Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 125

"The Beltus Ducal Territory is located in the deepest inland region of the southwestern continent, bordered by the Torum Mountains to the north, the Belmiere County to the southwest, and the Dellas Plains to the east. Its major cities include the commercial hub Lopellen, the transformation magic city Stonecrown in the northwest, and the religious city Helren along the Lorm River."

"The precise location of the Beltus family mansion?"

"Situated in the Aviton Highlands at the territory's heart. Surrounded by dense forests forming natural defenses, the estate's vast grounds and stringent security make unauthorized access nearly impossible."

Derek strode down Ravenclaw Barony's corridors while listening to Head Butler Delbritton's report.

Behind his purposeful steps, Pellin in light attire followed while humming, accompanied by Aiselin casting worried glances.

Between them, Delbritton maintained dignified posture as he spoke.

"I've visited Beltus Ducal Manor before."

"Oh?"

"During my junior years delivering messages or receiving carriages."

Delbritton's experience dated back to his service in Rocheste Territory. Visiting noble estates for official business was hardly unusual.

Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses to match Derek's brisk pace, Delbritton continued:

"A five-story central hall forms the core, with a seven-story eastern tower housing an independent magic research facility and the western spire containing military command. The southern grounds comprise an expansive garden—so vast it blurs the line between cultivated space and wilderness."

What defined a Grand Duke's mansion?

Derek himself had stayed at Duplein Manor during its golden age.

At that level, estates could practically contain entire forests within their grounds.

"Baron Ravenclaw."

Suddenly, Delbritton addressed Derek in graver tones.

"Hmm?"

"Are you... considering military action?"

"..."

To outsiders, this would sound absurd.

The Beltus Ducal Territory encompassed three major cities and over twenty smaller settlements—utterly incomparable to Ravenclaw Barony's few hundred residents.

Yet Delbritton asked sincerely, seeing Derek as someone who'd challenge even this behemoth.

"Naturally. Though our baronial forces are modest, I plan to rally allies. Nobles flock to just causes."

"..."

"Beltus Manor's layout resembles Rocheste and Duplein's—just larger. Noble estates share structural similarities."

Entering the reception room, Derek unfurled parchment and sketched a rough diagram:

Central hall. Eastern magic tower. Western command center. Southern gardens. Northern training grounds.

While interior details required further intelligence, the overall framework was clear.

"The eastern tower likely belongs to eldest son Rovenalt. Managing the estate's defensive magic, it demands their strongest mage."

"I've met Lord Rovenalt at social gatherings,"Aiselin recalled."Though handsome and refined, his self-deprecation and sinister aura made him... unsettling. Many noble ladies admired him regardless."

"His magical prowess?"

"Exceptional for his age, but incomparable to yours."

Though renowned as Beltus'heir, Rovenalt paled beside Denise's leadership qualities. Yet the Duke stubbornly maintained his succession—likely finding Rovenalt more pliable.

Derek's gaze shifted westward.

The military garrison. Home to General Orel's mercenary company.

While Beltus'private forces were surprisingly small for his status, Orel's elite mercenaries garrisoned his lands—their astronomical upkeep justified by formidable reputation.

Pellin sidled up, whispering excitedly:

"Ah. The very same Orel Mercenaries led by One-Eyed Orel. While butchering nobles is fun, facing this legend of the mercenary underworld... I can't help but grin."

Her satisfied smile widened until Derek's sidelong glance made her cough and straighten.

With Aiselin and Delbritton present, flaunting anti-noble sentiments served no purpose.

"The Duke resides in the central hall's top-floor office. To extract him, we'd need to disable the eastern tower's defenses and neutralize Orel's western garrison."

"Given the estate's scale, external support seems essential."

"Worry not. Belmiere County and Velderun Mercenaries will handle the western spire, while Count Renuel assists with the eastern tower's magic. Or should I say... Countess Renuel now."

Conquering Beltus Manor required coalition forces—a plan Derek had prepared since Beltus first opposed him.

In the wilderness, you never know when predators might strike.

Thus—strike first.

Before being attacked, sever their windpipe.

Before being backstabbed, land the first blow.

This was the law of survival for those climbing from the bottom.

"Preparations are complete."

A messenger hawk alights on Belmiere County's windowsill.

The red-haired girl with delicate hands—Elente, Belmiere's golden jade leaf and most prestigious noble lady—though thoroughly smitten with a certain man—snatches the letter.

Evelstein's tavern district.

At"Beldern's Tear,"the one-armed tavern keeper with kind eyes and boisterous laugh—a Dawn War veteran despite his disability—grins toothily at his protege's request.

Countess Rodea of Renuel, newly elevated to border countess under Emperor Gertrel's patronage.

The white-haired woman who lives to behead necromancers with her Holy Blood Sword stiffens upon reading Derek's letter mentioning undead magic clues, her expression turning spectral.

Her trembling daughter Tricia nearly drops her teacup.

On Ravenclaw Barony's roof, Phee perches while humming, watching the waning moon with sinister amusement.

Crushing Beltus would propel Derek to unimaginable heights—as both mage and noble.

To Phee, Derek represents insurance. Should her advanced corpse resurrection research fail, she'll use him to achieve her longed-for rest.

Anticipating Beltus'downfall brings her visible joy—watching the mighty fall is always entertaining.

At the nearly restored Duplein Manor, Raeg acting as interim family head and Diela rallying remnants receive Derek's declaration against Beltus—noting Aiselin's implicit approval.

Though typically gentle, she never opposes Derek's decisions.

Secret letters spread across the continent to Derek's trusted allies.

Their contents: Suspicions linking Beltus to necromancy—whether genuine justification or convenient pretext varied by recipient.

Yet all reached the same conclusion:

If cautious Derek took this stance, he must have compelling reasons.

"...The southwestern power structure will tremble."

"Huh? Master? What do you mean?"

In the eastern social hub—Elvester County Manor—Katia Flameheart grows solemn reading her beloved disciple's letter.

Securing justification, punishing adversaries, and overthrowing rivals without hesitation—this was the conduct of a true noble protecting his domain.

Her street urchin chewing hard rye bread in tavern corners had become this.

Watching his meteoric rise brought pride... and inexplicable loneliness.

- Tap, tap.

Finishing his Beltus Manor schematics, Derek organizes his letters.

His resolute movements show no hesitation.

Beside him, even battle-hardened Delbritton swallows hard at the correspondences'senders:

Belmiere County, Duplein Ducal Territory, Rocheste Ducal Territory, Velderun Mercenaries, Renuel County, Elvester County, Tigris Barony, Evelstein Noble District—

An impossible coalition for a rural baron to muster—more befitting imperial decree.

Such trust reflected Derek's authentic life journey.

Earning these titans'faith was no trivial feat.

Yet the white-haired mercenary-turned-baron seems oblivious to being this upheaval's epicenter.

Only one concern lingers—the noblewoman remaining loyal to Beltus.

But respecting her choice is also part of her journey.

"Let's go."

Derek's lowered gaze and furrowed brow radiate solemn determination.

He has completed his transformation into high nobility.

- Slam!

Denise gets shoved into a guest room at Beltus Manor's heart.

Though servants treat her politely, this is effectively imprisonment.

The pristine chamber has curtained windows admitting no sunlight, with a separate meal hatch below the door—a gilded cage.

Spotting this, Denise gulps.

"W-what is this?"

"His Grace's orders."

By withholding Ravenclaw Barony's vulnerabilities, Denise chose loyalty to Derek over Beltus.

Though occasionally indolent, betrayal was unlike her—a fact the Duke exploited.

But now she bared fangs at him.

His animalistic instincts detected this immediately.

A sharp blade makes excellent weaponry—unless it turns against you.

The Duke never tolerates potential threats—something Denise knew better than anyone.

"His Grace will summon you shortly. Until then, remain here. All belongings require inspection—change your clothes too."

"W-what nonsense—"

"As stated. Deliver everything from the barony to the reception hall. We'll return this afternoon."

The butler exits without ceremony.

- Slam.

"..."

Alone in hollow silence, Denise staggers backward onto a table, her frilly dress spilling over the edge.

What became of Beltus'past dissenters?

Retainers? Servants? Relatives?

Unknown.

They simply... vanished one day.

The Duke's frigid gaze—evaluating her like spent chess pieces—flashes through her mind.

"......"

Her chest trembles uncontrollably.

So this was fear.

The carefree girl who lounged through political intrigue reading romance novels now truly understood terror.

Yet she refuses to weep or beg like some frightened child.

Clenching her jaw, she endures.

Choices demand accountability.

However impulsive, she'd sided with Derek.

She'd honor that choice without regret—her tribute to him.

"Ugh... huu... h-hic..."

As Denise stifles her sobs—

- Whooosh

"Eh...?"

From her confiscated luggage, strange magical energy begins emanating.