The air in my room was heavy with the scent of incense, the faint tendrils of smoke curling upward as I sat cross-legged on the floor. My eyes fluttered open, and I glanced at the clock. Two hours. That's all it had taken. My body, which had been battered and exhausted from the earlier clash, now felt rejuvenated; the aches and pains dulled to a faint memory.
"Hmmm, it's interesting," I murmured to myself, flexing my fingers. "I thought it would take me at least half a day to heal, but it only took two hours." The progress was undeniable.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could feel the difference in my aura control. Instead of letting it rage within me like a wild beast, I had begun to channel it to build my aura core. It was a slow process, but the results were already showing. My body felt lighter, less burdened by the sheer force of my own power.
I glanced at *Slayer*, the sword resting on the floor beside me. Its dark, ornate scabbard gleamed faintly in the dim light. Ezekian's sword. Or rather, *my* sword now.
The thought made me smirk. Ezekian had been acting strangely. He'd been... different. Less arrogant, more curious. It was unsettling.
I reached for *Slayer*, my fingers brushing against the hilt. The moment I touched it, I felt it—a faint pulse of divine energy, warm and radiant, like sunlight breaking through a storm. Divine power. The kind that could burn through demonic energy like paper.
But how was I supposed to unlash it? I'd infused my own aura into the blade, and it had responded, but it's divine power was still not activating. I needed more. I needed control.
Standing up, I unsheathed *Slayer* and began to practice. One slash, two, three... two hundred. My movements were precise, each strike calculated, but my body betrayed me.
My arms trembled, my breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat dripped down my forehead. I cursed under my breath as I collapsed to the floor, panting heavily.
"Just how weak am I?" I muttered, frustration bubbling up inside me. The difference between my current self and the woman I'd once been was staggering. My stamina was pitiful, my mastery of techniques rusty, and my flexibility nonexistent.
If I continued at this pace, there was no way I'd regain my former strength, let alone surpass it, in two years. I needed to train harder to push myself further. But where to start?
The answer came in the form of a soft knock at the door. Mika, my maid, entered with a bow. "His Grace wishes to see you, My Lady," she said, her voice calm but tinged with urgency.
I frowned. What could my father want from me now? Was it about the fight with Dain? Or the fact that Dain had used demonic power? Whatever it was, I doubted it was good news. I grabbed *Slayer* and strapped it to my hip, ignoring Mika's pointed look at my plain black attire. I didn't have time for formalities.
As I made my way to his study, my mind raced. The Nyxveil mansion was a labyrinth of opulence and power, every corridor lined with artifacts and tapestries that spoke of our family's legacy.
Father's study was on the second floor, a place I'd spent countless hours in during my past life. But this time, it felt different. This time, he was alive and at the height of his power.
I knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response. The study was as grand as I remembered—a sprawling room filled with bookshelves, artifacts, and the faint scent of cigar smoke.
Father sat at his desk, a mountain of documents before him, his sharp green eyes hidden behind a pair of round spectacles. He looked every bit the patriarch of the Nyxveil family—calm, composed.
"You called for me?" I asked, breaking the silence.
He didn't look up, merely gesturing to a red envelope on the table. "Read it."
I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the imperial seal. The moment I tore it open, I felt his gaze on me. "You're not supposed to tear the envelope from the Imperial Family," he said, his voice calm but laced with disapproval.
I forced a nervous laugh. "It won't happen again."
The letter inside was written on red paper with golden ink, the handwriting unmistakably that of the Emperor. My eyes narrowed as I read the contents.
It was a demand—no, a command—for me to join a diplomatic envoy to Astra. The Emperor's words were polite, almost deferential, but I knew better. This was a trap. A blatant, obvious trap.
"Is this some kind of joke?" I asked, my voice cold.
My father finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Doesn't seem like one."
I clenched my fists, the letter crumpling in my hand. Of course, the Emperor would pull something like this. He'd always been wary of the Nyxveil family's power, and now that I'd been named successor, he saw me as a threat. Sending me to Astra was just an excuse to get me out of the way—or worse, to capture me and exploit my power.
"I'm not going to Astra," I said firmly.
My father raised an eyebrow. "It's an imperial order."
"That's a trap," I snapped. "In the journey, his subordinates will attack me, capture me, and then act as if I were killed by Astra. Meanwhile, the Emperor will exploit me and my power for his own gain."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, to my surprise, my father laughed—a soft, almost amused sound. He leaned back in his chair, pulling a cigar from his drawer.
"You seem to be familiar with the Emperor's intentions, Selentia," he said, lighting the cigar with an old, rusted lighter.
I frowned. Was this some kind of test? "I just calculated the situation," I replied carefully. "The Emperor is wary of the Nyxveil family's power. Isn't that why he ordered us to live in the capital instead of Lusora, our duchy?"
My father nodded, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You're smarter than you look."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" I asked, my tone dry.
He shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is. You managed to see through the Emperor's intentions, which is worthy of praise."
I didn't know how to respond. This was the first time we'd had a conversation that didn't end in an argument or a veiled threat. It was... unsettling.
"I'll handle the situation," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "You focus on your training. I can see you haven't developed an aura core yet. You're letting your aura run wild inside you."
I stiffened. How could he tell? I'd been so careful to hide it. But then again, this was Zaphry Nyxveil—one of the ten swordmasters of the continent. Of course, he'd see through me.
He stood and walked to the bookshelf, pulling out three ancient tomes. "Selentia," he said, his tone softer now, "how much do you know about your aura?"
I hesitated. In my past life, I'd never bothered to understand it. My aura had always been there, a destructive force I'd learned to wield but never truly control.
"Even without building an aura core, I can freely use my aura," I said slowly. "But because of how destructive it is, unless I build enough mental and physical resistance, I won't be able to use it properly."
He shook his head. "That's not what I asked. What do you know about Crimson Abyss? Its history and significance?"
I blinked. Crimson Abyss. The name of my aura. I'd only learned of it recently, and even then, I knew little. "I've read the founding myth yesterday," I admitted. "Lunaria Nyxveil, the first hero of our family, was the one who manifested Crimson Abyss. After Ezekial, she was said to have the most destructive aura in history."
My father nodded. "After her, you are the only person to ever manifest Crimson Abyss."
The weight of his words hit me like a tsunami. Crimson Abyss, the aura I took for granted even since I manifested it, held a disgustingly heavy meaning.
Before I could respond, the door burst open. Count Lucian Truce, my father's assistant, stood there, panting heavily. "Your Grace, we're in trouble!" he exclaimed. "There's a carriage from the Imperial Palace. They're here to take the young lady."
I gritted my teeth, my hand instinctively going to *Slayer*. The Emperor wasn't wasting any time. But before I could react, my father stood, his expression darkening. "Imperial carriage, you say?" he said, his voice chilling.
Lucian hesitated. "What do we do?"
My father's lips curled into a twisted smile. "We go to the Imperial Palace and greet His Majesty." He turned to me, his gaze sharp. "Get ready, Selentia. This will be your first official meeting with the Emperor as my successor."
I nodded, my mind racing. I didn't trust my father, but I couldn't deny his authority. For now, I would follow his lead.