There Are No Bad Young Ladies in the World

Three-Star (2)

Surrounded by a throng of guards, the grand carriage of Count Belmiard of the Borderlands made its way.

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

The sentries at the entrance of Ebelstain bowed their heads, swallowing hard at the sight of the Belmiard family crest engraved on the carriage, making way without a glance at the identity papers the servants had brought. The Count’s presence alone negated the need for any verification.

As the sizable carriage rolled over the well-kept roads of the commercial district’s outskirts, not a soul in the city dared to obstruct its path. Despite the many eyes drawn to it, considering the Count’s stature, the journey was remarkably quiet.

‘It seems the Belthus or Duplain have yet to arrive.’

Seated in the carriage, chin propped on hand, Count Belmiard of Belmiard pondered alone, surveying the streets.

There were many reasons for the Count’s precious self to make the journey to Ebelstain. Ostensibly, it was for the upcoming customs treaty, but in truth, it was to seek an audience with the great Archmage Drest Wolfetail.

Moreover, having come to Ebelstain, he wished to inquire after his most beloved daughter, Ellente.

While it was customary to announce one’s visit with a letter, Count Belmiard had chosen not to. He wished to surprise his beloved daughter, and to see for himself how she fared in the treacherous social circles of Ebelstain.

How was she surviving in this thin-iced society?

Filled with concern, upon visiting Ellente’s noble quarter residence, he found her utterly disheartened, her spirit drained.

“Ah, Father.”

Ellente, pale-faced and sipping tea in the garden, looked up with wide, startled eyes.

The surprise was mutual for Count Belmiard.

*

“Ellente. If the socialite life proves too taxing, you may return to the manor. It’s good to expand your connections for your status, but not at the expense of your own heart,” he said.

Count Belmiard, ever stern and grandiloquent before others, could not be kinder when it came to Ellente.

He could sense her state just by her complexion. Her pallor and the lack of sparkle in her eyes clearly spoke of a recent heartache.

How could he, as a father, remain idle? Ellente was the jewel of the Belmiard family, the Count’s most precious treasure.

Even if a noblewoman’s social standing was as vital as life itself, he saw no reason for her to cling to Ebelstain if it meant breaking her heart.

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

“Complacent! Ellente! You are the pride of our Belmiard house! To have achieved so much at your age, and with such wisdom…! Who dares utter such nonsense?”

“…You needn’t say so much. And, well… I lost a magical duel recently, and I’ve been pondering how to elevate my magical prowess.”

“Lost a magical duel? Ellente, you possess a magical talent surpassing any noble lady I’ve seen. How could such a thing happen?”

“It was… to the young lady of the Duplain house…”

At that, Count Belmiard fell silent.

He sighed deeply, pressing his temples, then turned his thoughts to how he might console Ellente.

If it was Aiselin of the Duplain house, even Count Belmiard recognized the name.

He should have thought of her the moment Ellente mentioned her defeat. In the social circles of Ebelstain, there were few noble ladies who could match her magical skill, Aiselin being one of them.

“Ellante. You may feel a bit powerless now, but if you keep persevering, the day will come when the sun shines.”

“Thank you for your comfort, Father. Even so, since I’ve taken on a magic tutor, my magical achievements have increased quite a bit. You’ll be surprised to see my skills.”

“A magic tutor… you mean Phelmiere? I understand you’ve been spending time at the Belmiere estate recently…”

“No. I brought in a mercenary from the tavern streets for a short while to prepare for a duel with Lady Aiselin. At first, I just called him to try out some magic, but he knew a lot more than I expected and was quite helpful.”

As Ellante shared various updates, she glanced at the Belmiere Duke, unsure how he would take the news of a street-born mercenary as her tutor.

No matter how open-minded and unbiased Belmiere Duke might be, nobility is still nobility.

The thought of such an uncertain mercenary attached to his only daughter as a tutor must have been unsettling.

As Ellante anticipated, the Belmiere Duke’s eyes twitched.

After a moment of contemplation, he asked again.

“So, what specific help did you receive?”

“Just… I learned magic theories that can’t be taught with noble etiquette alone… and he showed me the methodology of how to strive if I really want to win.”

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

His tone was sharp.

It was rare for the Belmiere Duke, who dearly loved his daughter, to speak so directly.

Ellante sensed it. The Belmiere Duke was using this conversation to discern and evaluate something.

Without overthinking, Ellante answered truthfully.

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

“…”

The Belmiere Duke paused, resting his chin in his hand, then squinted his eyes after examining Ellante’s expression.

Having read every letter that flew from Ellante without fail, the Belmiere Duke could guess about her social life.

Whether it was time to learn about the estate at the Belmiere mansion or to study society in Ebelstain… Ellante’s eyes often overflowed with an indescribable, mysterious confidence.

However, seeing the vast world and meeting all sorts of people more skilled than herself, that full confidence often waned.

To put it negatively, it’s disheartenment; positively, it’s a broadening of perspective.

What one harbors in such times determines the temperament they carry for life.

There’s no life that only moves forward, so what will one’s attitude be when their confidence is shaken? Reflecting on this, the Belmiere Duke found himself retracting his earlier words.

“Perhaps, Ellante, it might be better for you not to return to the Belmiere mansion.”

“Is that so? Actually… I was thinking of staying in Ebelstain.”

“Continue to delve deeper into your social studies. Lady Aiselin of the Duplain family is certainly not an easy opponent, but I believe our daughter will succeed someday.”

To take everything here and return to the Belmiere mansion would mean ending all the journeys his daughter had undertaken in Ebelstain as failures.

I could not do so. Even if I was a bit worried, there comes a time when one must release their child into the vast world. Arms that bend only inward cannot shape a great person.

It was the psychology of parents, these characters, to want to help as much as they could in areas where they could offer assistance.

“If that mercenary is as good at teaching magic as they say, perhaps it would be better to have him exclusively in the employ of the Belmier family.”

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

“Is that what’s important? Whether or not it helps my daughter’s magical achievements is what matters most.”

The Count of Belmier patted Elente’s shoulder and laughed heartily.

“Just trust this father. After all, he’s a commoner, and if we grease his palm with enough gold, he’ll be persuaded. First, I need to call the steward.”

*

– Boom! Bang!

“Ahh! Derrick! I, I’ll take a hit too…!”

A great gust swept through the area, and a blood wind howled through the damp, moisture-laden underground labyrinth.

The outskirts of Ebelstain. It was the lowest level of labyrinth, but a labyrinth is still a labyrinth. Derrick’s eyes suddenly widened as he seriously and methodically killed off the demonkin one by one.

From noble mtl dot com

These were the spells he had honed by killing demonkin over and over. But today, the sensation of magic power itself felt discordant.

The 2-star spell ‘Fireball,’ which he usually cast to sweep away a wide range of enemies in one go, seemed to have increased in power.

It was a spell he had used hundreds of times, so the twisting of that familiar sensation was not exactly welcome.

However, the increase in firepower meant an increase in adaptability to magical power.

It was a positive change rather than a negative one.

Was there meaning in the efforts he had repeatedly mastered over countless years?

In the midst of the blood-soaked labyrinth, Derrick spread his hands wide and quietly observed them.

“Derrick? What are you doing? More are coming from inside! Eek! I’m overwhelmed when they get too close!”

Feline quickly drew the longsword strapped to her waist. For her, who normally kept her distance and supported combat with her bow, the swarming goblin horde was not a welcome opponent. They were not a good match for an enemy that pushed with sheer numbers.

Derrick opened and closed his hands, his eyes wide.

Just now, the sensation of the magic power drawn from his body seemed much more potent than usual.

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

The image of the 3-star combat spell ‘Wall of Flame,’ which he had studied and practiced over and over from the magic books he received from the Duplain family, formed in his mind.

It was not a simple spherical spell that exploded to attack the enemy, but a proper wall that suppressed a wide range of enemies at once and then established a favorable battlefield.

It was a spell that required much more delicate and precise use of magical power, so much so that one could not even attempt to use it without considerable mastery, and even with extreme training of magical senses, it was a rash attempt at his current level.

Yet, from within, an inexplicable confidence flowed.

It was as if the history of efforts he had accumulated repetitively and routinely was whispering to Derrick. What about now? Now that his magical senses had heated up to the extreme, perhaps it was possible?

Amidst that vague confidence, Derrick’s eyes, filled with magic power, shone brightly for a moment.

– Boom!

Yet what followed was merely a succession of simple explosions.

It would have been of no concern, but in an instant, more than half of the magic Derek had been harboring evaporated into thin air.

– Screech! Screech!

– Clatter!

Gasping for breath, Derek clenched his teeth and picked up his sword.

In the midst of the battlefield, exhaustion meant death. Facing the onslaught of demonic creatures, Derek wiped the cold sweat from his brow and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

His vision blurred, but he mustered his mental strength to prevent himself from losing consciousness.

*

“You almost died? You, Derek? In such a lowly labyrinth?”

As Pheline made a fuss beside him, Captain Jayden looked incredulous.

Indeed, Derek lay his face down on the bar table, utterly exhausted.

Jayden, who brought a drink to aid in recovery, tilted his head and examined Derek’s condition. It seemed that Derek was overly dramatizing the near-death experience.

Derek, known for his meticulous preparation even for minor tasks, tended to make conservative judgments if there was the slightest hitch in his plans or an unexpected event occurred.

He was visibly upset about struggling more than expected on a task he thought would be as easy as eating cold porridge.

“Ugh… My magic was nearly depleted halfway through. So I postponed retrieving the requested item until tomorrow, and fought my way out focusing on close combat without magic.”

“Shouldn’t you have been able to deal with such creatures in close combat?”

“Well, yes… but I was tired, and if I had let my guard down, who knows what might have happened. Pheline had a tough time too.”

Knowing that Derek seldom lets his guard down, Jayden could only cock his head in puzzlement.

It was strange that Derek, who had matured in his magic use, would fail at managing his magic.

“What happened?”

“Halfway through… I felt a strange disharmony in my magic use and instinctively overexerted myself.”

Saying this, Derek once again spread his palm and gazed intently at it.

It felt as if he had broken through some barrier, leaving behind a sensation that was both exhilarating and disconcerting.

“…”

The fact that such a trivial task had gone awry deeply wounded his pride as a mercenary.

Yet, apart from that, the thought that he might have approached a new realm of magic was also flooding in.

That so much of his magic had evaporated in a single spell.

It was like when Lady Aiselin, who had just learned a two-star spell, exhausted herself quickly after casting fireballs.

Using a higher-grade spell before one is accustomed to it can lead to a drastic drop in magic efficiency. It’s a phenomenon often experienced by magicians before they advance to the next grade.

Though the manifestation of magic itself was a failure, Derek couldn’t help but wonder if he had almost reached the use of a three-star spell.

With that thought, an odd thumping began in Derek’s chest.

Now seventeen, with about a year left until adulthood, was there already a mage who had reached the threshold of three-star magic at such a time?

Even if one searched the entire continent, there might be a few, but among the commoners, there would not be a single one.

His talent was more than sufficient, and his efforts had been relentless.

Not a single day had passed without magical training. It wouldn’t have been strange if some results started to show up now.

However, there was a feeling that something was slightly lacking.

Already racing towards the lofty realms of a mage, yet it felt like he was one step short of reaching the domain of three-star magic.

Despite the strange frustration of not knowing its identity, he also felt a sincere joy at the fact that the fruits of his efforts were becoming apparent. The ambition of mages was different from that of ordinary commoners.

– Creeeak

It was then, as Derek quietly observed his own palm.

Late at night, when the tavern’s business was winding down.

Someone entered the tavern where only Derek and Pheline sat.

“Welcome. Unfortunately, we’ll be closing soon. But it’s fine if you want to have a quick drink before you go.”

“It doesn’t matter. Give me your best-selling drink, preferably a strong liquor.”

“Ha, our last customer of the day seems to know his drinks.”

Closer to morning than dawn.

At such a late hour, when the streets were empty, there would occasionally be one or two customers coming in to quench their thirst.

The customer who entered, shaking the hem of his robe, had an obscured face, but his voice sounded quite aged.

Despite the many empty seats, he deliberately chose to sit next to the bar table where Derek was seated.

While Pheline recounted the day’s heroic tales over mead, Derek, who had been quietly observing his hand, glanced at the customer.

The man was frail. The arms revealed under the hem of his robe were not just slender but emaciated. It was a wonder how he managed to support his own body.

The wrinkles on his hands alone indicated that he had lived for at least half a century.

People live their lives in various ways, so it was not unusual for an old man like him to come to a tavern at such a late hour for a drink.

Derek, turning his attention away, closed his eyes to feel the magical energy lingering in his body again.

“There’s no need to be anxious or force your way through when you’re blocked. The essence of Wild School magic lies in following the natural flow.”

The man spoke in a candid voice, without any context.

Derek looked at the man again, and Pheline turned her head with a puzzled look. However, the man simply bowed his head and buried himself in the hem of his robe, remaining quiet.

“Yes?”

Derek questioned. The intent of his question was, who are you, and why do you say such things?

—

Yet the old man did not answer, quietly pushing back the hood of his robe.

In that moment, a slight tremor touched the corners of Derrick’s eyes.

Leaving the bewildered Pheline behind, he had to forcibly restart the flow of thoughts that had almost solidified.

“Of course, I’m well aware how futile it is to tell wizards to lay down their ambition,” he said.

…

Forehead full of wrinkles. Hair cut short. Eyes dull and hazy. The corners of his mouth turned down. Lips parched and dry. More a moving corpse than a living person.

He looked as though he had lived not half a century, but a full century or more. Indeed, Derrick knew his remaining years were not many.

– Thud –

Jaden, who had brought a drink from the kitchen, set it down in front of the old man.

With a dismissive thanks, the old man quietly took a sip and said,

“Toblerone Mountain, is it? The acidity is weaker than I thought.”

“Ah, you have a discerning palate, sir. But it’s troublesome to apply such strict standards to the remaining stock just before closing.”

“It’s excellent as it is. If I were a bit younger, I would have drunk to inebriation.”

The old man then turned his gaze directly to Derrick and spoke.

“You have a knack for combat and disruption, but summoning and exploration seem a bit lacking. The quantity of your magic is excellent, but its flow is not yet fully open. The efficiency weakens as the magic flows to the extremities.”

…

“Considering your age, it’s truly remarkable. But it seems you think too much when casting spells, boy.”

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

It wasn’t that no one had ever discerned Derrick’s level at a glance. The Duke of Duplain had roughly gauged the extent of Derrick’s magical achievements at their first meeting.

A four-star exploration mage could generally assess another’s level with a mere glance. Of course, mages of that caliber were rare, even among the renowned noble houses.

However, the old man’s discernment surpassed even that level.

“A cautious temperament may serve you well in exploring labyrinths, but it’s different when casting spells. When implementing the free-spirited Wild School of magic, it’s better to be more daring.”

“…May I ask your name?”

“Why ask what you already know?”

The old man knew that Derrick had already discerned his identity.

Combat, transformation, disruption, summoning, exploration.

Excluding the forbidden arts, these were the five main categories of magic.

Humans have a habit of lining things up and ranking them, no matter what.

As the highest-ranking mages in each category debated who was the best in the world, the high nobles would argue back and forth, continuing the discussion.

There might be widely recognized figures of high stature, but unanimous agreement was rare. There was always someone who would offer a third opinion.

——

But when it came to the greatest explorer mage, no one dared to disagree.

His unusual background made it difficult for anyone but the high nobility to recognize his true worth, yet those who knew of him never argued otherwise.

“Drest Wolfstail.”

That was the name of the gaunt old man sipping beer right before my eyes.

He could go wherever he wished, and if he chose not to be caught, he never was. Thus, in noble society, they called him the Wandering Spirit.

Indeed, his sage-like gaze seemed almost ghostly.