Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 32: Star 3 (2)

Surrounded by a group of guards, the grand carriage of Count Belmiard of the Borderlands set off.

Even from a distance, the carriage radiated an aura of nobility, though for the Count, the escort was modest in size.

The guards at Ebelstain’s gate lowered their heads and swallowed hard upon seeing the Belmiard family crest engraved on the carriage, letting it pass without even checking the servants’ identification papers. The Count’s personal presence made any verification unnecessary.

As the large carriage glided through the well-kept streets of the commercial district, no one in the city dared get in its way. Though many eyes turned toward it, given the Count’s status, the journey was surprisingly quiet.

‘Looks like Beltus or Duplain haven’t arrived yet.’

Seated in the carriage with his chin resting on his hand, Count Belmiard of Belmiard pondered silently, watching the streets.

There were many reasons why someone as important as the Count would travel to Ebelstain. Officially, it was for the upcoming customs agreement, but in truth, it was to meet Archmage Drest WolfTail.

In addition, after arriving in Ebelstain, he wanted to check on his beloved daughter, Ellen.

Although custom dictated announcing a visit via letter, Count Belmiard chose not to. He wanted to surprise his dear daughter and see for himself how she was faring in Ebelstain’s perilous social environment.

How was she surviving in this cold society? Filled with concern, upon visiting Ellen’s noble residence, he found her utterly disheartened and emotionally exhausted.

“Ah, Father.”

Ellen, pale and sipping tea in the garden, looked up with wide, startled eyes.

Her surprise matched that of Count Belmiard.

*

“Ellen. If social life is too exhausting, you can return to the palace. Expanding connections through status is fine, but don’t sacrifice your own heart,” he said.

Count Belmiard, always stern and arrogant with others, was exceptionally kind when it came to Ellen.

He could sense her condition just by looking at her skin. Her paleness and lack of brightness in her eyes clearly indicated recent pain.

How could he, as a father, stand by idly? Ellen was the jewel of House Belmiard, the Count’s most precious treasure.

Even if a noblewoman’s social standing was as important as life itself, he saw no reason for her to rely on Ebelstain if it meant breaking her spirit.

“Ah, no, Father. I’ve just been reproaching myself for my recent shortcomings, fearing I was becoming complacent.”

“Complacent! Ellen! You are the pride of our House Belmiard! You’ve accomplished so much at your age, and with such wisdom… Who would dare say such nonsense?”

“…You don’t have to say so much. And, well… I lost a magic duel recently, and I’ve been thinking about how to improve my magic skills.”

“You lost a magic duel? Ellen, you have magical talent that surpasses any noblewoman I’ve ever seen. How could that happen?”

“It was… against the young lady of House Duplain…”

Upon hearing that, Count Belmiard fell silent. He took a deep breath, massaged his temples, and then thought about how to comfort Ellen.

If it was Aiselin of House Duplain, even Count Belmiard recognized that name.

He should’ve guessed when Ellen mentioned her defeat. In Ebelstain’s social circles, few noblewomen could match Ellen’s magical skills, and Aiselin was one of them.

“Ellen. You may feel a bit helpless now, but if you persevere, the sun will shine on you once more.”

“Thank you for your comfort, Father. Even so, ever since I hired a magic instructor, my magical progress has been considerable. You’d be surprised by my abilities.”

“A magic instructor…? Are you referring to Felmier? I heard you’ve been spending time at the Belmiard estate lately…”

“No. I brought in a mercenary from the taverns for a while to prepare for the duel with Lady Aiselin. At first, I called him in just to practice magic, but he knew more than expected and was a great help.”

As Ellen shared the update, she cast a cautious glance at Count Belmiard, unsure of how he would react to a street mercenary being her instructor.

No matter how open-minded and impartial Count Belmiard was, a noble was still a noble.

The idea of a mercenary of questionable reputation clinging to his only daughter as a tutor was surely unsettling.

As Ellen anticipated, Count Belmiard’s eyes flickered with unease.

After pondering for a moment, he asked again.

“Then, what kind of help did you receive specifically?”

“Just… I learned magical theories you can’t teach with noble decorum alone… and he showed me a methodology for how to push myself if I truly wanted to win.”

“But you lost to Aiselin. Anyone can teach mindset.”

His tone was sharp. It was rare for Count Belmiard, who adored his daughter, to speak so directly.

Ellen felt it. Count Belmiard was using this conversation to gauge and evaluate something.

Without thinking too hard, Ellen responded honestly.

“Being able to convey that effectively is a skill too. At least for me… I feel like my perspective has broadened.”

“…”

Count Belmiard paused, rested his chin on his hand, and then squinted after observing Ellen’s expression.

After reading every letter Ellen had ever sent, Count Belmiard could guess what her social life had been like.

Whether it was the time to learn estate management at the Belmiard mansion or to study society in Ebelstain… Ellen’s eyes often sparkled with an indescribable, mysterious confidence.

However, seeing the wider world and encountering people more skilled than herself, that confidence often faded.

Negatively, it was discouragement; positively, it was perspective. What one held in moments like that determined the temperament they carried for life.

No one always moves forward—so how does one respond when their confidence is shaken? Reflecting on this, Duke Belmiard found himself taking back his earlier words.

“Perhaps, Ellen, it would be better if you didn’t return to House Belmiard.”

“Really? Actually… I was thinking of staying in Ebelstain.”

“Keep learning more about society. Lady Aiselin of House Duplain certainly isn’t an easy opponent, but I’m sure our daughter will triumph one day.”

Pulling everything up and returning to House Belmiard would mean ending all of Ellen’s journeys in Ebelstain as a failure.

He couldn’t allow that. Though he was a bit worried, there comes a time when one must let their child go into the world. An arm that only bends inward cannot raise a great person.

It was a father’s psychology—these instincts that made one want to help as much as possible in areas where they could.

“If that mercenary is as good at teaching magic as you say, perhaps it would be better to hire him exclusively for House Belmiard.”

“I heard he’s affiliated with the Beldern Mercenary Group… but high-level members might oppose it.”

“Is that what matters? What matters is whether he helps my daughter’s magical development or not.”

Count Belmiard patted Ellen’s shoulder and laughed heartily.

“Trust this father. After all, he’s a commoner, and if we grease his palms with enough gold, he’ll come around. First, I need to summon a messenger.”

*

Bang! Bang!

“Ahhh! Dereck! I-I’m going to take the hit too…!”

A gust of wind swept the area, and a bloody wind howled through the damp, moldy underground labyrinth.

Outside Ebelstain. It was the lowest level of the labyrinth, but a labyrinth was still a labyrinth. Dereck’s eyes suddenly widened as he methodically slaughtered the demons one by one.

This was the spell he had perfected by repeatedly killing demons. But today, the sensation of the magical power itself felt off.

The 2-star spell Fireball, which he typically used to sweep away numerous enemies at once, seemed to have increased in power.

It was a spell he had used hundreds of times, so the unfamiliar sensation was unwelcome.

However, an increase in attack power meant greater adaptability to magical force.

It was a positive change, not a negative one. Was there meaning in the efforts he had mastered over years of repetition?

In the bloodstained labyrinth, Dereck extended his hands and silently observed them.

“Dereck? What are you doing? More are coming from inside! Eek! They overwhelm me when they get too close!”

Pheline quickly drew the longsword tied at her waist. For her, who usually kept her distance and supported the fight with her bow, a horde of surrounding goblins were not ideal opponents. They weren’t suitable foes for someone who preferred ranged combat.

Dereck opened and closed his hands, his eyes wide. Just now, the sensation of magical power being drawn from his body felt much stronger than usual.

Then, closing his eyes, he savored the sensation in his mind.

The shadow of the 3-star combat spell Wall of Fire, which he had studied and practiced repeatedly from the spellbook given by the Duplain family, took shape in his mind.

It wasn’t just a simple ball that exploded to attack enemies but a precise wall that pressured many enemies at once and then formed a favorable battlefield.

It was a spell requiring much more precise and refined use of magical power—so much so that one couldn’t even attempt it without sufficient mastery, and even with extreme training of magical senses, it was a rushed effort at his current level.

However, from within, an inexplicable confidence flowed. As if the history of his relentless efforts whispered to him. And now?

Now that his magical senses were burning intensely, could it be possible?

Amid that vague confidence, Dereck’s eyes, filled with magical energy, flashed momentarily.

– Bang!

But what followed was merely a series of simple explosions.

It wouldn’t have been an issue, but in an instant, more than half of Dereck’s stored magic evaporated into the air.

– Screeches! Screeches!

– Clang!

Panting, Dereck clenched his teeth and grabbed his sword.

On the battlefield, exhaustion meant death. Faced with the demons’ assault, Dereck wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

His vision blurred, but he used sheer will to remain conscious.

*

“You almost died? You, Dereck? In a low-level labyrinth like that?”

While Pheline fussed beside him, Captain Jayden looked skeptical.

Certainly, Dereck had his face down on the bar table, completely exhausted.

Jayden, who brought him a drink to help him recover, tilted his head and checked Dereck’s condition. It seemed like Dereck was overplaying the near-death experience.

Dereck, known for his meticulous preparation even for the smallest tasks, tended to make conservative judgments if the slightest obstacle or unexpected event occurred.

He seemed annoyed for having struggled more than expected with a task he considered as easy as eating cold porridge.

“Ugh… My magic almost ran out halfway through. So I postponed collecting the requested items until tomorrow and focused on melee combat without magic.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to handle those creatures in close combat?”

“Well, yes… but I was tired, and if I’d been careless, who knows what could have happened. Pheline also had a rough time.”

Knowing that Dereck rarely let his guard down, Jayden could only tilt his head in confusion.

It was odd that Dereck, who had become mature in his use of magic, would fail to manage it.

“What happened?”

“Halfway through… I felt a strange discord in my magical use and instinctively pushed myself.”

Saying this, Dereck extended his palm and stared at it closely.

It felt like he had broken through a barrier, leaving a thrilling yet confusing sensation.

“…”

The fact that such a trivial task had become chaotic deeply wounded his pride as a mercenary.

However, beyond that, the thought that he might have stepped closer to a new magical realm flooded him.

So much magic had evaporated in a single spell. It was like when Lady Aiselin, who had just learned the 2-star spell, quickly ran out of energy after casting a Fireball.

Using high-level spells before being accustomed to them could cause a drastic drop in magical efficiency. It was a phenomenon that mages often experienced before leveling up.

Although the spell’s manifestation had failed, Dereck couldn’t help but wonder if he was nearing the point of using 3-star magic.

With that in mind, a strange thunder began to rumble in Dereck’s chest.

Now seventeen years old, with about a year left until adulthood—was there any mage who had reached the threshold of 3-star magic at a time like this?

Even if you searched the entire continent, there might be a few, but among commoners, there would be none.

His talent was more than sufficient, and his effort was tireless. Not a single day passed without magical training. It wasn’t strange for results to begin showing now.

However, he felt that something was still missing.

Having climbed so far as a mage, he felt just one step away from mastering 3-star magic.

Though there was a frustrating uncertainty about what exactly was lacking, he also felt genuine excitement that his efforts were finally bearing fruit. A mage’s ambition was unlike that of a commoner.

– Creak

That was when Dereck silently observed the palm of his hand.

Late at night, when the tavern was quiet.

Someone entered the tavern, where only Dereck and Pheline remained.

“Welcome. Sadly, we’re closing soon. But it’s fine if you’d like one last drink.”

“No problem. Give me your most popular drink—preferably liquor.”

“Ha, our last customer of the day seems to know their spirits.”

Closer to dawn than dusk.

Late at night, when the streets were still, one or two patrons would occasionally drop in to quench their thirst.

The cloaked customer who entered had an unclear face, but his voice sounded unmistakably old.

Though many seats were empty, he deliberately chose to sit beside the bar table where Dereck was seated.

As Pheline recounted the day’s heroics over mead, Dereck, quietly studying his hand, glanced sideways at the newcomer.

The man was weak. The arms visible beneath his cloak were not only thin but frail. It was a wonder he could even hold himself upright.

The wrinkles on his hands alone suggested he had lived at least half a century. People lived their lives in various ways, so it wasn’t unusual for an elderly man like him to show up at a tavern this late for a drink.

Dereck, turning his attention away, closed his eyes again to sense the remaining magical energy in his body.

“There’s no need for anxiety or force when blocked. The essence of magic in the Savage Academy lies in following the natural flow.”

The man spoke with sincerity, unprompted. Dereck looked at him again, and Pheline turned with a confused look. Yet the man merely lowered his head and wrapped himself tighter in his cloak, falling silent.

“Eh?”

Dereck asked. The intent behind his question was, who are you and why are you saying this?

But the old man didn’t answer, instead silently pulling back his hood.

At that moment, a faint shiver tickled Dereck’s spine. Leaving Pheline baffled, he had to forcibly restart the train of thought that had almost solidified.

“Of course, I know full well how useless it is to tell mages to abandon ambition,” he said.

…

A deeply wrinkled forehead. Short-cropped hair. Dull, cloudy eyes. Tight lips. Dry, cracked mouth. More like a walking corpse than a living person.

It looked like he had lived not just half a century, but more than a full century. Dereck could tell his remaining time was short.

– Clink

Jayden, who brought a drink from the kitchen, placed it in front of the old man.

With a disdainful nod, the elder took a sip and said:

“Toblerone Mountain, is it? Its acidity is weaker than I expected.”

“Ah, you have a sharp palate, sir. But it’s hard to apply such high standards to stock this late at night.”

“It’s very good. If I were a bit younger, I’d drink myself under the table.”

The old man then turned his gaze directly to Dereck and said:

“You have talent in combat and disruption, but you seem to lack in summoning and exploration. Your magic capacity is excellent, but its flow isn’t fully open. Efficiency drops when magic flows to your extremities.”

…

“For your age, that’s quite impressive. But it seems you overthink your conjuring, boy.”

Pheline’s eyes widened in surprise. Dereck, too, listened quietly to the old man’s words.

It wasn’t that no one had ever gauged Dereck’s level at a glance. The Duke of Duplain had roughly estimated Dereck’s magical proficiency at their first meeting.

A 4-star exploration mage could generally assess someone’s level with just a glance. Of course, such mages were rare—even among famous noble families.

However, the old man’s insight surpassed even that.

“A cautious temperament is useful for labyrinth exploration, but it’s different for conjuring. When applying the free-spirited magic of the Savage Academy, it’s better to be bolder.”

“…May I ask your name?”

“Why ask what you already know?”

The old man knew Dereck had already guessed his identity.

Combat, transformation, disruption, summoning, exploration. Excluding forbidden arts, these were the five main schools of magic.

Humans had the habit of categorizing everything, no matter what.

When the top mages in each category debated who was the best in the world, high-ranking nobles endlessly discussed the topic.

There might be well-recognized figures, but there was rarely unanimous agreement. There was always someone offering a third opinion.

But when it came to the greatest exploration mage, no one dared dispute it.

His unconventional background made it hard for anyone but the high nobility to recognize his true worth, but those who knew never argued otherwise.

“WolfTail.”

That was the name of the frail old man sipping beer in front of him. He could go wherever he wanted, and if he chose not to be found, he never would be. Thus, in noble society, he was called the Wandering Spirit.

Indeed, his wise gaze felt almost ghostlike.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelCet