Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 140

Derek enjoyed a deep sleep for the first time in a while and dreamed.

He imagined himself achieving the magical accomplishments he so ardently desired one by one, eventually reigning supreme at the pinnacle one day.

What thoughts would occupy his mind when he mastered all magic, leaving no higher realm to aspire to?

Even those who dedicated their entire lives to magical research had never reached the final frontier.

Perhaps entertaining such thoughts was an expression of arrogance, but Derek couldn't help wondering.

If the lifelong goal he yearned for finally came within his grasp—what would come next?

Even as his consciousness grew hazy, Derek found himself contemplating this.

"We've urgently addressed all immediately treatable issues, but his life remains in grave danger."

The Beltus Mansion was nearly demolished, with barely any intact spaces left, but a secluded guest room still remained suitable for protecting patients.

Lying on a dust-covered bed was Baron Derek Raidof Ravenclaw.

The man who had performed the most remarkable feats during the Beltus Mansion subjugation, a genius who had reached the 4-Star realm at an absurdly young age.

Yet his life now teetered on the brink of meaninglessly ending.

"Provide a more detailed report on his physical condition."

Sitting solemnly in a corner chair with arms crossed was Countess Rodea.

Having just concluded battle, she still wore her massive silver armor, and the white hair cascading down bore clear marks of time's passage.

The physician directly serving the Renuel County bowed his head and reported in a clear voice:

"Judging by the traces of magic power and his bodily state, it appears he forcibly manifested 4-Star magic after exhausting all his stamina. It was essentially a suicidal act."

"Why would he commit such an act?"

"As you likely surmised. To cross swords with Duke Beltus despite insufficient skill, he must have resolved to push himself beyond limits, even at the cost of his body."

Though he hadn't witnessed the battle firsthand, Derek's fight against Duke Beltus must have been brutal.

Derek had continued channeling stronger magic even as blood sprayed from his entire body and the aura of magic power scorched his being.

'That sublime determination to suppress a necromancer by staking even his own life is truly commendable.'

Given Countess Rodea's deep hatred for necromancy, she felt genuine admiration for Derek's actions in seriously attempting to eliminate a necromancer.

Thus, his life ending here was absolutely unacceptable.

"I must inform His Majesty Gertrel that a new 4-Star mage has emerged in the Southwest. You must provide all possible assistance to ensure Sir Derek doesn't lose his life."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

- Clank

Rodea rose with the clatter of armor and exited through the door.

Glancing sideways at Derek's condition one last time, she saw blood still flowing from his perilous-looking form.

'Now is the time to organize the situation.'

As Countess Rodea closed the door behind her, the corridor was packed with people.

The outer corridor wall had collapsed, revealing a crowd stretching all the way to the garden.

The assembled individuals came from diverse affiliations—members of various noble houses and mercenary groups mingled together.

At the forefront stood several figures wearing worried expressions.

"How is Derek's condition?"

"His life cannot be guaranteed at this point."

The noblest among the gathered, Lady Elente of the Belmierd family, stepped forward first with a concerned voice.

When Rodea relayed the unvarnished truth, Elente bit her lower lip.

Though she hadn't stopped Derek from taking initiative, she never imagined he'd end up in such dire straits.

The others felt the same.

"Some are saying he must be involved in this incident somehow."

While organizing the battlefield, remnants of Beltus and senior retainers had gnashed their teeth with accusations.

Baron Derek Raidof Ravenclaw must be connected to this affair.

The timing was too perfect.

For the mansion to be devastated the moment the Beltus family drew swords against him seemed unnaturally coincidental.

They screamed that the vicious baron had orchestrated the necromancy and mustn't be deceived.

Hearing this, Rodea initially listened carefully, but after seeing Derek lying in the guest room, she gradually had to dismiss her suspicions.

No matter what schemes one might employ, no one in this world would stake their life so recklessly.

Derek had genuinely nearly died, and his current condition suggested he could perish at any moment. Though the most capable medical personnel from allied factions were attending to him, all friendly forces remained deeply concerned.

What Countess Rodea overlooked was that Derek wasn't entirely sane either.

Only a madman willing to stake even his life for magical achievement could reach such heights.

Yet discerning this aspect of Derek from appearances alone was no easy feat.

Outwardly, he simply appeared as someone diligently practicing magic—a man whose occupation involved governing a frontier territory and instructing noble ladies.

'If Baron Ravenclaw truly orchestrated all this with intent, he wouldn't have ended up in such peril.'

Unlike others, Countess Rodea—having witnessed Derek's desperate struggle against Duke Beltus—couldn't bring herself to suspect him.

Not when his battered, bloodied form lay trembling right before her eyes.

"First we must assess the reclaimed Beltus Mansion's situation and organize reportable details. We should hear accounts from Beltus insiders, but it's unclear yet who can be trusted."

Countess Rodea shook her head and addressed Denise, whose face was filled with worry.

"At least Lady Denise, whose identity Baron Ravenclaw firmly vouched for, seems trustworthy. Could you summarize the Ducal Territory's situation?"

A position to advise Countess Rodea, who now held the mansion's actual control.

This was the final gift Derek had given Denise before losing consciousness.

At these words, Denise gulped dryly.

Originally, she'd been a crew member aboard a sinking ship. She naturally assumed her life would end with the vessel.

Yet the man who once taught her... fished Denise out as his disciple and placed the helm's wheel back in her hands.

The price was Derek lying unconscious in a guest room, battered beyond recognition.

Denise couldn't render his sincerity meaningless. She sharply raised her eyes and composed herself.

Now was the time for Denise to regain her senses.

[You have reached the 4-Star realm. You are now a master of magic.]

[You can now approach fusion theories across magical disciplines.]

"..."

- Chirp, chirp, chirp.

When Derek opened his eyes, dawn had already broken.

Though his entire body throbbed with excruciating pain, he'd grown more than accustomed to enduring suffering.

As he gradually adjusted to the stinging morning light and managed to sit up, a familiar figure sat cross-legged with arms folded beside the bed.

"..."

"...Morning, Derek."

"Pellin. What's this?"

"What do you mean? I've been nursing you."

Pellin herself bore numerous scratches across her body.

Judging by appearances, barely a day had passed since that chaotic night.

"...You don't look like someone who's been nursing a patient."

"It's the thought that counts. You should see the commotion outside—people worried about you are practically lining up, but somehow I'm the only one who got in."

"How'd you get in through that mess?"

"I tried ignoring it too... but they said since I'm the baron's wife, it's fine..."

"..."

An awkward silence briefly filled the room.

Officially, Pellin was Derek's spouse.

Though no romantic undercurrent existed between them, that remained their formal relationship.

As Derek massaged his throbbing forehead, Pellin brushed back her bangs with a troubled expression.

"Well, I know exactly how stubborn you are... I figured someone who'd survive these injuries dying now would be ridiculous."

To a newcomer, Derek would appear mortally wounded.

His bleeding and wounds were indeed severe—enough to instantly kill an untrained individual.

Facing a 5th-Class Mage as a 3-Star practitioner inherently required such resolve.

But having roamed labyrinths with Derek for years and seen him seriously injured multiple times, Pellin had long since moved past alarm.

Initially, she'd fussed over Derek, carrying him on her back and bandaging wounds in a panic. But now that innocence was gone—she simply observed with a look that said"this idiot's down again."

Knowing each other too well, neither felt any sense of crisis.

"Derek. Watching you, I get the feeling you're the type who'd drop dead mid-magic training one day without it being surprising."

"You know I don't die easily."

"Hard to argue... but that's your business. Anyway, I had fun thanks to you."

Though Pellin herself bore significant injuries, she grinned mischievously.

"When else would I get to kick noble asses? Looks like the payday will be hefty too... high-status connections really do shower benefits."

"You claim to hate nobles, yet don't seem to mind me acting like one."

"You're Derek first, noble second."

"..."

Pellin chuckled dryly before continuing:

"Well, lots of people are worried, so haul your heavy ass outside. Heard some folks from your barony rode through the night in panic you might die."

"Thanks for the update."

"'Thanks'my ass. While I was stuck with Velderun Mercenaries, you were apparently collecting women left and right. Now I'm stuck as the baroness dealing with all the pressure... terrifying."

Pellin sighed deeply as she gathered her bow, sword, and cloak, stretching her body.

Early morning. She must have been exhausted too.

Having said her piece, Pellin languidly waved and exited.

Her unflappable demeanor amidst this situation was remarkable—unlike all those noble ladies, her greatest charm was always being at ease.

- Creak, thud

Derek quietly watched the closed door before painfully rising despite his screaming body.

Walking still felt unfamiliar, and his magical energy remained nearly depleted... but he could distinctly sense his magical proficiency had ascended a level.

Though typically stoic, even Derek couldn't suppress a slight smile.

4-Star.

A realm even those born with exceptional bloodlines might never reach despite lifelong effort.

The fact that he'd barely set foot on its outermost edges excited him.

His breathing grew slightly rapid, his mood elevated.

The tangible sense of progression.

Once tasted, it became an addiction.

"..."

Now came the task of mastering various 4-Star spells.

Having broken through the barrier, their acquisition would undoubtedly come faster.