Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 172

Be that as it may, receiving direct magical instruction from Kalimford—whose reputation stands tallest even among 6-star mages—is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The wall to 5-star won't be easily breached, but at least my magic should improve considerably in the meantime. Derek felt quietly satisfied by this prospect.

'If I can elevate my magical attainment as much as possible when the opportunity arises...'

6-star mages are the highest caliber mentors, numbering only a handful worldwide.

However, not all 6-star mages share the same disposition or temperament. Naturally.

The higher one's magical attainment, the more firmly established their personal theories and interpretations become.

Depending on whom one serves as mentor, those magical values inevitably shift, eventually forcing adherence to the master's inclinations past a certain level.

Indeed, even the noble ladies Derek taught exhibit freer mana utilization and untethered temperaments compared to mainstream Discipline School mages.

With mentors shaping such differences between schools, mastering all magical disciplines becomes nearly impossible.

Moreover, Derek's former mentor was none other than the necromancer Fineda.

While he learned much from Phee, her teachings carried a fatal risk—her very identity.

Being known as a necromancer's apprentice is an unmentionable taboo among taboos.

Necromancers—who desecrate corpses, manipulate souls, and casually violate human dignity—have always faced persecution across all eras and regions.

'The magic I'm learning from Kalimford is far removed from such dangers. At least I can properly strive for 5-star through orthodox methods.'

Sitting in his private quarters, Derek stroked his chin with a serious expression.

He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his palm.

Though physically recovered, the spectacle of Kalimford's 6-star magic remained seared into his memory.

A realm where mere witnessing could drain opponents of fighting spirit through sheer terror.

Even Derek had felt overwhelming pressure facing Kalimford's magic.

"..."

His fingertips trembled faintly.

Derek rarely showed outward panic. The composure to remain calm in any situation had sustained him through mercenary life's harshness.

Yet witnessing that staggering 6-star magic stirred undeniable excitement.

Such was the nature of 6-star attainment.

The very realm Derek sought.

And its master stood before him.

'Frankly, I can't imagine reaching it at my current level.'

6-star combat mages casually summon meteors.

Confusion mages transcend cognition to deceive all, transformation mages create miniature worlds, detection mages glimpse futures, and necromancers manipulate death itself.

Derek had encountered 6-star practitioners of all types except confusion magic.

Each wielded power sufficient to swallow continents whole.

To stand among them required more than diligent study.

Reaching such heights demanded something beyond his current path.

Though heaven-blessed with magical talent, Derek still sensed something lacking.

'If I went to Phee... I could probably reach that realm.'

She was likely holed up in Tigris Territory by now.

If Derek humbly sought apprenticeship, she'd never refuse.

Yet Derek shook his head.

The peculiar madness and fervor in Phee's eyes evoked ominous premonitions.

She might guide him to 6-star attainment—but whether in the form he desired remained uncertain.

'Fundamentally, Phee specializes in necromancy.'

Yet she never taught Derek a single necromantic spell.

Knowing full well the implications of taboo arts, she avoided burdening him.

But what if she resolved to teach necromancy?

He might reach it.

That realm all magic-obsessed souls revere—6-star attainment.

"You seem deep in thought."

Four days after arriving in Rocheste Territory.

Kalimford approached Derek as he composed himself post-training.

Since beginning instruction under Kalimford, Derek's supposedly perfected magical senses had started evolving anew.

Each revelation bordered on revolutionary, often leaving Derek awestruck.

Yet during quiet moments after daily lessons... peculiar thoughts took root.

Kalimford instantly recognized Derek's turmoil.

"Do you think going to Phee would let you reach 6-star?"

"..."

"You already know that wouldn't be wise, don't you?"

Melberot's reason for summoning busy Derek to Rocheste was simple.

With old friend Kalimford returned, he wanted to show off his daughter Sirine.

Though clearly displeased about inconveniencing a busy noble for personal reasons.

Yet denying a resurrected Kalimford even this much seemed unbearably cruel... hence his decision.

Ultimately, Derek considered it no bad thing.

For it let him learn from legendary archmage Kalimford.

"She's probably seized Tigris Territory by now. Yet no reports of upheaval. That unsettles me."

"Phee has all the time in the world. Unlike us finite beings valuing each day, a necromancer finds little difference between a day and a year."

Derek recalled Phee's image.

Lounging on reception sofas eating financiers baked by maids while reviewing documents in her office.

Detached from all things, she perpetually exuded leisure.

"But don't assume her silence will last. She'll try swaying you somehow."

"For beings living eons, wouldn't a few years feel insignificant?"

"True. But that body's time isn't infinite. The'Cycle's Brand'lasts twenty years at most before mana overload destroys it, forcing rebirth."

Phee had explained this.

Each cycle lasted barely twenty years—sometimes ending in ten, rarely stretching to twenty-five.

As a noble lady, death would claim her soon after coming-of-age ceremonies.

Sometimes executed when her necromancy was exposed, other times immolated by the Brand itself—this cycle of death and rebirth defined her existence.

Such was the"eternal youth"her taboo granted.

Her lives consisted solely of pretty, petite noble ladies.

Whether this was her desire remained unknown.

"By the time Phee dies and reincarnates... you'll be middle-aged."

"My magic should have advanced further by then. Wouldn't waiting suit Phee better?"

Derek's goal was reaching 6-star and beyond.

If she believed he could attain such heights, why not simply wait?

Yet Kalimford shook his head.

"Consider her perspective. How fleeting and meaningless finite lives seem. After several rebirths, she's witnessed everything change repeatedly."

Couples promising century-long devotion dying in carriage accidents the next day. Wretches begging for life living to a hundred.

Human lives never unfold as predicted.

How often had she awakened from death to find—

Those who should live dead, and those who should die thriving?

Thus Phee wouldn't leave Derek be.

She couldn't risk reincarnating only to find him gone.

So she sought to claim him now.

"If truly desperate, she might engrave you with the Cycle's Brand."

"..."

"What do you think? Would that brand be a blessing or curse for you?"

Derek wiped his bloodied form.

After deep contemplation, he finally looked up at Kalimford.

"Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Most aren't."

"But I have one request for now."

Derek met Kalimford's gaze squarely.

"If I must march on Tigris Territory, will you stand with me?"

The scenario was easily imagined.

Opposing Phee's control of Tigris would mean facing her.

When that day came, would Kalimford support him?

As a national hero who spent his life upholding justice, believing anyone could be saved through sincerity, Kalimford rarely lied.

Gripping his staff with skeletal hands, Kalimford bowed his head.

"My apologies. I... cannot."

"..."

Derek nodded.

He asked no why.

If people must be divided into good and evil, Phee embodied the latter.

Prime Kalimford, who once roamed the world punishing evil, would never have tolerated her.

Yet now he refused.

However it happened, Kalimford had deceived and broken Phee. He'd driven her into despair.

Yet Phee had resurrected him to see Sirine.

She'd helped slay the Great Demon Noir.

Everything enabling Kalimford's presence here stemmed from Phee's power.

To Kalimford, Phee seemed to clutch both light and darkness.

A girl who simply loved magic, granted 6-star attainment by heaven, whose mind shattered struggling against the Curse Engraving.

Thus Kalimford couldn't raise his blade against her.

Derek likewise found no words for the bowed Kalimford.

If he faced Phee in Tigris Manor's blood-soaked darkness...

What choice should he make?

No clear answer yet existed.

Thereafter, Derek's days at Rocheste Mansion consisted mainly of training.

He followed Kalimford constantly, rebuilding magical foundations from scratch.

This repeatedly inspired insights into 5-star magic application, allowing refinement of his existing 4-star spells.

- Kwaang! Kwaang! Kooong!

- Hwaaak! Kwaang!

Rocheste Territory echoed endlessly with Derek's high-level magic practice.

To spare the dueling grounds, he sometimes trained outside.

Fortunately, the northern snowfields were vast and uninhabited, occasionally hosting magical beasts for live practice.

No better place existed for dedicated training.

Sparring with Kalimford left him battered, but Derek grinned through the blood.

Denis called him a magic-obsessed lunatic.

Watching his training from the mansion, Sirine repeatedly nodded in agreement.

'Derek's serious when teaching, but even more so when learning. No wonder he teaches so thoroughly.'

Sometimes Sirine would observe his training, chin propped, eyes gleaming.

Finding a trustworthy mentor was priceless.

To Sirine, Derek was miraculous. Now Derek too was experiencing that exhilaration as a student.

Though detached and distant, they shared strange common ground.

Derek had become like an indispensable limb—his absence now caused unease.

While watching him train, Sirine suddenly felt warmth spreading across her forehead and cheeks.

'Am I... unwell again?'

Leaping from the mansion walls, she hurried inside to rest.

Having returned home after so long, she wanted to converse with Melberot before returning to Ravenclaw Territory.

"I felt feverish so I'm resting inside. Maybe I got too excited roaming Rocheste again."

"Don't catch another cold and inconvenience everyone. That nuisance would only reduce my work hours."

"I'll be careful."

Sirine knew her father's true nature despite his cold words.

His scowl upon her barefoot entrance—mid-meeting with magistrates—betrayed his worry.

"Minor fevers affect health significantly. Don't take it lightly—rest at any discomfort. And wear shoes."

"Okay... though the fever's gone now. Strange. I felt hot outside... maybe overexposure to cold?"

"Your mana seems stable. I heard you protect yourself with transformation magic."

"Y-yes but... hmm... my body's been fluctuating lately."

"I'll summon physicians."

"N-no need! I'm fine now... it only happened outside."

Melberot handed documents to the magistrate and asked gravely:

"What were you doing outside?"

"Well... just walking the grounds, watching the snow... and Derek's training."

"His training?"

"Yes. It's fascinating how he trains magic daily despite the cold to reach higher levels... and he's not as distant as he seems... I saw unexpected sides of him..."

Sirine recalled Derek's image with satisfaction.

His kindness accompanying her to Rocheste, nursing her during illness, his serious dedication to territory management and magic training.

Suddenly feeling feverish again, she fanned herself.

"W-what? My temperature's spiking again... how strange..."

"Suddenly...?"

"W-when I think about Derek... my body heats up... this is weird..."

Hugging herself and stomping, Sirine finally bowed and excused herself.

"A-anyway... I'll rest before causing another emergency. You should rest too, Father."

Rubbing her flushed cheeks, Sirine disappeared down the hallway.

Silence fell over the main hall.

- Whoosh

Winter wind blew through the door Sirine opened.

But the chill the aides felt wasn't from the northern gales.

They'd spent last night on emergency alert due to Sirine's cold.

Kalimford and Melberot had kept vigil as if the world was ending.

Yet that seemed trivial compared to what just transpired.

"My lord. T-this is... that is..."

"...............Emergency."

The magistrate's face drained of color.