[Acquired: Arctis Sword Technique (A–Rank)]
The notification pulsed softly in the corner of Ryn's vision as he stretched within the estate's training grounds.
He glanced at the Arctis Sword Technique in his hand. Divine Blessing books glowed…This one didn't.
Right. Magic came from the gods. But techniques? Those came from people like his ancestors—people whose Aura overflowed enough to etch their mastery into paper.
He exhaled, rolling his wrist. Sometimes being born into a high noble house really did have its perks.
Right, let's check the panel again.
Ryn skimmed it out of habit—then blinked.
[Name: Ryn Eden]
[Title: The Constellation's Blade (Unique)]
[HP: 100 / 100]
[MP: 120 / 120]
[STR: 10]
[DEX: 11]
[END: 11]
[INT: 13]
"...Huh?"
Every single stat had jumped by exactly two points.
That wasn't normal. Stats didn't just increase because someone slept well or stretched in the morning.
He scrolled down. And there it was:
[Aura: 2]
[Aura Rank: Trainee]
Cleanly displayed, bolded like it had always been there.
Beneath it, a faint tooltip shimmered.
Aura increases all base stats proportionally.
"…All of them?" Ryn muttered.
So that was it.
Aura wasn't a resource. It wasn't magic.
It was a stat multiplier — a straight amplification of everything he had.
No wonder every high-ranked swordsman was from a noble family. He gripped the book even harder, wishing he had discovered this in his past life.
No. It's not the time for this.
Ryn took a deep breath—everything was different, and he made sure to adapt.
"Right, let's try the technique."
He picked up a sword, nothing ornate, just a standard training blade. The moment his hand wrapped around the grip, a surge of information flooded his mind. Not magical nor divine. More like instinct, that he somehow understood
"A blade that hesitates is already broken."
Suddenly, his status flared:
[Mastery: Arctis Sword Technique (A–Rank) – 0% → 25%]
"…Twenty-five? So that's the first Form."
Of course. Four forms. Four mastery milestones.
Ryn inhaled.
Letting the concept settle in his muscles, he took a deep breath—cold intent, clean motion, decisive action.
Then he slashed.
Cold Aura erupted from beneath him, sharp enough to sting the air itself. Pale frost spiderwebbed across the ground, and a spray of spike-like ice crystals burst forward in a cone.
The nearest dummy froze in place—literally, before splitting apart with a brittle crack
Ryn lowered his sword slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Phew…did not expect that amount of power."
He touched the edge of a spike. It was solid, but evaporated into cold mist a second later.
"Ice Aura," he murmured. "Not real magic, but useful enough."
Ryn let the last slivers of aura fade into mist before putting his sword back on the rack.
The courtyard was… a disaster. The training ground tiles were cracked, and the dummy was carved in half.
He sighed. "…Maybe I overdid it."
Then, a soft warmth brushed the back of his neck. Ryn turned around quickly, sensing immense bloodlust. It wasn't too uncommon to send assassins after noble children. After all, remove an heir, cripple a house.
However, this was unusual as Ryn wasn't even the heir.
Slow, measured footsteps echoed across the training grounds.
He narrowed his eyes.
Even during winter, he felt warm, like sitting next to a campfire. It was another person he knew from his past life.
Images slammed into his mind—
Flames that scorched Evernight shadows into ash. A lone figure standing atop mountains of corrupted beasts. Sovereign fire sweeping across thousands like divine judgment. Armies collapsed because one woman had arrived.
Owner of the S-Rank Blessing: Flame Queen.
The strongest magician of his era. Just having her on the front line meant thousands would live.
Ryn had admired her.
And somehow…she had been his fiancée.
Even when he had nothing, no power nor achievements, she'd always been by his side. Even going so far as to burn herself away to save him.
But before the grief could swallow him, the present snapped back into focus.
He turned…and there she was—Amelia Grandal.
She entered the training grounds with her usual quiet confidence, a long crimson coat trailing behind her like spilled wildfire. Her hair, a silvery white with the faintest pink tint, fell loosely down her shoulders.
Sharp amber eyes swept over the frozen courtyard, then over him. Her expression barely shifted, but the tailored coat, the black lace at her collar, and the way she stood perfectly straight made her look every bit the noble heir people whispered about.
He could really tell the importance of her house when his father had proposed the engagement. Their last name had the word 'Grand' in it after all—and she was really exemplifying it.
Her presence dragged him fully back into the present. She stopped a few paces from him, boots clicking softly against the stone.
"Do you always make this much of a mess in the morning?"
"Good morning to you too." Ryn replied, trying to act normal.
Amelia's eyes flicked over him again—brief, but enough. His jacket was tossed aside, undershirt loose, collar tugged askew from training.
Her steps stalled for half a heartbeat.
"…You could at least pretend to dress properly before swinging a sword," she said, voice steady but a tad too quick. "Honestly."
Ryn blinked, buttoning up his shirt.
"Sorry, I didn't know I had an audience."
Amelia covered her face with her hands, although there was an obvious gap through her fingers.
"Don't…flatter yourself. I didn't come to… observe this."
She motioned vaguely at the frozen rubble.
"I came to collect you. We're supposed to depart to Deimos within the hour, if you remember."
Ryn paused. "Deimos?"
She exhaled softly—equal parts patience and disappointment. "Yes, Ryn. Your father said he told you yesterday."
He tried to recall… and came up empty. "Ah."
"'Ah'," Amelia repeated, eyes narrowing just barely. "You forgot."
Ryn offered the kind of shrug that only made her sigh more. "It's early."
"It's nearly noon."
"Oh."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, then recomposed herself with a breath that looked far too practiced.
"Go change," she said. "I'll wait by the carriage. Preferably within the hour."
She turned sharply, coat flaring behind her like a sheet of red flame—and if Ryn hadn't known any better, he would've sworn her pace quickened for just a moment, as if escaping before he noticed the faint blush still coloring her ears.
He stood there for a moment after Amelia left, staring at the frozen mess, trying to remember why today felt important. Something tugged at the back of his thoughts, faint and irritating.
Deimos.
Right. A small territory part of the larger Arctis branch. Ran by Baron Deimos, a kind but relatively meek noble in the political scene, preferring to keep to himself.
As a result, the barony stood mostly alone.
Its only reliable ally was Count Arctis—Ryn's father, who had supported the Deimos line for generations. Out of obligation, friendship… or perhaps pity, depending on who was asked. Deimos rarely sought trouble, rarely made waves, and rarely appeared in any conversation outside reports or tariffs.
In other words, it was the kind of place Ryn had ignored completely in his last life.
Now, though, the name lingered with an odd weight. Not because of politics or the baron himself—but the territory.
Ryn shrugged, the memory evading him. He'll probably remember on the way.
After around thirty minutes of the estate maids spinning him around like a spin top. Ryn was finally ready. Dressed up in an ornate black and purple noble outfit with gold trims, way too uncomfortable and tight, he finally stepped out.
Amelia looked and gave a nod of approval, "You clean up not bad?"
"Give your thanks to the maids," Ryn sighed as he opened the door and ushered the lady in.
As they both settled to their seats, Amelia looked around at Ryn's belongings, which was pretty much nothing.
"You didn't pack anything at all?" she asked.
He pointed at his index, where a ring embedded with a shining amethyst glowed.
"I packed light. After all, a knight would only need his equipment right?"
Amelia placed her hand on her temples, sighing.
"You know this is a week-trip right…"
"It'll be fine! Besides, we have our own knights, what's to worry?"
He would regret those words very, very soon…