Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 171

- Thud

"I'm coming in."

As Derek entered the room where Sirine was recovering, his eyes fell upon a massive pile of blankets.

For a moment he wondered what it was—until he realized the usually elegant noblewoman had discarded her dress and was now buried under mountains of frilly pajamas.

"..."

"Derek..."

"What... is this situation?"

"Father ordered all the wool blankets in the mansion brought here since it's cold outside... Said I needed to maintain body temperature..."

Though dumbfounded, Derek carefully examined Sirine's face. Her skin did feel unusually warm. Between occasional sneezes, she spoke weakly with teary eyes.

"I told him I'd be fine with some rest... but he canceled the entire banquet with this scary expression. Sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"The banquet wasn't our purpose, so it's fine... Though your fever seems worse than expected."

"The maids already wiped me down and changed the towels. Really, this is too much fuss over nothing..."

The servants must have seen this spectacle upon entering. That they hadn't intervened spoke volumes about Melberot's thunderous commands.

Understandable—who could imagine the feral girl who once ran barefoot through snowfields hunting magical beasts would be laid low by a common cold?

Sitting beside her, Derek took her hand to check her magic flow.

"You pushed yourself too hard."

"Really? Didn't feel that way..."

"You likely exhausted your magic fighting those beasts on the way here."

Her ability to roam snowfields barefoot stemmed from innate talent in transformation magic—instinctively using acceleration and state alteration without formal training.

But learning combat and confusion magic from Derek expanded her repertoire, leading to overexertion during her snowy rampage.

"You must have felt colder than usual."

"Thought it was just being back in Rocheste Territory after living in sunny grasslands... Guess I got too relaxed."

"That makes sense. Rest should restore you."

"Still hate ruining the banquet..."

"We can reschedule when you recover."

Derek's calm responses somehow soothed Sirine. His unflappable presence brought comfort even in bizarre situations.

Between sneezes, she began pushing aside the blanket mountain with a groan.

"Eek... ugh..."

- Whoosh

With Derek helping peel back layers, Sirine finally sat up. Clearly not seriously ill—just an ordinary cold, though unfamiliar to her as she curiously poked her own forehead.

"Huh. Your hand feels freezing... which means my body's hot. Not that your hands are cold."

"No need to sound so fascinated..."

"So this is what happens when humans get cold..."

"Obviously."

"Right. Obviously."

Sirine gazed out the window at snow falling past the spire—a place holding only painful memories. Strange to view it from the manor rather than looking down from its heights.

She'd expected lifelong imprisonment there, yet now the scenery kept changing. All thanks to a foolish magic tutor who risked death to free her.

"I don't know many obvious things."

"..."

"Makes sense. What common sense could a murderer have, trapped in a spire killing people while wallowing in self-pity? Not that I care about others'opinions anyway—I just do as I please at Rosea Salon."

Memories surfaced of Lady Tricia collapsing in terror when Sirine unleashed her killing intent—a typical reaction she'd grown accustomed to.

"I'm glad you're here, Derek."

Sirine disliked flowery speeches, preferring blunt honesty. An uncharacteristic admission—perhaps the fever loosened her tongue as she suddenly looked away, whether from illness or embarrassment.

"Get more rest."

Outside, snow continued falling. Unchanging scenery for those who remain in one place—like Melberot perpetually gazing at northern snowfields.

"It's cold here."

And prolonged exposure to cold makes anyone sick—whether a tiny girl or the archmage who once commanded the world.

"Checked her condition?"

"Yes. She overused magic against those beasts. Rest should restore both her energy and magic reserves."

"Good."

Melberot stood arms crossed in the hallway, behind him anxious servants and pale-faced Kalimford.

"What a handful. How's she survive northern winters if a little cold floors her? Damned nuisance."

He seemed unusually serious.

"But matters must be handled thoroughly. While she'll likely recover naturally, exceptions exist. Temporary weakness could lead to permanent damage if infections set in. Precautions are necessary."

"Medication with easily digestible food and extended rest would be standard treatment."

"Too commonplace."

"Pardon?"

Melberot spoke gravely, with hints of panic."As a mercenary you know how minor oversights spiral catastrophically. What appears minor now could have underlying causes. No physician diagnoses lightly—I've survived governing Rocheste by never cutting corners. Summon all available medics and supplies. Damned nuisance of a daughter."

"Is that necessary?"

"I do things properly."The head butler paled—clearly no reassurance would satisfy Melberot.

"Actually, reconsidering calmly, such extreme measures seem unnecessary,"interjected Kalimford.

"What?"

Servants looked at Kalimford like a savior as he continued gravely:"Magic artifacts to regulate her drained reserves would be more effective. Costly, but worthwhile insurance."

"Our recent tax revenues could cover artifacts by reallocating wall reinforcement funds..."

"Perhaps source some externally too—"

"That'd require two hundred more Roten gold coins—"

"Melberot! Sirine's sick! Would you risk permanent damage over money?"

"Damn it... But summoning physicians would then be underfunded. We'd need legal review of the budget—"

"Prioritization is key. Trust my judgment."

"Pathological diagnosis is proper procedure! Magic isn't always the answer!"

"Dammit! Baron Ravenclaw confirmed it's magical exhaustion!"

"And if you're wrong? Could you bear responsibility?"

"Then how about—"

"Gods... why must this happen..."

"..."

Their debate exceeded even pre-apocalyptic battle preparations in intensity. Two 6-star mages agonizing over a teenage girl's cold was absurd.

Neither had parenting experience—their panicked overreactions were killing the servants.

"With all due respect,"Derek interjected,"she just needs proper meals and sleep."

Twin glares of apocalyptic intensity struck him.

"That irresponsible approach solves nothing."

"This demands more serious consideration."

The pressure was overwhelming.

"After resting overnight, the fever broke. I'm perfectly fine now. Sorry for worrying everyone yesterday."

"..."

- Chirp, chirp.

Melberot signed documents with sidelong glances."Came to report since I thought you'd worry."

"Worry? Just maintain your transformation magic properly. Frequent illnesses will disadvantage you socially."

"Sorry for troubling you."

"I said I didn't worry. Excessive self-consciousness harms social standing."

After bowing, Sirine left for breakfast.

"Hmph. Making fuss over nothing."Melberot gruffly signed Derek's territory reports without proper review.

'She doesn't seem to realize,'Derek mused.

Having two 6-star mages'protection made Sirine uniquely privileged—which also meant Derek bore unique responsibilities as her chosen mentor.

An unavoidable circumstance.