Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 136

- CRASH! BOOM!

-"Guh!"

Denise once witnessed the Duke of Beltus slap an elderly magistrate so hard the man collapsed, gasping for breath.

It happened years ago when she'd visited her father's office to pay respects.

Denise had just turned ten at the time.

Magistrate Alderic had been pleading for tax relief for famine-stricken villages on the duchy's borders.

"My Lord, our duty is to protect the people. Continuing like this makes us no better than murderers."

As the gray-haired retainer clutched his head and spoke those words, the Duke stomped on him until bruises formed and blood splattered, snarling,"How dare you call me a murderer?"

The Duke loathed retainers who acted beyond orders. Soon after, Alderic vanished from the household—an inevitable outcome.

With a family to support and an aged body failing him, Denise still doesn't know what became of that old magistrate.

From that day, Beltus's immense prestige felt to Denise like an irresistible current or insurmountable wall.

The noble pedigree that elevated her as a highborn lady more often weighed her down, pressing on her limbs like invisible shackles.

Luxurious frilled dresses, pretty accessories, servants gazing at her with admiration, exquisite cuisine, fragrant candles, vibrant gardens filled with birdsong.

The naive girl thought:

'Born as Beltus's daughter, raised in splendor—shouldn't I bear the weight of that responsibility?'

Yet after entering Evelstain's social circles, such thoughts gradually faded.

The physical distance from the main house and the liberated atmosphere of this land of opportunity—this mansion built solely for her—felt increasingly comfortable. Always quiet and subdued, it became her sanctuary.

Like sinking into a cozy bed, she immersed herself in Evelstain's tranquil ambiance.

She cared little for political tides or the power struggles over succession—all because of this mindset.

'This is fine.'

Lounging in shadowy mansion corners, idly twirling quills, occasionally rolling up sleeves for show... Passing time this way wasn't so bad.

Yet even then, she'd already realized:

This ambiguous, temporary peace was fleeting. The Duke would inevitably exploit Denise's position in Evelstain's social circles. One way or another, she'd be used as a pawn or backstabber.

She knew clinging to this hollow peace wouldn't end well.

So she grew increasingly lethargic, accepting this corpse-like existence in her comfortable cradle.

─Until someone arrived to shatter that resignation.

A man claiming to be her mentor dragged the reclusive Denise out for morning jogs, made her study spellbooks all night, provoked her competitive spirit with Diela, read her secretly written novels, recruited servants, and ultimately kicked her out of that cradle.

This man who showed no fear or doubt had lived as a commoner his entire life.

Having weathered life's storms, he looked straight into Denise's eyes—she who'd only known hollow peace and escape.

'Why stay complacent on a path leading to a cliff's edge? Why not struggle to break free?'

Denise often thought him ignorant.

How could he understand Beltus's crushing weight? The pressures demanded of noble heirs?

Yet watching him effortlessly shatter Beltus's influence left her breathless.

Derek Raidof Ravenclaw had spent his life fighting the very system that judged people solely by bloodline.

The so-called burdens of nobility were featherlight compared to his struggles.

Thus his casual demolition of Beltus felt like him smashing the cage she'd been trapped in all her life.

Without hesitation, he shattered the bars, boots clomping as he stared down at Denise with unchanging indifference.

His question remained constant:'Will you keep lying there?'

- SCREECH! CRASH!

"As you can see, numerous external forces have arrived around the mansion. We'll handle matters inside the main hall—Lady Denise should evacuate to safety under Captain Orel's protection."

Suddenly, Denise snapped back to reality.

The situation was urgent, yet Elente calmly briefed her amidst the chaos.

Having been closest to the incident, Denise was undoubtedly exhausted and shaken.

Elente wanted Denise removed from the scene—partly from concern, partly from distrust, and partly from not wanting her near Derek.

A woman's intuition?

Seeing Denise's flustered demeanor made Elente certain keeping them together was unwise.

"..."

Denise hesitated at the suggestion.

Objectively, risking the main hall was unnecessary. Whatever befell the Duke could be learned later.

Derek's demeanor had already convinced her of one thing:

He wouldn't harm her. No matter what, entrusting matters to him ensured her safety.

'Should I withdraw now?'

Retreating to safety, assessing the situation, planning next steps—perhaps the wisest course. Beltus's power structure would undoubtedly shift after this.

Yet an odd intuition stirred within her—another feminine instinct?

She sensed Elente's intent to separate her from Derek.

'...So what if I notice?'

What could possibly happen from briefly parting with Derek?

Rational as ever, Denise acknowledged her growing affection for him. But that was all.

However compelling Derek might be, she needn't become obsessed.

Amidst this chaos, losing judgment over a man would be absurd. She wasn't some lovestruck romance novel heroine.

Yet something nagged at her.

"..."

Meeting Elente's gaze, Denise exhaled—her demeanor suddenly composed.

"No. I'm coming too."

The loaded statement sent sparks flying between their locked eyes.

Denise refused to surrender Derek to this privileged young countess who already had everything.

For some reason, even as her family burned, she felt compelled to keep Derek close—the only person who'd ever seen her as just Denise.

"..."

Elente—and anyone familiar with Denise—knew one truth:

When turned into an enemy, Denise's cunning made her the most formidable opponent.

Elente narrowed her eyes and swallowed dryly.

The Arch Lich's roars filled Beltus Manor's main hall.

3-Star Necromancy: Lesser Corpse Revival.

Though Countess Rodea's well-trained detachment systematically cut down the reanimated corpses swarming from every room, breaching the inner hall remained impossible with the Arch Lich guarding it.

- SHING!

Drawing her Holy Blood Sword, Countess Rodea barked orders:

"I'll behead the Arch Lich myself. Clear a path!"

"Yes, my Lady!"

The floating corpse-mage's crimson gaze alone made deathly chills creep across one's skin.

But Rodea—no stranger to necromancy—felt no fear.

Her sword's engraved scriptures glowed as she charged up the grand staircase, dodging the Petrifying Gaze spell by shutting her eyes—a veteran's reflex.

Rolling across the floor and kicking off the railing, she reached the Arch Lich in an instant, carving through corpse-beasts like butcher's meat.

As her blade neared the Arch Lich's neck—

- CRUNCH! BOOM!

A massive fist smashed through the ceiling.

A demonic beast-headed monstrosity—fusion of high-tier summoning and necromancy—slammed into the hall, shaking the very foundations.

- CRASH! RUMBLE!

Chandeliers fell. Dust clouds rose. Soldiers screamed beneath rubble.

When the tremors ceased, the night sky was visible—the entire ceiling had collapsed.

Backlit by stars, the demon loomed over the devastation.

- CRACK! BANG!

Countess Rodea swallowed hard as she rolled clear.

An Arch Lich alone was troublesome enough. This unknown demon made the situation dire.

Yet heroes don't despair.

As she gripped her sword and rose—

- WHOOSH! CRACKLE!

Moonlight illuminated a figure on the shattered second-floor balcony.

Rodea's breath caught.

The Duke of Beltus.

That arrogant noble who'd always looked down on his people now writhed with dark magical sigils, his eyes gleaming with madness amidst the pain.

'Gods... He's truly been consumed by necromancy!'

A familiar sight from Rodentz Island.

Necromancy wasn't for amateurs. She'd seen countless fools become its victims.

For those this far gone, death was the only mercy.

'A 5-Star Summoner unable to control this power... What has he tampered with?'

As the Duke's convulsions suddenly stopped, his gaze—still faintly lucid—locked onto Rodea below.

The glimmer of reason soon vanished into bloodlust.

"Beware everyone! A 5-Star Summoner!"

- SHING! SHING! SHING!

Swords materialized around the Duke—Non-living Summoning Magic: Sword Storm.

Unlike previous spells tinged blue, these blades burned crimson with malice.

As Rodea raised her sword—

- THUNK!

An arrow struck the roaring Duke's shoulder—impossibly accurate at that range.

"GAAAH!"

As he staggered, a cloaked girl somersaulted over the rubble.

Unfamiliar to most, but known to some:

Pellin of Velderun Mercenaries—technically Baroness Ravenclaw—landed on the balcony and kicked the Duke square in the solar plexus.

- CRASH!

"Ahhh. Noblemen always kick so satisfyingly."

Brushing off her skirt, she grinned refreshingly and shouted:

"Jayden! Over here!"

Reinforcements swarmed in—Derek's former comrades from Velderun Mercenaries.

Their one-armed leader Jayden laughed:

"Charge! Monster-slaying time!"

The tide turned instantly.

"Are these... Baron Ravenclaw's forces?"

As Rodea rose, she noticed Pellin adjusting her skirt smugly—

- BAM!

A 1-Star Shockwave from the Duke—magnified to terrifying scale by his 5-Star prowess—sent Pellin tumbling off the balcony.

"KYAAAAH!"

- CRASH!

The bloodied Duke rose from rubble, drooling as he struggled against the madness.

A 5-Star mage could single-handedly decimate armies.

As the sky demon prepared to incinerate Pellin—

- WHOOSH!

A man leapt onto the balcony, wrenching the Duke's arm and slamming him down.

- CRASH!

Derek Raidof Ravenclaw rose in the moonlight—battered but unbroken.

"Baron Ravenclaw!"

As Rodea cried out, Belmierd's forces arrived with Elente and Denise at the forefront.

The battle's climax approached.

Amidst swarming monsters and a looming demon, two men stood at the precipice.

Only one path remained:

For either to advance, the other must fall.