Last night velvet failed to fulfill her agenda survive as soon as it started because velvet being a newbie in magic by mistakenly did a small explosion which was thankfully not audible to duke and got swept under the rug. The morning after the prince incident—and by incident she meant her unfortunate brush with arrogance wrapped in gold—Velvet sat at her vanity, sipping tea thinking atleast this morning went by peacefully.
"I need money," she mumbled under her breath.
The maid who was buttoning her sleeves flinched. "My Lady?"
"Never mind."
Velvet was plotting. If she was going to change her fate, she needed assets—ones that the Crown or other families wouldn't easily track.
She remembered a vague line in the novel, something about a barren stone mine that turned out to house mana-reactive ore once a mage accidentally spilled enchanted ink on the ledger. The mine had been auctioned off by my brother to pay his gambling debts in desperation, long before anyone realized what they had given up.
In the original story, the Crown Prince would discover this mine and gain immense wealth—but only after Velvet's death.
Not happening.
She pulled out a notebook and began listing which dresses she could sell without raising suspicion. There were dozens. She could spare at least ten—especially the frilly ones that made her look like a very bitter cupcake.
Two hours later, she was in her private salon with her most trusted maid.
"Go to the northern merchant hall and quietly arrange for these to be sold. No house symbols, no receipts. Use the side gate."
"Yes, My Lady."
"And in return," Velvet said, sliding over a folded parchment, "Buy this mine. It's under the name of a minor noble. It's considered useless. But I want it under my name."
The maid looked shocked. "A barren mine?"
Her face darkened and she said, "I don't like repeating myself."
The maid apologized and then ran away.
Velvet also didn't like this tone either but suddenly changing her behavior could arouse suspicion, so she decided to take things slow.
Velvet leaned back. She would secretly increase the value of the mine and use it to support her position as heir. Because if her brother inherited the title, this family was destined to not survive—not even a year. And as for the First Prince? He wasn't even crowned yet—he wouldn't know until it was too late.
And when the time came, she'd be holding the magical equivalent of a loaded cannon.
She glanced out the window, eyes narrowing with determination.
Step one: not die. (Most important step.)
Step two: secure power.
Step three: learn all the things an heir of a ducal house should do.
Simple goals. Reasonable ones.
"Time to turn this villainess into a business tycoon," she muttered.
And with that, Velvet Welton—the new, sparkly version—took her first real step toward survival. And maybe even victory.
Provided she didn't trip over her petticoat first.
---
Velvet knew one thing for certain: nobles didn't survive on good looks and etiquette alone.
She needed strength.
But not the brute kind. No, she needed power that whispered beneath the surface—quiet, terrifying, and elegant.
And so, the day she purchased the barren mine (secretly, of course), she also made a formal request to the Duke of Welton during their evening meal.
"I would like to request permission to begin swordsmanship training," she said, voice calm, posture poised.
The Duke looked up, his expression unreadable.
"Why now?"
Because if I talked about inheriting your title when I can't even kill a fly then your precious vassels will do anything to marry me off so don't say anything, she screamed mentally
"I have recently come to the realization," Velvet said with a perfectly smooth tone, "that my duties—if I am to be considered for the future of this house—must include martial preparedness. Physical capability reflects discipline."
And also, I'm not planning to die because I can't outrun a dog, she added another mental note
Her brother, sitting at the other end of the table, let out a mocking chuckle. Velvet pretended not to hear.
The Duke studied her in silence, then gave a short nod. "Very well. Your training begins tomorrow."
And just like that, the games began.
---
Two Months Later
Velvet had survived everything Ser Garett had thrown at her. Blistered palms, bruised arms, shaky legs—and worse, humiliation in front of other trainees.
But she pushed through.
Each swing, each fall, each hour spent panting on the ground was another thread added to the armor she was building.
And in secret, during her limited free time, she delved into the forbidden section of the estate library—where old, dusty tomes of elemental theory and mana flow sat untouched.
There were no teachers. Just her, stolen books, and sheer stubbornness.
By the end of the second month, she could light a candle with a flick of her fingers and dim it with a whisper. It wasn't flashy. But beggars can't be choosers.
---
What the Duke did next, however, was pure provocation.
He adjusted the schedule so Velvet's fencing practice perfectly overlapped with her brother's.
Not a minute apart.
Clearly, it was a test—to see how the supposed "fragile" girl would perform beside the son who'd been training since childhood.
Velvet accepted it with a curtsy and the sweetest smile she could muster.
---
Day One of Overlapping Lessons
Her brother was already at the training yard when she arrived, hair tied, blade gleaming in the morning light. He didn't look at her as she took her position on the opposite side.
The tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife.
Ser Garett barked warm-ups, and Velvet matched her brother's move for move. Graceful. Calm. Precise.
When it came time to spar, she stepped into the circle with measured confidence.
"You'll embarrass yourself," her brother said with a smirk.
"Oh, I thought I'd be doing you a favor," she replied sweetly. "I've heard you needed the practice."
The other trainees sucked in their breath.
He lunged at her. She deflected.
Not with strength—but with elegance. She ducked, twisted, made him overextend, then tapped his shoulder.
The crowd let out a collective gasp.
Ser Garett grunted. "Point. Lady Welton."
Her brother's face turned pink, then red. "That was a fluke."
Velvet tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "Would you like another fluke, dear brother?"
The Duke, watching from the balcony above, said nothing.
But the smirk on his lips said everything.
---
That Evening
Word had spread.
Velvet, the fragile daughter of House Welton, had bested her brother twice in sparring and was still standing straight after.
Later that week, her brother went storming to their father, requesting his fencing sessions be rescheduled.
Velvet, hearing this from a giggling maid, allowed herself a small, satisfied smile as she secretly flipped through a page on mana-channeling formations.
Suddenly a maid came into velvet's room, "my lady the duke is calling for you"
---
To be continued...