Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 110

Phee was a 6-Star necromancer, someone Derek had known about even before arriving in this magic-saturated world.

Even someone like him who paid little attention to game-like settings couldn't help but hear of her—the global upheavals and influence she would cause were simply too significant to ignore.

6-Star mages were rare enough to count on one hand, and among them, she was a master of the forbidden necromantic arts.

A queen of corpses who manipulated restless spirits and cadavers without hesitation, stepping boldly into taboo realms while laughing bloodily amidst slaughter and ecstasy.

She couldn't be killed.

Having already manifested the 6-Star necromantic spell"Cycle's Brand,"even if her current body perished, she would simply be reborn as the descendant of some noble house, retaining her soul intact.

Having repeated this cycle countless times—beginning new lives with all her memories, experiences, and magical talents preserved—no one knew her true age.

'Contacting Countess Rodea wouldn't be the wisest approach either.'

After excusing himself from Aiselin, Derek sat alone in his office, his gaze growing more serious.

Countess Rodea had sworn to hunt down any clues about a 6-Star necromancer, vowing to come personally no matter the distance to exact vengeance.

She was a reliable ally... but not particularly helpful at this stage.

Summoning her wouldn't prove Phee was that necromancer, and even if proven, killing her wasn't necessarily the smartest move.

If only they could confirm Phee's identity now—but if she used her reincarnation magic to conceal herself again, tracking her would become impossible.

Hell, it was questionable whether she could even be killed in the first place.

Derek leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face.

Left alone, Phee would either disappear into seclusion or eventually be sealed away by Drest or Melberot beneath the Imperial Capital.

While provoking her seemed unnecessary, Derek couldn't simply ignore a legendary necromancer wandering freely around Ravenclaw Barony. Remembering what happened at the Duplein estate made it impossible to take lightly.

More fundamentally—why would a necromancer of her caliber enroll in this training institute?

That part made no sense, though the reason wasn't hard to guess.

'Probably preparing for her social debut, as ordered by her family. Given her hidden identity, she couldn't refuse.'

If the head of House Tigris had decided to send her, Phee—while concealing her true nature—would have no choice but to comply.

Thus, she found herself reluctantly attending this beginner-level magic academy.

Derek wasn't sure what to make of this irony, but staying calm and formulating countermeasures took priority.

'Attempting force would be idiotic.'

She was an opponent even Melberot, the Dominator of the North, would need to stake his life against.

Thus, alternative approaches were necessary.

The fortunate part? Derek knew something about her situation.

Phee's ultimate goal was perfecting high-level corpse resurrection to revive the 6-Star mage Kalimford.

Until achieving this, she would maintain her disguise, infiltrating noble society as an unassuming young lady.

Cornered, she might reveal her true colors—but she'd avoid unnecessary conflict if possible.

Attending Ravenclaw's institute was likely just following family orders, meaning she probably had no real interest in this basic magic curriculum.

Thus, the conclusion was somewhat clear.

Regardless of combat power, Derek held far greater social authority.

Derek was the head of a noble house; she was merely a bold young lady from a backwater family.

Derek directed Ravenclaw's training institute; she was just a student seeking knowledge.

Derek was a renowned instructor in Evelstein's high society; she hadn't even made her social debut yet.

Therefore... crush her with social authority....

Derek's expression turned terrifying.

Clasping his fists together and resting his nose on them... his eyes gleamed ominously in the dim office.

"Find an excuse to expel her."

At the very least, Ravenclaw Barony had to be protected.

His determination burned fiercely.

On Ravenclaw Training Institute's opening day, the barony's retainers bustled about from dawn.

Over thirty distinguished guests would visit the estate today.

Each one had been raised like royalty in their respective territories—no hospitality missteps could be allowed.

Moreover, most weren't just visiting for a day or two but would reside long-term in the sizable dormitory building erected on the estate grounds.

Though many brought personal retainers or servants, additional staff still needed assignment to each individual.

Thus, Head Butler Delbritton now managed nearly fifty servants.

'I knew I was joining a promising estate as head butler, but this scale already...'

Delbritton adjusted his monocle's golden chain, dusting it off.

In the early dawn, with birds chirping in the garden, a peculiar emptiness lingered in the air.

What was once just a modest estate now boasted a sprawling garden, a three-story dormitory for noble ladies, a classroom building, a combined auditorium and magic practice hall, a guest annex for retainers, stables, open grounds, and various auxiliary facilities.

Such infrastructure shouldn't have been possible in mere months—yet Aiselin, sleeves rolled up, had pushed forward with insane drive and somehow made it happen.

'Even Rocheste Territory's administrators weren't this efficient...'

Watching Aiselin work tirelessly on barely four hours of sleep blurred the line between noble lady and imperial bureaucrat.

Stepping into the garden with awe, Delbritton found Aiselin herself seated on a bench.

"Ah, Lady Aiselin."

"Oh, Head Butler. You're up quite early."

"Have you not slept?"

"Hmm? Of course not. I couldn't skip sleep on such an important day. I got a bit over two hours earlier. Just felt stuffy indoors, so I came out for some morning air."

Her cheerful smile made Delbritton feel something beyond awe—something closer to terror.

How does one define human strength?

Exceptional physical power, overflowing magic, unyielding charisma—all could be components.

Yet Aiselin's brand of strength defied categorization.

Delbritton, a veteran who'd observed countless people over the years, sensed an inexplicable malignant aura from the girl demurely resting her hands on her knees in the garden.

Two hours of sleep? And that's enough?

The sharp intellect shining in her bright eyes didn't belong to someone who'd pulled an all-nighter.

Even diligence, when excessive, could inspire fear.

"Actually... I feel a bit empty."

"Huh? E-empty? Today marks the fruition of all your efforts, my lady."

"Well, yes, but..."

Aiselin fidgeted before reluctantly explaining.

"When I woke up this morning, there were no documents to review, no ledgers to approve. Nothing urgent to study either. Finance, statecraft, magic theory basics... I've pretty much absorbed all the estate's books. Tea ceremony and continental language texts are back at the main house... I've memorized all the servants'and students'profiles..."

"......"

"Well, with everything handled, I suppose there's nothing left to check. The opening day schedule's been reviewed multiple times... I considered inspecting the crops, but the garden shows no pests, adequate nutrients, proper hydration, lush leaves... The servants'work has no issues needing correction... Even the filing is complete..."

"...."

"Strange... Why is there nothing to do.... How odd......... Why... why is there nothing to do...."

Delbritton swallowed dryly, his face pale.

Now he understood why estate staff sometimes called her the Monster of Diligence.

"Ah, Head Butler. About last night's tea party dishes—were they already cleared? Even the washing?"

"We could never leave dishwashing to a noble lady..."

"I see... Then Derek's personal study had some dust..."

"Cleaning duties are likewise inappropriate. Please remember your status, Lady Aiselin."

"W-work knows no nobility."

"...Work absolutely knows nobility."

"I'm a fallen noblewoman."

"A fallen noblewoman is still nobility."

As Delbritton stood firm, Aiselin slumped in disappointment.

Her workaholic tendencies were known, but seeing her like this, she seemed genuinely prepared to single-handedly manage the entire estate.

Aiselin sighed deeply before nodding from her bench.

"Alright... I'll rest quietly then..."

"..."

"Maybe I'll draft letters to the main house... or organize the subsidy reports..."

Despite claiming she'd rest, she'd already produced a quill and parchment, checking the subsidy status for Duplein House.

Derek had allocated part of the institute's income to her, which she intended as reconstruction funds for her family.

If the academy's profits grew, so would her contributions to Duplein.

Rumors swirled about Duplein's collapse.

'But will they really...?'

Delbritton adjusted his monocle while watching Aiselin's quill dance.

"Speaking of which, aren't the young ladies from the three great houses attending today's opening?"

Ultimately, Aiselin needed tasks to feel at ease.

Thus, she needed work only she could do.

"Ah, now that you mention it."

"Aren't they familiar faces from Rosea Salon? You should personally receive such distinguished guests. Lady Denise of House Beltus and... Lady Elente of House Belmierd."

Aiselin's quill froze mid-stroke.

"..."

"Lady Aiselin?"

Elente of Belmierd was coming.

Whether from guilt or something else, Aiselin's expression gradually darkened.

"My, hello Lady Aiselin. We parted so abruptly at Belmierd Manor without proper farewells."

How long had it been since the former Rosea Salon trio gathered?

These three who'd always met at Evelstein's Elfontain Hall now sat together in Ravenclaw Barony's guest tea room.

Aiselin, Elente, and Denise exchanged pleasantries while luxurious carriages carrying new students arrived at the estate's main gate.

With the main building in chaos, the three had retreated to the annex for respite.

In a way, it was a reunion.

Despite Evelstein's treacherous social circles, some strange camaraderie remained among the Salon's former leading trio.

Though their positions had shifted dramatically.

Aiselin, once the undisputed center of authority, now sat with fidgeting hands on her lap, looking awkward—as if she'd done something wrong.

Elente, usually the diplomatic observer, now smiled with visible veins pulsing at her forehead—clearly angry about something.

Denise, meeting them after so long, merely swept back her hair with her usual bored half-lidded expression.

'What's this...?'

She sensed tension between the other two but couldn't pinpoint the cause.

Elente's unusual demeanor stood out, though the reason eluded her.

Had she known the full story, Denise would have collapsed on the spot.

But for now, everything remained a mystery.

She simply wanted to finish this, go home, and collapse into bed.

Yet it didn't take long for Denise to soberly scrutinize both women with growing suspicion.