chart to see which goods were taxed and by how much.
Honestly, her elementary school had covered harder topics. Her dread that she’d need to remember middle school-level economic principles turned out to be completely unfounded.
“Excellent work, Lady Elidranthia,” said Mr. Bexford, closing his ledger with a satisfied clap. “You’re a quick learner. Oh, and—just so you’re aware—there won’t be any lessons next week.”
“Hmm? Why?” Elidranthia raised an eyebrow.
“It’s the annual magic aptitude exam,” he said, shrugging. “You’re required to attend, though I wouldn’t stress about it too much. Even without magic, you’re already doing very well.”
He chuckled. “The odds are low—one in a thousand. But who knows? These lessons might become useless if you do become a mage.”
Elidranthia narrowed her eyes. The goddess already told her she would be a mage. Not the strongest—only Level 6—but with effort, and the right kills, she can grow stronger.
“What do you mean by ‘useless’?” she asked cautiously.
“Well,” Bexford said, stroking his beard, “if you can hurl fireballs or create steel out of thin air, why bother with math or customs? Mages go to different academies anyway. Their path is... different.”
“I see,” Elidranthia replied, crossing her arms with a smug little grin.
“I’ll be a mage, of course. I’m a noble. I lead.”
“Well, it’s good to have high standards,” Mr. Bexford said, adjusting his glasses. “But… not really. This isn’t a theocracy. Nobility is inherited—decided by blood, not by mages.”
Elidranthia frowned again. Another flaw in this world. Nepotism, once again, reigned supreme.
“We’re not a meritocracy?” she muttered. “Nobles should be chosen from the best of the best!”
“That’s why you study hard, isn’t it?” Bexford replied calmly.
“Besides, mages have their own duties—many outside governance. Magic talent is random. Even the most vile and useless person might born a mage.”
“…Ah.” Elidranthia fell silent.
He was right.
This wasn’t her previous world. Here, the turtle didn’t beat the hare through effort. No matter how hard someone worked, they couldn’t surpass the naturally gifted.
Still, the goddess had chosen her. Promised her a place among the mages—not a great one, but Level 6 was high enough to command respect in both magical and noble circles.
“Well,” Bexford continued, “you’re a girl, so these lessons might not be essential. But I’m glad you don’t dismiss what I teach.”
“I’m going to be a mage,” Elidranthia declared, lifting her chin.
“I’ve been chosen by a goddess. I’ll bring prosperity to this land—and for that, I need every bit of knowledge and support I can gather!”
Bexford chuckled, but it was dry.
“Don’t confuse pride with vanity. And don’t gamble on magic.” His tone sharpened.
“I’ve seen too many nobles ruined by false promises. Some paid scammers, others begged mages to douse their children in mana day and night. One child died. Another? Still not a mage.”
Elidranthia hesitated, then answered quietly, “I have a dream. The goddess said I’d become a Dark Mage… Level 6.”
“…That’s oddly specific,” Bexford said, raising a brow. “Why a Dark Mage? Most kids dream of fire or water magic. You know Dark Mages aren’t exactly well-liked, right?”
“Well… no?” Elidranthia shrugged. “I just thought it sounded cool.”
“Anyway, a mage is still a mage,” Bexford said, leaning back. “Even Dark Mages can charge arcane stones. That’s what really matters.”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“Rank Six… that’s actually quite powerful. Everyone would welcome a Rank Six mage—especially in border towns like this one.”
“Well… the goddess said so.” Elidranthia shrugged, then fell silent.
She realized she had said too much. Dinner was quiet. She ate alone. Elidranthia had learned a bit more about her new identity.
She was the only daughter of Count Shadowstep. She had two older brothers and a mother who had passed away.
“So… Einhart Shadowstep is my father. My brothers are Falfane and Mutha Shadowstep,” Elidranthia murmured, repeating what her maid-tutor Laura had explained.
“Yes, Milady,” Laura confirmed.
“They’re not here…” Eli frowned.
“Lord Falfane will graduate next year, and young Lord Mutha is still enrolled. Your father is currently on a business trip. But don’t worry—Count Shadowstep will attend your mage aptitude ceremony.”
Elidranthia sighed. Even in this world… no real familial warmth. Just schedules and titles.
“Hah… only the goddess ever patted my head,” she muttered, gazing out over the rooftops.
Her private terrace overlooked the western horizon—unlike her east-facing room. From here, she could see golden wheatfields stretching across the hills beyond the town. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the fields in rich amber light. Despite her status, she wasn’t allowed to leave the mansion unescorted.
“This town only has a wall on one side,” she said under her breath. “If monsters took a detour, this place would fall.”
Elidranthia scowled.
How could the count— her father —allow such a strategic oversight? Did he even care about the people under his protection?
During the week she had lived here, Elidranthia couldn’t stop fuming. From her balcony, she had watched the peasants live their harsh lives. They toiled from dawn to dusk—yet remained poor.
And she?
She did nothing. And lived in luxury.
She didn’t question the goddess. Not once. Unlike a certain someone, she hadn’t even tried to activate her magic.
Because to her, being a mage wasn’t her identity. She didn’t need powers to make change. She had status. She had a purpose. That was enough. Besides—she never trusted lotteries. Never put her hope in chance.
Still, she knew the goddess hadn’t lied. After all… she was the only one who had ever truly cared for her.
“What can I do?” Elidranthia whispered.
She twirled a small fruit knife between her fingers, deep in thought. The soft scent of lavender from a nearby flowerpot wafted gently through the air. Her luxurious surroundings only made her feel worse.
This isn't right. She had done nothing to earn it.
And yet… she was here. While those below continued to suffer.
