Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 153

Walking through the construction site after the workers had left for the day carried a peculiar atmosphere.

The setting sun stretched shadows long across the crimson-hued world, where only half-built structures stood scattered like lonely islands.

As Derek strolled with Aiselin to inspect the progress, he suddenly noticed the air had grown chilly.

"It's cold. You should go inside."

"No, we're almost done. The auditorium's finishing work has several shortcomings. The budget is tight, so even if we reduce the courtyard's scale, reinforcing the craftsmanship would be better."

Aiselin exhaled visible breaths yet methodically voiced her thoughts.

Derek studied her quietly before narrowing his eyes slightly. Though Derek often observed people this way, it still made Aiselin oddly self-conscious.

"D-do you have something to say?"

"No, nothing important... Just that revisiting Duplein Territory after so long has made me strangely sentimental."

Hearing such emotional words from the usually detached Derek made Aiselin tilt her head in confusion.

Derek shook his snow-white hair and slowly walked beyond the skeletal wooden framework of the construction site. The creaking of timber echoed hollowly through the unfinished space.

"It struck me how much you've changed since we first met."

"Now that you mention it... That was when you first came to our territory. You went through so much trouble to find a mentor for Diela..."

"Time has passed. I never imagined we'd remain connected this long."

Before meeting Aiselin, Derek had been just a slum-born mercenary without any real connection to noble ladies.

Countless seasons had passed since, bringing many changes to both their lives.

Derek continued ascending relentlessly, never satisfied, always dreaming of higher realms.

Aiselin had hit rock bottom only to leap back up again.

Experiencing both depths and heights made life's inevitable rises and falls feel natural.

Perhaps growing numb to hardship wasn't entirely bad.

Yet constantly looking upward sometimes made one forget something important.

"We've come so far. Seeing you just made me realize that."

"...?"

Aiselin's puzzled expression showed she had no words for Derek's life journey from the slums.

Yet Derek felt an odd kinship with her.

Though opposite to Derek in her emotional expressiveness, aristocratic dignity, and refined demeanor... at their core, they were surprisingly similar.

It was their attitude toward life when hitting rock bottom.

While ordinary people wallowed in despair, they rolled up their sleeves—that unyielding spirit resonated between them.

Seeing this reminded Derek of gnawing on rock-hard bread in some slum corner.

Exiting the auditorium site revealed the sun sinking in the western sky.

The lengthening shadows signaled night's approach.

Thinking they should return before dark, Derek closed his eyes briefly and added:

"The Ravenclaw name circulates among central continent nobility, I've reached 4-Star rank, the academy's establishment nears... Even Evelstain's high society acknowledges us now. Compared to when we first met, we've risen considerably."

"I thought you were extraordinary even then. Remember showing me magic tricks in the carriage? I sensed you'd rise somehow."

"But climbing ever higher makes one occasionally look back."

Derek sought to pluck the highest, brightest star from the heavens.

Such relentless ascent often fixes one's gaze upward permanently.

Yet everyone needs to reflect on their journey eventually.

"Which made me realize—my path truly began at Duplein's doorstep."

"..."

"That's partly why I couldn't stand by watching Duplein decline. Not that I'd say so publicly."

Aiselin watched Derek speak beneath the darkening sky before suddenly lowering her gaze.

The usually emotionless mercenary showing sentiment was rare indeed.

That he'd share this with her felt touching, yet she sensed deeper meaning beneath.

"I wanted to thank you for being my gateway into noble society. That's all."

"..."

Derek often expressed formal gratitude.

But these words, offered in the sunset's glow, carried a weight unlike his usual aristocratic courtesy.

Aiselin hesitated before simply smiling in response.

Following Derek's gaze upward, she saw indigo hues overtaking the crimson sky.

Though darkness symbolized fear, moonlight could paradoxically bring warmth.

Light transforms even darkness into comfort.

Perhaps Aiselin could roll up her sleeves and smile in life's depths because such light had followed her.

Derek's silver hair shimmered faintly with reflected moonlight—like the moon itself, merely reflecting greater light.

Smiling, Aiselin watched snowflakes begin their descent.

"It's snowing. Tomorrow will feel cozier."

The skeletal construction site, bleak in its incompleteness, slowly donned a white blanket.

A warm winter indeed.

A bitterly cold winter.

Carelessness meant certain death by freezing.

- Whoosh!

Where Sirine stood might as well have been the frozen northern wastes.

Having reached 3-Star rank in transformation magic, her spells could freeze everything around her.

3-Star magic"Freeze".

Her wind-tossed hair obscured her expression.

Standing firm against the gale, she resembled her wilder days barefoot in the snowfields.

Glimpses of her chilling eyes between hair strands sent shivers down spines—pure killing intent.

- Crack! Snap!

The entire dueling ground froze over, even the protective magic surrounding it icing up.

The magical backlash reached spectator seats, frosting stained glass windows and chandeliers.

'Eeeek-!'

Tricia's feet froze to the floor, ice creeping up to her thighs, immobilizing her.

Ten seconds into the duel. She should forfeit immediately.

One look at the Ravenclaw School's youngest disciple's eyes confirmed—this girl knew how to kill without hesitation.

Extreme terror prickled her skin.

Qualifying for Ravenclaw's discipleship? Ridiculous.

Facing geniuses like Diela, Elente, Denise, Sirine? The arrogance!

If pride's price was death, the cost outweighed the gain. She should void this deal and flee.

- Whiiine!

'Guh... Lady Sirine...!'

Elente, watching from the stands, grimaced against the magical backlash, nearly intervening.

Across the arena, Diela gripped her seat tightly while shaking off snow from her hair.

Other noble ladies had already summoned guards for protection.

Even magic novices recognized—this monster surpassed normal noble girls'capabilities.

Only high-ranking mages could subdue her without casualties.

Fear flayed her skin layer by layer.

As Tricia prepared to surrender—

A fist from an old man stopped before her nose.

A familiar hallucination—Hutton's perpetually clenched fist.

Life's struggles had forced that fist to remain ever-ready.

Now it loomed massively before young Tricia.

Her father's words seemed to echo behind it:

-'Even if the world plays above your head, never lose heart, Tricia.'

Joining Ravenclaw's disciples among geniuses? Absurd.

As a mediocre talent thrown among prodigies, she knew her wretched position best.

Yet Tricia couldn't open her mouth.

Instead, what emerged was a fire spell incantation.

- Whoosh!

1-Star combat magic"Fire Arrow".

Months of practice melted the ice binding her feet.

- Poof!

"Gyahk!"

Poor control burned her thighs, but she regained mobility.

- Crack! Snap!

Tricia immediately slipped on the icy floor, tearing her dress with a ripping sound.

"Kyahk! Huh... Huh..."

At least distance separated her from Sirine now.

3-Star spells required substantial mana. Even Sirine needed time before casting again.

She had to devise something before—

- Whoosh! Thud!

3-Star transformation magic"Acceleration".

Sirine moved like time had sped up, shocking spectators.

Her light-footed leaps resembled a rabbit bounding across snow—but far faster.

Blinking brought Sirine's face inches from Tricia's.

Only two people had countered this magic before—her father Melberot and mentor Derek.

Facing it felt like watching space itself warp.

Tricia froze, breath catching at Sirine's deadly gaze.

No counter existed—their magic differed too vastly.

Only death awaited.

As Tricia's breath hitched—

- Whoosh! Thunk!

A 1-Star combat magic"Ice Spear"aimed between her eyes triggered pre-cast defensive magic, nullifying lethal damage to decide the match.

- Poof!

The spear vanished along with the arena's protective spells.

Victory decided in under a minute. Sirine won.

"No good."

Sirine dusted her frilled dress disdainfully before coldly eyeing Tricia sprawled below.

She turned and walked away.

The expected outcome.

No miracle occurred where Tricia defeated Sirine.

-'No good.'

Sirine's icy verdict.

What did it mean? That Tricia stood no chance?

Interpretations varied, but having faced Sirine directly, Tricia understood best.

"Huh... Huh... Kuh... Cough! Cough! Kuh...!"

Unwanted tears welled.

Lying frozen on the dueling ground, she felt her chest heave uncontrollably.

The final ice spear between her eyes—

Sirine hadn't known about the defensive magic when striking.

As always, she'd attacked with lethal intent.

Only the magic's intervention prevented death.

Thus, the chilling"No good"carried terrifying implications for Tricia.

To this feral girl, dueling meant life-or-death combat.

She'd tried to kill as always, only prevented by external magic. Had her strike overpowered the defenses, Sirine's head might have flown.

The sensation of brushing against death.

Trembling fear at being powerless even against Ravenclaw's youngest disciple.

Watching Sirine walk away proudly as if never threatening murder made Tricia's vision blur.

Elente sighed deeply in the stands. Diela also rose with a sigh.

Disappointment lingered—they'd hoped for some resistance.

No noble girl present could defeat Sirine, but at least some fight was expected.

Yet Tricia had lost pathetically without even countering.

Inevitable—Tricia was ordinary, Sirine a heaven-blessed genius.

One simply accepts such truths, as people do.

"Since it's decided, I'll prepare for the next academic..."

"One more round?"

Tricia's voice stopped the yawning Sirine.

Words escaped faster than thought.

"What?"

"L-Lady Diela never specified attempt limits... right?"

Tricia looked pitiful—dress torn, thighs burned, face streaked with sweat and tears.

Her neck trembled, skin prickled with goosebumps. The miserable sight evoked pity.

Yet she forced a smirk.

She'd been taught to bluff with all her might.

"I-I was just startled! S-Sirine's magic is... beyond imagination! But...! Next time'll be different!"

Sirine glanced at Diela in the stands.

Diela frowned, arms crossed, before nodding slightly.

Sirine exhaled deeply.

- Bang!

The next duel ended in fifteen seconds. Sirine's combat magic"Shockwave"overwhelmed Tricia.

- Crash! Thud! Smash!

The third match saw Tricia flattened again. The fourth ended when Sirine's mere magical pressure buckled Tricia's legs.

Fifth, sixth, seventh...

- Boom! Whoosh! Crash!

- Smash! Bang! Kaboom!

By the eleventh round, spectators had dwindled.

- Rustle, thud...

Emerging from dust, Tricia looked tragic enough to evoke sighs.

Even Sirine wiped sweat after clapping her hands clean.

Yet Tricia struggled up, glaring weakly. She lacked strength for lengthy speeches.

"Again."

Her tenacity differed from other disciples'.

Banging one's head against steel walls only breaks the head.

Yet some spend lifetimes doing just that.

Fools.

- Crash! Bang!

As night fell over Elfontaine Hall...

By the thirty-seventh duel, moonlight streamed through stained glass.

- Crackle! Bang! Crash!

The battered Tricia rose again, glaring with deathly eyes.

Only Diela and Elente remained watching.

"..."

Sweat trickled down their faces.