Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 132

'Maybe I should tie my hair up sometimes.'

A girl strolling through a forest buzzing with insects suddenly grabbed her long hair and swept it upward. After living the same routine for so long, it was natural to crave small deviations.

Though she preferred letting her voluminous locks cascade down to maintain her delicate noblewoman image, occasionally showing a more lively side added to her charm.

While entertaining such trivial thoughts, the girl walking through the woods was none other than a legendary 6-Star mage whose name deserved to be etched in history.

Lady Phee Rafaela Tigris slipped unnoticed out of Beltus Territory as dusk fell. For someone who could melt into shadows, evading detection was as easy as eating porridge.

Turning back, she gazed at the mansion atop the hill.

Within the burning estate, countless forces clashed with their own agendas. Spectral wraiths summoned by necromancy swirled into the sky. The chaos erupting from that cursed mansion delighted Phee—this scene of pure anarchy thrilled her more than any picturesque landscape.

'Melberot and Drest won't stay idle.'

Other 6-Star mages who despised disorder would surely frown upon her actions. But Phee never hesitated when pursuing her goals.

'Drest at least would understand. Times change, after all.'

The humid forest breeze carried the scent of grass—unchanged through the ages, unlike people.

Raeg of House Duplein was regaining his footing. With Aiselin and Diela's support, he would restore his family's prestige.

Elennte of Belmierd's influence already reached the heavens. She would dominate the southwestern continent's power structure and swallow Evelstein's high society whole.

Rovenalt of Beltus still suffered growing pains. Though his mental fortitude was commendable, his uncertain leadership meant Beltus's future remained unclear.

Generations shift—Phee had merely given fate a nudge.

Chuckling to herself, she mused: What could the old foxes do against the tide of change? At best, they could scramble to salvage what they could.

A luminous aura erupted from the mansion's main hall—the form of a demon summoned by Duke Beltus, a master conjurer. The necromantic magic infused into it was remarkably potent for a 5-Star spell.

- CRACK! BOOM!

The mansion's roof shattered as a colossal demon emerged—a bull-headed monstrosity with massive horns and armored muscles. This was forbidden necromancy at its vilest: hellspawn conjuration.

Among necromancers, summoners like Duke Beltus were uniquely dangerous. None could match his ability to summon demons of this scale.

The beast's earth-shaking bellow forced everyone to cover their ears. Bat demons swarmed from the ruined ceiling in numbers befitting an army.

The demon had arrived. Its master? Undoubtedly Duke Beltus.

"Has the spire's defensive magic been disabled yet?"

Countess Rodea carved through demonic hordes toward the main hall. Derek had gone alone to destroy the magic tower—better than leading troops that might trigger defensive measures.

But penetrating the hall without neutralizing the eastern spire's war magic formation was too risky.

Just then—

- WHOOSH! BANG!

The shrinking formation flickered out entirely. Against all odds, Derek had single-handedly infiltrated and disabled the spire.

'A mercenary's guerrilla experience serves him well,'Rodea mused, impressed. This veteran of countless labyrinth raids had grown formidable.

'Disciplined, experienced, yet young. I'd want him under my command.'

But like all who witnessed Derek's prowess, she knew he wasn't the type to serve under anyone. The only person he showed deference to was the exceptional 6-Star mage Melberot.

'Perhaps through marriage...'she briefly considered, before dismissing the thought. Derek was already wed, and her sharp-tongued daughter Tricia would never suit him.

"The path is clear!"Rodea raised her Holy Blood Sword."Capture that necromantic fiend and inform His Imperial Majesty Gertrel of our victory!"

Her elite troops cheered. They'd fought beside her at Rodentz Island—this was their moment for glory.

As they charged the main gates, they found the hall no longer belonged to Duke Beltus.

An Arch Lich hovered in the foyer, surrounded by spectral wraiths and demonic cocoons. This 5-Star abomination from the White Wilderness had claimed the mansion as its nest.

Faced with this unprecedented horror, even Rodea's veterans froze.

- THUD! CRUNCH!

Denise fled the main hall toward the northern slopes, avoiding Rodea's approaching forces. Though grotesque goblin and troll corpses roamed the estate, their sluggishness made them avoidable for someone with combat magic training.

The real disaster required professional intervention—Orel's Mercenaries, long contracted to defend Beltus lands. Their western barracks would be mobilizing now.

Yet as Denise ran, dark thoughts plagued her:

'What becomes of me after this? My maid Bella? Our house?'

She pushed them aside—survival came first. But one thorn remained:

She'd made an enemy of Derek Raidof Ravenclaw.

Memories of his merciless combat gaze chilled her. Now she'd be on the receiving end—simply for being Beltus's daughter.

Her sprint slowed to a stumble. Leaning against a garden tree, she clutched her disheveled silver hair, fighting tears.

'All my pretenses of rationality... In the end, I'm just another helpless noblewoman.'

A bitter laugh escaped her. Crying wouldn't help—she needed clear judgment.

As she steadied herself to head west toward safety, fate abandoned her.

- CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

A bloodstained figure emerged from the woods—Derek, carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder.

Rovenalt. Her weak-willed elder brother who'd apparently challenged Derek at the magic spire. His swollen face swayed limply with each step.

Divine providence had run out. Here, alone, she faced the enemy's strongest combatant.

Resist? Against Derek's superior magic? Scratch his eyes out? Futile.

Denise slid down the tree trunk, her expensive dress collecting dirt, bark clinging to her hair.

"So... it's you, Derek."She forced a defiant smile—her lifelong habit of maintaining composure even at death's door.

Memories surfaced—of Derek comforting her self-deprecating words in Evelstein's private mansion art storage. Had she not been born a Beltus, could they have remained friends like Aiselin and Elente? Enjoying his reliable presence, sharing worries?

The fictional Lord Robain from her novel came to mind—a noble who abandoned his love due to status differences. Had she unknowingly poured her own suppressed cries into that character?

As she closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate—

- THUD. FLUMP.

Derek wordlessly deposited Rovenalt beside her. The unconscious heir wheezed against the tree.

"He resisted to the end. Knowing Duke Beltus's nature yet remaining loyal... He's someone who stands by his principles."

Derek's gentle tone startled Denise. This wasn't the bloodthirsty mercenary—it was her kind magic instructor.

"D-D-Derek...?"

"His loyalty is misplaced, but if Beltus reforms, Lord Rovenalt could become an asset. Ultimately, those loyal to the house itself endure beyond those loyal to individuals."

"You... you're not here to... capture me?"

Derek brushed dirt off his clothes, looking genuinely puzzled.

"...Me?"