Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 61

Since childhood, Diela loved playing and would often toss balls around alone in the central garden of the mansion.

Whenever Valerian spotted her playing through his office window while handling paperwork, he would occasionally go down to check on her.

The young girl chasing after a bouncing ball that rolled out of the garden would stiffen or retreat awkwardly upon encountering the eldest son in a corner of the garden.

For a girl her age, an older brother with such a significant age gap was more intimidating than comforting—especially in the rigid environment of noble households with countless formalities to observe.

Valerian understood this well, so he never took offense at his youngest sister's cold demeanor toward him.

To Diela, Valerian was simply an unapproachable older brother.

Thus, even when Diela isolated herself in the annex and acted tyrannically, he couldn't bring himself to intervene.

Only recently, as her social debut approached, did Diela begin exchanging brief conversations with Valerian.

Occasionally bowing her head to greet him in the hallway or casually discussing meals during dinner—these small interactions marked significant progress.

The turning point for all these changes began when Derek, her magic instructor, visited Duplein Manor.

He had transformed Diela. For that connection, Valerian felt deeply grateful.

-'...Diela?'

Once, he spotted Diela deep in thought by an easel in a secluded corner of the garden.

Gathering his courage to approach his teenage sister, Valerian called out from behind, causing Diela to hiccup in surprise. In that moment, her brush slipped, leaving a large, unintended stroke across her painting.

-'M-my apologies, Diela.'

-'N-no, it's fine, brother.'

Moving closer to examine the easel, Valerian saw Diela had been painting her former magic instructor—the mercenary who had taught her.

The portrait seemed slightly idealized compared to reality, though Diela appeared unaware of this.

-'This is...'

-'Y-yes, I was painting my old teacher. I heard he'll visit during my debutante ball... I thought I'd give it to him as a gift...'

As Valerian quietly observed Diela's expression, she averted her gaze, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Being caught painting someone she wanted to impress by her family was clearly mortifying.

Unfortunately, the slipped brushstroke had left a dark blue streak across the man's clothing in the painting.

Seeing the watercolor she'd worked so hard on ruined because of him, Valerian wore a regretful expression.

-'My apologies, Diela. I startled you... What a shame about this lovely painting...'

-'N-no, brother. This isn't a problem at all.'

With practiced strokes, Diela layered more colors over the mistake.

After several brushstrokes and careful consideration, she adjusted the hues until the errant line seamlessly blended into the painting's shading.

Valerian marveled at her quick thinking. Though he knew of Diela's artistic talent, witnessing it firsthand revealed skills beyond his expectations.

-'A misplaced stroke can be corrected by layering more paint and adjusting the colors.'

-'But doesn't that change the original intent? The colors you initially envisioned seemed brighter.'

-'It's fine. After reconsidering, making it too bright and cheerful wouldn't suit his image... And it might seem like I painted it too eagerly... Like I was the only one excited...'

-'...'

-'Besides, layering paint like this can shift the direction entirely, creating something new while preserving its essence... That's the beauty of watercolors. That's why I love them.'

Valerian knew little about art, but this young girl already seemed to have her own artistic worldview firmly established.

-'Hmm, I like it. The arms might be a bit too thin... but this should be fine.'

The petite artist, arms crossed as she scrutinized her work, eventually smiled in satisfaction. The thought of gifting the painting to Derek clearly delighted her.

A dignified white-haired man stood in mercenary attire within the canvas—the person who had most influenced Diela's life.

Though she ruled her surroundings like a tyrant, making servants tread carefully, only this man in the painting brought out her age-appropriate girlish demeanor.

Watching this, Valerian felt how the little girl who once chased balls through the garden had grown into a proper young lady.

Admiring someone, harboring affection, wanting to keep them close... Such emotions inevitably mark the transition into adulthood.

Valerian smiled faintly as he studied the canvas.

The painted man's crimson eyes seemed to blaze like flames.

Derek's crimson eyes blazed like flames.

- Clang!

Valerian blocked Derek's sharp longsword with a swing of his staff.

As sword and staff clashed, they entered a stalemate, each testing the other's strength.

Derek knew exactly what staff Valerian wielded. Among the relics of the White Wilderness, it was one of the rarest unique weapons on the continent.

Though its value hadn't been recognized upon discovery, Derek had memorized such legendary equipment.

The treasure hidden in the labyrinth by Rozin, the 5-Star Summoning Mage.

A vessel containing his summoning magic knowledge, imbued with a power that ensnared minds.

All mages hunger for growth.

This staff whispered temptations of greater power into its wielder's ear.

If Valerian had been the first to find and bring it to the manor, he couldn't have resisted its allure.

- Whoosh!

Sinister crimson mana began coalescing around the staff.

Derek clicked his tongue and leaped back, creating distance.

"Did Your Highness kill His Grace the Duke of Duplein?"

"Yes. I killed him. When you slay a high-ranking mage and offer their soul in worship to the God of Corpses, you're granted a portion of their power."

"..."

"So I stabbed his heart with a ritual dagger. It happened in an instant. While he was signing documents about this year's tax plans, I approached and ended it in one strike."

The Duke of Duplein was a 5-Star mage.

Yet he couldn't have anticipated being pierced through the heart by his most trusted eldest son in the manor's heart.

Walking up to the Duke as he reviewed documents and driving in a blade—it would have ended absurdly quickly.

Trust is a heavy weapon. Given to the wrong hands, it costs lives.

"It was all my doing. Foolishly so."

Valerian closed his eyes as he spoke.

Memories of that day remained vivid.

The deepest part of the labyrinth where countless people were injured and bled.

The day he first laid eyes on the staff discovered there.

The ominous sensation crawling up his spine when he first held it. The strange, dizzying feeling like his chest was churning.

Even after returning to the manor, he occasionally felt a chill creeping up his nape while sleeping.

Dismissed as trivial, that sinister sensation suddenly consumed Valerian's mind one day.

Like an illness with an incubation period, it swallowed his consciousness in an instant, as if a long-dead necromancer's skeleton embraced his shoulders and whispered in his ear.

Power—what value does it hold?

How fleeting is death?

How can human life be given meaning?

Is animating soulless corpses truly taboo?

Rozin's lingering will whispered endlessly in Valerian's ear.

Urging him—what must be sacrificed to become a great mage?

In his distant vision, he glimpsed that forbidden realm.

──And when he regained his senses, the Duke of Duplein lay collapsed over his desk.

Amid scrolls awaiting approval, a pool of the old patriarch's blood spread steadily.

The barely alive Duke... trembled as he looked up at his son.

His lips moved silently in final words Valerian heard but couldn't comprehend.

By the time reason returned, only a cold corpse remained before him.

His father's body.

-'W-what... what is this...'

Trembling hands covered his face. His fingertips were drenched in crimson blood.

No scream emerged. Guttural sounds strained through his throat but formed no words.

He hadn't fully processed what had happened.

- Thud!

Then, someone burst through the office door.

Few could enter the Duke's study unannounced. Raising his head, Valerian saw an elderly woman in resplendent royal court attire.

-'...'

Kochella, the Imperial Head Magic Advisor—a 6-Star Transformation Mage.

She had come at the Duke's request to appraise the staff. But when she entered with two assistants, she found a gruesome murder scene.

Valerian, trembling and bloodied while clutching the staff, and the Duke, slumped lifeless.

Her eyes widened momentarily before narrowing as she grasped the situation.

She closed the door, locked it, and strode forward.

Then she knelt before the collapsed prince and spoke.

-'Do not panic, Prince Valerian. I believe I understand what transpired.'

-'Th-this... I...'

-'It's alright. Artifacts imbued with wills occasionally cause such incidents. Given the circumstances, I can be frank. I hold no hostility toward magic fields suppressed as taboo. In fact, I believe they warrant active research.'

Even in this situation, Kochella's calm tone made her seem like a monster wearing an old woman's skin.

Her words were equally unsettling. For the Imperial Head Magic Advisor to endorse taboos would shock the royal court.

-'So don't dwell on it. Though you succumbed to the artifact's will, redemption is still possible.'

-'Wh-what... do you...'

-'I'll use my transformation magic to preserve the Duke's body. Meanwhile, prepare to cast the 5-Star necromancy spell"Resurrection."'

Killing the Duke and offering his corpse in worship would elevate Valerian's necromantic prowess.

Though he couldn't match the Duke's power, he could reach near 4-Star strength. With more sacrifices, perhaps even revive the Duke.

The 5-Star necromancy spell"Resurrection"could bring back the recently dead by offering multiple corpses.

But reviving someone of higher standing required exponentially more sacrifices. To undo the Duke's death would demand an unthinkable number of high-ranking mages'lives.

Valerian needed to enhance his own prowess and gather sacrificial corpses—not commoners, but accomplished mages.

Mass slaughter would be inevitable. No sane mind would consider this.

Valerian stared at Kochella with trembling eyes.

The old mage's gaze burned with twisted academic zeal. This was her chance to witness forbidden 5-Star necromancy firsthand.

Her boundless curiosity proved she was no longer sane.

Yet, cornered as he was, Valerian couldn't refuse her whispers.

-'Steel your resolve, Prince Valerian.'

The metallic scent of blood grounded him in reality. Valerian trembled violently, fighting nausea.

After retching, he tried rising on unsteady hands.

The staff in his grip seemed to whisper again. Though he couldn't comprehend it, he sensed its intent to consume him further. This uncontrollable power would continue raging.

Amid the maelstrom of madness, Valerian repeated one thought.

He must atone.

Even as his mind drowned, this instinctual goal remained etched into his being.

Watching the necromantic energies swirl, Kochella's eyes glittered with excitement.

Valerian repeated the words like a mantra.

"I must atone."

- Boom!

Crimson mana gathered in the grand hall surged toward Derek.

Derek swiftly rolled beneath the banquet table.

- Whoosh!

Emerging on the other side, he found a grotesque fleshy arm sprouting from the wall to seize his head.

As it tightened to crush his skull, Derek's blade flashed, severing the limb.

- Slice!

Before the severed arm hit the floor, more emerged, crawling along the walls.

The entire manor seemed consumed by necromantic magic.

Derek acted swiftly, manifesting a fireball to blast away the hall's outer wall.

- Kaboom! Crash!

- Whooosh!

Rain poured outside.

With one wall destroyed and stained glass shattering, rain poured into the grand hall.

- Splash!

The lavish banquet and guests'finery were drenched, but this was no time for concerns.

As Derek steadied himself to face Valerian—

- Whoosh! Thud!

Valerian was already upon him, kicking Derek away.

Derek crashed into the remaining wall debris.

- Crash! Rumble!

Dust rose briefly before the storm cleared the air.

Derek leaned against the rubble, catching his breath.

Rain poured through the broken wall, soaking him.

Droplets fell from his hair as he wiped his face and swept back his bangs.

His sharp features became more pronounced.

'Right...'

Though Derek had reached impressive heights, his commoner status and role as an instructor rarely allowed him to reveal his full strength.

'His level is formidable. Not an opponent to underestimate.'

Valerian wielded near 4-Star power—hardly someone to face casually.

Lightning flashed as Derek glared at Valerian.

Drenched in rain, his gaze resembled a wolf ready to pounce.

As Valerian frowned, Derek vanished from sight.

- Swish!

Valerian reacted to sound, not sight.

Drawing his waist sword, he slashed leftward—where Derek's dagger was already plunging toward him.

- Clang!

Staff in one hand, sword in the other, Valerian wore sturdy armor.

Derek, however, had only light attire and a few blades. One didn't attend a ball prepared for battle.

Yet his attacks carried peculiar pressure.

Not raw strength or vast mana—Derek's power transcended such crude measures.

Before becoming an exceptional mage, he was first a mercenary.

Years of combat honed his ability to wield magic not as ceremony but as a tactical tool.

Combined with the Wild School's unpredictable magic, his movements in one-on-one combat were impossible to anticipate. He hadn't even used 3-Star magic yet.

'...'

He was suppressing a superior mage with unrealized potential.

Valerian found this unbelievable.

This was the nobles'era.

Magic talent belonged to high society, where decorum and formality reigned.

Those rising from the gutters through grit weren't supposed to possess such gifts. That was the natural order.

But the world was vast, and history long.

Occasionally, such individuals emerged.

- Splash!

Derek's crimson eyes gleamed through the rain.

Valerian realized—one careless move, and he'd die instantly.

Closing his eyes briefly, he tightened his grip on the sword.

- Splash!

Beyond the rain, Duplein Manor's collapsed walls came into view.

Diela's eyes widened as she stared out the carriage window. The coachman and attending maid shared her shock.

Instead of ballroom music, only corpse-like magical beasts loitered near the gardens.

The coachman yelled, pulling the reins as the horse reared. The maid trembled, breaking into a cold sweat.

Amid the chaos, Diela remained fixated on the ruined manor.

All sound seemed to vanish, leaving only hollow echoes in her ears.

Snapping back to reality, Diela barked orders to head straight for the manor.

The coachman paled in terror.

- Thud! Thud! Thud!

A pounding sound echoed.

"Ugh...!"

Aiselin awoke in the innermost guest waiting room—relatively safe despite the chaos. After being ambushed by the head maid, everything was disorienting.

The manor's abnormal state became immediately apparent. The ball should be in full swing, yet an eerie silence prevailed.

"Wh-what... Why am I... here... I seem unharmed..."

- Bang!

- Bang! Bang! Bang!

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door shuddered under heavy blows.

Aiselin gulped, scrambling for hiding spots in the small room.

As she tried rising, mana surged—the doorknob shattered.

- Crash!

"Eek!"

Aiselin gathered mana to defend against the intruder—only to recognize the girl entering.

"Ah... L-Lady Elente?"

A red-haired girl with disheveled locks. Lady Elente of House Belmierd scanned the room before sealing the door behind her.

"Finally found a survivor."

Her composure amidst this chaos was extraordinary.