Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 251

-"Damon, can you promise me just one thing?"

It was just before Damon's final deployment after over four years of civil war in the Luxstine region, where he'd been leading part of the imperial coalition forces.

The inexperienced and fearful young Damon sat trembling in a dusty corner of an old village church on the war's periphery.

His prayerful gaze at the neglected holy statue made him resemble prey frozen before a predator.

Had other nobles witnessed the heir of House Levenheim—a family renowned for producing imperial officials—in such a pathetic state, they would've sneered in contempt. Many already placed bets on how long this coward could survive noble society's cutthroat world.

Yet in this remote village, a local woman suddenly pulled Damon into a tight embrace.

"...!"

Startled by the warmth enveloping his bowed head on the creaky pew, Damon's body jerked.

Her slightly rounded belly held their passionate love's creation. They'd already named the precious life growing within—Emily. He could feel the nascent pulse against his lowered forehead.

Though a bastard, he vowed this daughter would live as a duke's legitimate heir. That resolve had taken root long ago.

-"Damon, promise me—never hesitate to abandon anything."

-"..."

-"I can't imagine noble life, but surely it demands more sacrifices than commoners make. Your gentle nature will make you cling to too much."

-"Do I seem that type?"

-"Absolutely. Why else would a coward like you keep returning to Luxstaine's battlefields? You want to end this chaos yourself."

-"I stay because your hometown is here, Rasa."

As Damon weakly protested, Rasa simply stroked his hair in response.

-"Damon, I want your shoulders light. To endure life's harsh deserts, you must carry as little as possible."

-"Meaning?"

-"Don't chain yourself to grand ambitions of benefiting the world or noble obligations... Even if it seems selfish or shameless—live cowardly. Abandon all pride and ambition if you must, but survive."

Her whisper carried profound weight.

Life might bring encounters with madmen who'd discard everything for ambition.

Or heroes blessed by heavens, commanding multitudes with celestial charisma.

Kochella. Or Derek.

Facing such figures someday, the pressure of everything crumbling might overwhelm him.

-"You're what matters most, Damon. Never forget."

Spoken by the village herbalist who'd once rescued this trembling deserter hiding in her home—a noble who'd abandoned his post.

Don't live as a noble. Live as a human.

Your happiness is mine, so protect your place in life.

These were Rasa's final words to Damon before he returned to war.

For someone raised in nobility's cutthroat world, such heartfelt blessings were unprecedented.

Those with something to protect grow strong.

Since Luxstaine was Rasa's home, ending the conflict became his sacred duty.

Thus, the cowardly noble Damon returned to battle.

- Whoosh......

Then, on the day Melberot's intervention finally ended Luxstaine's long civil war...

Damon returned victorious to find Rasa's mutilated corpse.

-"......"

Rain poured over the half-burned village of Calpine, a farming community settled by Luxstaine's displaced peasants.

Its chief had secretly been a longtime retainer of the rebel leader. The entire village had fed intelligence about imperial forces to rebels through the"pathetic deserter noble"hiding among them.

The imperial Gertrel faction wouldn't tolerate such betrayal.

By Damon's return, only ruins remained.

- Pitter-patter...

Raindrops drummed heavily on his saddle.

Each drop weighed like a thousand pounds.

The Ravenclaw School's direct disciples comprised daughters from the southwestern continent's most influential noble houses.

Thus, few dared provoke them lightly—Count Ravenclaw's influence around Evelstain now rivaled combined noble authority.

Yet despite their powerful backers, uniting these nobles proved difficult.

Nobles inherently prioritized interests over alliances, balking at slightest concessions.

Even Ravenclaw disciples, bound by school ties, refused yielding on trivial matters.

Their family heads were worse.

To unite them against Damon required extraordinary justification.

Only earthshaking events could make these busy lords drop everything to oust him.

Even if later retracted as a farce... they needed overwhelming cause now.

"Count Ravenclaw... has fallen in battle."

At the emergency academy gathering at dawn, this bombshell dropped by Aiceline Eleanor Duplein stunned assembled staff, dorm representatives, and high-ranking retainers into silence.

"Our family head, Lord Raeg, has led troops to Reven Canyon to... recover his remains for funeral rites..."

Trailing off tearfully, Aiceline—normally radiant in white frilled dresses—stood solemnly in black mourning attire.

The sight convinced even skeptics.

If Derek's closest confidant accepted this, it must be true.

Elennte reacted first.

"What... nonsense is this? Count Ravenclaw was at Gremfort Palace—"

"His carriage... was ambushed in Reven Canyon. Lady Pellin confirmed everything..."

All eyes turned to Pellin, whose bowed head confirmed the worst.

"Impossible! Count Ravenclaw wouldn't fall to mere bandits!"

"Was it... the imperial faction? Chairman Damon...?"

"Lady Aiceline! How could—"

"I'm sorry... I can't elaborate... Please inform your families and await further..."

Her grief-stricken eyes silenced further questions.

As Derek's closest associate, her visible anguish lent credence no words could.

『......』

Pellin, seated nearby, felt uncanny chills.

This was acting on another level—her own office theatrics seemed childish in comparison.

Yet something felt off. Derek had claimed Aiceline was a terrible actress.

Yet here she stood, the very image of tragic heroine—her tears flowing with startling authenticity.

『...』

Noticing Aiceline viciously pinching her own thigh hard enough to draw blood, Pellin averted her gaze.

Like a swan's frantic paddling beneath calm waters—Aiceline was struggling desperately.

Though incapable of nuanced acting, forcing tears through pain allowed her to deliver lines mechanically.

『......』

The audience's devastation, however, was completely genuine.

After the shocking announcement, academy members dispersed to process the news.

Temporary authority fell to Aiceline as they awaited updates. Staff moved numbly, retainers grieved, and disciples reeled.

- Thud... thud...

Denis stumbled toward Iris Dormitory, nausea rising.

The unbelievable news threatened to overwhelm her usually composed demeanor.

『Calm down... Derek... dead? Just like that...?』

Her spinning mind struggled to accept it. The indomitable Derek couldn't perish so easily.

Yet Aiceline—Derek's most devoted follower—had confirmed it.

『How...? Without warning...?』

Clutching her churning stomach, Denis sharpened her gaze.

Her ingrained composure in crises remained intact.

『First... gather details. Assess the situation...』

As she steadied her breathing, others passed by—Elennte near-fainting, Diela oddly calm, Tricia conspicuously absent.

Most striking was Lady Sirine of Lavender Dormitory.

The ethereal noble girl muttered curses with crimson, demonic eyes.

"L-Lady Sirine?"

Unheeding, she continued whispering toward some distant target.

"Levenheim's... Damon."

"...!"

"Damon of House Levenheim. Damon. Damon. Central Noble Council Chairman, Damon."

Each repetition etched the name deeper as her manic gaze fixed beyond the horizon—toward Gremfort Palace.

"I'll kill him."

Denis should've stopped her. But primal terror locked her voice.

The Snowfield Murderer's infamous past might be forgotten, but her monstrous nature never vanished—only restrained by a good teacher.

Watching Sirine disappear down the hall, Denis realized—she wouldn't return to Lavender Dormitory.