Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 239

Nobles gathering and scattering based on self-interest is hardly unusual.

In the southeastern regions relative to the central imperial capital, noble families have such deep-seated grudges that civil wars occasionally erupt. Even within Amaryllis House, noble ladies from the southeast or eastern regions often harbor mutual resentments.

The recent scandal centered around Lady Lana of Sepia Dormitory alone demonstrates how their conflicts span generations.

Thus, the southwestern noble families expanding their influence around Evelstain appeared relatively mild by comparison.

The three major powers centered around the Velkos Peninsula—Duplein, Beltus, and Belmierd—along with emerging factions like Renuel and Ravenclaw... had virtually no internal conflicts lately.

If asked why, every noble in Evelstain's high society would unanimously cite the Ravenclaw School's influence.

With the heirs of southwestern powerhouses tightly bound by the Ravenclaw School's connections, the region's nobles were coalescing into a single formidable bloc unlike other areas.

Naturally, at its center stood Count Ravenclaw.

Through his mentor Katia, his influence now extended to the former Elvester County. At this point, his name was known continent-wide.

However...

"The bigger the faction, the more internal divisions emerge. It's obvious factional conflicts will arise among the direct disciples."

Elennte briskly walked toward the garden after escaping Derek's chaotic office.

Always composed, rational, and dignified—she was Belmierd Family's heir apparent. Though momentarily flustered by the marriage discussion, she handled it with remarkable poise.

Compared to Diela's outburst, Sieren's bewilderment, or Tricia's cluelessness, her response was masterful.

Hands folded demurely, chin slightly raised, she walked gracefully—the picture of composure.

Despite the faction's turmoil, her voice remained smooth as silk.

"What good would panicking or losing my temper do? I'll simply do what I can from my position..."

Clicking her heels, she walked with eyes lightly closed. Yet the vein throbbing on her forehead betrayed her calm facade.

Truthfully, she'd already discreetly informed the Belmierd Border Count. She never imagined the Rocheste Family would make the first move regarding Derek's marriage prospects.

"How vexing of Lady Sieren. She seemed solely focused on magic training, then suddenly snatches up marriage talks? Never expected such temperament..."

As Derek's influence grew, discussing his marriage became increasingly delicate. Elennte had been biding her time too—between managing Belmierd affairs and the faction's busy schedule, days flew by.

But having the initiative stolen like this left her seething.

"Leveraging family prestige feels distasteful, but if they brought Lord Melberot personally, I'll have to involve Father directly."

Maintaining her composed demeanor, her steps gradually quickened until she was practically marching—too fast for casual greetings from passing noble ladies.

"What's got you so furious? *Hic*..."

Just as Elennte passed the quieter Elfontaine Dormitory 2, an unexpected figure sat sprawled on a marble flowerbed, belching loudly.

That smug tone was unmistakable.

Elennte frowned, turning toward the voice.

"Brother. You're at Ravenclaw Academy?"

"Yep, hehe... Was gambling in Evelstain when Ravenclaw's head butler personally fetched me. *Hic*..."

"Head butler... Delbritton?"

Derek's right-hand man.

This elderly gentleman had served since Ravenclaw was a backwater barony. Meaning Derek had summoned him personally.

Ryner, Belmierd Family's eldest son.

A capable man, yet his family's black sheep.

A wandering drunkard haunting gambling dens. Though once a promising young lord, he grew more disgraceful with age.

Elennte sighed deeply, shaking her head at the alcoholic stench.

"Noble ladies frequent Ravenclaw Academy. Must you disgrace Belmierd like this, Brother?"

"Meh. Can't even greet your dear brother? *Urp*... Drank too much wine... Gonna puke..."

"Wh-what are you—?!"

As Elennte recoiled, Ryner—pale as a corpse—regained some composure.

"*Hurl*... Ugh... Duplein Ducal Territory's liquor's too damn good. Must be the mild climate... So sweet..."

"..."

"Looking at me like I'm livestock... Elennte..."

"...Why does Derek trust someone like you?"

"Harsh. We're close. Derek—ahem—Count Ravenclaw even funded me recently. Soulmates, practically."

"He knows you'll gamble it all away... Why bother...?"

"Won't deny that, but it wasn't free money."

Ryner lit a cigarette while struggling to stand. Between the alcohol and now tobacco, Elennte broke into a cold sweat, stepping back.

To Derek, a former mercenary, Ryner was unremarkable. But to a lifelong noblewoman like Elennte, he seemed a walking beast.

"I'm heading to the imperial capital on Count Ravenclaw's orders. Heard Father's visiting the academy, but I'm too busy to meet."

"...Orders?"

"Classified."

Ryner smirked sinisterly, swaying drunkenly. He looked like a corpse reanimated by necromancy—hardly approachable.

'Truly an enigma.'

Elennte acknowledged his merits.

Though lacking magical talent, heaven blessed him with sharp wits and gambler's courage. His capture of a 6-Star confusion mage was legendary.

Yet his willfulness and wanderlust left no record of proper work. Permanently drunk, he was barely human.

Ryner steadied himself, then patted Elennte's shoulder.

"So, how's being heir apparent?"

"...Pardon?"

"Not just anyone can lead Belmierd. Just wondering how you're handling it."

"It's... manageable."

"Good. Heh... *hic*... Try pushing Count Ravenclaw over if you get the chance. Stay idle, and stray cats will devour you whole."

"Wh-what nonsense is this?!"

Staggering toward the academy gates, Ryner dismissively waved at his sister's protests.

Pathetic, yet inscrutable—who knew what lurked beneath?

Swigging wine like a street drunk, he epitomized disgrace.

"Factional strife... Growing organizations all face this. Poorly handled, it fractures groups—but controlled well, diversifies strengths."

Rozelyn quietly munched a sandwich in the garden's secluded corner.

Melberot's bombshell marriage proposal triggering a Ravenclaw succession war fascinated her.

In noble society, eligible bachelors were rare commodities.

When influential young lords attended banquets, noble ladies'eyes turned predatory. And here was a household head in his prime—marrying him meant absorbing an emerging powerhouse.

Any power-hungry individual would salivate... yet this conflict seemed rooted beyond politics.

"Count Ravenclaw's faction dominates the southwest, but would established noble ladies go this far just for influence?"

Worth coveting, but not life-or-death. Missing out would be regrettable, not devastating.

Yet the direct disciples acted like Derek being"stolen"by House Rocheste was catastrophic.

"...Could it be they simply don't want to lose Derek himself?"

Rozelyn felt enlightenment dawn.

Having lived atop Gremfort Palace, she saw noble marriages as power preservation. But fundamentally, marriage was about affection between couples.

How bizarre that she'd overlooked this obvious truth.

"Can marriage... genuinely stem from love? How absurd."

Duplein, Belmierd, Beltus, Rocheste, Renuel—five major houses entangled in what appeared to be... pure emotional conflict?

"First prolonged stay outside Gremfort Palace, and every day brings new wonders."

Derek mentioned dispatching a reliable informant to the palace. Once palace affairs stabilized, she'd leave—but until then, she'd enjoy campus life.

Strangely, more questions kept arising.

"Might as well experience everything Ravenclaw Academy offers before leaving."

The thought lifted her spirits.

As she stood to leave after finishing her sandwich—

-Splash!

Cold water drenched her from behind.

A watering can had soaked her dress completely, hair dripping like a drowned rat.

-Drip, drip

Too sudden to react.

Droplets pattered onto the marble flowerbed.

"..."

"Oh dear, oh dear... My deepest apologies."

Looking up, she saw Lady Tricia holding an ornate watering can, hand covering her mouth.

"Are you alright...?"

"This is..."

"So sorry. The central garden's roses looked parched. Never imagined Lavender's Lady Rona would lunch here alone..."

Tricia's poorly concealed smirk betrayed her glee.

With tea tables available, watering roses here was clearly pretext.

Dripping wet, Rozelyn studied Tricia's triumphant expression with... fascination.

"Ah... I see..."

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"So this is campus bullying... Noble ladies ostracize weaker peers through underhanded means. As Gremfort's ruler, I'd never experience this."

"How novel. As a minor noble's daughter, I'm the perfect outsider target. How delightfully fresh."

"How should one respond naturally...?"

Drenched in broad daylight, Rozelyn seemed more intrigued than humiliated.

Tricia frowned at her odd reaction.

Something felt terribly wrong.

"Lately, I've been getting ominous chills..."

"...Troubled, Derek?"

"Always. But this feels more like... foreboding. These hunches usually prove right..."

Signing Aiselin's reports, Derek looked half-dead.

Recent factional uproars mostly involved him. Managing an academy and faction was far harder than solo magic training.

"Empress Rozelyn's presence here is more consequential than imagined. We must tighten campus security."

"Yes, but... Diela and other disciples have been acting strangely..."

"..."

"The marriage discussions... Until resolved, the faction's unrest will persist..."

Aiselin fidgeted with her dress and bangs—even the composed ace was affected.

"..."

Derek had his own headaches.

House Rocheste's aggressive marriage push.

Accepting would fracture the faction; refusing would provoke them. An impossible dilemma.

Advance or retreat—both led to doom. Trapped in this inferno, he saw no solution.

Facing high-level magical beasts was simpler—just kill them. But how handle noble ladies obsessed with marriage?

Nowhere to seek answers.

Countless noblewomen would sell their souls for a prime bachelor like him.

Derek massaged his temples in anguish.

In this chaotic world, was there no one to save him...?

Someone, save me.

Never had Derek imagined himself uttering such pathetic lines.

Historically, he was the savior, not the damsel...

"Wow, noble ingredients are top-notch. *Munch munch*."

Meanwhile, in the dining hall's corner.

Pellin devoured roast turkey, washing it down with wine before sighing contentedly.

"Ahhh~."

Leaning back, patting her full belly, she remained unchanged—pretty features, mercenary-lean frame, platinum ponytail, emerald eyes blinking.

"Delicious."

Crossing her legs, she lacked any noble decorum. Only her natural beauty remained aristocratic.

"..."

She disdained noble pretenses, harbored no romantic feelings for Derek, cherished him as a comrade, managed Amaryllis House, and was technically his official wife.

An impossibly unique position.

Ironically, this made her the only prince charming who could rescue the tower-trapped Princess Derek...