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Aura coiled around her.
Fluid.
Controlled.
Monstrously powerful.
Ryan's grip tightened around his sword.
He was exhausted—sweat dripping down his jaw, muscles screaming—but something inside him still burned.
He wanted to keep up.
He wanted to learn.
He wanted to see how far he could go.
He steadied his stance.
One final clash—
CLANG!!!
And then—
CRACK—!
Scarlette twisted her wrist slightly.
Ryan's sword flew out of his hands, spiraling up before stabbing into the dirt several meters away.
His arms stung.
His chest burned.
His knees hit the ground as he stumbled, panting uncontrollably.
He was defeated.
Completely.
Scarlette halted her movements, silent once more.
Ryan lifted his head slowly.
Under the moon's silver glow, she looked ethereal.
Her crimson hair flowed gently in the night breeze.
The veil hid part of her expression, but her mismatched eyes—icy and luminous—held a quiet authority that made Ryan's breath catch in his throat.
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In the vast world of the Miris Continent, the paths of strength had long been divided into two grand pillars: the Path of the Sword and the Path of Magic.
Some civilizations worshipped the blade, believing that human willpower and physical discipline were the truest forms of might. Others viewed magic as the most sacred gift — a divine blessing passed down from ancient spirits. The balance between these two paths shaped kingdoms, built empires, and forged countless legends.
But almost all agreed on one thing:
A person could not walk both paths.
Not without tearing themselves apart.
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Those who pursued the sword were trained from a young age, taught to sharpen their bodies like steel. These practitioners were divided into two universally recognized ranks:
Knights
Swordmasters
Knights were the backbone of most militaries, noble households, adventurer groups, and city guards. They cultivated Aura, a form of internal energy routed through the elixir field, located at the center of the abdomen. Aura was awakened through brutal physical training, life‑threatening combat, and unwavering discipline.
Aura, much like breath or heartbeat, flowed naturally — but to shape it, strengthen it, or compress it, required unimaginable effort.
Aura was divided into nine stages, further grouped into three ranks:
Low‑Rank Knight: Aura Stage 1–3
Basic aura activation; their aura is unstable and easily exhausted.
Mid‑Rank Knight: Aura Stage 4–6
Capable of infusing aura into blows; stronger physique; faster reaction.
High‑Rank Knight: Aura Stage 7–9
Capable of advanced aura techniques; can briefly manifest aura externally.
Ryan was Mid‑Rank, Stage 4, and had been stuck there for two years.
A bitter plateau.
One that many Knights encountered but few overcame.
Swordmasters, on the other hand, were on a level beyond all Knights, their aura refined and transcendent — so dense it could be shaped into an intangible, invisible blade.
Swordmasters did not need steel.
Their aura was their steel.
Some used actual swords to channel and ration their strength. Others fought with no weapon at all, their strikes deadly enough to rip apart stone and shatter mountainsides.
Swordmasters were rare.
Truly rare.
Within the Miris Continent, only a handful existed at any given time. Many wandered in seclusion, avoiding political entanglements. Some offered guidance to kingdoms, acting as field commanders or war strategists. Others followed solitary paths, seeking enlightenment or transcending human limitations.
Scarlette Overland, according to rumor, belonged to that elusive category.
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Just as the sword forged its warriors, magic shaped its own practitioners into Mages and Sorcerers. They cultivated mana — not through the elixir field, but through the Mana Circle, a crystalline ring of energy surrounding their heart.
Mana flowed through the bloodstream like liquid starlight, gentle but potent, requiring clarity of mind and attunement with the natural world.
The Mana Circle expanded in tiers, forming additional rings as the mage's power increased. Unlike aura, which strengthened the body, mana strengthened the spirit and mind.
Sorcerers were the pinnacle of this path — those who could manipulate mana without needing chants, forming spells purely through will and understanding.
But none of this explained Scarlette Overland.
Because Scarlette… wielded both aura and magic.
A contradiction.
An impossibility.
Ryan shook his head, refusing to entertain such thoughts.
Impossible… No human can cultivate aura and mana simultaneously. Their bodies would collapse from energy overload. Even attempting it is suicide.
It was common knowledge across the continent.
If someone tried to walk both paths, their aura and mana would clash violently — tearing their organs apart, burning their veins from the inside, and crushing their heart.
Only one historical record spoke of a person who broke this rule:
The First Founding Emperor of Silveria Empire.
The Hero of the Dark Abyss War.
The only known Magic Swordmaster in all of history.
But that had been 2,000 years ago…
No one alive could replicate such a miracle and could be considered as nothing but a myth or legend but...
Which meant Scarlette — no matter how strange and powerful — could not be walking both paths.
Right?
Ryan wasn't sure anymore.
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>>>>THE AFTERMATH OF THE SPAR
Ryan knelt in the clearing, chest rising and falling sharply as he struggled to recover from their duel. His breath created small clouds in the cool night air.
His arms trembled.
His ribs ached.
His cheek still stung from the earlier slash, the blood now drying.
She did all that… with a twig.
Scarlette, meanwhile, didn't appear to have exerted herself at all.
Her posture was straight and firm. Her breathing even. Her eyes sharp and unwavering beneath the shade of her hood.
Cold.
Silent.
Indomitable.
'This is my first time losing in sword combat… and to think it was against a woman. No — not just any woman. A Swordmaster hiding behind a veil.'
Bitterness stirred in his chest.
But intertwined with that bitterness…
Admiration.
And awe.
As a Knight, losing to someone stronger was not disgrace.
It was a lesson.
A stepping stone.
Ryan lifted his eyes slowly, watching Scarlette in the moonlight. Her crimson hair fluttered gently in the breeze. Only half her face was visible beneath the veil she always wore, but her mismatched eyes gleamed with authority — fierce, intelligent, and haunting.
"Beautiful…" Ryan muttered unconsciously.
He froze the moment the word left his lips.
Scarlette tilted her head, not fully catching his whisper, but her eyebrow twitched slightly.
Embarrassed, Ryan quickly looked away.
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