Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 176

The founding date for Ravenclaw Academy had been set.

"Hmm..."

Derek, who had been recuperating while treating the large wound on his shoulder, stroked his chin as he read the letter from Aiselin.

About four days had passed since Kalimford's mistake left him severely injured.

The wound on Derek's shoulder was deeper than expected—not something that would heal easily with just a few days of rest.

Though Derek possessed recovery abilities impressive enough to make ordinary people gasp in awe, it had been overly optimistic to assume he could quickly recover after taking a direct hit from Grand Mage Kalimford's magic.

'I want to revisit that sensation from our battle soon, but my body isn't cooperating...'

Derek's mind was entirely consumed by the thrilling sensation of exchanging magic with Kalimford.

Just one more practice session, and he felt certain he could glimpse a new realm of power.

But despite obsessively repeating this thought while trying to recover, nothing went as planned.

During his convalescence, the servants of House Rocheste treated him with such excessive care it bordered on discomfort.

They took shifts every hour to nurse him, fearing something might happen—to the point Derek wanted to tell them to relax.

Sirine stuck to Derek's side like glue whenever she had free time, while the head butler and head maid personally checked on his condition daily.

And then... Grand Mage Kalimford visited his sickbed every day to ask about his recovery, while Melberot occasionally summoned him to confirm he wasn't inconvenienced.

'...'

To be blunt, it was utterly suffocating.

Having suffered worse injuries before, Derek knew that proper food and rest would naturally restore him.

Yet the Rocheste household treated him like fragile glass, scrutinizing his every move and checking every minor detail—making him endlessly uncomfortable.

'This is the definition of a thorny seat.'

Gripping his shoulder, Derek sorted through his thoughts while reviewing Aiselin's letter.

The harsh northern climate already made recovery difficult.

On top of that, being stuck here meant dealing with people fussing over his condition all day—enough to drive him neurotic.

'From the looks of it, Kalimford no longer seems willing to go all-out against me.'

Every time he saw Derek and Sirine, Kalimford broke into a cold sweat.

After realizing Sirine wouldn't stay quiet if Derek got hurt again, Kalimford had lost any desire to intimidate him.

The sheer presence of Sirine—who could make two 6-star mages sweat with just a glance—was awe-inspiring.

'Come to think of it, I've left the barony unattended for too long.'

As usual, Sirine sat wheezing in an armchair by the fireplace.

Beyond the window, snowflakes fluttered across Rocheste Territory—unchanged as ever.

By now, spring would have fully arrived in the southwestern continent.

Plenty of work must have piled up, and many people were likely waiting for Derek.

He couldn't stay in Rocheste Territory indefinitely.

Mastering magic was Derek's lifelong goal and ambition. Though he could almost taste the dizzying thrill of reaching 5-star proficiency, he couldn't completely neglect his territorial duties either.

Smoothing his brow, Derek took a deep breath and stood up.

"I think I'll return to Ravenclaw Barony soon. In this shoulder condition, meaningful magic training isn't feasible, so I should handle pending matters while recovering."

"..."

Melberot rested his arms on his desk and spoke in a calm, measured tone.

"...Already?"

"..."

It seemed even fathers who rarely saw their daughters couldn't help wanting them to stay just a little longer.

Both Melberot and Kalimford appeared reluctant to let Derek take Sirine back so soon.

It wasn't as if they'd never see her again—once the academy's establishment procedures were complete and break arrived, Sirine would visit again.

Yet Melberot scowled and spoke coldly.

"I told you to speak up if anything was uncomfortable during your stay."

His tone bordered on threatening, but the underlying message was oddly considerate... enough to confuse anyone unfamiliar with Melberot's character.

Of course, Derek knew exactly how two-faced Melberot could be and chose his response carefully.

"Nothing at all. As I said, work has piled up in the barony, and further magic training isn't viable right now. I should prioritize clearing my obligations first."

"So you plan to officially launch Ravenclaw Academy."

"The scale itself is modest, but since the enrolled students are all distinguished noble ladies... there's much to prepare."

"Just don't neglect Sirine—that's all I'll say."

"That... goes without saying."

Derek had learned one thing for certain during this trip to Rocheste Territory.

No matter who it was, if anyone dared mistreat Sirine, Melberot and Kalimford would annihilate them without hesitation.

Since Sirine was favorably disposed toward Derek, he had nothing to worry about personally... but among the proud and headstrong Evelstain nobles, someone might misread the situation.

It would be best if no such fool appeared, but if they did... Derek could only pray for their soul.

"I'll submit a report to the central continent nobles. Ravenclaw Academy's establishment already has their approval, but those old men change their minds on a whim."

"Regarding that, I've already consulted with Chief Advisor Kochella, so it should be fine."

"That ominous old man approved it, did he...? He's notoriously picky, so your value must have risen even higher."

As Derek bowed his head, Melberot crossed his arms and sighed.

His silver hair—unusually long for a man—flowed over his aristocratic attire. Though his expression always seemed arrogant and condescending, given his abilities, it wasn't entirely unfounded.

Melberot studied Derek silently before adding:

"If even Kochella acknowledges you, you'll inevitably rise higher—whether you like it or not."

"..."

"Phee and Drest are the same. Once word spreads that 6-star mages across the continent hold you in high regard, the central nobles won't stay idle. This goes beyond Kochella's influence."

Derek had heard about the central nobles.

Those who moved like Emperor Gertrel's limbs, wielding the empire's core authority—figures somewhat unfamiliar to mages like Derek operating on the continent's fringes.

"You'll learn soon enough. Being a promising figure earns admiration... but also envy and scrutiny. Especially from those obsessed with power—they'll treat someone like you aggressively."

"Are central nobles that strict?"

"After killing Noir, I could have taken a position among them if I wanted. So why do you think I spend my days slaughtering magical beasts in this desolate north?"

Melberot propped his chin and grimaced.

"Because I didn't want to be controlled by those pigs who only care about appearances. Whatever happens, always be cautious not to get dragged into their schemes while running the academy."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Also, Emperor Gertrel plans to visit personally."

Derek stiffened.

This was the first he'd heard of the empire's sovereign making the journey himself.

Given the unprecedented scale of this magical institution, the emperor's interest made sense.

But Derek had expected an envoy—not the emperor coming to Ravenclaw Barony in person.

"Internal documents from the last high noble meeting."

"Is it alright to share this with me?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you even remember you're a noble. Though given your background, I suppose that's unavoidable."

"Having never had an audience with Emperor Gertrel, I'm unfamiliar with imperial etiquette. More preparations are needed."

"Don't waste too much energy on that puppet."

Derek's expression hardened at those words.

Rumors painted Emperor Gertrel as benevolent, principled, and wise in wielding great power.

The magic advisory corps led by Kochella operated directly under him, and even the most influential nobles paled before imperial authority. The Duplein family became one of the southwestern continent's dominators precisely because its patriarch shared blood with the imperial family.

Yet Melberot—who had climbed closer to the pinnacle of power than anyone—snorted dismissively.

"Do you really think that senile Emperor Gertrel still holds actual power? He's lost his edge. You'll understand when you meet him—he's just a puppet nodding along to his retainers'words."

"...Since when?"

"Hard to say precisely. But my point is... aging turns even monarchs at power's peak into pathetic old men."

Melberot smirked.

"After seeing that decrepit emperor's wretched state, even Phee might consider the sigil carved into her body a blessing rather than a curse."

"..."

"What? Not what you wanted to hear? Like it or not, you're approaching power's center. At your age, reaching 4-star guarantees central noble scrutiny."

Their nature and methods differed entirely from frontier territorial nobles.

Having made his point, Melberot crossed his legs.

"If Emperor Gertrel is no longer the imperial authority, who currently holds command at Gremfort Palace?"

"The imperial palace has been fractured for years. Kochella tightly controls magic affairs, but other domains are locked in power struggles between separate factions. So I can't name one definitive figure, but..."

There could be no better description of Melberot than"supreme above all."

As one of the greatest mages—a hero who slew Noir and saved the continent—his words carried unexpected weight.

"Princess Rozelyn is best left untouched. Though closest to imperial authority, she despises mages more than anyone."

"...How is hating mages even possible in this era? Most influential figures are deeply versed in magic."

"That's the princess's problem. How should I know why she thinks that way? But one thing's certain."

Derek finally understood why Melberot was sharing this.

Though his tone always sounded irritable, arrogant, and condescending... peeling back one layer revealed different intentions.

In his own way, Melberot was worried about Derek.

"At the very least, she won't welcome the establishment of a magical institution on that scale. As its head, you'll likely face particular hostility."

"..."

"Not that you need to worry excessively. Despite being among the imperial powerholders, she's still just a brat. As you said, hating magic in this era isn't exactly a virtue."

Though Derek hadn't met her, he sensed Melberot didn't think highly of her either.

"However the imperial power struggle unfolds, Chief Imperial Magic Advisor Kochella won't let her run wild indefinitely."

"..."

"She'll be sidelined eventually. Just keep your head down until then."

Melberot's advice proved more valuable than expected.

For Derek—still inexperienced with central nobles and imperial politics—it was immensely helpful, though something still felt vaguely unsettling.

Regardless, all Derek could do now was nod.

"Understood. Thank you for the advice."

"Good. And since Ravenclaw Academy is being established, I should prepare a gift."

"That's unnecessary. You've already helped the barony immensely."

"Don't backtalk and just accept it. Do I seem like someone who goes back on my word?"

When Derek looked at him, Melberot snorted and added:

"You've got enough problems ahead. If you keep getting distracted, you won't focus properly on teaching Sirine. I should intervene to some degree."

"I already have plans."

"Think I'd rest easy that easily? Take Kalimford with you when you return. I've already arranged it."

"..........What?"

Kalimford—a 6-star combat mage.

By reputation alone, no amount of money could normally secure his services... an absurd appointment.

"Hire him. You'll always need instructors anyway. He'll want to see more of Sirine too."

The academy's faculty structure remained uncertain...

But Kalimford's inclusion would far exceed everyone's expectations.

A peculiar intuition began stirring in Derek's heart.

Just like when Aiselin first proposed the training institute... things seemed to be escalating beyond expectations.

On a hill beside the nearly completed academy grounds in Duplein Territory's outskirts, Aiselin sat wiping sweat with a blissful expression.

Head Maid Katarina watched her and gulped.

Somehow, the once graceful and elegant Aiselin had transformed into something closer to a monarch than a noble lady.

Oblivious to Katarina's concern, Aiselin tied back her jet-black hair and happily mused:

"Derek will be so surprised when he returns!"

Duplein family's golden age was returning.

Once written off by the imperial court and central nobles alike, the mighty Duplein family was rising again.

At the forefront of this revival stood Aiselin Eleanor Duplein—the family's de facto leader—as she sharply lifted her chin.

Ironically, she still considered herself a fallen noblewoman.

Likely, she would until the day she died.