Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 210

"Once you become a 5th-Class Mage, you'll be considered a figure of importance to the empire. The royal court will remember your name, as will every magic practitioner across the land. Wherever you go, people will look up to you in awe. You'll bear the weight of a great House on your shoulders alone, and countless will bow their heads hoping to catch your eye."

Lying sprawled on the sofa in Ravenclaw Barony's office, Phee crunched on a scone baked by the maid before flashing a sharp-toothed grin at Derek.

For Derek, who hadn't even reached 4th-Class yet, the realm of 5th-Class seemed like a distant future.

Yet Phee, perched on the edge of Derek's desk, gave a few dry chuckles before resuming her chewing like some rodent stuffing its cheeks.

"Even those from the noblest Houses who've spent half their lives researching magic only reach that realm when their hair turns gray and beards grow wild. In all my long years, I've seen barely two or three achieve it at a young age."

One was Melberot. The other was Kalimford.

Both names now etched as heroes in the empire's history.

"That does sound plausible. Reaching 4th-Class alone has been grueling enough—the 5th-Class realm must be... even more distant."

"Who knows? Once you touch 4th-Class, you might find 5th-Class within quick reach."

"Is that so?"

"Normally it takes decades of training, but who's your teacher? The necromancer who's lived longest in the deepest darkness—that would be me."

To reach 4th-Class, Phee had demanded Derek face the Grand Duke of Beltus alone. Later, Derek would indeed emerge victorious from that bloody battle against the House Head-level mage, attaining the 4th-Class realm.

So what must one do to reach 5th-Class?

Studying magic's origins and deepening theoretical understanding was fundamental.

But clearly Phee wanted something more from Derek.

"How fortunate you are. 6th-Class Mages—those who stand at magic's pinnacle, whom most never meet once in a lifetime—cluster around you like weeds."

"That may be... but what's the relevance?"

"Relevance? Derek... someday... you'll kill a 6th-Class Mage with your own hands."

A heavy silence filled the office.

Phee hummed nonchalantly while nibbling pastries, as if discussing the weather.

Simple sparring wouldn't suffice.

Only by dancing on the boundary between life and death could beings like Derek glimpse higher realms.

Phee had recognized this essence in Derek long ago.

Because she too had crawled through such muck.

"..."

"Think I'm demanding the impossible again?"

Phee's lips curled, revealing a smile brimming with perverse delight—the expression that most embodied her true nature.

- CRASH!

The half-ruined Elvester Count's Manor.

Starlight poured through collapsed outer walls. Strangely, one stained glass window remained intact in the main hall, its jeweled brilliance accentuated by the slanting moonlight.

Amid bloodstains and fallen throne fragments, a girl straightened her collar—the queen who commanded death itself.

She'd repelled Melberot, a 6th-Class combat mage at his peak.

Even Kochella, master of transformation magic, knelt nearby staunching wounds.

Among 6th-Class Mages, hierarchies existed.

Phee, having brushed against immortality at necromancy's apex, required combined efforts from all present 6th-Class Mages to potentially subdue.

Yet her body was wrecked.

Lavender hair dulled by clotted blood. Eyes of matching hue unfocused.

Left arm gashed, right thigh slashed open. Expensive dress reduced to rags. Over half her magic power expended.

That she stood at all defied reason.

But none dared approach this monster who'd felled two elite mages.

A snap of her fingers could erase common soldiers.

Fear had paralyzed the remaining forces. Though Kochella's magic had dispersed most corpse legions, few troops advanced toward the manor.

Fear devours worlds.

In this silent mausoleum... one figure trudged steadily up the shattered central staircase.

Through spectral mists and clinging death-stench, the white-haired man walked unfazed, mercenary cloak fluttering in necrotic winds.

At the battlefield's heart where legendary mages lay broken, he showed no fear—only climbed the fractured stone steps toward the terror incarnate.

All witnesses stared.

Soldiers clearing the gardens. Princess Rozelyn watching from the walls. Kalimford restraining the Bone Dragon. Even Countess Rodea locked in combat with the undead Border Count Elvester...

Derek's steady advance toward the monster Phee—this was heroic resolve made manifest.

- THUD. THUD. THUD.

Spotting Kochella staunching bloodflow, Derek finally saw the queen ahead.

His mercenary garb was equally bloodsoaked, tattered cloak hanging limp as he gave a slight nod.

"Long time no see."

That quiet voice settled over the ruined hall.

Backlit by stained glass, the blood-drenched girl lifted her head. Before her stood the only disciple—and teacher—who could free her from immortality's chains.

Kochella's eyes widened.

Derek and Phee knew each other.

None present realized this.

Not a single unwounded person remained.

Both Derek and Phee were battered, their paths paved in gore.

Yet Derek remained impassive. Phee smiled.

"Derek."

She whispered his name, then repeated it with ecstatic intensity.

"Derek. You came. I knew you'd crawl through death's swamp to find me."

"..."

"Lift your head higher. Those scratches? Barely worth calling wounds. You've faced far worse deaths, warrior."

Her laughter carried unsettling madness—far from the relaxed mentor lounging on sofas.

Endless life had poisoned her. The desire to conclude her journey became obsession.

Her fixation on Derek's potential to reach the theoretical 7th-Class was inevitable.

"Now you see clearly, Derek."

With a sidelong glance at Kochella, Phee grinned.

"Melberot with his sky-rending meteors. Kochella crafting any magical artifact. Neither could best me."

"..."

"The mightiest mage under heaven is Pine Rafaela Tigris. The only teacher who can elevate your magic to its peak."

"You orchestrated all this... to prove that?"

"Indeed. Having taught magic yourself, you understand—great teachers claim great students."

Phee spread her arms, ecstatic smile glowing in moonlight.

Derek steadied his breath and closed his eyes.

Something felt... off.

Derek acknowledged truths readily.

The Phee in his memories smirked mischievously, finger to lips hiding schemes.

Thoughtful. Composed. Quick to regain rationality.

Her long life's wanderings made her unbreakable by ordinary trials.

This shattered version felt... wrong.

Had she truly caused this catastrophe just to prove herself Derek's superior teacher?

The dissonance forced Derek to reopen his eyes.

"Is that truly your goal?"

"...Overthinking, Derek."

Phee's voice softened as she wiped blood with maternal tenderness.

"Just come to me. Learn all the magic you crave. Then at journey's end... grant me rest. Nothing would bring me greater joy."

Like savoring ambrosia, Phee's radiant smile returned as magic surged.

"Derek. Many fine teachers have graced your short life. But I'll be the greatest."

"..."

"Come. I've prepared paradise for you in Tigris Barony."

Derek nodded slightly and inhaled.

Then drew his sword.

Answer enough.

"..."

Seeing Derek's keen blade, Phee fell silent.

Then laughed—the cackling, maddened witch's laugh she'd anticipated giving.

"Good, Derek. I never expected understanding. A true teacher guides straying students back—even by breaking limbs if needed. In time, you'll thank me."

"Lady Phee."

"All who learned from you say Baron Derek Raidof Ravenclaw is wiser than any magic instructor. So you'll understand."

Unexpectedly, Phee's final expression was almost... innocent.

"Teaching... is harder than it looks."

- CRACK!

Her magic coalesced into a fist-sized orb.

As she clenched—the world exploded.

- KABOOM! CRASH! BOOM!

A life-or-death duel with a 6th-Class Mage.

Any magic practitioner would refuse such insanity.

Yet Derek channeled magic and charged.

Strangely... he felt no tension.

Even steel-nerved warriors should tremble before death's avatar.

Derek remained calm for one simple reason.

He'd already experienced a 6th-Class Mage's full power—Kalimford's meteors. That experience preserved his rationality now.

Gritting teeth, Derek activated defensive magic. The strain made his jaw creak.

Death's approach.

Derek always advanced when brushing against this sensation.

During Ravenclaw stays, Phee often stargazed from rooftops.

Her dress billowing like blooming flowers against dusty tiles, reaching skyward.

Those lavender eyes rolling playfully as she tried grasping stars—reminiscent of a girl in snowy slums long ago.

The starlight in her eyes hadn't changed, though countless years had passed.

Upon realizing she'd reached her limits... her gaze shifted.

Toward someone who could climb higher.

The dream of grasping stars had settled like sediment, but seeing another approach that pinnacle... became hope.

The girl smiled.

"Grasp the stars, Derek."

Her fist clenched tight at the sky.

A conclusion reached after endless years.