Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 167

Sieren Aleina Rocheste kills people.

She possesses the temperament of a beast roaming the northern snowfields, and the moment you meet those piercingly bright eyes, your neck as pitiful prey is already severed.

At an age before even her coming-of-age ceremony, she already wields 3-Star magic, runs barefoot through the extreme environments of snowfields, slashes apart anything blocking her path, and bathes in their blood.

If you see a barefoot girl in a dress standing in a blizzard while passing through the snowfields near Rocheste Territory, never make any rash movements.

You might witness the girl—who seemed like a distant silhouette beyond the snowfields—suddenly appearing right before your eyes between blinks.

It would surely be the embodiment of terror itself.

Never, ever provoke her.

- Leopold, Explorer of the Northern Snowfields

"..."

"...There was still one volume left. I distinctly recall designating it as forbidden and retrieving them all."

"Is the Sieren in this record... truly my daughter Sieren...? Melberot..."

"I've already explained the circumstances. Thanks to your efforts, the Great Demon Noir disappeared, but its residual magic makes Sieren unable to control her power."

The Rochester family mansion was entirely covered in carpets, fireplaces, and winter coats.

Though somewhat crude for a prominent noble household, it was an unavoidable choice for survival in the heart of snowfields.

- Crackle, crackle.

Before the crackling bonfire sat Melberot and Kalimford, old friends.

They met on the battlefield, felt competitive spirits toward each other, fought and bickered, yet still journeyed together.

Sometimes they lost, sometimes they won, gradually gathering comrades, and eventually fought against a nemesis threatening the world's fate.

And some sacrificed themselves while others survived to continue living.

Recounting each step of their life's journey would take an endlessly long tale, but now it was all just stories of the past.

Former heroes remain as tales in history, destined to fade away with time's passage.

Times change, and what passes shall pass.

Occasionally preserved in imperial monuments or a single line in thick books is enough. When the time comes, stepping down from the stage for posterity may be the former heroes'role.

Melberot, sitting alone in this cold, desolate snowfield where only Noir's traces remain, might have harbored such thoughts.

At least, until Kalimford resurrected and appeared before him.

"You've lived long enough to see strange days."

"So it seems. Who'd have thought I'd see wrinkles of age on your face?"

"And you look just as you were before. Layna... no, Phee, was it? I should thank that necromancer."

"Doubtful... At the very least, she wouldn't appreciate gratitude from me."

When first seeing Kalimford's form, Melberot doubted his eyes repeatedly. Suspecting someone's trickery, he had no choice but to probe with every detection spell imaginable.

Of course, after hearing his explanation, he eventually regained his composure.

He was someone who'd experienced everything.

Even the return of a dead old friend could be calmly accepted once the circumstances were understood—such was his unflappable nature.

Yet Kalimford's appearance had also changed greatly from before.

Perhaps because he'd just been revived by necromancy. His magic was nearly imperceptible, his body emaciated, his face gaunt... resembling a skeleton with bones barely clinging to flesh.

"Times have changed, Kalimford. I'm now a figure of the past."

"...Unlike you, I've clung to life all this time, but my sentiments aren't so different. Our era has already passed."

The room flickered with shadows alongside the crackling bonfire sounds.

Outside, a blizzard raged. The threatening rattling of windows, snow striking the panes, the icy winds of snowfields seeping through—these were the only sounds.

The two had wandered the world together.

They reached for the sky, beheld stars in the firmament, and unfolded heroic tales upon the world's stage.

They had countless comrades to boast of, with applause and praise pouring from everywhere.

And at that journey's end—

What remained after running down flower-strewn paths amidst cheers was merely a generously stoked fireplace, a warm blanket, and some heated goat milk.

Kalimford's hands trembled holding the wooden mug.

His weakened state made even lifting a full mug of goat milk seem impossible.

"Sieren went... to the southwestern continent to study magic...?"

"Yes. For a while, I struggled to find someone capable of handling that troublesome child. Recently, a decent magic tutor from the southwest became available, so I granted a suitable title and entrusted Sieren to them."

"..."

"You'd click your tongue hearing what she's put me through. Abandoning such a troublesome daughter to make me suffer all these years... Kalimford, I'm truly sick of this cursed connection."

Though Melberot spoke as if furious, Kalimford's expression softened further upon taking the mug.

Words aside, this old friend must have done everything possible to care for Sieren all these years.

The spire built solely for her stood as proof—now left empty and hollow in the snowfields after Sieren's departure.

"I've sent word to the tutor. Told them to bring Sieren back to Rocheste Territory. You'd want to see that scatterbrained daughter's face too, Kalimford."

"..."

"Your expression's odd. I understand being moved, but don't look so pathetic. Consider how Sieren must feel meeting her birth father for the first time."

"...That's not it, Melberot."

As Melberot looked puzzled, Kalimford rolled up his withered sleeve to reveal his arm.

Its end was gradually rotting away. The shoulder area was already covered in dark red.

"..."

"...Though revived by necromancy, I don't belong in this world. I don't know how long I'll last, but once the necrotic magic sustaining this body runs out... I'll return to being nothing."

"...How long can you hold on?"

"Don't worry. I've got time. Still... it won't be indefinite."

Kalimford lowered his sleeve again, wiping his face before speaking.

"She sees you as her father. She's living her given life to the fullest. In that case... I don't want my decaying presence to confuse Sieren now."

Kalimford struggled to stand, placing a hand on Melberot's shoulder with a gentle expression.

"You must remain her father. Melberot."

"..."

"Always burdening you with heavy requests... I'm truly sorry..."

Kalimford bowed his head as if ashamed. This was the hero who once saved the world.

Faced with such a pitiful end for a hero, Melberot couldn't bring himself to refuse.

"During the subjugation days and now, you always manage to trouble and annoy me..."

Though his words were sharp, Melberot merely lowered his gaze calmly.

He was the epitome of someone whose words and actions didn't align.

Afterward, Kalimford read through the letters exchanged between Melberot and Sieren one by one.

Upon first leaving Rocheste Territory for Evelstain, Sieren was overwhelmed with anxiety, worry, and impatience.

The terror of Noir's blood within her potentially seizing control again.

The fear that she might kill someone, earning universal dread and scorn, becoming an outcast again.

Reading Sieren's struggles amidst such desperate fears weighed heavily on his heart... yet soon those worries began fading.

While shuttling between Evelstain and Ravenclaw Barony learning magic and noble etiquette, Sieren gradually released those heavy, gloomy concerns.

The fragile girl who once hugged her knees and wept silently in the snowfield spire's center... was now steadily maturing into a proper lady surrounded by spellbooks in peaceful grasslands.

The messages in letters to Melberot also grew increasingly positive.

Expressions of worry, anxiety, and impatience had almost entirely disappeared.

Instead, the letters now brimmed with accounts of new environments and people encountered daily, and the lessons learned through these interactions.

-'Today, the young lady of House Belmierd personally visited Ravenclaw Barony. Her name was Elente—someone treated like royalty not just by commoners but even nobles and senior retainers. Every gesture and word carried monarchical dignity, making me realize such noble ladies exist in the world.'

-'Baron Ravenclaw retaught me transformation magic basics. I realized my previous snowfield magic relied too much on instinct and feeling. With more effort, I can reach higher levels.'

-'A lady named Trisha suddenly challenged me to a duel, so I attacked somewhat harshly. I was terrified my cursed blood might flare up, but somehow managed to control it.'

-'Today I ate Mont Blanc made by Ravenclaw's patissier...'

-'I wandered the grasslands around Evelstain several times...'

- Rustle.

"..."

Melberot's office.

After setting down the letters, Kalimford wiped his eyes several times.

As Melberot said, though Sieren suffered an unhappy childhood due to Noir's blood influence, she seemed to be on the right path after finding a good teacher.

Sieren was fundamentally reticent and cold-blooded.

Yet reading her letters to Melberot, she appeared emotionally rich, beholding the colorful world beautifully like any young noblewoman her age.

Those understanding this gap might feel some dissonance, but for Kalimford who hadn't seen Sieren yet, these were tearfully touching accounts.

The letters alone were salvation to him.

His sacrifice to save the world had meaning.

At least his daughter lived in a world free from war's terror and life's threats.

Kalimford reread the letters repeatedly, absorbing Sieren's stories.

Alongside Evelstain noble society tales, the name mentioned most frequently was undoubtedly Baron Ravenclaw.

Letters were filled with accounts of meeting a once-in-a-lifetime teacher and receiving invaluable guidance.

'Derek Raidof Ravenclaw, Baron...'

The name naturally engraved itself in his mind.

Current Sieren seemed to genuinely trust and follow this man renowned as Evelstain's finest teacher.

Thus while recuperating at Rocheste Ducal Manor, Kalimford repeatedly imagined grown-up Sieren's appearance.

A proper lady in pretty dresses, trailing snow-white hair resembling her mother's, walking with dignified grace.

- Crash! Boom!

- Kwa-gagak! Kaak!

The next day, Sieren arrived at Rocheste Ducal Manor.

Carrying the corpse of a massive polar bear-like magical beast.

- Whoosh! Chara-rak!

The snowfield's icy winds scattered her hair.

Though the girl was snow-white from head to toe, today she was drenched in crimson blood instead.

The magical beast—dozens of times her size—lay completely lifeless.

Under the collective gaze of mansion staff, the barefoot girl wiped blood off herself and spoke casually after passing the iron gate.

"Found it on the way."

The casually tossed beast corpse sent chills down the retainers'spines.

Sieren was the most notorious murderer in the north.

This was her homecoming.

"We were attacked by magical beasts while traveling by carriage. I knew these lands were dangerous but didn't expect such frequent encounters. Something similar happened last time too."

Derek wore a robe over his coat, fully equipped with winter gear.

Brushing off snow and wiping blood, he spoke ruefully.

"Still, we arrived faster than expected. Lady Sieren dressed up specially for the occasion but had to change immediately, which dampened her spirits."

Upon arrival, Sieren had to follow maids to change her blood-soaked dress.

She was likely bathing in the annex now.

"..."

Melberot sat leaning against the mansion's side entrance, chin propped.

He waited briefly while Derek tidied himself.

"You've had a long journey."

"It was nothing."

"You understand seeing Sieren is merely a pretext."

Melberot seized Sieren's absence to speak frankly.

Derek had anticipated this. Melberot wasn't so inconsiderate as to summon someone across the continent for personal reasons.

"Still, before getting to the point, I should see Sieren's face first. Since you're here anyway."

Rising, Melberot shuffled inside the mansion with indifferent eyes.

A few snowflakes followed him inside, melting into droplets on the floor.

Apparently, he wanted to see Sieren first after all.

"..."

Used to Melberot's antics, Derek finished adjusting his attire with equal indifference.

His first visit to Rocheste Ducal Manor in a while.

Glancing up, snowflakes piled atop the spire as usual.

While spring approached the southwestern continent, here it was always winter.

The silent snowfields where no visitors came.

Gazing at Rocheste Ducal Territory's tranquil snowscape felt like viewing a quiet backstage after a grand performance.

Once a battlefield where heroes emerged—now just old tales.

Shaking snow from his head, Derek trudged inside.

As retainers guided him toward the lounge—

"You're Derek."

The main hall.

A gaunt man in tattered crimson robes stood there.

Though surrounded by retainers, none dared speak to or stop this shabby figure.

Amid this strange tension, the man with keen eyes gleaming beneath his hood continued:

"Sieren's teacher."

Derek narrowed his eyes subtly, on guard.

Despite his advanced detection magic, he couldn't gauge this man's power.

Someone whose level even Derek couldn't discern.