Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 131

-'Young Master Rovenalt. You're doing well enough.'

-'This is splendid work, Rovenalt.'

-'Not bad at all, Rovenalt.'

By the time of his coming-of-age ceremony, Valerian, the eldest son of House Duplein, had already mastered 2nd-grade magic. Ryner, the eldest son of House Belmierd, earned widespread trust and respect through his uniquely free-spirited charisma.

But Rovenalt, the eldest son of Beltus, possessed neither exceptional magical talent nor leadership charisma. His efforts were commendable but yielded no remarkable achievements.

Not that he was incompetent—he simply fell short of expectations for the heir to the mighty House Beltus. A classic case of mediocrity in high places.

Thus, the phrase Rovenalt heard most throughout his youth was"You're doing well enough."

-'You're doing perfectly fine, Brother Rovenalt. Don't worry so much.'

His younger sister Lady Denise often said the same.

Whenever Rovenalt's confidence wavered, she'd casually brush it off with her usual nonchalant expression.

-'No need to push yourself too hard. Just do your part, okay? Just your part.'

Denise would say.

Born into the privileged Beltus lineage, receiving universal respect and consideration throughout life... There was no need to overexert ourselves or burn with excessive ambition.

Simply be grateful for our blessed circumstances... and coast through life as we are.

Though appearing sharp-witted, Denise's core was steeped in laziness.

Rovenalt, having sensed this about her, sometimes found strange comfort in her words.

But Denise changed.

-'Huff... huff...'

Late evenings in Beltus Manor's gardens often revealed Denise exhausted after all-night magic training and physical conditioning.

Studying books until dawn, skipping meals to practice detection magic, maintaining noble etiquette while navigating high society—she'd unwittingly grown far removed from laziness.

She still considered herself someone striving for an easy life... but Rovenalt saw differently.

Someone had influenced her.

Born into Beltus's privileged environment, where simply obeying the Duke's whims guaranteed comfort... she was gradually breaking free.

Cracking her shell to finally comprehend the harsh realities beyond.

Rovenalt knew about her new tutor in Evelstain's social circles. But he couldn't have imagined how profoundly it would transform her.

He only wondered what she'd witnessed.

- Whoosh!

As Rovenalt blinked away these thoughts—

The white-haired mercenary who'd stormed the command center instantly capitalized on his distraction.

Leaping like a bird of prey, Derek planted his boot squarely in Rovenalt's stomach.

- Thud!

The sensation of leather piercing his abdomen burned vividly.

Rovenalt's eyes widened before squeezing shut against the delayed pain.

Derek pivoted smoothly to deliver a roundhouse kick to Rovenalt's ribs.

"Ghk...!"

Despite Derek's large frame and close proximity, Rovenalt couldn't even react.

As Rovenalt gritted his teeth to regain focus, a 1st-grade combat spell—Shockwave—materialized before his nose. A basic spell anyone could cast.

- Whoosh!

A single sweep of Derek's hand sent Rovenalt crashing into the far wall.

He tumbled across the floor, coughing violently.

Derek's movements held no wasted motion.

Pain erupted simultaneously from his stomach, ribs, and magic-battered chest. The nausea-inducing agony made Rovenalt retch.

This bore no resemblance to Beltus's dignified magical duels.

Baron Derek Raidof Ravenclaw.

His attacks disregarded noble decorum entirely. Of course they did.

With the central gardens ablaze and buildings crumbling, this was undeniably a battlefield.

What place had etiquette here? This bore no resemblance to Beltus's gilded training halls.

"..."

Derek dusted off his boot and began scanning documents scattered across the command center.

To him, Rovenalt wasn't even worth guarding against—just another easy target like the retainers he'd effortlessly subdued.

"Ghk... ugh..."

Yet Rovenalt clutched a toppled desk and forced himself upright.

Watching Derek survey the room, Rovenalt sensed an indescribable malevolent aura emanating from him.

"You came... to disable the spire's defensive magic..."

"..."

"Sorry but... not while I'm standing... with eyes wide open..."

- Whoosh!

A 1st-grade Ice Spear materialized—its small size and weak mana making its trajectory pitifully obvious to Derek.

Even Diela's first attempt at 1st-grade magic had been stronger... This was utterly mediocre.

Rovenalt's ice spears flew toward Derek, who didn't bother dodging.

- Crack!

- Whoosh!

Derek simply clenched his fist, effortlessly dispersing the spells.

More terrifying—Rovenalt couldn't even perceive Derek's counter-magic. The speed and precision surpassed his magical senses.

Derek vaulted over a desk toward Rovenalt.

Rovenalt grimaced and dropped low, but Derek anticipated this—kicking his ribs again.

- Crash! Bang!

Rovenalt smashed into another desk.

Yet he grabbed Derek's ankle while rising, teeth grinding audibly.

Derek looked down at him.

"The defensive magic must be controlled from the spire's peak. I sense no magical artifacts here..."

"Ugh... kh..."

Enduring the pain, Rovenalt ignited flames at his fingertips. He wasn't done yet.

As Derek leaped back to create distance, Rovenalt scrambled toward a collapsed inner wall.

He pulled out a mana stone controlling the spire's magic and attuned to it.

'I can't stop him with my power alone... Must use every available resource!'

One exchange proved Derek's superiority. Rovenalt stood no chance conventionally.

Teeth grinding, he dashed toward the spire's peak, thinking frantically.

'If I redirect some spire defenses for personal use... Might match his firepower...!'

None could deny it—Derek was on another level.

Despite their similar ages, he neared 4th-grade mastery.

His magical proficiency and combat experience dwarfed Rovenalt's.

The difference? Simple—talent.

Realizing this, Rovenalt clenched his fists. No point lamenting now.

Derek simply loomed as an insurmountable wall.

As the spire's defender, Rovenalt faced catastrophe incarnate.

Yet he shook his head—giving up wasn't an option.

Most challenges in Rovenalt's life had seemed impossible.

- Tap, tap!

Below, Derek ascended the spiral staircase after him with terrifying speed.

Rovenalt kicked over display cabinets to block the stairs.

The expensive furnishings shattered against the carpet—only to be bisected by Derek's magical arrows.

The display of power made Rovenalt realize Derek had been holding back earlier.

Goosebumps raced up his arms.

His legs trembled; cold sweat dripped from his brow.

This felt like being hunted by a predator. One misstep meant becoming prey.

Yet Rovenalt possessed one innate trait—resistance to fear.

He grabbed a ceremonial longsword from the wall, imbuing it with Transformation Magic"Elemental Conversion."

Flames wreathed the blade, leaving fiery afterimages with each swing.

Rovenalt turned and slashed at the ascending Derek.

- Clang!

Derek drew his sword impossibly fast, effortlessly blocking.

While Derek's blade didn't budge, Rovenalt's flaming sword trembled violently.

Between the pain and terror, he couldn't tell why his hands shook.

"Y-you're... Denise's... t-tutor..."

"..."

"At least back then... our houses were friendly..."

Rovenalt knew Beltus had struck first.

The Duke's insatiable powerlust brooked no rising stars. His usual tactics—crush or kill—had finally provoked the wrong man.

Rovenalt, conditioned to obey, hadn't objected. Now he reaped Derek's wrath.

His grip tightened despite understanding the futility.

"If you don't... kill me... you won't pass..."

"Do I seem unable to kill you?"

Rovenalt's breath caught.

Genuine killing intent radiated from Derek's eyes.

This man had spilled blood countless times. One decisive slash would sever Rovenalt's head.

Yet despite the terror, Rovenalt swung again.

- Whoosh! Whoosh!

Flames left scorching afterimages but failed to touch Derek, who retreated smoothly.

Derek drew his staff"Footsteps"—a high-grade magical weapon awarded by the royal court after the Duplein incident. Its quality was immediately apparent to Rovenalt, versed in transformation magic.

Sword in one hand, staff in the other.

An awkward combination for balance—yet Derek moved with practiced ease, dodging every slash.

Mana gathered around the staff. Rovenalt knew—if Derek completed this spell, he'd die.

This fight now risked his life. Gritting his teeth, he channeled mana.

"Raaaaaah!"

With a desperate cry, he charged Derek.

- Boom! Whoosh!

But this was a feint.

Sinister mana stirred at the spire's peak—defensive magic diverted toward the staircase via Rovenalt's mana stone.

Facing Derek head-on was suicide. Rovenalt knew his weakness.

The weak must fight dirty. Only by employing every resource could he possibly stop Derek.

- Clang! Clang! Whoosh!

Though agony wracked his body, Rovenalt kept slashing wildly—distracting Derek from the gathering spire magic.

If he could draw the spire's bombardment onto himself, perhaps they'd both be mortally wounded.

Thus he screamed hoarsely, flames wreathing him as he attacked.

Though clumsy and weak to Derek's eyes... holding his attention sufficed.

- Clang! Whoosh!

- Thud!

But Rovenalt collapsed within three seconds.

Derek had pivoted sharply and kicked his solar plexus.

Rovenalt sprawled across the stairs, sword clattering away.

Gasping for air, he looked up to meet Derek's icy gaze.

Derek snatched the mana stone from Rovenalt's pocket, dispersing its energy.

The spire's gathered magic began dissipating. Derek had anticipated this last gambit.

"..."

After a long look, Derek ascended the stairs toward the peak. Disabling the defenses required reaching the top.

- Grab

But Rovenalt, trembling and breathless, seized Derek's ankle.

Exhausted beyond movement, fully aware of their insurmountable gap...

Yet he refused to release his grip.

Derek looked down again.

Shaking off this feeble hand would be trivial.

But determination burned in Rovenalt's grasp.

"Why go this far?"

"I was ordered... to protect this spire..."

"Does that justify such extremes?"

"Only way... to prove my worth..."

Rovenalt looked up—his boyish face bearing a veteran's resolve.

"Duplein, Belmierd, Beltus... all glorious houses, yet their heirs differed greatly. Right?"

"..."

"I lack Prince Valerian's talent or Prince Ryner's charisma. No gifts, no presence. So to survive, I obey unquestioningly, strive for recognition, and fulfill my role... A commoner in noble garb."

He understood perfectly.

Their gap was insurmountable. Nothing would change the outcome.

"Pity me if you want. Noble houses have their share of pathetic disappointments like me... One more pitying glance changes nothing."

The Duke sacrificed even family without hesitation.

Born as a talentless heir, Rovenalt's survival depended on submission.

His way of life.

"Denise often spoke of you. Rose from slums to greatness through sheer will. First time I've seen her respect someone so deeply. You were... an admirable mentor to her..."

"..."

"But for every you... there's a me. Born to prestigious nobility yet achieving nothing... Clinging desperately to status... Gritting teeth through futile efforts... What can I do?"

His grip on Derek's ankle tightened.

Rovenalt and Derek were opposites—not just magically.

A genius from filthy slums versus a mediocrity from gilded halls.

Noble birth didn't guarantee excellence.

"What choice have I but to struggle? So... while I draw breath... you... won't pass..."

Flames erupted from Rovenalt again.

Though his transformation magic remained rudimentary, his will to channel mana despite exhaustion was commendable.

Rovenalt grabbed his flaming sword and a wand—fire and ice magic swirling at each tip.

His platinum hair was disheveled, mouth bleeding, face swollen grotesquely.

More resembling a battered loser than a noble heir—especially compared to Valerian or Ryner.

Yet his swollen face held sincerity.

"Evelstain's most renowned tutor, they say. Turns vicious noble girls into proper ladies and teaches magic to mediocrities."

"That's exaggerated rumor."

"We'll see. Fine. I admit it. You're stronger, more talented. So what?"

Rovenalt raised his voice.

"I...!! Fulfill my duty...! If stopping you... is my duty...! Even if bones break and flesh burns...! I'll stop you...! Simply...! Simply because I must...!!!!!"

Born a Beltus heir, he took his responsibilities seriously—more than anyone.

Though his hands trembled, his resolve didn't waver. His will to resist fear was truly remarkable.

Thus Derek said:

"Truly, Young Master Rovenalt, your will is exceptional. To honor that..."

Rovenalt flinched.

Derek's overwhelming strength made every word terrifying.

"...H-honor it...?"

"..."

Was he... going to leave?

"—I won't hold back. I'll fight you seriously."

"......."

"My respect for your conviction. I'll treat you as a worthy opponent."

Derek gathered mana at his fingertips.

A gale whipped around him, sending furnishings flying from the magical pressure alone.

The sensation was unmistakable—

A 3rd-grade spell was coming.

Magic even seasoned nobles struggled to master after decades of training.

- Whoosh!

Derek's mana engulfed the staircase as his staff"Footsteps"began glowing. Blocking or deflecting would mean instant death—only evasion could save him.

"..."

Rovenalt deeply regretted his dramatic speech.

He wanted to strangle his past self from fifteen seconds ago.