Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 193

- Chirp, chirp, chirp

"..."

When Ryner opened his eyes, the morning air already filled the room.

While Ravenclaw Academy was in chaos cleaning up after the incident, the room where Ryner awoke remained utterly quiet.

Bandages wrapped around his body and the throbbing pain that followed.

Ryner groaned while simultaneously letting out a hollow laugh.

"Right. Morning's here."

He tied back his messy ponytail, wiped his face once... then draped a well-laundered tunic and leather vest over his bandage-wrapped body.

On the dresser sat his favorite wine—Rodelen vintage, a specialty of Ravenclaw territory. It was obvious who'd left it there.

They'd known he'd look for alcohol first thing upon waking. For all his scruffiness, the guy was oddly considerate.

Ryner dusted off his pants, took several deep swigs from the bottle, then staggered out into the corridor.

Outside, soldiers bustled about organizing the scene under the morning sun.

Not wanting to add to the commotion, Ryner stuck out his tongue and scratched the back of his head as he headed the opposite way.

Then he encountered a familiar figure.

"Ryner oppa?"

"...Oh, Elennte."

"You... you were asleep until now? After all that chaos last night...?"

As Elennte's eyes widened in disbelief, Ryner grinned broadly and sloshed the wine bottle.

She looked exhausted, likely having stayed up all night. Understandable given the circumstances.

"No business stands before drunkenness. The grapes from Derek's territory must be exceptional if one bottle could knock out this Ryner."

"..."

When Elennte stared at him with crescent-moon eyes full of skepticism, Ryner patted her shoulder.

He had little interest in embellishing last night's events with grandiose tales.

Life was about walking tightropes over gambling tables.

Drift off drunk on good liquor, wake to another sunrise, and chuckle at surviving another day. Last night's affairs stayed buried with last night.

Though he'd once lived as a promising young noble, his life now resembled a drifting boat following leisurely currents.

Elennte seemed unaware of last night's bloody struggle.

With dawn just broken and the scene still chaotic, that was understandable.

Once she spoke at length with Derek, she'd surely scold Ryner for gambling with his life—equal parts exasperation and affection.

Ryner was the type who could turn up dead any day without surprise. While acknowledging his merits, Elennte couldn't help feeling frustrated.

Having someone constantly living on the edge as family meant perpetual worry. Always had been, always would be for Elennte.

So Ryner just took another swig and staggered outside.

"Seems things are wrapping up and the barrier's broken... I should return to Evelstain. Heard Rapen's hosting quite the gambling den tonight."

"..."

"If I win big, maybe I'll visit Father with some Rublen mountain whiskey. Pricey, but it suits your palate."

"I don't drink that, oppa."

"Right, right. Anyway, living too seriously leaves nothing gained. Nothing at all. Heh."

Elennte stared at Ryner—who was already thinking about gambling right after last night's turmoil—with utter disbelief. This unguarded expression, never shown when dealing with masked retainers, made Ryner laugh harder.

That upright nature was what had propelled Elennte to the top.

Chuckling, Ryner stepped past Elennte—who stood hands on hips with a stern face—and exited the building.

Before descending the stairs, he called back:

"Good magic tutors in Evelstain are rarer than flawless gemstones."

"..."

"Yours is decent. Hold onto them tight."

Though hardly qualified to give life advice, Ryner tossed out this meddlesome remark before leaving.

"I... know that without being told."

"Right. See you around."

Once things settled, he might receive recognition and rewards, perhaps even respectful gazes from many.

But as always, the man would leave it all behind and continue life's journey.

The sun climbed toward its zenith.

Warm sunlight that made last night seem unreal, crisp air, and unkempt paths overgrown with weeds.

Dragging his worn tunic and shabby leather pants, his greasy red hair tied back carelessly, scratching at his scruffy beard, taking swigs of fine Rodelen wine and sighing contentedly.

Whether as the promising heir of prestigious House Belmierd or a back-alley gambler, anyone would share similar sentiments after good liquor under open skies.

"Damn fine day."

That was his philosophy of life.

Disciplinary measures for Confusion Mage Marilyn would be properly discussed at Gremfort Palace.

Given the severity of her crimes, she'd undoubtedly face extreme punishment.

But if she truly was summoned by a 6-Star Summoning Mage, who knew what else lurked behind her?

Thorough interrogation was necessary to uncover deeper connections.

Thus, judgment for the regicide would have to wait.

- Slap!

"..."

Yet the first thing Princess Roselyn did upon waking was slap Marilyn across the face.

Bound and struck four times, Marilyn simply bowed her head without response.

Though itching to unleash profanities, Roselyn knew losing composure now would undermine her authority.

But her seething voice, though quiet, dripped with icy hatred.

"Don't expect an easy death."

With that, the princess exited the confinement chamber.

Until reaching Gremfort Palace, Marilyn couldn't be allowed to recover even a speck of magic power.

Kochella—knowledgeable about the Book of Resentment's curses—would maintain constant surveillance, so that wasn't a concern.

Exiting the corridor, Roselyn splashed water on her face and took deep breaths.

Her heart pounded with teeth-grinding fury.

She wanted Marilyn executed immediately.

Yet after several controlled breaths... rationality gradually returned.

"Father is gone. Other royals won't challenge my claim—most arrangements are already set. Returning to Gremfort Palace makes me the prime successor."

Though built for emperors, Gremfort Palace was dominated by central noble bureaucrats.

Emperor Gertrel had known how to handle them, but Roselyn openly opposed them.

Without solid backing, suddenly holding imperial authority wouldn't make controlling the palace easy.

'Suppressing Damon's noble faction and Kochella's magic faction won't be simple now. I need at least one reliable right hand...'

Roselyn thought of Melberot guarding the north.

Among bureaucrats, he was somewhat trustworthy—but utterly apolitical, just blankly overseeing Rocheste Territory.

'The Rublen Ducal family will side with me... Elvester Border Count is Kochella's man... Lady Rodea of Rodentz Island remains unpredictable...'

Organizing her thoughts, Roselyn headed toward the main hall.

There, Derek was briefing gathered nobles and directing cleanup efforts.

Despite exhaustion from last night's pursuit, he bustled about restoring normalcy.

"Baron Ravenclaw. I've heard the reports."

"You're awake, Your Highness. You endured much last night."

"No. With the situation resolved, it was meaningful suffering."

At Roselyn's voice, all present knelt deeply.

Derek began kneeling too, but Roselyn waved him off.

Unthinkable informality from an imperial heir toward some backwater baron.

Though excusable during crisis, now with many witnesses present?

Yet Roselyn just rubbed tired eyes and spoke casually.

"We must discuss that confusion mage's disposition... Huh?!"

Spotting Aiselin among those bowing, Roselyn gasped and stepped back.

"Y-you... how...?!"

"N-no! She's the real Lady Aiselin! Please don't misunderstand, Your Highness!"

After three days facing the confusion mage disguised as Aiselin, Roselyn's flinch was understandable.

"...S-sorry..."

Aiselin's voice was tiny with dejection.

Since arriving at Ravenclaw Academy, she'd done nothing but attract suspicion.

...Not that she'd actually done anything wrong.

But being distrusted by Derek and Roselyn made her wonder if she really had.

"R-really...?"

"...Yes. Truly."

"You're not being deceived? Complacency is dangerous."

"I-it's true. You just saw Marilyn restrained, didn't you?"

"T-that's correct."

Battling a 6-Star Confusion Mage was exhausting work.

Even post-resolution, constant suspicion was necessary—Roselyn's reaction made sense.

But Aiselin just stood there looking heartbroken, fighting back tears.

"I... I never should have taken that leave..."

"..."

"I'll learn from this... work harder... focus on my duties..."

One almost sensed a new monster being born, but there was no time for that now.

"M-my apologies. Last night was... mentally taxing..."

"It's fine, Princess Roselyn. You had every reason... no need to apologize..."

Rare to see Aiselin this cowed. She was still a Duplein Ducal daughter.

Derek kept silent, emotions complex.

Roselyn cleared her throat, dispelling the awkwardness before scanning the room.

"Sir Derek Raidof Ravenclaw."

That arrogant princess actually used"Sir."

Derek sensed something coming. The kneeling nobles and servants felt it too.

Roselyn noted Derek's sharpened gaze. The man was perceptive.

'Can't deny it. This man is talent worth having—as noble, mage, and ruler. Lucky I found him before Kochella or Damon could.'

Initially full of suspicion.

Now she understood why that gruff Melberot had granted titles, lands, and even his daughter to some slum mercenary-turned-tutor.

That old northern wolf had an eye for talent.

"No need for lengthy words. You captured my father's killer—a formidable 6-Star adversary. Your contributions merit reward from the future empress."

"..."

"But given the chaos, verbal promises must suffice for now."

Roselyn's eyes sharpened further.

Time to recruit Derek.

Talent's value varies, but when rare, one mustn't skimp.

The surest rewards were vast lands and high titles. Offer what makes nobles drool, secure their loyalty. Half-measures risk losing precious talent to rival factions.

In these turbulent times, Roselyn needed loyal talent.

Meeting Derek here was divine favor.

"The political landscape will shift, requiring lengthy transition. Such instability demands stabilizing forces—you're no mere vineyard overseer."

".."

"The western Adenka region, Rugtel direct territory, and Volos coast all need management. I'll grant you the March Lord title with direct knight order command, plus a Count's rank if desired."

The atmosphere chilled.

Everyone expected rewards, but not this scale. Equivalent to Lady Rodea's for conquering Rodentz Island.

Controlling a third of the western border would reshape the Empire's southwestern power structure.

Overnight, Derek would become someone Lady Rodea and Border Count Belmierd would notice. Nearing 5-Star magic, he lacked nothing in capability.

Western nobles'expressions shifted—they might need to align immediately.

- Gasp

Silence dominated.

That soundless shock spoke louder than any uproar.

Even Roselyn recognized the offer's boldness, but half-measures bred uncertainty. As said, with talent, hesitation invites disaster.

She prepared to receive his oath.

But Roselyn had overlooked one critical factor.

"That won't be necessary, Your Highness."

The atmosphere turned glacial—colder than Rocheste's snowfields.

Some nobles gaped in disbelief at the impossible unfolding before them.

"The reward is too generous."

Derek—declined Princess Roselyn's offer.

Even with such terms, he refused recruitment. How was this possible?

A frozen silence enveloped the hall.