After asking me to spar, and more or less just beating me down, he finally finished explaining the process.
It was simple enough once he sat me down.
Maybe the voice was right. Maybe I am a fool. But that wasn't the point.
The concept was called Inheritance.
In short, Inheritance is the moment when a Regalia's user fully encompasses its nature, living out its ideals and meaning completely.
It is a synthesis of being and weapon, where you no longer wield your Regalia, but become one with it.
One common method of activating this state is by speaking the Regalia's true name.
After its first invocation, you gain complete command over your own nature, your essence reshaped around the memory the Regalia represents.
It's why he can appear so solemn, even though his Regalia, Dalhans, is born from the concept of prosperity.
Whatever abilities it grants him, I know one thing for certain: his mastery over his Regalia is absolute.
It makes me wonder… what does the nature of my own Regalia truly encompass?
I summoned it again, letting it rest on my desk.
And I stared.
The ability to control ink, darkness, and water… the power to decay anything touched by my mana, or rewrite small events with enough focus.
They all seemed like fragments, pieces of something far larger.
But ever since I began cultivating Dark Alter, that potential started to twist.
It didn't vanish, but transformed into something narrower, into dark magic.
I can still alter events, technically, but it's far harder than before. Almost impractically difficult.
I kept wondering why it felt like I had lost more than I gained, until the voice offered a vague, half-smug answer:
"He traded one skill to embrace the full totality of another." I repeated aloud in a mockingly arrogant tone.
[Nicholas was a madman. One who spoke to himself in far too many ways.]
This guy…
I ignored the voice and raised the black rose again.
Mirabel apparently really did have something important to tend to.
So I decided to use the time to enter my inner world, to try and realize the true name of my Regalia.
Only now do I realize that won't be possible. Not yet. Not at my current level.
I clearly possess unholy traits. Meanwhile, Sansir radiates holy ones.
The two are polar opposites. One births life, the other erodes it. One burns demons; the other angels.
Having the unholy trait means I possess innate darkness manipulation, which is different from simply wielding dark magic.
The former allows control over shadows and hidden forms, but the latter... the latter is something far deeper.
A conceptual affinity with despair, void, and oblivion.
Perhaps you could still call it darkness magic, but it runs colder than that.
And as for my Regalia, it only seems to worsen my morality the more I use it.
Even the subskills I've acquired, like Scriptor and Alter, reflect twisted reflections of what they could be.
Scriptor doesn't truly script, it rewrites them, often with backlash.
Alter doesn't change outcomes, it prevents them entirely, rendering them null.
My wings of darkness let me live, but were born from the wish to die.
Alter came from the desire to change, but instead became a rejection of all change.
Each ability is a pale imitation of something greater, not because of my Regalia, but because they manifested from my desires, not its truth.
A heavy breath left me. I dismissed my Regalia with a flicker of thought and rose from my chair.
I looked into the mirror, lips curled in a faint smile. "Hmm… would you be jealous of me now?"
I chuckled at the thought.
No. I'm still far too weak for her to care.
But that needed to change.
Especially with the wedding approaching.
I glanced out the window and stared at the darkening sky, the colors bleeding into shades of plum and indigo.
A soft breeze swayed the curtains. I smiled faintly, then dropped my sword beside the bed with a dull thud.
After stripping off my clothes and tossing them into a heap in the closet, I stepped into the shower.
The moment the water struck my skin, that familiar sensation returned. The warmth. The clarity.
The feeling of the filth, physical and mental, washing away.
The room slowly filled with the soft, rosy scent of the soap I began lathering over my skin.
I closed my eyes and let the water consume me, melting into the moment.
For a brief, fleeting span of time, I felt absolute peace.
Then I heard the curtain shift.
Mirabel stepped in behind me, her hair a deep, almost wine-colored red.
I blinked in surprise, but when she simply stood there, quietly washing herself, I found myself oddly at ease.
I suppose even she isn't immune to it, whatever it is that stirs during the night. Maybe it's the moonlight. Maybe it's the exhaustion.
But she wasn't agitated.
I shifted my thoughts to a pure, quiet white field in my mind, desperately avoiding the temptation building in the air.
But even with my eyes closed, I felt it: pressure, soft and certain, pressed into my chest.
When I looked down, she was staring up at me, her eyes flickering with a fiery light.
"How is it you hold such an aura of virtue?"
[Nicholas himself didn't know. But the willpower it required was staggering.]
I gently pushed her back. "Hey. Let's not test the limits this close to the day."
She smiled, sly, amused, and leaned forward again. "Didn't you say it's been a long time?"
I averted my gaze and dulled every sense in my body with sheer will. But even that wasn't enough. I still felt it.
This woman was using her actual internal energy to override my resistance.
I staggered back, bracing against the shower wall, and stared at her. "What's gotten into you?"
She paused, tilting her head slightly as if deep in thought.
Then she hummed, a soft, playful sound, and pressed a single finger against my chest.
"Maybe I don't like how you resist me."
Her touch glided down to my side, arm circling my waist. "Maybe I don't like how you always look away."
She leaned in, drawing closer. I was just about to teleport out with mana when her hair abruptly shifted back to its usual brilliant tone.
Then she collapsed.
I caught her instantly, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.
So even Mirabel... couldn't completely suppress her innate nature.
I was starting to seriously wonder what her Regalia's true essence really was.
The rest of the night passed quietly.
I helped her out of the shower, finished her necessities for her, then dressed myself and laid her gently in bed.
I sat beside her, gazing once more out the window.
That's when I noticed something strange.
The moon looked different. Smaller. Fractured.
I narrowed my eyes, focusing on its surface. "…Did someone try, and fail, to rebuild the moon?"
[Nicholas looked at the pitiful attempt and sighed.]
I heard a groan beside me.
Mirabel stirred, her voice thick with exhaustion but still coherent. "Give me a break. I didn't use creation magic at all."
[Nicholas was bewildered. On one hand, he wondered why she didn't. On the other, he was far more concerned with who destroyed it in the first place.]
I lay down beside her with a groan of my own. "Ah… maybe I was too quick to judge."
She weakly raised her fist and thumped it against my chest. "You're lucky I recalled my other self."
I turned my gaze to her, taking in her fatigue.
I see.
She must have been flying through space, collecting fragments, physically, with no magic.
Considering how dense space is outside our planet's zone, I can only imagine how draining that was.
The further out you go, the thicker the pressure becomes, strong enough to collapse lesser planets outright. Life can only exist here for a reason.
And if she avoided using magic… then she probably didn't counteract the crushing weight of the Heavens either.
I was about to speak again when she slipped back into unconsciousness, her body finally giving in.
I smiled and turned, lifting the blanket to cover us both. "My little miracle… have sweet dreams."