Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 26

Running a tavern means living life out of sync with the world.

You open shop as the sun begins to set, and close up as it starts to rise. Walking home while watching the sky gradually brighten to a bluish hue, you occasionally spot early risers already bustling about the still-sleeping streets.

Jayden didn't find this lifestyle too bad.

Of course, he still maintained his training and occasionally took on commissions to stay busy... but fundamentally, he felt intoxicated by peace. The occasional monster hunt barely qualified as a deviation from his trauma-filled past.

Wiping down a few squeaky-clean cups while surveying the empty tavern, the quietude often felt like a warm blanket.

Jayden quite liked these tranquil moments right before closing. Just as he was wrapping up for the day, a familiar face pushed open the tavern door.

- Creak

"Still open, boss?"

"Derek. Sun's nearly up—what brings you?"

"Just grabbing a bite before heading back. Got any leftovers?"

Derek looked as battered as usual.

Seeing the mercenary who feared neither blood nor tears covered in dust wasn't particularly unusual. Except he currently had an expensive commission and wasn't taking any extermination jobs.

"Derek. Did you go all the way to Evelstain's outskirts? Without a commission, why would you—"

"Just checking something out."

"...Don't tell me you entered the labyrinth?"

"Not too deep. Just scouting for that plan I mentioned."

Slumping onto a barstool with exhaustion written across his face, he slicked back his bangs with a damp hand and sighed heavily.

"Anything to drink?"

"Closing time means slim pickings."

"Anything's fine."

"Alright, kid."

Jayden knew Derek spent his days teaching Lady Aiselin of House Belmiere in the noble quarter. That alone consumed most of his time, yet here he was making nighttime excursions to the city outskirts.

"You sleeping at all?"

"Gonna catch some shuteye after this."

"Then up again to teach the Belmiere heiress?"

"Three hours should suffice. Need to grab something quick before heading back."

Jayden clicked his tongue and poured a simple drink. Even in his prime, he'd never lived with such demonic intensity. Derek seemed utterly bewitched by magic.

Years had passed since their mercenary days. Jayden knew full well the boy's magical prowess was extraordinary—often unnervingly so.

"Got a letter for you at the company. Return address was... unusual."

Not wanting to detain the exhausted Derek, Jayden tossed a letter sealed with an elegant wax emblem onto the counter.

Derek picked it up curiously, scanning the exterior.

"Came from Count Elvester's estate. That's the eastern frontier—weeks by carriage. Never had nobility writing to you before. Got some aristocratic charm I don't know about?"

"Count Elvester?"

"Yeah. However famous you've gotten in Evelstain, nobles don't just—"

"Probably from my mentor. Said she'd update me when things settled down."

Katia Flameheart, Derek's teacher, was instructing Lady Freya in the Elvester domain. Knowing what an exceptional mentor she was, Derek never doubted she'd thrive even in such opulent surroundings.

"Teaching Lady Freya now? That old mage really landed on her feet."

In an empire spanning continents, each region boasted its own prominent families. News from the distant east rarely reached western Evelstain, though certain notable names circulated.

Lady Freya of Elvester was practically royalty in eastern high society.

'The eastern equivalent of Lady Aiselin,'Jayden mused.

Tucking away the letter, Derek wore an uncharacteristically satisfied expression. News of his mentor clearly pleased him.

For the usually stoic seventeen-year-old mercenary to show such human warmth was rare. Jayden thought,'So he is human after all.'

"Derek."

Jayden crossed his burly arms, watching the exhausted boy sip fruit wine before bluntly stating:

"Take care of yourself."

"...Don't worry."

[New Magic Acquired]

★☆☆☆☆☆ Combat - Ice Spear

★☆☆☆☆☆ Combat - Fire Arrow

★☆☆☆☆☆ Transformation - Attribute Imbue

★☆☆☆☆☆ Confusion - Illusion: Small Animal

★★☆☆☆☆ Combat - Shadow Bind

★★☆☆☆☆ Combat - Large-scale Barrier

★★☆☆☆☆ Transformation - Crystallization

★★☆☆☆☆ Detection - Magic Sense

※Full chant omission now possible for 1-Star Magic

Elente became a believer in the afterlife. She'd discovered hell wasn't distant at all.

Her stamina was far from frail. Though delicate-looking, the noblewoman possessed remarkable willpower, enduring all-night study sessions with ease.

Yet Derek's magic training possessed some inexplicable power to push humans to their limits.

-"Lady Elente! You can do more! Today we'll learn how to squeeze out every last drop of mana for maximum efficiency!"

-"How exactly... *pant*... do you extract... *wheeze*... depleted mana...?"

-"Where there's a will, there's a way!"

-"Pretty words... *gasp*... won't...!"

-"Giving up is always an option."

Elente's daily routine had become inhuman.

Dawn mana exercises, morning etiquette lessons, quick lunch, afternoon magic sparring, dinner, pre-bedtime star-rank mastery training, midnight snack, then flower arrangement or instrument practice until moonrise.

After two weeks, waking up felt like surfacing through molasses. She'd gained profound insight into human limits.

'Am I... actually dying?'

Having boasted to Derek, backing out now felt impossible. Strangely, she began believing she could defeat Aiselin through this grueling regimen.

Effort never betrays. Being naturally diligent, Elente found perverse fulfillment in this hellish schedule.

Her will still burned fiercely.

Whether her body could keep up was another matter.

"Lady Elente... your complexion seems slightly affected."

"..."

For a head maid to critique a Belmiere heiress's appearance bordered on insolence.

Yet the words came during morning grooming, delivered with bold sincerity.

"My lady, while we admire your dedication to magic mastery, neglecting your appearance worries the staff greatly."

"Quite right. I've been so absorbed in magic that I've forgotten proper grooming. It would've been disastrous without you. My thanks."

"...Perhaps reduce the training schedule?"

"...Impossible."

She must defeat Lady Aiselin.

This burning competitive spirit baffled the head maid.

What if she lost?

Though unspoken, the thought lingered. Everyone knew Lady Aiselin's perfection. Did Elente truly believe she could surpass her through sheer effort?

Even if she won a practice match, who would consider her Aiselin's superior? It meant nothing.

Yet Elente remained obsessed, like a ghost haunted by victory.

"Lady Elente seems exhausted."

The sentiment echoed through Rosea Salon.

When Elente occasionally appeared at gatherings, her dignified bearing still commanded respect. Among the salon's three central figures, comparisons seemed pointless—all were equally brilliant.

Yet her increasingly haggard appearance from relentless training puzzled everyone.

Soon, she wandered cultural halls with dazed eyes, her dress dragging. The staff worried.

Returning home meant more mana drills, spell reviews before meals, pushing herself to exhaustion daily. What was the point?

Only victory mattered. The world grew hazy and distant.

"..."

Watching this from a corner, Aiselin felt profoundly uncomfortable.

"Lady Elente looks terribly strained lately. Her complexion suffers, her eyes lack vitality—isn't she overdoing it?"

"Her dedication to sparring with Lady Aiselin is admirable, if nothing else."

Aiselin despised gossip. Her followers knew this, avoiding direct criticism of Elente's desperate competitiveness.

Yet their words carried subtle contempt for such excessive effort.

Aiselin disliked these petty nobles who, basking in her reflected glory, imagined themselves equally authoritative. Their condescension toward Elente disgusted her.

Lady Aiselin's expression turned pained.

The head maid, brushing her hair with concern, mentioned:

"A gift arrived from House Duplein."

"...What? Duplein?"

"From Lady Aiselin, it seems..."

A junior maid entered with an ornate wooden box adorned with floral ribbons, placing it on the tea table before bowing out.

Elente rubbed her bleary eyes and opened it to find a handwritten note from Aiselin alongside fragrant sachets and health-enhancing magical items.

"..."

"My lady?"

After scanning the contents, Elente quietly unfolded the letter. Delicate handwriting covered the page with encouraging messages.

Worried about Elente overexerting herself before their match, Aiselin had sent this thoughtful gift.

Yet from the clearly superior party, such pitying gestures only insulted.

Aiselin had carefully framed it as sharing surplus items from her household to avoid offense.

Who could deny her kindness?

Reading the heartfelt words, Elente set it down quietly.

"These are quite exquisite. I'll store them properly."

"No. Discard them."

"...Pardon?"

"All of it. Out of my sight."

Gritting her teeth, Elente stood abruptly.

The mirror reflected a weary girl making a petulant face.

Despite pretty makeup and delicate accessories, her expression brimmed with jealousy and spite.

Confronted with someone flawless in talent, lineage, and character, she felt irrational envy without cause.

Who was this wretched creature? Herself.

Who had schemed against Aiselin when she first entered society? Herself.

Despite being moved by Aiselin's unwavering integrity, who still clung to petty jealousy? Herself.

The mirror showed disheveled hair and sallow skin.

Who was this? Who?

Elente stared wide-eyed at her reflection.

"Is Derek at the training ground?"

"Yes. Preparing for dawn practice. Once you finish grooming—"

"I'll just sweat through it anyway. Why bother?"

"...My lady?"

Hiking up her dress, Elente stomped out despite the servants'protests.

- Thud

Elente barged into the training ground, brushing off her hands.

Derek, polishing his sword in a corner, looked up startled.

"Up early as always, Derek. Starting with sparring?"

"My lady. You came straight from bed?"

"Shouldn't training come first?"

"That's not—"

"Not what?"

Fatigue was taking its toll. Lasting this long already exceeded expectations.

Derek had intentionally pushed Elente to this point but hadn't anticipated this reaction.

Yet Elente studied him before calmly inhaling:

"Every second counts against Aiselin. I need more practice."

"Lady Elente."

Derek instantly recognized her desperation. This was precisely his design.

He posed the question he'd asked countless times:

"What if you can't win?"

"Can't win?"

Elente's brow furrowed as if stung. She wiped her face and marched forward, glaring up at him.

"Why should I quit? You keep urging surrender. Did you come here to discourage me?"

"..."

"I hired you to beat Aiselin. Not to hear this nonsense."

Grabbing Derek's collar, she nearly shouted before meeting his steady gaze and exhaling sharply.

"If I can't win... I'll remain pathetic."

The words tumbled out.

"..."

When hiring Derek, she'd confessed her flaws to persuade him.

But as a seasoned socialite, she'd withheld her true motivation.

Derek needed to understand before proceeding. His planned methods required absolute commitment.

"I told you. I'm that vile person who slandered Aiselin. The so-called pillar of Belmiere, flower of Rosea Salon—that was me. Understand?"

"..."

"I've admitted how childish and ugly I was. That Aiselin is truly admirable—I've accepted that a thousand times over. My mind understands completely. There's no reason to dislike or oppose her."

The anger faded from Elente's eyes, leaving only anguish.

She spoke as if expelling mud lodged in her chest:

"But what can I do? This vile, petty inferiority won't disappear..."

Finally, Derek understood. She was just a girl of that age.

Knowing her jealousy was childish changed nothing. Emotions rarely obey reason.

Though revered as noble and dignified, Elente was still navigating adolescence.

Her precocious intellect only made the emotional turmoil more jarring. The more she understood how jealousy corrupted, the more despicable she felt for harboring it.

But as she said—emotions aren't switches to flip at will.

-'Good at packaging yourself. I know I'm not that great.'

-'Eventually, you realize how pathetic you've become.'

The puzzle pieces clicked. Beneath her regal demeanor lurked subtle self-loathing.

So faint one might miss it unless searching, but now unmistakable.

Elente had likely sought ways to improve. But emotions don't change overnight.

After much anguish, she'd settled on defeating Aiselin—however minor the victory.

The person she truly despised wasn't Aiselin, but herself.

Derek had finally seen Elente's core.

His repeated questioning of her resolve stemmed from necessity—his planned methods would endanger half-hearted commitment.

"I see."

Derek neither exaggerated nor reacted emotionally.

He simply pried Elente's grip from his collar with deliberate firmness.

"...Then let's win."

Elente's eyes widened.

Despite her outburst, Derek remained unshaken—a man of tempered steel.