Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 250

"It's not often I respond to summons from Gremfort Palace. The late Emperor Gertrel understood why I remain alone guarding the northern snowfields, so he rarely called me to central politics."

Melberot was considered an exceptionally unique figure even among nobility.

As the hero who ended the Dawn War and reached the realm of a 6-Star combat mage, virtually no one could freely command him.

Unless it involved continent-shaking events like the Elvester County incident, he rarely moved his imposing figure. In that sense, his visit to Ravenclaw Academy solely for Sirine had been an extraordinary anomaly.

Seeing him standing in a shadowy corner of the state conference room now evoked an eerie dissonance, like witnessing a ghost with no business being there.

Yet the one who'd summoned him was none other than Chairman Damon himself.

The ambitious man who assassinated Emperor Gertrel, ousted Head Magic Advisor Kochella, and now sought to remove Empress Rozelyn to seize the throne's authority.

However, Melberot wore an odd expression as he observed Damon.

"We said we'd be seeing each other for a long time, didn't we?"

At Melberot's words, Damon's brow twitched.

It was something Melberot had told him during the eastern civil war battlefield when Damon was still a mediocre young noble.

A coward huddled in the corner of the encampment while other nobles swept through enemy lines at the front.

That summed up Melberot's impression of Damon. He was a man who understood fear.

The nobles drunk on authority and ambition, leading the vanguard—none lasted even ten years before falling.

Whether losing limbs in battle or perishing in power struggles, they all met their ends while Damon alone survived.

He'd known it already.

The ones who endure aren't those wielding noble authority and heroic spirit at the front, but ordinary men flailing to protect what little they have.

And now this Damon was tearing through Gremfort Palace to usurp the throne.

The dissonance sparked peculiar curiosity in Melberot.

"...Words you spoke at the royal coalition encampment during the Luxstine region civil war."

Though Damon now held Gremfort Palace's reins, he still showed deference to Melberot, regarding him as the empire's hero and one of its most respectable mages.

"I can't even recall how many decades ago that was... but even at your relatively young age, Lord Melberot's magic was already legendary. The way you began demolishing Luxstine rebel fortresses with just a few incantations... That was when I first realized how overwhelming true magic could be."

Though now aged with wrinkles layered like tree rings... Damon had indeed been young and vigorous then.

Nostalgia briefly softened his expression before Damon composed himself.

"Didn't things unfold exactly as you predicted, Lord Melberot? After all these years, I still hold a seat at Gremfort Palace while you remain the continent's most revered mage. As you said, we've seen each other for a long time indeed."

"True. But my perspective has changed. I said that because I thought you were a man who knew how to turtle up."

Melberot's gaze turned icy.

Facing hostility from Melberot—the empire's eternal idol since youth—was no easy matter for Damon either.

He sat as the Imperial Noble Council's representative, reached for 6-Star summoning magic, and was establishing himself as Gremfort Palace's power broker.

Despite his accumulated authority and achievements, he took care never to appear arrogant.

That was his secret to longevity.

"You were never the type to covet the throne. That's why this feels so discordant. What's driving you to overreach like this?"

"......"

Damon quietly closed his eyes.

He remembered nothing. Why he assassinated Emperor Gertrel, plunged Gremfort Palace into chaos... no memories surfaced of his motives.

Present Damon was just an empty shell, flailing in the aftermath of his past self's schemes.

Should he confess?

That he knew nothing? That he was just a puppet mechanically reacting to circumstances?

That he had no idea what transpired between him and Emperor Gertrel, or why he erased all memories?

Damon shook his head.

Ultimately, it was his past self—with full memories—who orchestrated this.

The self who knew better than anyone that he'd struggle to survive at all costs.

There must have been intent behind these actions. He had to trust his own judgment.

Damon raised his head proudly to meet the legendary grand mage's gaze.

"Because I'm a noble."

The only answer he could give.

Those born of exalted bloodlines naturally reach for higher places. People call it ambition.

"A hollow answer. I didn't come here for such nonsense."

"..."

"Well. Age makes men prone to bizarre decisions as if possessed. I suppose you're no exception. In that case, as the empire's sword, I have but one course."

Melberot drew his blade.

The magic coiling around it was of another class entirely. Even 1-Star spells from Melberot could shatter walls and upheave earth.

Few could oppose him—only Phee, the recent 6-Star necromancer, came to mind.

Not even Damon could stand firm against Melberot's might.

"My old friend Kalimford said—at least while I live, don't turn a blind eye to the empire's crises. So I can't ignore a fox trying to usurp the throne from its rightful heir."

"...You're letting emotions sway you."

"True. I just received news from Raven Valley. About Count Ravenclaw's demise."

"Ah, I just heard as well."

Damon smiled calmly.

"Does his death grieve you?"

"No. That magic-obsessed fool isn't so easy to kill. But without him, there's no one left to teach my daughter Sirine magic. If someone complicates matters by stealing away her teacher, I'll have to eliminate them personally."

That was all.

His tone suggested promises to Kalimford, continental affairs, and justice were all secondary. At his core, he lived and died for his daughter.

"Family is such troublesome, high-maintenance business. Yet we can't ignore it."

Damon rose slowly, maintaining composure.

Though times had changed and Damon became a high-ranking mage, gauging how long he could last against Melberot was difficult.

"You used to make that same wretched face whenever Emily got involved, Damon. Only now do I understand. Fatherhood is truly bothersome."

".......?"

In the tense atmosphere, Damon flinched violently at Melberot's sudden remark.

Emily.

He knew that name. Rather, it would be stranger if he didn't.

He definitely knew. Someone he should never have forgotten.

Emily Portar Lebelheim, the young noblewoman. That's how he should address her. The name lingered somewhere in his subconscious. Not forgotten. If he tried voicing it, it came naturally as if spoken countless times before.

"──."

Seeing Damon freeze wide-eyed, Melberot tilted his head.

Few knew that name. She'd died long ago—only someone like Melberot with deep connections and knowledge of royal secrets would mention her.

The illegitimate child of Damon's union with a commoner named Rasa during his battlefield desertion. A woman long dead without a trace—a dark chapter in House Lebelheim's history.

"...Why that reaction? Didn't you say the same when returning to the Luxstine encampment?"

"....."

"That you couldn't die here because Emily was waiting. Even terrified, your will to survive was fierce."

──He had no memory of saying that.

Yet Damon couldn't outright deny it.

The deliberate memory erasure meant he couldn't confirm anything with certainty.

- Crack! Whoosh!

Dawn broke over Raven Valley after the long night.

Derek emerged from the woods, his robe drenched in blood.

Forests stretching between cliffs made for terrible battlefields. Ambushed here, numerical superiority meant nothing.

Even for Derek, spending the night fending off attackers with hit-and-run tactics was grueling.

By dawn, when the battlefield's darkness lifted... he was completely spent.

"Eeek... Eeeeeek...!"

The last surviving squad member scrambled backward in terror as Derek emerged bloodied from the brush.

Tripping over rocks, the man futilely tried crawling away.

Seventy elite operatives had departed Gremfort Palace—eleven 3-Star mages among them, even one 4-Star.

Few groups could mobilize so many high-ranking mages from the palace. Their origins were obvious.

As Derek's bloodied robe swept the ground, he stomped on the fleeing man's ankle.

- Crunch!

"Aaaagh! Please... spare me...!"

Through Derek's blood-dripping collar, the assassin could see his comrades'fates.

Despite numerical advantage and night ambush, killing Derek proved impossible. After an all-night chase, they'd been exterminated instead.

"...No long talk. Answer clearly."

Exhausted himself, Derek gripped the last mage's collar with a bloody hand.

The man's trembling traveled up his arm.

"You weren't sent by Damon, were you?"

Daybreak arrived.

In the dawn light, the attackers'identities became clear.

Imperial magic faction bureaucrats'closest aides.

Even disciples from Gremfort Palace's Head Magic Advisor's faction.

In short—Kochella's subordinates.