Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 114

"I'm sorry, Derek. I inquired around Count Elvester's estate as you asked, but couldn't find any mentor capable of teaching you 4-Star Magic."

"Please don't be too disheartened. Continue your contemplation of magic's higher realms on your own. I'm an inadequate teacher who can offer little more help."

"Always take care of your health, and may you find constant happiness. - Katia Flameheart"

"Now, breathing technique is crucial. In-in-out, in-in-out, in-in-out. Try following along. In-in-out."

"...In-in...out..."

"That approach will only exhaust you faster. Even if you're short of breath now, maintain the rhythm. Long-term, that preserves stamina better. Again, in-in-out."

What defines a holiday? A day of rest.

Though it was a schedule-free day at Ravenclaw Training Institute, Phee couldn't fathom why she was sprinting up the estate's back mountain with Derek.

The path itself was a gentle trail, but maintaining such pace was grueling for her petite frame.

Derek, ever cheerful, asked brightly:

"How does it feel?"

"Huff... exhausting..."

"Exactly. It's meant to be."

"..."

Is this man insane?

Though the thought crossed her mind, voicing it was unthinkable.

At least until she glimpsed progress in her advanced corpse resurrection research, drawing attention would be counterproductive.

Despite her overwhelming magical superiority, this was precisely why she couldn't harm him.

Unaware or indifferent to her turmoil, Derek continued enthusiastically:

"That exhaustion is crucial, Lady Phee. Adversity breeds growth—learning to embrace discomfort is valuable."

"E-enduring... as training? What absurd..."

"Tut. No backtalk."

"B-but that makes... no logical... huff... sense..."

"In-in-out, Lady Phee."

"In-in-out... in-in... cough! Cough!"

After this basic endurance training, Derek finally permitted rest upon reaching the forest's tranquil heart.

The afternoon woods teemed with life.

As Phee gasped against a boulder, creatures rustled through underbrush while leaves whispered overhead.

When sparrows'chirps echoed hollowly through trees, Derek began stretching opposite her.

"Quite thorough warm-up exercises."

"W-warm up?!"

"Didn't we come for magic training today?"

"..."

Derek had changed tactics.

He figured relentless nagging might drive Phee to quit voluntarily.

But her mental fortitude—honed through decades of hiding in plain sight—proved sturdier than anticipated.

Realizing this approach was futile, Derek revised his strategy again.

If expulsion failed, graduation would suffice.

"Truthfully, I've studied your gaze during lessons repeatedly."

"My... gaze?"

"You're remarkably diligent, devoting extensive time to magical mastery. Fellow students consistently praise your dedication."

"Hahh... th-thank you... Just... doing my best..."

"However...! I've glimpsed your inner truth."

Evelstein's most renowned magic instructor.

Perhaps his reputation wasn't unfounded. Phee momentarily reconsidered.

"You're concealing your true capabilities."

Phee's fingertips twitched as frost crept into her eyes.

A direct hit.

If Derek had discerned her identity—countless assumptions would unravel.

Phee rarely spared those who uncovered her nature. In this era, necromancy masters were scarcely better than condemned criminals.

"Concealing my skills... What do you mean?"

"No need for pretense—I've noticed everything. Your bored glances during lessons, the hollow core beneath your gracious smiles."

"..."

"Your spellcasting during sparring also reveals veteran-level mastery. Perhaps unconsciously."

Though theatrical, his observations struck true.

Phee genuinely lacked deep interest in worldly affairs. Playing a naive baron's daughter was necessity, not nature—her inherent emptiness remained.

Yet his insight was unexpectedly sharp.

'He hasn't guessed my true identity though.'

The notion of a backwater baron's daughter being a legendary 6-Star necromancer was too absurd.

"Many noble ladies hide their talents—whether due to family politics or personal preference."

Denis had concealed her 2-Star detection magic for years.

Technically, Derek wasn't lying.

"I won't pry into your reasons. But isn't it wasteful? You've come all this way—squandering time is regrettable."

"..."

"Thus, I'll teach you higher-level magic."

Phee scoffed internally.

True, he'd noticed her concealed prowess—impressive perception.

But he clearly assumed 2-Star capability at most. Realistically so.

'At least he hasn't uncovered everything.'

Best avoid unnecessary commotion. As Phee steadied her breathing against the boulder—

Derek drew his wand, channeling mana.

The vibrant forest froze instantaneously.

Life occasionally presents extraordinary individuals.

Not merely talented or quick-learning—their very humanity feels different. Those truly deserving"extraordinary"seem to operate on another plane.

Having lived centuries, Phee had witnessed countless mages—including nearly all known 6-Star practitioners, living or dead.

Some bloomed into world-shaping powers; others were still developing; a few mere children learning letters.

Yet regardless of age, future archmages'vessels differed fundamentally.

Melberot mastered 4-Star magic shortly after his coming-of-age ceremony.

Drest rose from commoner origins to archmage status unaided.

Kochella reached 5-Star before thirty, crafting a 5-Star artifact the following year.

That defined extraordinariness—transcending comparison, leaving competition in the dust.

Only such individuals could ascend beyond 5-Star.

- Whoosh!

- Crack!

The young man before her—barely past his coming-of-age—effortlessly wielded perfected 3-Star magic.

His"Freeze"spell transformed the forest into winter prematurely.

Seasonal dislocation from a supposedly novice mage.

Watching his demonstration, Phee narrowed her eyes.

'3-Star magic of this caliber at his age?'

She crossed her arms skeptically.

'So he's not all talk...?'

Days of enduring Derek's meddling had lowered her opinion considerably.

Though genuinely passionate about magic, his verbosity and pontificating were insufferable.

Yet his skill was undeniable.

'Not just mimicking 3-Star magic—he's a complete practitioner.'

His exceptional nature wasn't entirely unexpected.

A slum-born mercenary gaining noble recognition implied substantial ability.

But Derek's prowess surpassed competence—verging on the extraordinary.

'Melberot reached 4-Star around this age. He's nearly comparable.'

Observing Derek dusting off his sleeves, Phee's expression sobered.

Arrogant central nobles remained oblivious, but this caliber could birth new regional powers.

Given Derek's potential, rivaling Melberot's future influence seemed plausible.

His current obscurity wouldn't last if he entered political arenas.

This man's trajectory only ascended.

"The 3-Star combat spell'Freeze'instantly subdues attackers, buying incantation time. Though unconventional by Discipline School standards, its practicality is unmatched."

"A-amazing. Your skill is extraordinary, Lord Derek."

Phee feigned admiration flawlessly.

As a 6-Star necromancer dabbling in other 4-5 Star magics, she could master his techniques swiftly.

"Admiration alone won't suffice. I'm confident you'll achieve this level before graduating."

"R-really? Mastering 3-Star magic in half a year seems..."

"Absolutely possible. Where there's will, there's way."

Derek's earnest gaze unsettled her.

Pre-coming-of-age 1-Star mastery alone was noteworthy nowadays.

A debutante wielding 3-Star magic would cause uproar.

Few in history achieved 3-Star mastery before their coming-of-age—perhaps five continent-wide.

In the southwest, only Lady Siern had accomplished this.

Derek couldn't be ignorant of this—yet his certainty remained unshaken.

His confidence's origin baffled her.

Confidence.

The word evoked memories of a certain archmage who'd ascended through sheer self-assurance.

6-Star combat mage Kalimford.

Even nearing fifty, he'd cast spells with boyish enthusiasm. His youth reportedly mirrored Derek's—single-minded magical focus, indifferent to all else.

That quintessential archmage quality.

Phee's faux-naive expression hardened gradually.

Finally straightening with piercing gaze, she declared:

"Lord Derek."

"Yes?"

"You're... a fully realized 3-Star mage."

All cheer vanished from her tone.

An abyssal gravity emerged—the immortal necromancer peering through the facade. The forest chilled momentarily.

Her lavender eyes glowed with spectral intensity.

Studying Derek silently, she continued:

"You want to become 4-Star?"

Derek's brow twitched.

This question was unexpected.

The ever-prepared Derek, who'd been meticulously steering Phee, hesitated for the first time.

Finally, he nodded.

"Naturally. All mages aspire to advance."

"They say 4-Star transcends previous ranks—requiring personalized magic manifestation and unique mana manipulation."

Where 3-Star followed established paths, 4-Star demanded individual innovation.

Such esoteric methods typically required archmage guidance—a rare privilege.

Even highborn prodigies couldn't guarantee reaching such heights.

For a slum-born vagrant, it bordered on impossibility.

Yet exceptions existed—like the continent's wandering ghost, Drest Wolftail.

This man combined Kalimford's confidence, Melberot's passion, and Drest's resilience.

His vessel seemed preordained for greatness.

"How far do you intend to climb?"

"The summit, obviously."

Humanity's pinnacle—the 6-Star echelon.

Only four on the continent had touched such heights. Could a slum rat truly reach for those stars?

Yet he'd already ascended from gutters to nobility.

No empty idealist—a silent mountaineer steadily climbing.

"Ahaha... I see. You truly aim for 6-Star?"

"...Pardon?"

"You said'the summit'just now."

"Yes. As stated."

Sheathing his wand, Derek's gaze remained tranquil.

"The summit."

Phee's expression froze.

Where did this man's vision point?

Humanity's limit—6-Star—wasn't his"summit."

"..."

Archmage Adelbert supposedly modeled magic's star ranks after the Big Dipper.

Thus the true peak lay beyond—at Polaris, the northern star.

And after uncounted years...

In a slum's riverbank corner, long after insects slept.

A straw-cloaked, white-haired boy gazed at those stars, reaching upward.

From the world's absolute depths toward its celestial apex.

That mythical realm beyond known limits—where the man's eyes were fixed.

Not some idealistic self-help mantra about ambition.

His gaze held absolute sincerity—devoid of pretense.

The usually verbose man now stood silent, stating simple fact.

"..."

The vibrant green forest—ironically unwelcoming to a death mage.

Amidst thriving life, the 6-Star necromancer finally spoke with glacial tone:

"You're truly amusing."

Derek's brow twitched.

Somehow, Phee had dropped formalities.

Her eyes now gleamed far sharper.