Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 21: Belmiard (1)

Unlike noble gardens filled with ancient works of art, the streets of the common folk reeked of dampness and decay. Only those familiar with them could truly understand the disparity.

One’s living conditions are like a well-fitted suit—easy to climb into, but hard to step down from.

Nonetheless, Dereck felt completely at ease walking the tavern-lined streets alongside an old friend.

“Noble trash would only fatten you up like a pig. When I heard you’d holed up in that ducal mansion for months, I let out a huge sigh.”

“Pheline, you worry too much. And not all nobles are rotten.”

“Oh, look at you. A few months of luxury living and you’re already part of the household. Next thing I know, you’ll be pledging loyalty as a knight.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

Dereck chuckled and glanced down the tavern street. This place, frequented by hardened mercenaries, was known as one of the roughest parts of Ebelstain.

A place where people would kill for a handful of silver coins. Surviving here meant being intimate with violence. And Pheline, like Dereck, was a girl who earned her living as a mercenary in these tavern-ridden streets.

Don’t let her delicate looks fool you—she could tear through dozens of Ain without even changing expression.

Dereck and Pheline never pried into each other’s pasts. But judging by her occasional bursts of hatred toward the nobility… it seemed her family had also met an unpleasant fate at their hands.

That was just the way of the times. Though common, Dereck wasn’t so insensitive as to speak of it in front of a victim. Nothing was more tactless than offering an “objective perspective” to someone living a tragedy.

Even so, Pheline had grown up with a deep resentment for nobles, though she wasn’t closed-minded. She might curse them behind their backs, but she didn’t act rashly in front of them and occasionally even accepted noble-related jobs.

In the world of mercenaries, setting aside pride for money was common. Criticizing her now for hypocrisy would have been poor form. Here, survival equaled righteousness.

Words like “coward” or “sellout” were usually the laments of those left behind.

—Creak

When they entered “Tears of Beldern,” a run-down tavern on a tavern-lined street corner, the yawning bar guard glanced their way.

“Boss, look who’s here.”

“Oh, Pheline. And… isn’t that Dereck? What an honor to see the future famous magic instructor of Ebelstain.”

“You’re as dramatic as ever, boss.”

As Jayden scratched his rough beard in greeting, Dereck smiled unabashedly and sat at the table.

Though it was late, the corners of the tavern were decently packed. Most patrons were mercenaries in gleaming gear, suggesting they preferred a quieter spot over loud crowds.

Not wanting to interfere with Jayden’s business, Dereck spoke in a low voice.

“Took longer than I thought. That fifteen-gold coin job from Adel wasn’t as easy as it looked.”

“Of course. Since when is earning money easy? It’s a fair deal, and quite profitable. In fact, I might owe you one.”

Jayden chuckled and poured fruit wine into a generously sized cup for Dereck.

Pheline, not caring for grace, downed hers in a single gulp and let out a hearty “Kahhak!” of satisfaction.

Having grown used to noble ladies sipping tea with elegance, Dereck felt refreshingly grounded watching her drink so boldly.

Noticing his gaze, Pheline looked him straight in the eye, as if to ask, “What are you staring at?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Seeing you, Pheline, feels like coming home.”

“That’s flattering, but thinking about you holed up in that noble mansion suddenly puts me in a bad mood. You trying to say I lack dignity?”

“Yeah, but you’ve never liked pretending to be a noble, have you?”

“Hmm… can’t deny that.”

Pheline re-tied her platinum-blonde hair, taming the wild strands before securing it with a ribbon, as Jayden pushed a cup toward Dereck.

“A toast to celebrate. Our one and only magician from the Beldern Mercenary Corps has finally returned. What could be more profitable?”

“Thanks. But you’ll be putting this on my tab, won’t you?”

“Your sharpness is your worst flaw.”

Laughter burst from Jayden and Dereck for no particular reason. Dereck raised his cup and took a few sips. As he set it down, Jayden crossed his arms and asked:

“So, did you get all the money together?”

“Of course. But that’s not the important part.”

“What’s more important than money?”

“More money.”

Dereck showed them an old book strapped to his belt.

At first, Jayden and Pheline glanced at it indifferently. But when they realized it was a grimoire, their eyes widened in shock.

“What… what is that? Dereck, don’t tell me… is that a two-star grimoire?”

“No, a three-star one. I got it from the Duke’s underground library.”

“…Three stars? I didn’t mishear, right?”

Pheline leaned in to get a better look at the book on Dereck’s belt.

Though she had no knowledge of magic and couldn’t judge a grimoire’s level by sight, knowing Dereck wasn’t the type to brag, she couldn’t help but be amazed.

Even a two-star grimoire was nearly unreachable for common folk. Three-star grimoires were so rare they sometimes showed up at exclusive noble auctions.

Jayden also didn’t seem to believe the book strapped to Dereck’s belt was truly three-star, so he checked it several times.

“They gave something like that to a commoner? Dereck, have you learned to brag like a noble?”

“I’m just stating the truth.”

“Don’t buy it.”

Pheline took another swig, trying to calm herself. “Lucky break” was the perfect phrase for this.

If he sold the grimoire at a fair price, he could live far better, in a much better place, with much better gear.

It was enough to leave the lower-class life behind, if he wanted—but Dereck didn’t seem eager to sell the grimoire anytime soon.

“When it’s time to turn it into money, I’ll treat you both to something big.”

“Yeah, you better. And make a solid donation to our Beldern Mercenary Corps.”

Jayden laughed again. After all, he genuinely celebrated Dereck’s success.

“So, any new jobs lately? I can start taking work tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about that. As you know, in this business, there are never enough mages.”

“But Dereck, you just got back. You sure you want to start working already?”

Pheline spoke with a hint of concern, but Dereck dismissed it easily.

“I’ll start with some light monster hunts. I’ve gotten rusty after all that rest in that cushy noble mansion.”

At Dereck’s lament, Jayden chuckled softly.

*

Starting the next day, Dereck spent his time taking on various monster-hunting assignments that came through the Beldern Mercenary Corps.

His peaceful days felt like a distant memory as he explored the outskirts of Ebelstain, slaying monsters in droves.

Sometimes he worked alone; other times, he wandered with Pheline. As always, there was no shortage of work.

Goblins, trolls, gremlins, and similar creatures roamed near the borderlands regularly. Many were monsters that had escaped nearby labyrinths and began attacking merchants and travelers, requiring periodic hunts. For mercenaries, hunting such creatures was often their livelihood.

There were also smaller tasks—driving off beggars encroaching on territories, roughing up thugs, removing troublemakers harassing merchants, and even simple escort missions. Dereck’s range of tasks was broad.

He wasn’t picky, accepting anything he could manage. As he had since his youth, he gave it his all. During the day, he roamed the tavern streets, earning the trust of clients, and at night, he took shelter in his quarters in the commercial district, studying the grimoire.

On hunting days, he focused on using untested spells to improve his mastery, and on his days off, he practiced mana control alone in the grasslands outside Ebelstain. He kept so busy that time flew by like an arrow.

By the time Dereck returned to the tavern streets, it was late spring. Before he realized it, summer had passed, and autumn was approaching.

Throughout it all, he never allowed himself to slack off, constantly refining his magic. One of Dereck’s greatest strengths was his unwavering consistency.

“…Hmm. I feel like I can almost reach it, but it slips away.”

Dereck, who practiced magic in the fields outside whenever he had time, stretched his hand toward the sky.

The boy longed to become a three-star mage.

It might have been an overly ambitious dream for someone his age, but he never stopped training in magic.

Among the nobility, there were prodigies who reached three-star rank during their coming-of-age ceremony.

It might have sounded like a fairy tale to commoners, but for Dereck, who had mastered magic faster than nobles since childhood, it wasn’t an unrealistic story.

With that hope, Dereck absorbed the three-star grimoire every day. Yet the barrier to three stars was not easy to cross. He felt something vital was still missing.

Still, all Dereck could do was keep trying. Even those born with innate talent had to put in the corresponding effort to see results.

He rarely slept more than four hours a night, and the cost of candles for reading grimoires every night was a burden. But he saw it as an investment.

By the time Dereck’s magic had matured enough to handle two-star spells, the leaves had fallen, and the first snow began to descend.

—Bang!

The tavern “Tears of Beldern.”

When the creaky wooden door burst open, Dereck appeared, covered in blood.

The heat from the fireplace filled the tavern as the cold from outside crept in. A few snowflakes floated in, hitting the wooden floor and quickly melting into droplets.

The patrons, enjoying the cozy atmosphere and sipping beer on a winter night, swallowed hard when they saw the boy at the entrance.

The boy, with hair as white as snowflakes, showed no change in expression. Though covered in blood, he appeared uninjured.

It was clear the blood wasn’t his.

With boots caked in thick snow, the boy entered, carrying the head of a massive beast slung over his shoulder.

Behind him, Pheline rushed in and darted to the fireplace to warm her hands.

“Ugh, it’s so cold, so cold! Boss, hot tea, please! My fingers are freezing off!”

Ignoring Pheline’s drama, Dereck walked forward and dropped the massive harpy’s head onto the bar counter. The pungent smell of blood intensified.

“Took a while.”

“Wow, you really went into the heart of the Kent Mountains in this weather? Such resilient youth.”

“I admit, it was a bit reckless. I’m not camping in snow again. I almost froze to death.”

“What does it matter? It’s good to endure hardships while you’re young.”

As Dereck removed his leather gloves, stained with monster blood, and set them on the bar, Jayden quickly carried the grotesque harpy head to the back workshop.

After a brief discussion on how to complete the bounty, he served a hot drink made from honey wine.

Across the tavern, the customers—mostly mercenaries—whispered in hushed voices. They could easily guess the identity of the blood-covered boy.

Dereck was making a name for himself in Ebelstain’s mercenary world.

There were many mercenaries, but few who consistently completed their missions—and even fewer who stuck with it.

Clients lined up to entrust him with jobs, and Jayden, caught in the middle, had to carefully choose which to accept.

“….”

When Jayden brought him a cloth soaked in warm water, Dereck used it to wipe the dried blood from his face. Without glancing at the whispering mercenaries in the corner, he checked his gear.

Dereck’s income had multiplied since his youth, and by saving even the money he received from the noble Duplain family, he had more than enough to live on.

Maintaining this pace meant that buying a wand or staff of his own, though expensive, was no longer a far-off dream.

“You’ve worked hard, Dereck. No one else would brave the snow and climb a mountain to bring back a harpy’s head.”

“Don’t other groups hunt monsters regardless of the weather?”

“They bring camping gear and go out in large parties. None of them do it like it’s a stroll through the hills.”

“…It didn’t feel like a stroll. I nearly froze to death.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you get properly compensated for this job. The client knows it wasn’t easy.”

Jayden chuckled as he arranged some glasses.

He stayed busy cleaning up, knowing that once everything was sorted, Dereck would return to his lodging to rest.

“You’ve been through a lot. Want to take a break?”

“Any new jobs come in?”

“Would be stranger if they didn’t.”

“I was planning to rest tomorrow, but after that, I’m ready to take anything available.”

Dereck answered indifferently as he tightened the laces on his boots.

Seeing Dereck ready for another mission after such an ordeal, Jayden couldn’t help but click his tongue.

Still, having an active mage in the mercenary group was a blessing. Jayden chuckled as he rummaged through a pile of papers under the bar.

“Even so, after such a ruckus in the snowy mountains, you must be exhausted. Better if the next job doesn’t take too much effort.”

“Hmm… There’s a simple job with decent pay that just came in.”

“Where the hell do you find a job like that?”

“Well, there’s always a reason a job is easy and well-paid. You can decline if you’re not interested.”

Jayden placed a job request form on the bar counter.

“It’s from Count Belmiard. The Rohel Mercenary Group over on West Street already turned it down. They’re looking for someone who can use magic.”

“…A noble’s request was rejected? Rohel is a big group, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, strange situation.”

It wasn’t common for prominent noble families—well-staffed with commoners—to submit requests to mercenary groups. The more powerful the authority, the more surplus manpower they had.

That’s why requests from noble families were rare, especially well-paid ones. Nobles were known for extravagant spending.

Naturally, mercenaries competed fiercely for such noble jobs.

Last spring, the Beldern Mercenaries were only able to land a job from the Duke Duplain because Lady Aiselin had spread the request far and wide in search of a tutor for Diella.

Normally, a small group like theirs wouldn’t even get a glance from noble families.

Dereck narrowed his eyes as he read the request.

“…Yeah, there’s always a reason.”

Count Belmiard’s family was looking for a commoner to help with a magic duel. The notice said anyone capable of using first-level magic would do.

There were likely plenty of duel opponents within the noble mansion. Requesting a commoner specifically was essentially looking for someone to beat up for practice.

There was no logic in a commoner trying to outperform a noble mage—and hardly any could.

Dereck seemed to understand why no one had taken the job. It was rare to find active commoners who knew magic. They had more lucrative work options and wouldn’t bother with a job that only meant being humiliated.

Even the mages of the Rohel Mercenaries had their own hunts and escort missions; none of them wanted to be punching bags for moody nobles.

The pay wasn’t good enough to make it worth it—especially for a noble job.

“So I just have to participate in a magic duel in the noble district?”

Still, Dereck was too exhausted from the long harpy hunt.

He didn’t want a job that required traveling far, so he preferred something that fit.

“You taking it?”

“Just lose with dignity and take a few hits. Sign me up.”

“If you’re okay with that, then fine.”

Dereck spoke so casually, stomping the floor a couple of times with his fitted boots, slinging his leather bag over his shoulder, and standing up.

“The mead was good.”

“It’s going on your tab, friend.”

“Knew you’d say that.”

Dereck planned to go home, bathe, and study his grimoire. Even after the long trip, he had no intention of neglecting his magical training.

Seeing Dereck always on the move, Jayden waved him off.

“Pheline. You’ll burn yourself if you sleep there.”

“Eek!”

Pheline, dozing off in the warmth of the fire, jerked awake in a panic.

Dereck said his goodbyes and opened the wooden tavern door once more, facing the freezing winter night.

The patrons sipped their beer in silence, watching Dereck’s figure disappear into the snow-filled dark.

Time had forged the boy.

Braving the storm, his silhouette returning to his lodging was that of a seasoned mercenary, weathered by experience.

A year had passed.

Soon, on his birthday, he would turn 17.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelCet