Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 106

By late afternoon, the commotion at Belmiere Manor had finally settled down.

With Elente naturally assuming control of the situation from Count Belmiere and directing the servants, matters progressed with remarkable efficiency.

The servants couldn't even lift their heads in shame when looking at Elente, while senior retainers knelt with their foreheads pressed to the floor in apology.

No matter the circumstances, seeing retainers who had sworn absolute loyalty turn against her in unison... recovery seemed impossible.

Among them, the truly remorseful retainers offered to resign their positions or surrender all their assets—even their lives—to Elente.

To the retainers prostrating in the central garden, Elente smiled and said:

-'Though I was deeply hurt by the malice, suspicion, and disrespect directed at me... given the circumstances, suspicion was inevitable. And I myself acted in ways that seemed to admit guilt and test your loyalty... So I won't hold each offense against you.'

The girl destined to inherit Belmiere's grandeur and essentially rule this vast territory left everyone wide-eyed with her words.

-'Doesn't the people's heart follow their ruler's? Though the humiliation and pain I endured may be hard to mend, I believe the trust and bonds we've built won't crumble so easily. So instead of wasting your guilt and sense of debt on self-flagellation, dedicate them to serving Belmiere.'

Then, with some effort, Elente added with a smile:

-'And if you have any energy left after that... help me out a little too.'

Watching Elente dismiss all the scorn and humiliation she'd endured, the gathered servants and retainers began to weep.

Though some had been prepared to sacrifice body parts or resign their positions... Elente embraced them all instead.

Not even Lord Leuron's divine mercy could warm hearts so profoundly.

The assembled servants and retainers realized Elente possessed the perfect temperament—a ruler as cold and imposing as steel, yet capable of tender care for her people.

They pressed their foreheads to the floor, endlessly chanting Elente's name.

Flustered, Elente assured them it was fine before quietly turning toward the manor's main hall.

Walking down the corridor, she deliberately followed the shadowed path where sunlight didn't reach.

Once in the darkened hallway, her gentle expression vanished, replaced by icy detachment.

'Proceeding roughly as expected.'

Power is fickle, and those who follow it can turn away at any moment.

Even those who swore to believe in Elente alone would eventually abandon her if she fell into the mud.

So she would embrace them—but never her heart.

This colder version of Elente might seem more mature, yet somehow less human.

Still, traces of girlishness remained in this ice queen.

'Few in this world are worthy of trust and affection.'

Walking through the shadowed corridor with closed eyes, Elente reflected.

Countless faces from her reign passed through the darkness before disappearing.

Yet one person lingered strangely near her heart, making her pause abruptly in the hallway.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

She'd been too busy managing the morning's chaos to think clearly.

Now with a moment's respite, that man's face bloomed in her chest like a fragrance.

"...Come to think of it, where is Derek?"

Elente rested her chin on her hand, lost in thought.

Then it struck her—aside from estate matters, she'd spent the entire day thinking about Derek.

Though aware this was dangerous, the most perilous things are those we knowingly succumb to.

Flustered by this sudden romantic disaster, Elente splashed imaginary water on her face and regained her rational, regal composure.

'Personal emotions mustn't interfere with a ruler's path. Having consulted Father, I'm sure he'll offer guidance...'

Truly, her ability to perfectly control even her emotions made her a model ruler.

After a composed silence, Elente resumed rational thought.

'...So where is Derek?'

"Count Belmiere is composing himself. For now, he'll remain in his office concluding discussions with that necromancer."

"...What becomes of Young Master Leonard?"

"Hard to say... Multiple possibilities exist. None particularly positive."

In Belmiere's guest reception room, Derek and Countess Rodea sat facing each other over tea.

Initially clad in massive silver armor upon arrival, she now wore only form-fitting leather and small arm guards after the situation stabilized.

Seeing her always armed for training anywhere, one couldn't help but acknowledge her as a true hero of the age.

Despite her graying hair, Countess Rodea's toned arms and neck muscles revealed extraordinary discipline.

Beside her, Lady Trisha sat primly—a far cry from her usual demeanor at Rosea Salon—sweating nervously.

Rodea's fearsome reputation as the Renuel family's fiercest tiger made her parenting style easy to imagine.

"Trisha. You spread rumors about the necromancer to Ravenclaw Barony without my orders. I've reprimanded you privately, but you haven't apologized to Baron Ravenclaw."

"I... I just..."

"Do you not understand the dangers of meddling with necromancy? How much more must you disgrace me?"

Trisha paled under her mother's glare.

"Baron Ravenclaw handles necromantic threats and aided Duplein during their crisis, so I thought requesting his help wouldn't..."

"Since when do you make such judgments? Decisions regarding Rodentz Island belong to me, Countess Rodea. Are you already scheming to lead House Renuel?"

"N-no! Of course not!"

"Apologize to Baron Ravenclaw. Now. Bow your head."

"..."

Those familiar with Trisha's arrogance at Rosea Salon would struggle to imagine this meek apology.

Rodea's authoritarian, arrogant demeanor—so unlike her daughter's—made one wonder about their relation.

Under Rodea's withering gaze, Trisha turned pale and bowed.

"S-sorry... I acted thoughtlessly..."

"Your words are as short as your intellect. How dare you, a mere baron's second daughter, address a landed noble and family head so casually? Must you keep shaming me, Trisha?"

"M-mother... He's just a frontier noble in name, while you'll soon be a border count and head of a count family... We won't need to envy Belmiere then..."

"So? Has my title changed yet? Your continued backtalk shows inadequate education."

"N-no! Baron Ravenclaw! My deepest apologies! I was... terribly thoughtless..."

Seeing Rodea crack her knuckles, Trisha hastily apologized while sweating profusely.

Derek, equally awkward, waved it off politely.

"Without Lady Trisha's information about the necromancer, resolving Belmiere's situation would've been difficult. Please don't trouble yourself over it."

"See, mother! He says so himself!"

"Hmph... That doesn't excuse your presumption."

Rodea sighed deeply before continuing.

"We'll train together tonight as punishment."

"B-but mother! I must return to Evelstein's social circles today! My servants are waiting at my residence!"

"I'll inform them. Don't worry."

"Guh...!"

Trisha looked as if stabbed, clutching her knees. Knowing further protest would only worsen things, she bit her lip in teary silence.

For some reason finding her pitiable, Derek averted his gaze.

"Regardless. Baron Ravenclaw, your necromancy expertise impressed me—enough that I'd want you as my adjutant. But you don't seem the type to accept."

"Ravenclaw Barony has responsibilities awaiting me. Having somewhere to return to is a blessing."

"Fair. I'll limit myself to expressing regret. But having learned about Rodentz Island's necromancers, I should share more."

Rodea sighed deeply, as if reluctantly continuing.

"I've slaughtered countless necromancers on Rodentz Island. Though I may seem reasonable now, battlefield Rodea differs greatly."

Beside her, Trisha trembled at the mention of battlefields.

"I despise necromancers. They killed my parents, my dearest friend, and kidnapped and murdered my firstborn Belopher. Having ruined my life, it's my turn to ruin theirs."

Even fallen nobility remained nobility—yet Rodea showed no hesitation in threatening Leonard, a count's youngest son.

"The massacre of necromancers on Rodentz Island was hell incarnate. Yet I felt unparalleled exhilaration. Severing their heads amidst gushing blood, I smiled. I crushed their intestines with my teeth, using severed limbs as firewood to roast boar meat. Truly heavenly flavor."

Trisha's expression confirmed this wasn't exaggeration.

This dignified, noble hero was no ordinary human.

Only those capable of utmost cruelty against enemies possess true warrior spirit.

Among necromancers, Rodea is considered hell's demon.

Leonard's desperate escape upon hearing her name made perfect sense.

She's the grim reaper harvesting necromancers—a vengeful wraith haunting the world.

"Investigating Rodentz Island revealed clues about their spiritual leader—a shadowy necromancer named'Sinia,'author of advanced necromantic texts."

"I heard you eliminated Rodentz Island's high-ranking necromancers..."

"Those three fools? Troublesome, but they revered someone higher—a faceless entity I must uncover. Likely the source of southwest necromancy."

'Sinia,'author of globally circulating necromantic texts, was clearly a pseudonym.

Rodea seemed aware, attaching little significance to the name.

"Judging by the knowledge level, even 5th-Class mages can't comprehend it. Given the long activity period... their mastery likely exceeds imagination."

The implication was clear.

A 6th-Class necromancer existed somewhere on the continent. Rodea seemed certain.

Derek already knew this.

But acknowledging it would invite uncomfortable questions about how.

So he remained silent.

"That bastard's trail is elusive. If truly a 6th-Class necromancer... perhaps using legendary spells like'Reincarnation'or'Soul Theft'to transfer bodies."

"That's possible?"

"As you know, such advanced magic defies common sense, rewriting worldly laws."

Even 6th-Class spells require immense effort—Drest, master of detection magic, needs months to cast'Future Sight'once.

"Currently, tearing that bastard apart is my life's purpose."

This was Rodea's message for Derek.

"If you discover any clues about them, contact House Renuel. I'll come immediately—even from across the map, I'll crawl on shattered legs to gut them."

The legendary figure all necromancers worshiped was Rodea's sworn enemy.

Her eyes gleamed with deadly malice.

She was the demon who reaped necromancers'lives.

This fact was unmistakable.

- Creak

"Wondered where you were—talking with Countess Rodea?"

As Derek stepped into the garden after his discussion, he encountered Elente pacing the corridor.

Spotting him, her face lit up childishly before she abruptly schooled her expression, coughing awkwardly upon remembering their audience.

"Lady Elente. You've been busy managing the manor—it must be exhausting."

"Not at all. The servants are working hard, and Father hasn't issued new orders, so I can finally breathe."

"I see. That's good. You seemed quite cornered during your confinement—I was worried."

"W-worried? You really worried about me?"

"...? Isn't that obvious?"

Walking together down the corridor, Elente suddenly looked out the window.

"Why, why were you worried?"

"Well... does it need explaining?"

"J-just say it out loud."

"Isn't it obvious? You were my student, and clearly suffering... Of course I'd worry."

"Hmm... I see..."

"?"

"Right. Okay."

Her peculiar reaction made Derek uneasy, but he continued.

"Since you're free now, I should mention—Ravenclaw Barony will soon open a training institute."

"I'd heard. You're always busy, yet I took so much of your time."

"Not at all. Actually, I came to ask a favor—could you visit the institute at its opening?"

"Having Belmiere's heir attend would certainly lend prestige. After all you've done, it's the least I can do."

Elente readily agreed—Derek had expected no refusal.

He expressed sincere gratitude.

"S-speaking of which... Ravenclaw's institute will attract many noble ladies."

"Yes. Lady Aiselin will teach etiquette there—it's gaining popularity."

"Really? All the continent's noble ladies... and Lady Aiselin too..."

Elente rested her chin on her hand before giving Derek a meaningful look.

"You're quite popular with women. How many legendary noblewomen—each worthy of a lifetime's memory—have you taught?"

"If that's fortune, then perhaps... though not entirely positive."

"Oh? How so?"

"The more prestigious their background, the more carefully one must act. In social circles, even small gestures or etiquette missteps can ruin impressions. You'd know better, Lady Elente."

Derek maintained perfect decorum.

"Such lofty figures can never be treated casually. And being human myself, I naturally relax more around those I can be informal with."

"I... see..."

Elente suddenly recalled Baroness Pellin—Derek's nominal wife.

Their relationship had absolutely no barriers.

Though problematic in its own way, their bond as childhood friends who survived life-threatening missions together was undeniable.

Only Pellin could share such camaraderie with him.

Holding her breath, Elente hesitantly asked:

"Derek. Am I... uncomfortable to be around?"

"..."

The delayed response spoke volumes. Elente braced herself.

Derek couldn't truthfully answer without either disrespecting nobility or lying.

So he chose the most diplomatic response possible.

"Though granted a noble title, how could a mere frontier baron presume equality with Lady Elente? There's no need to elevate me unduly."

A masterful display of social grace—yet Elente barely suppressed a pout.

Getting angry would make her seem hysterical and troublesome. But doing nothing felt equally frustrating.

Since when did Belmiere's heir struggle against some backwater baron?

Massaging her temples, Elente sighed deeply.

"Regardless, thank you for your concern. My business here is done, so I'll return to Ravenclaw Barony."

"L-leaving already?"

"Yes. Did you have something else to say?"

"N-no... I should inform Father... I mean..."

"Count Belmiere needs time to compose himself, so I'll leave a letter."

"W-wait... just stay a little longer..."

Elente wore a conflicted expression.

"I... I don't know how to explain it, but..."

"...??"

"C-could you stay at the manor a few more days? I mean... just a little longer..."

Elente wanted to keep Derek close. Letting him return to Ravenclaw Barony would mean not seeing him for quite some time.

"Hmm... I suppose I should personally check on Derek's condition."

In Ravenclaw Barony's office, Aiselin tapped her quill before announcing to Head Butler Delbritton:

Construction neared completion, with most tasks finished.

Only final approvals from Derek remained—everything else was on hold awaiting his signature.

With Derek delayed at Belmiere Manor, Aiselin grew concerned.

Further delays would be problematic, so she decided to personally deliver the documents to Belmiere for approval before bringing Derek back.

Humming, she began stuffing papers into a leather satchel.

'Come to think of it... I haven't returned to Duplein Manor lately. I should visit home while I'm out.'