Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 51

"Lady Denise, your arguments certainly have merit. However, I can present equally valid reasons why I have no need to leave the Beltus family. Reasons tend to multiply when you look for them."

While the Beltus family's prestige might rival the Duplein family that dominates the southwestern continent, Lady Denise couldn't wield influence comparable to Ladies Aiselin or Dihira of Duplein.

No other family in the entire continent could match the Dupleins in cultivating heirs.

Yet Derek continued as if that didn't matter.

"I have three solid reasons for staying with House Beltus."

"...Which are?"

"First, Lady Denise is far more valuable than she realizes."

"How kind of you."

"That wasn't empty flattery."

When Denise offered perfunctory thanks, assuming polite platitudes, Derek countered with complete sincerity. She knew this white-haired mercenary never spoke hollow words, yet found his claim difficult to accept.

"Despite Beltus's cold family traditions, you've achieved results and maintained your position. Comparing it to the Duplein family's warm relationships would be unfair."

"What's your point?"

"Steel is forged in scorching heat, but people only harden in bitter cold."

Derek himself was a product of harsh environments.

His values fundamentally differed from Aiselin or Dihira, who grew up loved in the Duplein family's perfect environment.

"Greenhouse flowers may appear beautiful but have inherent limitations. True value lies in weeds surviving harsh conditions."

"...Are you calling me a weed?"

"The phrasing may be odd... but yes. You have a weedy resilience."

"...Wow. That's too raw to count as praise..."

"I don't give false compliments."

"I know."

Denise felt an inexplicable trust—this mercenary meant every word. He genuinely valued qualities in her even she didn't recognize. No matter how she resisted, he persisted in training her because he saw worth in that resilience.

Great teachers only instruct students they deem worthy.

Derek seemed to have discovered value in Denise that even she hadn't recognized.

"Second, regardless of circumstances, I need to maintain ties with House Beltus."

"You're already close with Duplein and Belmierd. Why bother with Beltus..."

Denise suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

After studying Derek's expression, she swallowed dryly.

"Are you... aiming to become nobility?"

"If necessary, I'd accept a minor title for achievements, but I've no ambition for status. My goal is maintaining connections with prestigious families to avoid obstacles in my magical pursuits."

While commoners often despised status-obsessed nobles, Derek felt neither affection nor disdain. He simply recognized that opposing nobility would hinder magical advancement.

To reach higher magical realms eventually required backing from powerful families. Drest's history proved this couldn't be taken lightly.

"...That's so you. You just want to learn advanced magic?"

"Yes. Smooth relations with the Three Great Houses means no family could interfere with my magical progress. Though this only applies in the southwestern continent."

"Do you truly intend to reach 3-Star rank..."

"I'm already 3-Star."

"—What?"

Derek dropped this bombshell casually.

While he showed no reaction, Denise's pupils trembled violently. She'd assumed he'd only recently mastered 2-Star magic. The gap between newly attained and fully mastered 2-Star was vast—but 3-Star stood even further beyond.

Nobility might produce one or two 3-Star talents per generation around coming-of-age ceremonies, but a commoner reaching this rank so young was unprecedented.

Now Derek's determination to maintain good relations with the Three Great Houses made sense.

Reviewing his demonstrated magical prowess, nothing contradicted his claim.

"Derek. You're truly magic-obsessed."

"I'm still lacking."

"Right. That explains why you'd cling to Beltus."

Sitting on an old display stand, Denise nodded with a hollow laugh. This mercenary's words never strayed from truth.

No matter how Denise schemed to control him, his straightforwardness always shattered her machinations.

His loyalty to Beltus served his safety and advancement—stated plainly without pretense.

No gentle consideration or comfort for Denise's wounded pride—just facts.

Yet sometimes, this indirect approach became its own form of care. Derek likely knew this.

Someone like Denise wouldn't be moved by obvious consolations or formal rhetoric.

Empty reassurances like"You're valuable"or"You're beautiful"wouldn't stir her emotions.

Instead, Derek's indifferent"That's not true"paradoxically comforted her. His irrefutable logic affirming her worth provided strange solace.

'I've become such a sentimental fool, finding relief in tossed-off remarks.'

Denise smiled self-deprecatingly.

Derek judged people as individuals, beyond status or family—a perspective foreign to Denise, who'd lived under Beltus's oppressive prestige.

Not once had he invoked Beltus's glory or noble honor during training. He taught magic purely for its own sake.

Seeing this, Denise began viewing this magic instructor differently.

Teaching makes an instructor. Guiding people makes a master.

Now she understood why Aiselin called him both a good instructor and true master.

'What an extraordinary man.'

In this aristocratic world governed by authority and rules, Derek taught purely as an individual—likely the only one of his kind.

To someone crushed by family prestige her whole life, such rarity was priceless.

Now she understood why noble ladies competed fiercely for this magic instructor.

"Derek."

Studying him, Denise blinked slowly before smiling.

"What's the third reason?"

Suddenly, she desperately wanted to know.

Derek had said three reasons for staying with Beltus over Duplein. She'd only heard two.

Like a child fishing for praise, she pressed on despite herself, embarrassed by her own eagerness. Mentally comparing herself to a puppy wagging its tail while pretending aloofness.

"Ah, the third reason?"

Derek tossed it out lightly, as if trivial.

"I just wanted to know what happens next."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Denise had to ask him to repeat.

"If I left, I couldn't see how it ends. The cliffhanger's unbearable."

"...You mean..."

"Yes.."

"WHAT KIND OF RIDICULOUS REASON IS THAT?!!"

Denise shot up screaming, then flushed crimson realizing she'd abandoned all decorum before slumping back down, breathing heavily.

"Y-you were waiting for updates?"

"Weren't you writing nightly?"

"How could I possibly write after that humiliation?!"

"Was it humiliating? I didn't think so..."

He meant it.

Denise gaped at Derek, seeing no mockery in his intent to dredge up her embarrassing past.

Which made it worse.

In such moments, sincerity became the deadliest poison.

"I-I'm scrapping it! It was just a silly distraction...! You thought I seriously wrote that childish story?"

"...Really? The detailed descriptions and character development seemed impressively crafted..."

"Ugh..."

"As I said, denying your work out of embarrassment is too harsh. Didn't you burn midnight oil writing it?"

Blushing furiously, Denise managed to mutter:

"You're mocking me."

"Me?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I'm genuinely not."

Derek remained earnest, dusting his pants as he spoke matter-of-factly.

"You claimed to be an empty chess piece for Beltus, but that's not entirely true, is it?"

"Huh?"

"Nobody ordered you to write, yet you studied great authors and wrote nightly. Why do you think the servants pretended not to notice?"

Denise's pupils dilated.

She began understanding why Derek took teaching her so seriously.

Memories surfaced of a girl sitting at her moonlit desk nightly, exhausted yet writing.

Though battered by her family's relentless tides, she'd imagine fictional characters'loves while gazing at stars.

She wrote about people who never surrendered their worth despite adversity.

Lord Robain, swept by family crises, and Tracy, facing class barriers—both reached for happiness against all odds.

After storms, sunlight always broke through clouds in her descriptions.

Amid ruined docks and crashing waves, she always remembered to include hope—that was her message.

That's why she sacrificed sleep to write.

That's why a white-haired mercenary, though embarrassed by the content, couldn't mock those lines.

"Your nightly writings prove you're not empty. Would I mock that?"

"..."

"You might think it flattery, but I'll say it anyway—I enjoyed it."

Derek spoke with consistent sincerity, unchanged since their first meeting in Raspa Cave.

Perhaps recognizing that integrity's value, Denise suddenly laughed—a blossom-like chuckle escaping unbidden.

"Derek... you're truly incomprehensible."

In the dark storeroom, unseen by anyone, Denise smoothed her hair.

Whether from embarrassment, shame, or some other emotion—she couldn't meet Derek's eyes.

Yet the feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Lady Denise has arrived at the guest house."

"Already? How prompt."

"Will you go down after finishing preparations?"

"No. Make her wait."

Several maids fussed over Dihira's frilly dress in the dressing room. Despite being ready, she deliberately delayed—a psychological tactic.

Considerable time had passed since their salon confrontation. Today was their promised duel.

Dihira's terms were unprecedentedly generous even for Beltus—purchasing nonexistent paintings while assuming their risks, plus cash payments. Beltus had no reason to refuse.

The offer was absurdly lavish for securing one common-born mercenary, but Duke Beltus had been equally desperate for Derek's advantages.

"Lady Dihira... I hesitate to say this but..."

"I know—show Lady Denise proper respect, right?"

"..."

When Head Butler Dellon voiced his opinion, even tyrannical Dihira merely sighed. She couldn't mistreat the butler overseeing the entire estate, though obeying was another matter.

"I can tell. Beneath that angelic facade lurks a viper."

"Lady Denise of Beltus enjoys high regard at Rosea Salon. If she's truly as she appears, wouldn't that benefit you?"

Dellon ventured carefully.

His advice had basis—"As that mercenary said, alienating Lady Denise could strain relations with Rosea Salon."

"Ugh... bringing up Derek now, Butler?"

Dihira groaned painfully. Derek's involvement always weakened her resolve.

What if Denise truly bore no hostility?

What if her letter contained no deception, only honest feelings?

What if she was simply a kind noblewoman with no ulterior motives?

Such possibilities haunted Dihira.

After finishing preparations, Dihira descended to the guest house deep in thought.

The magic duel would occur in Dihira's private training hall—newly built and not for public spectacle.

Lady Denise had agreed readily, arriving early as an honored guest.

Proper etiquette demanded the hostess greet such guests immediately, but Dihira left Denise waiting deliberately—testing her patience.

After considerable time, Dihira entered the parlor to find Denise alone, reading a book and humming—radiating her usual composure, perhaps more so, as if fully prepared.

Frowning deeply, Dihira strode to the opposite seat. Closing her book gracefully, Denise greeted her with sunlit smile:

"I hope you've been well, Lady Dihira."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Dihira's curt reply drew no reaction. Sipping cooled tea, Denise smiled her antique smile.

"Your new estate is beautiful. Worthy of the Duplein name."

Her polite small talk exuded an inexplicable pressure—unruffled by repeated discourtesies.

Her silver-gray hair, luminous eyes, gentle features and boundless grace epitomized noblewomanly ideals.

She never raised her voice, yet projected undeniable authority.

Most noble daughters wilted before Dihira, but Denise wouldn't be easily suppressed.

Not that Dihira needed to worry. She exhaled sharply and smirked.

After all, the loveliest roses have the sharpest thorns.

So do people.