Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 107

To describe Derek Raidof Ravenclaw requires surprisingly few words.

He was a commoner mage from the slums who awakened to 1st Grade Magic without any noble lineage, learning on the streets.

After some mercenary work, connections led him into noble circles as a magic tutor. Naturally, as a lowborn mercenary mage, he received little recognition at first. Yet the noble ladies he taught began achieving remarkable results.

As successes accumulated, rumors about magic tutor Derek spread through Evelstein's high society. Competition to recruit him intensified until he'd made quite a name for himself among lower nobility.

Then came his heroic actions during the Duplein family's necromantic tragedy, saving countless noble lives. Eventually, under Lord Melberot's patronage from the northern territories, he obtained a barony and his own estate.

'Calling him extraordinary might be excessive, but his magical achievements are undoubtedly exceptional.'

Border Count Belmierd sat quietly in his office surveying piled documents.

Substantial work had accumulated while handling Leonard's affairs.

Discovering his youngest son dabbling in necromancy—and having to personally sever ties—left him too conflicted to focus.

'Leonard... is unfortunate... but unavoidable...'

The blood-drenched Leonard was beyond saving.

Even in his mangled state, he'd begged the Border Count for trust, spewing pathetic excuses about explaining everything—eroding any remaining sympathy.

Yet the Border Count couldn't solely blame Leonard.

A child's faults reflect parental failures.

Having focused only on heir Ryner and Elente, he'd never considered his youngest son's ambitions. Thus, he couldn't muster anger toward Leonard.

He bore responsibility for this deviation.

Confronting his own failings, the Border Count closed his eyes and declared:

-'Leonard. I've requested Countess Rodea spare at least your life.'

-'F-Father...!'

-'However, I told her nothing else matters. May you fully comprehend the weight of your mistakes through penance.'

The Border Count neither scolded nor raged—simply delivered judgment with closed eyes.

Leonard's ashen expression twisted the knife deeper.

Entering Countess Rodea's grasp meant survival was a curse, not mercy.

He'd witnessed countless necromancers on Rodentz Island begging for death.

As Leonard wailed, the Border Count turned away, ordering retainers to remove him.

With that matter settled, heavy-hearted, he turned to pressing concerns.

Among numerous duties, foremost was his beloved daughter Elente's shocking declaration.

Reviewing documents about Derek Raidof Ravenclaw was part of this.

The Border Count acknowledged Derek as competent and useful, but nothing more. From lofty heights, figures like Derek—remarkable yet not extraordinary—were commonplace.

Normally, he'd note Derek as memorable before moving on... but Elente's bombshell made that impossible.

"I... requested he stay three more days. I need... time to organize my thoughts..."

Though Elente usually carried herself with authority in Belmierd Manor, mention of Derek made her stammer uncharacteristically.

Having watched Elente her entire life, the Border Count found this so jarring cold sweat formed on his nose.

"I've much to consider, but... must it specifically be Baron Ravenclaw?"

After clearing documents from his desk, the Border Count composed himself.

Derek had no glaring flaws, but noble ladies of Elente's stature could choose from countless higher-ranking, more talented, handsome suitors.

Marriage proposals arriving at their Evelstein residence and main estate were too numerous to count—including from renowned noble sons.

While hearts don't always follow logic, why would the cream of noblewomanhood choose Derek?

Especially since he was officially married.

Retainer Briana's intelligence confirmed his spouse was an insignificant commoner archer from Evelstein's mercenary slums—another complication.

As a doting father, the Border Count believed his peerless Elente could easily displace some slum archer... but society might disagree.

The socialite queen of Rosea Salon, reduced to chasing some rural vineyard-tending baron—a married man no less... Regardless of the Border Count's dignity, Elente's reputation needed consideration.

Considering all this, the Border Count spoke carefully:

"Elente. Let me be clear—Baron Ravenclaw is admirable, but Evelstein's noble circles contain many comparable figures. Take Rovenalt, Beltus family's eldest—a Grand Duke's heir, handsome, with family backing."

"Lady Denise mentioned him at Rosea Salon. Mediocre magical achievements though, lacking masculine vigor—always swayed by retainers."

"I... see..."

Naturally, Elente knew noble circles better than anyone.

Fidgeting awkwardly, Elente eventually spoke in an ant-sized voice:

"And... Derek is... quite handsome..."

"..."

"Well-built for his age... ambitious... magically accomplished... principled yet polite..."

"....."

The Border Count felt his vision blur.

Having raised two sons, this was his first experience with a daughter's romantic inclinations.

Watching her struggle to find Derek's flaws suggested she was thoroughly smitten—a bizarre phenomenon.

"His picky eating creates amusing contrast... veins showing when rolling sleeves is oddly attractive... meticulous equipment care shows sensitivity... unwavering integrity before authority..."

"Enough... Elente."

"..."

Realizing she'd rambled, Elente swallowed hard, smoothing her hair while staring fixedly at a window.

Rubbing his temples, the Border Count pondered deeply.

For beloved Elente, he'd pluck stars from heaven—but securing Baron Ravenclaw wouldn't be easy.

This was the man who'd walked away from even the Duplein family at their peak. A wanderer who abandoned anything hindering magical progress.

More importantly—did he even reciprocate Elente's feelings?

To the Border Count, Elente was an earthly angel surpassing all beauties combined... but this was purely paternal bias.

As a tutor to noble ladies, Derek encountered countless highborn women—yet married a commoner archer. There must be reasons.

If he preferred simple, practical partners, Elente was the antithesis—more saintly monarch than homely wife.

Worse, Elente—accustomed to leadership—might end up following Derek's lead.

Though admittedly... these were likely excuses.

'However admirable he is... Elente's too precious for him...! She's my lifelong treasure...!'

Like all fathers of daughters, the Border Count fought back tears.

Yet seeing Elente's bashful fidgeting softened his resolve.

'Ah... I instinctively know. Regardless, I'll likely grant Elente's wish.'

The Border Count sighed deeply.

Elente had always met paternal expectations—rarely making requests. How could he refuse?

Baron Ravenclaw wouldn't be easily won over, but he'd try.

"Very well. Hearts don't always follow logic."

"Father...!"

"However, as said, Baron Ravenclaw is a lone wolf reluctant to join factions. Yet persuasion isn't impossible. I'll attempt recruitment."

Rising from his desk, he added:

"We'll extend his stay while devising enticements."

Seeing Elente's radiant smile eased his heart.

Though Leonard's departure still pained him, preserving Elente was consolation.

As the Border Count pondered approaches, an announcement came:

"An esteemed guest has arrived at the main gate."

"Who visits in these times?"

"Well..."

A retainer bowed deeply.

"Lady Aiselin of House Duplein has come personally."

Elente couldn't help staring at Aiselin.

Though still wearing pretty dresses at Rosea Salon, her appearance while assisting Ravenclaw Barony was transformed.

Frilly dresses remained, but without excessive accessories—sleeves rolled up for practicality.

Her noble grace persisted, yet something felt distinctly different.

Most strikingly, she'd arrived horseback without carriage, wearing a leather backpack over her dress—an indescribable sight resembling an empress ploughing fields.

"L-Lady Aiselin?"

"My, Lady Elente! How lovely to see you! I've missed our Rosea Salon gatherings!"

Her graceful smile confirmed this was indeed Aiselin.

Yet as she dismounted, wiping sweat while handing her backpack to startled retainers, the scene felt surreal.

"Thank you. Belmierd's staff are wonderfully kind."

She cheerfully unloaded travel supplies—simple necessities and leather blankets from her journey. Unprecedented for a noble lady to travel so far alone.

Elente stood dumbfounded until Aiselin laughed awkwardly.

"I never imagined you'd visit Belmierd Manor. Had you sent word, we'd have provided a carriage."

"How thoughtful! But matters were urgent."

"Urgent?"

"I've been staying at Ravenclaw Barony handling affairs."

Elente knew of her training institute visits—but not other involvement.

"Affairs? A Duplein lady serving some rural barony...?"

"Ah... this might damage family dignity... Could you keep it secret?"

"Of course... but what affairs?"

"With our house struggling, I've been learning practical skills at Ravenclaw Barony—applying lessons there. Quite enjoyable."

Her bright expression seemed incongruous for a fallen noble heiress.

"Managing finances, staffing, overseeing the institute, attending social events... I'd need ten bodies!"

"All that...?"

Elente gaped. For a noble lady to handle another household's domestic affairs verged on becoming its mistress.

Despite Pellin being the official Baroness, Aiselin's control suggested she was becoming the estate's true authority.

Though final approvals still required Derek's signature.

"With Derek so busy lately, many pending matters need his confirmation. Rather than wait indefinitely, I came myself."

A ducal lady riding horseback to seek a rural baron's approval defied all protocol.

Yet Aiselin seemed oblivious to such norms, smiling cheerfully.

Watching her, Elente felt creeping unease.

Pellin didn't view Derek romantically—she'd happily relinquish her title and return to Evelstein if asked.

But Aiselin... complicated matters.

"So your purpose in visiting..."

"Yes! I'm taking Derek back!"

Aiselin's bright declaration froze Elente's expression.

"Hmm... sudden chills..."

In the guest study, Derek shuddered while reviewing spellbooks.

Setting aside borrowed tomes from Belmierd's library, he sighed.

'As expected—unlike Duplein, Belmierd lacks advanced magical texts.'

Beyond 4-Star level, spellbooks had limits. Finding a proper mentor was essential.

Leaning back, Derek closed his eyes.

His meteoric magical rise had hit a plateau—a universal experience for mages.

1st Grade Magic from a slum beggar.

2nd Grade from a fallen noble of Flameheart.

3rd Grade from a wandering archmage.

But where to learn 4th Grade?

Though revered as a teacher himself, Derek lacked mentors at his level—the curse of prodigies.