Her Majestic Battle Cry

Chapter 1089

Sometimes, the malice between women could be the most dangerous of all. Trevor may be the royal chancellor and a highly respected figure, but Rosalind was still young. Some of the students would naturally feel reluctant to fully accept her as their teacher.

If it were only that, it would be easy to handle. What worried Carissa was that behind the group of troublemakers, there could be someone trying to sabotage Gracewood Women’s Academy. Right now, the group of troublemakers seemed to be led by Jocelyn, but there was no sign they were following someone else’s orders.

With Carissa holding so much leverage over the Quinton family, how dare they disrupt the academy?

Her first priority was to reassure Rosalind, fearing the toll it might take on her mood.

Rosalind sat in her private study, flipping through a pile of practice sheets in front of her. Her brow furrowed as she examined each page, so deeply absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even hear Carissa approach.

It wasn’t until Carissa spoke her name that she looked up, her eyes briefly flashing with irritation before she caught herself. She quickly stood and greeted Carissa with a polite bow, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Headmistress, I didn’t see you come in. I apologize for my rudeness.”

Carissa nodded in return to her greeting. “No need for formalities, please. Do sit down.”

As they settled into their seats, Carissa noticed the stack of practice sheets in front of Rosalind and recalled how furrowed her brow had been upon her entrance.

She gently asked, “Are they falling behind on their assignments?”

Rosalind handed her the first few sheets of paper. “Take a look, Headmistress.”

As Carissa took it, Rosalind explained, “I just wanted them to practice writing better, so I had them copy some essays. But these girls had their own ideas. They wrote their own stories, and their handwriting is… Well, to be frank, it’s more like scribbles. It’s as if they’re intentionally making a mockery of it.”

Carissa flipped through a few pages. The stories they wrote all revolved around the same tale–a woman named Rosalind Lopez from the previous era. She was known for being shallow and greedy.

When her fiancé’s family fell into ruin, she insisted on breaking off the engagement. But three years later, her ex–fiancé became the top scholar and married the former prime minister’s daughter. Out of jealousy and spite, Rosalind Lopez attacked the scholar’s new wife with a hairpin in a jewelry shop, killing her. She was eventually executed for her crime.

It was obvious they were using the story of Rosalind Lopez to insinuate things about Rosalind.

They didn’t hold back, accusing her of being shallow, greedy, and hideous. They claimed someone like her was barely even fit to be a person, let alone qualified to be a teacher. They went as far as saying that in her next life, she would only be reborn as a pitiful dog.

Carissa shook her head, unable to suppress a chuckle. The spitefulness was childish, especially the last curse. Glancing at the signatures on the practice sheets, she noted that it was indeed from those same few girls.

Carissa set the papers down and looked at Rosalind. “Do you need me to step in and handle this, or would you prefer to take care of it yourself?”

Rosalind spoke with quiet determination, “As their instructor, it should be my responsibility to address this. It’s a trivial matter and not worth troubling you with, Headmistress. But I do wonder–these girls were taught at home before coming here, so how can a short essay of a few hundred words have over thirty mistakes? What were they learning all this time?” Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Carissa blinked, then picked up the papers again. Upon closer inspection, there really were a lot of errors, mostly involving longer words that were misspelled or swapped for similar words.

“So, you’re upset because of the mistakes?” Carissa asked.

Rosalind straightened up and said firmly, “Headmistress, you mustn’t overlook these errors. These girls all had private tutors at home, so how can they still make such basic mistakes? It shows they don’t take their learning seriously. They think women only need to recognize a few words to get by, as long as it’s enough for them to manage the account

books.

“Men believe that women who lack talent are virtuous. How can we as women accept this? Especially considering the Quinton family’s history–they once produced a renowned scholar, and I’ve heard their servants are all literate. How could a daughter of their family be so ignorant and careless with her studies?”