The wind roared across the hilltop, carrying with it the sharp bite of mountain air and the scent of pine from the forests far below. My cloak whipped and cracked behind me, black fabric snapping like a banner of defiance as I stood at the edge of the cliff. From here, the world stretched out endlessly—rolling valleys, shadowed woods, and beyond them, the faint shimmer of distant rivers cutting silver paths through the land.
And below me? Nothing. An abyss so deep that the bottom was swallowed in perpetual shadow. It was like staring into the throat of the world itself. One wrong step and the only thing left of me would be a red stain splattered across unseen rocks.
Behind me, a dozen armored figures stood in perfect silence. The knights of House Darknorth—sworn swords of my uncle, Duke Avish. Each breastplate bore the sigil of our line: a sword divided down the middle, one edge glowing with eternal fire, the other rimed with unmelting ice. Even in stillness, that crest radiated both power and contradiction, a reminder that the Darknorths had always stood between extremes.
The knights were the picture of discipline, but I didn't spare them much thought. My attention was drawn instead to the woman standing just behind their formation.
Lira. My maid. My protector. My shadow.
Her armor was lighter than the knights', made for speed rather than defense. The steel plates hugged her frame with an elegance that didn't diminish her grace. Her long hair was tied back, the faintest silver gleam in the dark strands catching the light. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, posture deceptively relaxed. She could have been mistaken for a noble lady at a glance, but I knew better. She was steel sheathed in silk.
And yes, beautiful. Undeniably so.
But had I ever called her a world-toppling beauty? No.
There was a reason.
Because beauty alone has never been enough to topple nations riddled with cunning old foxes and conniving aristocrats. Or maybe… maybe it's just that I don't really understand the difference between "normal beauty" and "world-toppling beauty." Even in my old world, the line between average and pretty often came down to nothing more than a smear of makeup and good lighting. So how the hell am I supposed to draw the line here?
I smirked to myself, turning back toward the abyss.
Where was I? Ah, yes. Even though I've joked about why I'm borrowing this technique, I suppose I should be honest with myself. Yes, I said "borrowing" and not "stealing"—you'll understand why later. But for now, let me confess my logical reason.
I smirked faintly.
This ancient aura technique will help me enhance my deadliest attribute: charm.
And no, I am not joking. I am dead serious.
I'm not like those hypocritical main characters who swear they don't care about beauty, only about hearts, sincerity, true love, blah blah blah—while their harems mysteriously fill with women who could topple kingdoms with a smile. Me? I'm saying it plainly. I want this technique for charm.
…Well, maybe for other benefits too. Who knows? Human thought is complex. I certainly don't understand mine most of the time.
So how exactly will this technique make my already devastatingly handsome face into the kind that steals the hearts of maidens across entire planes or realms?
cough..cough..
Alright, maybe that was excessive. But hear me out:
Aura is not just about fighting strength. Aura is the manifestation of will and body, and it refines the vessel it resides in. That's why a cold beauty feels like she could freeze the air around her, and why a cheerful girl makes you feel warm and at ease. It's not just facial features or body language—it's the aura that shapes the impression. So if this technique truly enhances aura, then…
I trailed off with a laugh.
The wind rose in a sudden gust, tugging at my cloak, daring me to take that final step.
Enough of this rambling. I've already wasted half my brain cells on these technical theories. Time to do something sane.
I looked down once more. The cliff dropped into a void so deep that the bottom could not be seen. The knights behind me shifted slightly, their armor clinking as they adjusted to the wind. Even from here, I could feel their tension, though none dared to speak.
If I fell, I would be nothing more than shredded flesh and broken bones by the time I hit whatever waited below.
So, naturally, I did what any "normal" person would do.
I jumped.
Headfirst.
The wind tore at my body as the ground rushed up—or perhaps it was eternity itself rushing closer. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I felt weightless, as if I had cast aside not only gravity but reason itself.
And in that plunge, I couldn't help but laugh.
Because this was madness. But it was my madness.