Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 75

Sieren sat hugging her knees in a corner of the central spire of Rocheste Mansion, burying her face in them.

During her absence, the plush bed sheets had been replaced with clean ones. Even amidst such terrifying circumstances, the Rocheste family servants had steadfastly performed their duties.

While appreciating their loyalty, Sieren remained motionless with her face buried.

In this silence, only the sound of windowpanes rattling from the blizzard outside echoed through her room.

This desolate scene stood in stark contrast to places like Duplein Manor in the lush grasslands. This girl had grown up amidst such bleakness.

Thus the girl recalled her earliest memory.

Before even learning letters, she had slaughtered an entire wolf pack in the northern snowfields.

At preschool age, her immature magic senses had already reached the level needed to kill predators.

On that bloodstained snowfield, when she came to her senses, the metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Her cold-blooded body didn't even feel the chill. As she stared blankly at the dying wolves, her father Melberot rushed out and grabbed her wrist.

Pulled by Melberot's strength, the girl walked back across the snowfield. Simply trudging straight toward Rocheste Mansion.

- Thud, thud.

Melberot's retreating back looked resolute. His expression remained unseen.

That image of her father pulling her along without a word became Sieren's first memory.

"Quite a bold request. You know better than anyone how difficult it is to obtain a title in this era."

"Yes. Everyone knows that."

"Your mentor Drest spent decades earning his empty baronetcy without territory. Surely you're aware?"

"Indeed. But Master Drest's circumstances were quite different."

Derek continued speaking without changing expression, as if he'd delegated all nervousness and anxiety to Aiselin behind him.

Indeed, Aiselin wore a thoroughly bewildered expression, clearly not expecting Derek to make such a request.

"Master Drest had notoriously poor relations with nobility. But I maintain connections with several prestigious families, and my magic skills aren't bad either."

"You seem unaware how insular the capital's high nobility can be,"

"I know all too well. That's precisely why I'm asking Lord Melberot."

None would deny this was the nobles'era.

Magic especially symbolized that privilege. Managing bloodlines, maintaining vested interests, kicking away upstarts'ladders - these were their survival strategies.

To challenge them required commensurate backing.

Duplein, Beltus, Belmierd... and with Melberot's added support, Derek's title acquisition wouldn't be unrealistic.

Even a minor, lowest-ranking title would suffice.

Once inside their world, rising through its ranks would depend entirely on Derek's abilities.

Melberot, instantly grasping Derek's scheme, gave a dry chuckle.

While ambition should match capability, excessive ambition invites disaster.

High nobles would consider such talk blasphemous, but Melberot simply maintained his cold gaze, chin resting on hand.

"I can't promise a title. Beyond my authority, granting meaningful nobility to a slum-born commoner would anger the capital's old guard. His Majesty especially."

Melberot's military might was legendary, but not everything could be solved by force.

Especially in the strictly hierarchical noble culture where justification and protocol reigned supreme.

Yet Melberot wasn't entirely negative.

"But I can offer support."

"..."

"Your political judgment and magical skills surpass most blue-blooded mediocrities. With proper justification, securing a position isn't impossible. So I'll promise this much."

Melberot spoke decisively.

"If your title petition ever reaches serious discussion, I'll write the strongest possible letter of support. A personal endorsement from Northern Melberot would be quite the weapon."

"..."

"Want to strike back at the capital's arrogant elites? Or become a figure who shapes the era?"

"Neither interests me."

Those who endured long poverty often harbored hidden resentment toward nobles despite pretending otherwise.

Hardship naturally breeds complaints about country and era.

But Derek lacked such petty thoughts.

"I simply want to reach higher magical attainment. The title is merely a means to that end."

His consistency was almost supernatural.

Melberot, having ruled for decades, had an eye for talent.

Great achievements require understanding of circumstances and era, but excessive ambition often distracts from fundamentals.

Warriors must master swordsmanship, mages must advance magical attainment, ministers must understand finance, servants must manage estates.

Circumstances, era, ambition, vision, social skills, statecraft, backing... these usually follow naturally after mastering core competencies.

Truly great talents require little introduction.

Derek.

He was a mage.

"I see... now I understand why you came to negotiate."

"Thank you for positive consideration. I'll attend to my duties now."

"Is that all you wanted to ask?"

Melberot stopped Derek as he turned to leave.

When Derek silently met his gaze, Melberot smirked without changing posture.

"You're not asking the important question. Aren't you curious why I keep a demon in my mansion?"

"I don't pry into unnecessary matters. But if Lord Melberot believes I should know, I'll listen."

"Hmm. Expected from you, but the noble Lady Duplein seems more curious."

Aiselin was watching them from the corner of her eye.

If anything, Derek's lack of questions was strange - anyone would wonder about Melberot's intentions in this situation.

As Derek remained silent, Melberot sighed and continued.

"To state the obvious, Sieren isn't my biological daughter. She's the legacy my old friend left behind."

While Aiselin gasped in surprise, Derek had somewhat anticipated this.

Their magical styles differed too drastically for them to share blood.

"That blood-soaked war ended long ago, yet it feels like yesterday. My old friend Kalimford was killed by that damned Archfiend Noir in our final battle at Rosenheaven Snow Plains."

"..."

"That insane Archfiend's magic surpassed human limits. The scars remaining at Rosenheaven show spells so massive they could redraw maps."

Aiselin's expression stiffened, unable to anticipate Melberot's next words.

"Yes, realms beyond human reach... the'7-Star Realm'mentioned in Grand Mage Adelbert's notes... if it exists, it must resemble this."

Melberot stood slowly.

The Dawn War, recorded in history as the continent's most horrific demon conflict.

Melberot, who ended it, spoke plainly.

"Here's a shocking truth. Unknown even to the capital's high nobles or Emperor Gertrel."

Why reveal this?

To ensure they couldn't escape this shared secret.

"I didn't kill Noir."

The Archfiend Noir is a monster that parasitizes humans.

A fist-sized spirit that infests souls, awakening demonic instincts and granting magical aptitude beyond human limits.

When fully manifested, it wields magic surpassing humanity, eventually transforming into a demon visible from the horizon.

When Melberot struck the final blow... Noir's spirit possessed Kalimford's widow Feria.

The renowned priestess had joined the extermination force to avenge her husband.

- Thud, thud.

Aiselin and Derek walked silently down the corridor after leaving the office.

Descending the spiral staircase, crossing the frozen garden toward the guest house - not a word passed between them.

Both pondered Melberot's revelation.

-'Feria, already pregnant, begged to wait until Kalimford's child was born. As a high priestess, she could resist Noir's influence.'

-'So... Lady Sieren is her child?'

-'Yes... She entrusted Sieren to me, apologized, and left. When I later heard her fate... it wasn't pleasant.'

Melberot didn't elaborate on the priestess's end.

Sieren's mother's fate could be guessed without explanation. She would have wanted to conclude matters herself.

Only Sieren remained.

A daughter sharing neither blood nor bond.

For someone of Melberot's status, raising an unrelated child meant little.

He possessed vast wealth, glory, status and power.

Though unable to give love, he could provide an enviable environment.

But Sieren was no ordinary girl.

She slaughtered wolf packs before learning letters. Began killing servants as a teen. Reached 3-Star magic before her coming-of-age ceremony.

Melberot must have realized.

Her murderous impulses weren't human.

They clearly came from the legendary Archfiend Noir who slaughtered countless humans in the Dawn War.

─Upon realizing this, he should have killed her.

That tiny girl standing blankly amidst eviscerated wolves should have been cut down.

-'Why protect Sieren?'

Yet Melberot chose differently.

He hired tutors to integrate her into human society.

As the hero who saved the north, who witnessed Noir's massacre firsthand - why didn't he make the noble choice?

Did sentiment for his friend's daughter weaken him?

Respect for the late priestess Feria?

Humanitarian refusal to kill an innocent?

None sufficed.

─No sane person reaches 6-Star magic.

Melberot himself had said this.

-'Didn't Adelbert's notes state clearly? Humans have limits.'

-'Then to reach the 7-Star Realm... what must first be abandoned?'

Mages constantly reach for higher attainment.

Their near-mad pursuit symbolizes climbing insurmountable walls.

-'Humanity.'

In Sieren, he glimpsed the 7-Star Realm.

- Whooosh

Before entering the guest house, Derek and Aiselin looked up at the central spire.

Visible from anywhere in Rocheste Mansion, it stood firm in the blizzard.

Inside, Lady Sieren likely sat with elegant hair and dress, staring blankly at the storm.

"Mr. Derek."

Aiselin finally spoke.

In the biting cold, she hesitated before continuing.

"I... can't sort my thoughts."

"Don't overcomplicate it. Our immediate task remains unchanged. Though..."

Derek frowned at the spire.

"That war hero... still seems to be hiding something."

"...What?"

Aiselin looked stunned.

"After revealing all this... he's still hiding something?"

"He's ruled at this level for decades. Never take him at face value."

Derek never let his guard down.

Though Melberot appeared completely candid, Derek's instincts sensed concealment.

"Let's go in. It's cold."

Regardless of circumstances, their promised task remained unchanged.

Derek was a magic instructor.

An instructor's duty is to teach.

That fundamental truth never changed.