Diana—twenty-six years old, standing at 1.73 meters—had entered the Baron's Manor at fourteen. She had served for twelve years, the same as Joyce.
Her past, however, was steeped in misfortune.
According to Egbert's records, Diana came from a wealthy merchant family in Cott Town, dealing in food supplies. She was the eldest daughter, with a younger brother four years her junior.
When she was fourteen, their home was raided by bandits. Diana survived only because she was hiding in the back kitchen; the rest of her family perished.
The tragedy shook the whole Arnold Territory. The former Lord personally ordered an investigation, but no clues were ever found.
Seeing that Diana was literate and now without kin, the former Baron took her in as a maid.
That was Diana's background.
Ron read the page again before setting it aside. If his memory was correct, Diana was one of only two maids—aside from Eileen—who possessed a "term."
Hers was a white-rank term: [Self-Discipline].
[Self-Discipline (White): Heightens focus. Through strict self-restraint, all-round improvement is achieved. The stronger the restraint, the greater the improvement.]
Eileen had once mentioned that Diana was exceptionally strict—with others, and even more so with herself.
"Tell me your reasons," Ron said. Instead of deciding immediately, he looked to Joyce, wanting to hear her perspective.
Joyce answered smoothly, as though she had already rehearsed her thoughts.
"Sister Diana is diligent and responsible. Whenever Ms. Elva was away, Sister Diana handled the arrangements. Even if something went wrong, she would always take measures to remedy it."
Joyce paused. Seeing that Ron made no response, she frowned slightly, then added,
"And most importantly, Sister Diana is trusted by everyone. They follow her instructions without question."
Ron raised an eyebrow. Joyce had indeed grasped the crucial point.
To Egbert, this might have been a simple matter—just choosing a Head Maid.
As a noble, Ron could appoint anyone he desired, and those chosen should consider it an honor. But Ron didn't think so.
After handling government affairs for days, he had come to a firm conclusion: every position must be given to the person best suited for it.
Allowing Joyce into the study earlier had already sparked dissatisfaction among the maids. If, following Eileen's suggestion, he also appointed her as Head Maid, tension would erupt.
The common folk's reverence for nobility ran deep—but even nobles could not dictate the human heart.
Even in Arnold Territory, there were people who disliked Ron simply because he was a noble, the land's owner. There was no logic behind it, and he could not change it.
Egbert had done well, but he had underestimated human nature. He should not have listed Joyce as a candidate at all.
Ron solemnly looked at Joyce, then pulled Diana's information aside.
"Tomorrow morning, have all the maids gather in the hall. I have something to announce."
Joyce's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Yes, Lord."
Ron and Eileen left the study, while Joyce stayed to continue reading.
Her thoughts were scattered. She sensed that the Lord's words earlier carried a deeper meaning—almost like a test.
Distracted, she browsed through the shelves, flipping through pages without reading them.
Then—
"Oh?"
She pulled out a thick book from a corner and discovered a wooden box hidden inside. The book cover was a disguise; she must have missed it while organizing the shelf.
The box wasn't locked. Someone had purposely hidden it.
The study was the Lord's private room. Only the former Baron could have placed something here.
Joyce didn't dare open it. When she tried putting it back, she hesitated—what if it contained something important?
After a moment's struggle, she picked up the box and hurried out.
Ron left the study with a sulking Eileen trailing behind.
He had just punished her—no desserts for a month, and her vacation revoked.
"Do you know your mistake?" Ron asked mildly.
It had been a small slip of the tongue in the study, but the selection of a Head Maid wasn't something she should interfere with. As Ron's personal maid, she had overstepped.
To outsiders, forbidding desserts seemed trivial, but Ron feared harsher punishment might change her personality—ruining his fun.
For Eileen, banning sweets was perfectly effective.
"I was wrong, Young Master…" Eileen said, head bowed, her expression gloomy.
Seeing her so dejected, Ron asked,
"Eileen, do you dislike Diana that much?"
"It's not that… it's just—Sister Diana is too strict. I'm afraid I won't be able to make my little pastries anymore." Tears welled up in her eyes.
Ron blinked. "What does her becoming Head Maid have to do with your pastries?"
Eileen's pastries were decent, not amazing, but impressive for her age.
"Sister Diana schedules everything—when to wake up, work, eat, wash, sleep…
I'm not allowed in the back kitchen. Usually I rely on the Head Chef's help. If Sister Diana discovers it…"
A hint of fear sparkled in Eileen's eyes.
Ron couldn't help but say, "Then her skin must be excellent."
Eileen: "???"
"It's fine. Make your pastries. Just say I ordered them."
Eileen brightened—only for Ron to add:
"After the one-month punishment ends."
"Yes, Young Master…"
The next morning, Ron gathered all the maids in the manor hall.
"I appoint Diana as Head Maid," Ron announced.
Diana stepped forward with composed elegance. "Thank you, Lord. I will fulfill my duties and not disappoint you."
With chestnut hair, an oval face, long lashes, and clear, serious eyes, she carried an aura that discouraged frivolity.
A true beauty—and a capable one.
"Good. The manor's internal affairs are yours to manage. Collect your uniform later. The Head Maid's room is prepared; choose one you like."
Ron finished speaking and left with Eileen.
He visited Egbert next to inform him. The old butler only smiled. He didn't care who held the role—anyone who eased the Lord's burdens was welcome.
"Rest well. I have a mountain of documents waiting for me."
After a short chat, Ron returned to the study.
Today's workload was several times heavier than before. As he read, Ron discovered that in Arnold Territory's three towns, even a simple theft required an absurdly long reporting chain.
"Three different systems for a tiny population? Why not merge them into one town, with unified management?"
The idea flashed through his mind.
Merging the settlements would streamline positions, reduce redundant procedures, and make implementing policies easier.
But he dismissed it for now.
"Too early. One step at a time. The potatoes aren't harvested, people aren't fed, and their impression of me is still shaped by the former Lord. Forcing changes now would provoke backlash. I'll revisit this after returning from the Royal Capital."
He continued working. Soon, there was a knock.
Joyce entered, Eileen greeting her cheerfully.
Since Diana had taken over the cleaning, Joyce had a day off and came to read.
Last night, she had given Ron the wooden box—holding a major secret of the Baron family. She had been terrified, but Ron handled it with surprising calm, simply telling her to keep quiet and rest.
She didn't know what he had done with it afterward.
"Joyce," Ron called suddenly.
Joyce stiffened. "Yes, Lord?"
"Don't be nervous. I need your help."
He handed her a document.
"Businesses in the territory are shutting down. Analyze it. See if you can propose solutions."
"But Lord, I…"
"Just write it. I'll check it."
Training soldiers for a thousand days, using them in a single moment—it was time for Joyce to show her worth.
Joyce left to think. Time moved quietly.
Ron worked, Joyce pondered, but Eileen idled. Normally she would sneak desserts for comfort, but her punishment tied her hands.
"Sigh…"
Seeing her wilt like a dying flower, Ron said,
"I'll give you a task. If you complete it, I'll shorten your punishment by half a month."
Eileen lit up instantly. "I'll do anything!"
"You like pastries, right? I read about something called 'pudding.' If you can make it taste good, the task is complete."
The ingredients were simple—the technique was key. Ron gave her a week.
She ran off with the recipe, excited.
Joyce returned later with her report.
Ron skimmed it. She had listed multiple possible causes and corresponding solutions—reasonable and well supported.
"How did you think of these?" Ron asked.
"I've read similar cases in books… and combined them with my own thoughts."
"You've read quite a lot."
Ron circled one suggestion. "Use this."
Joyce blinked. "Lord, how do you know this is the one?"
Ron pointed to his document pile.
"These records all describe events in Arnold Territory. Some good, some bad—they're interconnected. Find the links, and it becomes easy to deduce cause and effect."
Joyce suddenly understood. He had been testing her.
But why? To have her handle territorial affairs in the future?
She didn't dare imagine it.
To Ron, Joyce's ability was moderate—not surprising. Likely because she had no "term." A term was a person's innate talent. Joyce was competent in everything, exceptional in nothing—yet well-roundedness was also a strength.
Ron decided to continue assigning her minor government tasks, letting her grow.
Joyce, however, was terrified.
That night, she lay awake, uneasy. She had sensed it all along—Ron had changed. Beneath his reserved exterior now lay a sharp, unfathomable depth.
Handling government affairs with him had only widened the gap she felt between them.
As she worried, Eileen flopped onto the bed, cheerful as ever.
Joyce secretly envied her carefree nature.
"Sister Joyce, why are you sighing? I have a secret! The task Young Master gave me is almost done!"
Joyce smiled helplessly.
"I wonder how pudding tastes," Eileen rambled on. Joyce eventually drifted into sleep.
After several days, Egbert finally recovered. Early in the morning, he stood before the mirror in his butler's uniform—immaculate and dignified.
Knock, knock, knock!
An urgent knock disrupted the calm.
Egbert frowned and opened the door. Blake burst in, panicked.
"F-father, the Lord's… the Lord's illegitimate child has arrived!"
"Ridiculous!" Egbert scolded. "The Lord is only fifteen. How could he possibly—"
"I meant the former Lord's illegitimate child!" Blake corrected himself hurriedly.
Egbert's brow tightened.
"Take me to him."
_____________________
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