There was little that Eliza could do to escape her Etiquette Lessons. After the last few years, Eliza understood one thing perfectly. She could safely group people into three types: the ones that were above her, the ones that were below her, and those that were relatively close to her.

Being a Hereditary Noble meant that she was below any proper Noble that was titled by the Crown but on the same level as any Noble that gained the title by virtue of being born to a Noble House. Miss Corbin was a Hereditary Noble which put her on the same pedestal as Eliza but due to the virtue of being her senior, she was among those that were superior to her.

It meant that she had to put on her pretty face when in their presence, as Iris referred to it as.

“Still not good enough,” grumbled Miss Corbin, glaring at Eliza tumble to the ground once again with a large scowl on her face. She stood aside with all the grace expected of a noblewoman, her posture straight and a neutral expression on her face.

Miss Corbin was one of the majority of noblewomen: a Daisy.

That’s what noblewomen who didn’t wield any means of defending themselves were called, whereas a lady who was well-versed in the arts of destruction was termed Rose.

Despite their temperaments saying otherwise, Miss Corbin was a Daisy whereas Eliza’s mother was a Rose. It was hard to imagine her as a fighter but magic allowed even the frailest bodies to hide the most dangerous weapon underneath their sleeves.

“Maybe I’m just bad at it,” mumbled Eliza as she climbed up to her feet and dusted herself. She knew it was entirely unnecessary to do so but it was proper manners to do so, as her moody instructor would say.

“You are not,” said Miss Corbin and clapped her hands twice, “Begin.”

Her partner Jane, one of the shorter servants, almost jumped after hearing that. She was a dwarf —a rarity in Vanaris but it seemed they were far more frequent on the other continents. Eliza’s father had said that she was shipped in from another continent because she could get into places where it was difficult to clean in.

The capability of an adult and the size of a child was invaluable, apparently.

“Understood, instructor,” said Eliza and turned to her partner.

Their purpose was to learn the common ballroom dances, as it was certain that she’d find herself in such situations. It was of essence that she perfect them before the age of eight, which was when she would start being allowed, and more importantly, invited to the balls.

There was a slight inkling that she was learning these a bit too early, as her body itself seemed to not be built for this sort of movement.

“Northern Waltz,” ordered Miss Corbin and clapped her hands once. Cold sweat started to form on Eliza’s back as both her and Jane stood there, frozen in place.

This fear wasn’t Eliza’s own.

“It’s alright. Just follow me,” whispered Eliza and took the first step, then the second. It was obvious that her partner had failed but Eliza forced herself to trip over her own feet, crisscrossing her ankles and fell to the ground once again.

It was the fifth time today that she’d fallen down but if Jane failed, she’d be punished. It would mean that Jane would feel a dread unlike any other. Her heart would sink and she’d start to stutter, unable to even beg for forgiveness.

Eliza knew that emotion first-hand, even if it was slightly dulled.

“Utterly incompetent,” spat Miss Corbin and promptly walked away after giving her the evil eye.

After she was out of earshot, Jane spoke out, her eyes on the ground, “Milady, you… shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m a proper noble, you know? It’s my duty,” mumbled Eliza, almost bashful and turned away from Jane, “And it’s improper to punish the servants of other nobles with such disregard. I was just helping Miss Corbin. That’s all it was.”

The noble manner of speech was starting to rub off on her, even if she didn’t want to so she decided to make full use of it instead.

Jane hovered there, still looking down.

“Geez, why am I such a softie?” Eliza mumbled underneath her breath and pinched her cheek.

No, that wasn’t her speaking. It was Jane. Her gratefulness got inside Eliza’s head and that translated to blatant narcissism.

It was a disgusting caveat of her Empathy Skill.

She tried to unlearn it but was met with a short and concise “No,” from the System.

 

 

It seemed that Empathy was similar to Mental Immunity in that it was an Innate Skill, which was something she was born with and was a part of her. Losing it would mean she would lose an essential part of her and she couldn’t do that unless she had something sufficient to replace it.

Namely changing her race, but it was one of the so-called Forbidden Rituals in Vanaris.

It was impossible for one to be born with more than one Innate Skill unless they were a hybrid, in which case they’d get a distilled version of both of the Innate Skills. However, in Eliza’s case, it was neither distilled and she didn’t find any race that could give the Empathy Skill.

It was peculiar and she decided to keep her Empathy Skill a secret.

Getting burnt at the stake wasn’t her idea of enjoyable.

It was a term she knew but couldn’t find any reference to. There were no instances of any burnings at a stake yet she could remember it.

Perhaps something from another continent.

She’d learn more of it after she learned Common Vanarian. While she could concoct a wholly new language, it was advantageous to be able to write in Vanarian as it wouldn’t make her seem like a Polyglot.

Which brought her to the topic of her third Innate Skill, which had to be impossible.

There were no records of it.

After Eliza stood there basking in her brilliance for several minutes, looking out the window, she realized that Jane was still standing in the ballroom.

“You’re excused,” said Eliza and let out a sigh.

The handmaidens weren’t allowed to leave the presence of their masters if they weren’t excused and she had forgotten to do so.

This was tiring.

The whole Etiquette Training was.

Why did she need to learn something that was second nature to her?

Aside from dancing, that is. It seemed completely useless but she had to begrudgingly learn it and her mastery was already at 5%. To be serviceable, she needed to reach 20% and that seemed like it was eons away.

The last few years felt younger than even centuries.

How Eliza knew how long a century was, she had no idea but she did.

How did she know of all this?

That’s when she had a brilliant idea.

Eliza could just… beg her father.

It had to be easy, right?

That’s what she thought before she found herself standing in front of her father’s desk, the older man peering at her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s rare to see you in my study,” said Tristan and stroked his beard a few times: he had a clean mustache and a goatee that stretched on for two inches and half an inch to both sides. They were the same dark shade of orange as his hair, which was swept backward.

“Father, I wish to be a Rose,” she said bluntly, her eyes steeled.

“Rose?” asked his father and let out a chuckle, “Who’d you learn that from?”

Eliza couldn’t say it was Iris because it seemed that she was forbidden from teaching her slang. If she said she learned it from the servants, she could earn them a punishment.

“I just know,” said Eliza, trying to manage her best impression of a straight face but she couldn’t.

Not when her father was about to burst out laughing.

Inevitably, Eliza let out a snort and a warm smile appeared on her face.

“Were you pranking me?” asked her father softly. He was a no-nonsense man but it seemed that he had a soft spot for children, for Eliza had never seen him yell at a child. Maybe it was just because she’d never seen another child in the mansion but she had an inkling this treatment wasn’t reserved only for her.

“No, father. I’m serious,” said Eliza.

“You’ll still have to learn how to dance,” said his father, barely keeping his straight face as well.

“I know. I still wish to become a Rose,” she said.

“Hmm,” hummed his father and put a finger to his chin, as if thinking, but he wasn’t. He already knew his answer but wanted to seem like he was thinking. Then he said with a controlled, thin smile, “Alright. It’s about time I teach you of Missions, then.”

“I know what Missions are,” said Eliza and added, “I finished the first three chapters of the System Compendium.”

Missions were an extension of a Contract that logged the progress of a certain task, at which point the one that gave out the Mission was required to give out the promised reward. Failure to do so would inform the Royal Registry and a crime would be logged under their name.

Due punishments would be given out.

“Oh? Have you?” asked Tristan, his voice full of glee, “What’s a Contract, then?”

“It’s an agreement between two or more parties that does not involve a task but requires both sides to agree to any number of conditions,” answered Eliza without a moment’s hesitation as if reading it off the book.

“Hmm… You really did read it,” said Tristan and nodded a few times. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and Eliza found a screen pop up before her.

 

 

Get Ready?

She needed to actually increase her stats through training?

Eliza turned to her father and then asked, a finger on her chin, trying to appear as cute as possible. Appearing cute got her things and she hoped it would work this time as well.

“What about magic?” she asked.

“Even if you want to learn magic,” affirmed his father.

Eliza let out the longest sigh she’d let out in her life and nodded her head, mentally accepting the Mission.

It wasn’t necessary to tap the button on the screen.

Considering the fact that she hadn’t grown much in the last few years didn’t help either.

 

 

Wasn’t 10… the average for a well-trained eight-year-old?

 

Random Worldbuilding Fact 4: Due to the presence of Magic, the difference between men and women is negligible and societies have diverged from what may be expected on Earth.