Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 160

"I never imagined you had such ambitions when we first met at the Duplein estate..."

Ravenclaw Barony's mansion was already packed with various educational facilities.

Though most facilities would eventually be relocated to the academy under construction in Duplein Territory... for now, they remained diligently functioning as educational spaces.

The path leading through them to the mansion proper—resembling a residence awkwardly crammed between school buildings—created an overwhelming sense of dissonance.

Lady Freya of Count observed this scenery while sweating profusely.

"D-don't you get exhausted living surrounded like this?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional..."

Even for someone dedicated to education, completely encircling one's residence with academic facilities was unprecedented.

To outsiders, it made him appear utterly obsessed with educational ventures.

The truth was simply Aiselin's enthusiastic budget allocations, but explaining such details would be undignified.

Choosing to endure the peculiar stares, Derek straightened his expression and guided Freya and Katia inside.

Head Butler Delbritton bowed courteously before escorting the trio to the grand dining table.

A patissier—so skilled even Phee praised them endlessly—had prepared an extravagant spread of snacks alongside seasonal delicacies and premium liquor.

Though Derek requested modest hospitality to avoid overwhelming Katia, the staff's pride demanded proper reception for their lord's cherished mentor.

The resulting spread balanced restrained elegance with subtle extravagance—a testament to the servants'delicate sensibilities.

Katia popped open a rum bottle with evident pleasure.

"Well then, Derek. Shall we hear your life story? It's been ages."

Watching Katia leisurely sip strong liquor transported Derek back to childhood, unwinding his tension.

"4th-Class... and not barely scraping by but already quite proficient. I knew you were extraordinary, but never imagined such rapid growth."

"I'm still lacking. Practicing 4th-Class spells exhausts me completely—one casting ruins the day's training. At this rate, reaching 5th-Class seems impossible."

"Even considering 5th-Class is premature, Derek. You've already achieved the absurd."

After dining, Katia requested a magic demonstration in the backyard.

Freya watched with interest until Derek unleashed genuine 4th-Class magic, freezing her expression.

4th-Class spells earned the moniker"war magic"for their unimaginable scale and power.

Katia herself had strived for decades without reaching that realm.

The student had long surpassed the master.

Any mentor would feel emotional witnessing this.

But while Katia felt moved, Freya struggled to unclench her stiff face.

'This power gap is just unfair...'

Considering Katia's teachings—always emphasizing becoming the best—seeing Derek's level was devastating.

'Now Master's standards will skyrocket...'

Using Derek as a benchmark was pure cruelty.

Freya nearly bit her fist in despair.

"Don't stress, Lady Freya. I'd never demand you reach 4th-Class."

"..."

Sometimes Freya suspected Katia could read minds.

"Drest Wolftail... now I understand."

Though Katia remained Derek's favorite mentor, Drest and Phee had influenced him most profoundly.

Their instruction—operating at humanity's magical pinnacle—optimized Derek's exceptional potential.

Years under such tutelage explained his unnatural growth.

However, Derek had only mentioned Drest, not Phee.

A 6th-Class necromancer's existence was top secret—documenting connections to such figures created vulnerabilities.

"You found great mentors, Derek, thus becoming one yourself."

"Were I to name the best, it would still be you, Master Katia."

"Hahaha, spare me flattery. No instructor—no matter how skilled—compares to legendary 6th-Class mages."

While unmatched for basic magic instruction, higher tiers belonged to another realm entirely.

5th-Class teachers could be counted on one hand continent-wide.

Katia knew Derek had long outgrown her guidance.

"Yet you calling yourself my disciple still heartens me. As nobility now, you understand—a great disciple is as precious as a great mentor."

Katia leaned back comfortably, voice lightening.

"With one disciple being Lady Freya and the other you... nobility treats me quite respectfully."

"..."

Freya grew oddly self-conscious here.

Though Katia had gained renown as Freya's mentor, she was increasingly famous as Derek's teacher.

"Though that reputation carries responsibility. My missteps could tarnish your name."

"Don't worry overmuch. As a former mercenary, I still blunder with noble formalities. If anything, I should mind my conduct to avoid embarrassing you."

"Haha, I care little for such prestige. However..."

Katia's gaze sharpened momentarily.

The shift seemed stark from her usual maternal warmth.

"Was Drest truly your only other mentor? The legendary detection mage?"

"..."

"You wrote he's a wanderer, rarely staying put. You reached 3rd-Class long ago—it's hard imagining him guiding you to 4th-Class."

Decades of insight detected something amiss.

Derek's magical maturity felt incongruent.

4th-Class war mages she'd observed displayed similar efficiency—a refinement impossible without high-level guidance.

Where had she sensed this before?

Katia closed her eyes.

Ancient memories surfaced—before becoming the Elvester family's tutor, before wandering Evelstain's mercenary districts, before commanding noble society as Flameheart's matriarch.

Her debutante days in eastern high society.

-"Lady Katia excels at magical application but lacks orthodox fundamentals."

Cultural capital Calpheron's noble district.

A young noblewoman with lavender eyes, world-weary despite her youth, observing society with bored detachment.

Lady Catlan of House Eloar.

The ominous girl who delved too deep into necromancy and was executed.

A shocking incident now forgotten—House Eloar erased all traces of that disgrace.

That ill-fated girl who wielded magic with the unconventional freedom of 4th-Class mages.

Was recalling her mere coincidence?

As Katia lingered in memories, Derek spoke gravely.

"Master. Though I vowed never to hide anything from you... I cannot speak further on this."

Freya gulped at Derek's sudden solemnity.

He was right—the fewer who knew about a 6th-Class necromancer, the better.

Association with such figures carried inherent danger.

"..."

Katia trusted Derek.

If he withheld information, there were reasons.

She could press harder but chose not to—respecting his judgment as he respected hers.

"I see. Then just one concerned comment."

Her expression softened.

"As I said, great disciples are precious. While I'm honored you call yourself my student... I worry your other mentor might grow jealous. Hehe."

A joke to lighten the mood—and signal she wouldn't pry further.

Derek chuckled.

"No chance of that."

Phee's sulking had been playful—after centuries of experience, she didn't cling to passing disciples.

Derek was just another student in her endless existence.

Seeking eternal rest, she wouldn't be swayed by transient connections.

Derek smiled assuredly.

'How unlike me—my heart races.'

Entering Tigris Barony's mansion, Phee smiled at servants before shuffling to her room.

Thanks to Derek's theatrics, she'd obtained a 5th-Class mage's corpse discreetly.

For her resurrection research, this was monumental.

Countless failed attempts using inferior vessels proved reviving Kalimford required an extraordinary body.

5th-Class mage corpses—rare enough to be continentally countable—were nearly impossible to acquire discreetly.

Killing one wasn't the issue—escaping with a high-ranking noble's body would draw imperial attention.

Securing this aged vessel made her pulse quicken.

She could finally die.

Find eternal rest at life's end.

How ironic—her heart only now beginning to race.

Stepping into the paradox, Phee descended to her laboratory to confirm her life's work.

- Drip, drip.

The blood-scented underground.

Amid restless spirits of unjust deaths, her cherished archlich"Happy"floated wounded.

Injuries from Countess Rodea's Holy Blood Sword—bane of necromancers—healed slowly.

"...Long time underground. You maintained it well. Good job, Happy."

Phee affectionately patted the grotesque creature's head.

Tigris Territory was already hers—its staff thoroughly enchanted into subordinates.

Though years had passed here, they felt like moments.

Amidst exhilaration, Phee observed the central specimen.

A 5th-Class mage's corpse—Kalimford's new vessel.

The time to fulfill her lifelong wish had come.