Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 189

"I came to kill a 6-Star Confusion Mage."

Despite the absurd declaration, Kochella showed no signs of panic as she settled onto the sofa, propping her chin thoughtfully.

She was trying to gauge the intentions behind Ryner's sudden, peculiar proposal.

"Linerus Dartnayle Belmiere. I believe I saw you at the Cramton Monastery prayer meeting long ago. Your appearance has changed considerably since then."

"That was when the blood on my head hadn't even dried yet. I'm honored you remember me, Elder Kochella."

"I have an excellent memory. As the Belmiere family's eldest son, I made note of you. It seems life has dealt you many hardships? You've become... rather free-spirited compared to before."

The Ryner Kochella remembered bore little resemblance to this subdued figure.

Yet the man before her now was an unshaven troublemaker reeking of liquor and tobacco—hardly recognizable as a noble scion. His greasy red ponytail hung limply, though he seemed utterly unconcerned, shaking his head with defiant pride.

"Everyone faces hardships in life. I won't pry into what happened within House Belmiere."

"Nothing extraordinary. Just the usual noble family drama."

Ryner's voice was rough. His tattered cloak bore stains of long-accumulated grime.

"I had dreams. They didn't work out. So I wandered a bit."

"..."

"Then I found this lifestyle suits me well enough. So here I am."

Kochella remained skeptical.

Sensing this, Ryner gave a hollow laugh and sat across from her.

The regicide chamber.

The two sat silently studying each other as if trying to read thoughts through gaze alone.

No ordinary deception would work before Gremfort Palace's Head Magic Advisor.

So Ryner relaxed his shoulders and spoke frankly.

"I wanted to become a hero."

Kochella deeply respected those with exceptional magical talent.

But by no stretch could Ryner be considered magically gifted—at best mid-tier 1-Star proficiency.

For the Belmiere family's eldest son, such mediocrity was woefully inadequate.

His reasons for wandering weren't hard to guess. Being overshadowed by one's bloodline could break a person.

Yet Kochella's assumption was only half correct.

"My mother was a commoner."

"..."

"Youngest brother Leonard's mother was too. Of we three siblings, only Elennte carries pure noble blood."

He'd laid bare House Belmiere's deepest shame.

To Kochella, he resembled a gambler placing chips on the table—betting this revelation would make her listen.

And it worked. The Belmiere family's dirty laundry was currency enough.

"Our father toured battlefields long before becoming Border Count. As you know, warriors abroad often... indulge in local dalliances."

Amid bloodshed and corpse-strewn battlefields, soldiers followed comrades to brothels or affairs.

Most dismissed such youthful indiscretions, burying memories with the war's end.

But the Belmiere Border Count couldn't.

He'd brought his bastards—Ryner and Leonard—into the manor, determined to take responsibility. Remarkably, the kind Countess loved these non-biological children equally, raising them as true nobles. This was why Ryner respected her despite sharing no blood.

"Then... your birth mother?"

"Long dead. A battlefield prostitute scraping by—expecting longevity would be luxury."

Ryner's laugh was bitter.

"Yet she rejoiced hearing I'd live comfortably at Belmiere Manor. Pitiful, no? Starving to death in some gutter, yet sneaking me onto a ship bound for the mainland with her last coins."

"..."

"So I developed stubborn pride. A half-blood noble, but I'd stand tall regardless. In this lineage-obsessed world, I'd disprove it all through my existence."

Kochella remembered that burning ambition.

The clean-cut Ryner at the monastery had embodied fiery determination.

Bloodlines be damned—his will to prove himself had been extraordinary.

That Kochella remembered him after so long was no accident. He'd made that strong an impression.

Yet how that ambition ended... required no explanation.

"Lofty dreams don't always have glorious endings."

Ryner smiled wryly.

His sister was Elennte.

A girl chosen by the gods as a ruler's seedling.

Pure-blooded high nobility who'd awakened to magic at age ten.

However reluctantly, Ryner had to acknowledge she surpassed him in every quality befitting rulership.

"You know how it is, Elder Kochella. Some half-bloods claw desperately toward the summit yet never reach it, while others start as slum orphans and surpass 4-Star, eyeing 5-Star."

"..."

"Those rare ones become heroes."

No bitterness or inferiority complex colored Ryner's words. That phase was long past.

All that remained was a gambler's instinct for favorable odds.

"If you must wager, bet on those types."

Kochella realized—the ambitious young Ryner was gone.

The man before her was a gambler moving between tables, collecting winnings before walking away.

"D-Derek...?"

"Lady Aiselin?"

As Derek turned from killing the manipulated magic advisor, a familiar face emerged from the forest.

He'd just left the main hall alone to lure out the confusion mage.

Despite orders for everyone to stay with Princess Roselyn, Aiselin had blatantly chased after him.

"I-I'm sorry. I was worried..."

"...How did you leave the main hall?"

"A side route. Not difficult—I know the academy buildings better than anyone."

Having memorized Ravenclaw Academy's entire layout, escaping the main hall was trivial.

Under the full moon, Derek explained his failed lure—the confusion mage hadn't taken the bait, likely recognizing his bluff about using the Book of Resentment.

"I-I see... Just a lure..."

"No need for the Book yet. We're not that desperate."

"Still...!"

Aiselin suddenly composed herself, an unusual determination crossing her typically placid features.

In moonlit woods, she bit her lip and spoke.

"Don't... joke about dying. Even as strategy, you could've warned me..."

"..."

"I thought you'd really die protecting nobles... That's too... too tragic."

"My apologies. But any warning would've reached the confusion mage's ears."

Derek looked remorseful at Aiselin's distressed expression—he hadn't anticipated her rushing out so desperately.

Walking back toward the main hall, they lapsed into silence.

Aiselin shyly bowed her head, seemingly embarrassed by her emotional outburst.

To ease her discomfort, Derek changed subjects.

"Regardless, the confusion mage not appearing is unexpected. I was certain they'd take the bait..."

"True. What if you'd really used the Book? Why wouldn't they show themselves?"

Walking through quiet campus paths, both fell into thought.

The academy buildings they'd painstakingly constructed passed by. Though empty now, by late spring they'd become vibrant halls of learning.

Breathing the tense air, Aiselin sighed.

"I never imagined this would become a murder scene. The main hall's damaged, Amaryllis House's entrance bloodied..."

"Temporary circumstances. Once resolved, we'll open as planned."

"We must. After all our hard work."

Clenching her fists, Aiselin gazed up at the buildings.

"We'll conclude this properly... and open like nothing happened."

"Naturally."

"But to catch the culprit... Do you have any leads? It must be difficult..."

"Perhaps. First, I need to ask Princess Roselyn some questions."

"...Really? She seemed exhausted earlier..."

As the only person immune to the confusion mage's effects, if Derek had repeatedly found the mage only to forget, Roselyn would know.

No 6-Star confusion mage could erase her memories.

Which meant she was hiding something.

'...'

Something felt off.

Roselyn had lost her father to this mage.

She had no reason to conceal information—she'd do anything to catch the killer.

Yet she withheld something from Derek. Why?

"...Derek?"

"...Just thinking."

Pausing, Derek stroked his chin in deep contemplation.

There could only be one reason for Roselyn's secrecy:

Because speaking would be meaningless.

Suddenly, Derek felt blood rushing through his veins.

Reconstructing events from Roselyn's perspective:

Her father Emperor Gertrel was dead, killed by an unfathomably powerful confusion mage.

Whether disguised in the crowd or existing beyond perception, catching them would be near impossible.

But suppose Derek used all his wits to find the mage?

It wouldn't matter.

A master confusion mage could erase everyone's memories, making it as if they were never discovered.

All that effort—rendered meaningless. Even lingering unease could be wiped away.

Only Roselyn's memories would remain intact.

She'd know the killer's identity yet be powerless to convince others.

And even that would be erased, over and over.

No matter how many times she identified the culprit, everyone would forget.

Manipulating hundreds of memories to maintain consistency would be exhausting with Roselyn as a fixed reference point.

But simply erasing everything? That required only massive mana expenditure.

Facing a 6-Star confusion mage meant battling this absurd, unfair power.

Swallowing dryly, Derek recalled last night.

His memories were hazy.

It was astonishing he hadn't realized sooner—such was confusion magic's terror. Without conscious effort, even noticing discrepancies was difficult. The eerie sense that days had passed since the regicide was likely more erased memories.

How many times had his memories been wiped?

What battles had the princess fought these past two nights?

The vengeance-driven princess after the regicide—what had she endured to become this exhausted shell?

Just sleep deprivation?

No.

—She'd repeatedly tried exposing the killer, only to fail each time.

No matter what she tried, everyone forgot.

However she attempted to communicate—directly, through notes, coded messages—the mage would intercept and erase all.

Like actors trapped in a predetermined play, powerless despite the killer standing before them.

From her perch overlooking the main hall, she hadn't been keeping vigil—she'd been watching the true culprit hidden among the nobles.

Too powerful to kill directly. No way to alert others meaningfully. After three nights, the barrier would lift, freeing the mage.

Her enemy stood within reach, yet she was trapped in a cage without bars—a hellish cycle of futile attempts.

The puzzle pieces clicked together.

Derek produced a letter.

Given by Roselyn before he left the main hall.

-'An imperial blessing. The method used by heroes Rosenheim and Kalimford during the Levelten Wasteland subjugation.'

That lie concealed the letter's true purpose—another attempt to expose the killer despite all obstacles.

What did it contain?

"Derek...? What's that letter...?"

"..."

Derek silently opened it, his eyes widening as he read.

Why had he forgotten this obvious fact?

[Aiselin Eleanor Duplein is currently on leave. - Roselyn]

-'Taking temporary leave to find myself. Will return within a week.'

Before the inspection, Aiselin had left due to Derek taking over her duties. She hadn't attended the event at all.

Yet they'd all forgotten—as if that memory had been surgically removed.

Aiselin Eleanor Duplein.

Her presence here was impossible.

Derek looked up.

Moonlit clearing.

Aiselin's eyes glinted strangely in the silver light.

"Oh dear."

Crimson magic energy seeped from her back.

"Now I'll have to erase this too."

- Crack!

Derek leaped back, firing a mana arrow at her face.