Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 127

The first to notice the anomaly was General Orel, leader of the mercenary group stationed at the western spire of Beltus Ducal Territory.

A veteran who'd experienced countless battles during his service in the royal court. Mere brute strength and a fierce temperament weren't enough to hold such a crucial position.

To occupy an important post in the royal guard, one needed both fiery passion and ice-cold reason.

His bulging muscles, one-eyed visage, square jaw, and the magnificent greatsword strapped to his back - every aspect of his appearance screamed formidable warrior.

Though now leading a sizable mercenary group outside royal service, he maintained the same thorough combat readiness as during his loyal service to the crown.

"...Something's off about the main manor."

Orel narrowed his brows while drinking beer with his strategist in the command post.

"...Pardon?"

"I hear servants screaming."

"...My hearing can't compare to yours, Captain."

As the person responsible for overall security of Beltus Ducal Manor, Orel's senses were exceptionally sharp.

The reason Grand Duke Beltus could hold his head high among the three great noble families despite having few private soldiers was precisely because he had General Orel under his command.

If one wondered why someone as wise and experienced as Orel would serve under a greedy man like the Grand Duke, it ultimately came down to money.

The annual payment Orel's Mercenary Group received from House Beltus for maintaining security was enough to easily purchase a small border village.

And the mercenary's virtue lies in doing work commensurate with their pay.

Few mercenaries in the southwestern continent, especially around Evelstain, could match Orel's reputation. Leading this massive mercenary group was only possible because of his extraordinary capabilities.

Though some ambitious mercenaries harbored competitive spirits wanting to challenge Orel, encountering him was difficult since he rarely left Beltus territory.

Orel adjusted the greatsword on his back, checked the two longswords at his waist, the dagger on his thigh, and various consumables on his belt before rising.

Pushing aside the command post curtains, he turned his gaze toward the main manor where panicked servants were fleeing.

His brows furrowed. Concentrating his senses, he detected the scent of blood on the wind.

General Orel possessed strangely acute hearing and smell. He was also not one to hesitate when action was needed.

"Leven."

"Yes, Captain."

"Wake everyone. Time to work."

- Whoosh!

- Crack! Snap!

In the isolation room of Beltus Manor where Denise was confined.

The Arch Lich meticulously crafted by Phee was calamity incarnate. Simply by rising, it saturated the surroundings with a deathly chill, immediately beginning to transform its location into a nest.

When Denise came to her senses, the walls were already covered with necromantic magic and vengeful spirits woven like spiderwebs - their mere presence enough to cloud the mind.

With just a wave of its staff, the Arch Lich raised armies of corpses, while rotting magical creatures staggered out into the manor corridors.

Staying put would clearly result in massive casualties.

Phee adored such scenes of slaughter. Unfortunately, Derek disliked excessive collateral damage in political power struggles.

Though Derek never hesitated to kill when necessary, he wasn't a murderous maniac who reveled in meaningless massacres. He simply wanted to occupy Beltus Manor and establish it as a necromantic stronghold.

Thus Derek had repeatedly emphasized to Phee - control the level of undead summoned by the Arch Lich's necromancy.

That alone would make Beltus Manor appear as a den of necromantic evil.

All they needed was justification for nobles to unite against Beltus.

- Crack! Snap!

- Screeeech!

The grotesque sounds of corpses rising would make anyone's skin crawl.

Especially for commoners unfamiliar with necromancy, panic was inevitable as servants screamed while the manor was devastated.

-"Aaaah!"

-"Help! Monsters! Monsters!"

Banshees flew over the main hall's railings while ghostly knights in armor clanked through rooms, occupying every space.

Necromantic energy crawling along the walls quickly dimmed the lights, plunging the manor into darkness.

Beltus Manor was gradually stained with death's shadow. Like the labyrinths of the White Wilderness ruled by Arch Liches, it was becoming a dungeon filled with vengeful spirits, corpses, and the stench of blood.

- Crash!

Denise leaped from the second-floor railing to the first, gritting her teeth.

Terrified servants around her wept uncontrollably while desperately moving. Left alone, they'd surely collapse and meet gruesome ends.

She neutralized attacking corpses with 1-Star combat spells"Magic Arrow"and"Ice Spear."

Fortunately, the Arch Lich was currently focused on consuming the manor, so its summoned creatures weren't yet too powerful.

'If I run now, I can survive!'

Grabbing a paralyzed maid, Denise bit her lip and dashed downstairs.

Her foot slipped, sending her tumbling, but the thick luxurious carpet prevented serious injury.

- Thud!

"Oof!"

Pain was inevitable though. Pushing through it, she saw other servants trembling as they moved toward the exit.

Crawling her way to the first-floor hall, she finally reached the main entrance.

Just as she was about to run outside to alert the spire—

"...What is this...?"

Emerging from the manor, Denise found the entire grounds overrun by monsters.

The ducal estate's vast southern garden—large enough to be considered a forest—was spewing forth spirits and creatures.

Mages fleeing the eastern spire fought the horde, as did Orel's mercenaries at their garrison.

What was happening? The situation made no sense.

Though Denise had experienced everything high society could throw at her, being thrown into a battlefield was a first.

The Arch Lich's magic consuming the manor threatened to engulf the entire estate.

Soon this place would become a lich's labyrinth, its former glory as Beltus Manor fading into history.

A 6-Star necromancer's magic could turn even an ancient noble estate into death's domain in moments.

Facing such overwhelming power, it felt like the world itself was ending.

Death permeated everywhere in this all-encompassing battlefield.

Seeing the horde's scale, Denise collapsed to her knees.

"Huff... huff... huuu..."

The manor's main building stood at the estate's highest point.

From the railing outside the entrance, Denise watched the horrific scene unfold while steadying her breathing.

Her grip on the railing tightened, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her frilly dress.

Deep breaths, again and again.

'Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Don't panic, absolutely don't panic.'

While everyone else succumbed to terror, this girl fought to regain her reason.

Every hair stood on end, goosebumps covering her body—yet she clenched her teeth against the fear.

Her heart pounded wildly, tears threatening to spill.

Denise removed the pansy-shaped hairpin and stabbed her thigh deeply with its sharp point.

Pain overwhelmed the fear, her breathing gradually steadying as calm reason returned. Blood streamed down her thigh, but she paid no mind.

'Think, think, don't stop thinking. Every second counts. What should I consider? What decisions are needed now?'

'The monster emerged from my belongings in isolation. What is it? Clearly a high-level creature, but why from my things... Just ordinary items I carried...'

Trembling, Denise pieced together memories.

Then she remembered—gifts from Lady Phee of Tigris Barony. Unlike her usual belongings, these were unusual.

A trap?

But Lady Phee was just a nobody from a backwater barony—earnest and hardworking, with unremarkable magical achievements.

Yet Denise had kept tabs on Phee because Lady Aiselin took interest in her.

Phee was one of Derek's most devoted apprentices, constantly seeking his guidance.

If Phee acted, Derek's influence was likely involved.

But that was all she could deduce.

The scale of this necromancy, Derek's intentions, how this crisis began—everything remained unknown.

Only one certainty remained.

Everything was moving according to Derek's design.

She couldn't fathom its full extent, but she recalled the white-haired mercenary's piercing gaze as he leaned on his desk in Ravenclaw Barony.

His words when leaving her in the garden:

-'Feel free to stab me in the back if needed.'

What did that mean?

Was it heartwarming encouragement from someone who always understood and affirmed her?

No. She'd completely misunderstood.

Recalling Derek's retreating figure, his expression remained obscured.

'He was planning to use me all along.'

Denise's legs gave out as she bit her lower lip.

Surviving the emotional turmoil, a hollow laugh escaped her.

'Ahaha... how ridiculous...'

It was obvious. House Beltus had tried to suppress Baron Derek Raidof Ravenclaw's rising influence.

They'd attempted to kidnap his wife, spread scandals to undermine him, and were prepared to assassinate him if needed.

How could anyone show genuine goodwill to a noblewoman from such a family?

Perhaps once, he might have.

In that dusty underground storage, he'd shaken his head at Denise's self-deprecation. He'd insisted she was valuable, that she possessed something irreplaceable.

But even kindness has limits.

How long could anyone remain gracious toward those threatening their lands, family, and life?

He was human too, and Denise served Beltus.

If his patience finally ran out... that was only natural.

'How pathetic... I'm so pathetic...'

And yet, she'd agonized over maintaining goodwill with Baron Ravenclaw.

Never considering his potential betrayal or humiliation, consumed only by her own emotions and struggles.

The delusion that she was the world's center.

Had writing fiction made her imagine herself as some story's protagonist? The thought made her clench her fists.

Blood streaming down her thigh, pain from countless wounds, death-singing monsters, screams and terror everywhere.

If unchecked, this would become catastrophe. Even if contained, the repercussions would be unimaginable.

Either way, House Beltus would need to explain this necromantic outbreak.

Who would make the perfect scapegoat?

If she were Grand Duke Beltus... who would she sacrifice to escape this crisis?

The person who directly brought the Arch Lich's summoning catalyst into Beltus Manor.

The same person who abandoned loyalty to House Beltus... defending some insignificant backwater baron.

As sacrificial pawns go... none could be more perfect.

Amid Beltus Manor's collapse, Denise trembled.

She recalled the red-haired noblewoman of Belmierd, cursed as a witch due to necromantic entanglements. That same cursed grasp now seemed to reach for her.

The image of that white-haired mercenary surfaced—coldly observing everything from above.

She couldn't blame him entirely, not when Beltus's misdeeds started this disaster.

And she was Beltus's, destined to become the sacrificed lamb.

Her trembling chest produced another hollow laugh.

Profound despair sometimes evoked smiles. A paradox.

Regardless, her fate was sealed.

She would become a witch.

Cursed by all, she would become a witch.

"If there's one saintly figure in that den of villainy willing to expose all evils, it would be Lady Denise."

"...Is that so."

"Discerning right from wrong in such an environment isn't something just anyone can do."

- Clatter, clatter.

Countess Rodea and her elite forces moved with such speed that they were heading toward Beltus Territory before noon.

With no time for carriages, all rode horseback, gripping reins tightly.

Their pace was so furious that clinging to the horses'necks was necessary to keep up.

- Clatter, clatter!

Riding through forest paths, Derek confidently told Rodea:

If one righteous person remained in rotten House Beltus, it was Denise.

As Rodea listened intently, they galloped toward Beltus Territory.

In the distance, the hill where Beltus Manor stood came into view.

Even from afar, something was clearly wrong—swirling spirits darkened the estate's skies.

The vortex of vengeful spirits looked like necromancy's headquarters.

"...You were right, Sir Derek."

No one hated necromancers more than Countess Rodea.

Gritting her teeth, she drew her Holy Blood Sword and shouted to soldiers:

"Faster! Necromancy runs rampant in Beltus Ducal Territory!"

"Yes!"

As motivated soldiers spurred their horses—

- Whooooosh

Though still far away, massive magical energy pulsed from the manor.

Everyone, including Derek, stared transfixed.

Above Beltus Manor, flames erupted among the spirits, forming a giant fire warrior.

Its size was unimaginable.

Visible even at this distance, the fire giant dwarfed the entire manor—clearly at least a 4-Star summoning spell.