Reaching the Indigo Stage marked a significant milestone—a level of power that few in this world could claim, and I had achieved it before my fourteenth year. My mother's decree followed swiftly: I was to remain within the estate until my fourteenth birthday, when the announcement of my engagement to Evelyn would coincide with my debut into high society. It was both a command and an opportunity, a chance to refocus and refine my strength in the days leading up to that pivotal moment.
Training consumed me. I had mastered Spear Resonance, a feat that had propelled me beyond expectation, but my sights were set on Spear Heart, the level that would only come with the Violet Stage. It was more than an ambition; it was a necessity. The battles that lay ahead would not be won by raw talent alone.
In the quiet hours of practice, I began to integrate the mana techniques from my former world—methods that, if mastered, would amplify my power far beyond conventional means. Here, mana was more than mere energy; it was essence, requiring formulation and finesse before it could be wielded. This concept was the reason I had stood my ground against the Golden Dragon Knight Captain, even while a stage below him. The answer lay in a technique I had carried over from a life now shrouded in echoes: aura weaving.
Aura weaving was a sophisticated dance within the mana core, an intricate method of creating and manipulating patterns among mana particles using the aura method. This technique, while subtle, could enhance the resonance of my aura, fortifying it to levels beyond those attainable through traditional methods. Yet it was not inscribed into my core; I hadn't the depth of mana to commit it fully. Instead, I wove it on the fly, each attempt demanding focus and precision, each result worth the exertion.
To weave aura was to infuse intent and soul into the very particles of energy, tinting them with purpose, shaping them into something more potent. True mastery of this art came at the level of Unity, where one could transform mana into a pure extension of themselves, as I had done with my sword. But even now, with resonance, the principle could be applied, albeit with less permanence and more strain.
This was how I had conjured that towering blade of aura trailing from my sword, the weapon that tore through the ranks of the Golden Dragon Knights when I wielded Sword Resonance. My mastery of mana—its use, its intricate processing, its careful formulation—had reached the peak of what was attainable. Yet there remained an inescapable truth: my body was not yet ready for such power.
'Even at my height, it was never enough,' I reflected, the thought cold and unyielding as the steel in my grip.
Because in the face of true might, even the most formidable power dwindled into insignificance.
Whenever I thought of strength, my mind circled back to one moment, one name that loomed like a shadow across my resolve.
Ozyrokth.
The alien that stood apart from all others—a being whose mere existence challenged the limits of what strength could be.
I had faced several beings stronger than me even at my peak, monstrous foes that required alliances and cunning to bring down. But Ozyrokth was a different kind of beast. He was not just beyond reach; he was beyond the very concept of reach itself.
One hundred and fifty S-class Climbers, twenty SS-class elites, and I, the sole SSS-class, had faced him together. We had charged with every ounce of skill and power we possessed. We might as well have been leaves flung against a storm. He had obliterated us with an ease that mocked our efforts, without so much as a single wound marring his colossal form. Even our greatest combined strength hadn't stirred him to exertion.
I glanced around the estate's training grounds, the silence stretching wide beneath the cool light of dawn. Assured of my solitude, I drew my sword, its weight grounding me, a reminder of who I had been and who I still was. With a deep breath, I let my mana flow, expanding, pulsing, wrapping me in its familiar embrace.
Sword Unity.
It was the summit I had reached in my previous life, the state where blade and intent melded seamlessly. Here, the air around me buzzed with energy, the sword mana coiling and unfurling like a living thing, resonating with the song of mastery.
Yet, even here, I knew there was more. I had taken a step beyond Unity, something not even the greatest SS-class Climbers had achieved. But it had only been a step. I could not fully grasp what lay ahead, the nebulous threshold beyond my comprehension. It was there, like a glimmer on the edge of sight, a path just out of reach, shrouded in the unknown.
'Could there be a level beyond even this?' The question echoed through my mind, carrying with it the thrill of possibility and the weight of necessity. Beyond Unity, past the borders of mastery I had once defined?
It was worth pursuing, worth the endless trials and the risks it would demand. Because this time, I could not allow myself to falter. This time, I would not fail. No foe, no alien terror—nothing would stand in my path.
"Lancelot," Evelyn's voice cut through the quiet, drawing my gaze. Her dark eyes, deep as a starless night, lingered on the swirling aura of sword mana surrounding me. They shone with a mixture of awe and something else, something unspoken.
She had seen this before, witnessed the raw power when I dismantled the mirror spell cast by her mother, the infamous Witch of Calamity. There was no point in hiding it from her now.
"Do you despise being engaged to me so much?" she asked, her tone steady, though the slight pursing of her lips betrayed her unease.
For a moment, I watched her, studying the lines of tension that creased her brow. What did I see in Evelyn? In some ways, I saw myself. We were reflections, two souls tempered by forces beyond our control. She was shaped by the witches, burdened with living up to the legacy of the Witch of Time. I was forced to bear the mantle of a hero, the last hope against the extinction of humanity.
Both of us, marked as saviors. Both of us, trapped by the expectations of others.
That was why I saved her, fought for her. But even before the revelations, before the battles, Evelyn had always drawn my attention. Out of everyone, besides Celia and my mother, she held a place I couldn't quite name.
"No," I said finally, the weight of my voice cutting through the silence between us.
I didn't despise it. The idea of being engaged to her wasn't unwelcome; it was regret that gnawed at me, a shadow that clung to my heart. Regret that my sword had failed to cleave Ozyrokth. Regret for a life that never came to be, one wrapped in memories of *her*, the voice that once filled my days with light.
But regrets were as futile as the wind. They didn't bring back the dead; they didn't rewrite the past.
Somehow, by fate or folly, I'd been given a second life, another chance to wield my blade and carve a new path.
"I don't," I said, letting a smile break the solemn line of my mouth. "Let's make you a lady worthy of bearing the Silvaria name, Evelyn."
Her eyes widened, surprise giving way to a glimmer of warmth. And in that moment, beneath the weight of memories and old scars, there was something almost like hope.