There were five known ranks in the world for combat Talents, each representing the potential of an Awakener. And in this world, potential was everything.
It decided how society treated you so it was very important, if you had a trash talent, Society would treat you poorly and if you had a mythic talent, society would treat you like a god amongst men.
The world is a dangerous place.
At the bottom sat the Dust Rank — the unfortunate tier of the weak.
Dust-ranked talents barely supported a basic class. Their bearers could still train and fight, sure, but they rarely amounted to more than foot soldiers.
If they were lucky, maybe they'd get picked up by low-tier Guilds to clear harmless C-Class Gates.
Next was Bronze Rank. Still average, but not hopeless.
Most people in society fell into this range. Bronze talents offered just enough uniqueness to let their users contribute — often as scouts, support-types, or low-level dungeon sweepers.
Then came the Gold Rank. A mark of promise.
If someone awakened a Gold-ranked talent, doors would open. Sponsorships, elite academies, Guild internships — those people were the rising stars of the next generation.
Everyone wanted a Gold.
After that was Mythic Rank. A level so rare that only a handful of individuals had ever awakened to it in recorded human history — the current mythic talents were the Four Swords of Humanity themselves.
Each one possessed a Mythic-class talent, and each one stood at the pinnacle of modern combat power. Arthur had once believed there was nothing higher.
But now?
He looked at the faint glow of his system window again.
Legendary.
That wasn't even supposed to exist.
It was cheating.
"Uhm..." Mayla's voice brought him back to the present.
She stood frozen at the doorway, a cake dropped at her feet, the tray still wobbling on its edge before clattering to the floor.
Her eyes were wide, mouth agape. She didn't even flinch at the stench of the black sludge painting the floorboards.
Arthur followed her gaze.
'Right… from her perspective, it looks like I awakened a Mythic Talent.'
The impurity purge only occurred at that tier or above. And since no one even knew there was a rank above Mythic, her shock made perfect sense.
"I'm so—so sorry—!" Mayla stammered, looking down at the ruined cake.
"It's fine," Arthur waved her off. "I'll take a quick bath. Could you clean the... mess?"
"Y-Yes! Right away!"
"And if you're not busy… let's go out. For my birthday after I'm done with my bath."
She blinked. "Eh? Together?!"
"Yes, you can change out of that maid outfit too."
"O-of course, young master!" she said, snapping into a salute so enthusiastically she nearly toppled over.
Arthur chuckled under his breath and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Steam rose gently from the tub, the water already drawn and still hot. Mayla always handled her tasks well.
Arthur sank into the water with a sigh.
His body was smaller than he remembered, frailer — but his senses remained sharp. He could feel mana slowly flowing around him now, drawn to him like a tide.
It was subtle, but familiar. His Talent would awaken further the moment he leveled up.
There was about a month until the official start of the Awakener Academy. As Elise Evermont's younger brother, he could skip the entrance exam if he wanted — just like in his last life.
But this time?
No. He needed to attend the exam. To measure his base.
To test what [Mirrorkeeper] could do.
And maybe… to meet the people he failed in the previous life.
People he vowed to save if he had a second chance.
After his bath, Arthur stepped out of the steamy bathroom with a towel draped across his shoulders while wearing a pair of boxers.
His skin was clearer, his hair damp and longer than before, and his crimson eyes glowed faintly in the light.
He glanced at his open closet, filled with clothes from a decade ago.
"Huh… these brands are antiques," he muttered. "Why the hell did I own so many outfits?"
The room was spotless — the floor scrubbed, sheets changed, cake disaster erased like it never happened.
Mayla worked fast, and efficiently. He liked that about her.
Just then, the door clicked open and Mayla peeked in.
"Hehe~ Young master doesn't know what to wear?"
Arthur turned with a raised brow. "I thought we were going out. Why are you still in maid clothes?"
"It's a servant's duty not to overshadow their master," she said proudly, puffing her chest.
"Well, this master orders you to change."
"But — but maid clothes fit me better!" she argued with an adorable pout.
Arthur narrowed his eyes playfully. "Is that disobeying a direct order?"
Mayla flushed, cheeks puffed, before sighing in dramatic defeat. "Fiiine…"
"Help me pick something to wear," he added. "Then I'll help you pick yours."
Her eyes sparkled.
"S-Sure! Young master!"
She dashed in and began rifling through his closet with the seriousness of a royal tailor, humming softly as she went.
Mayla soon pulled out a sharp black jacket with silver embroidery across the cuffs. "This one! It looks like something a dashing noble would wear!"
"…A bit too dramatic."
She replaced it with a dark-blue long coat with a high collar. "This one then! Makes you look mysterious."
"I'm not going to a masquerade ball."
"Hmm…" She looked again, then finally picked out a layered gray coat with subtle rune-thread accents along the shoulders, paired with slim black pants and combat boots.
Arthur raised a brow. "That'll work."
"You'll look dangerous. And cool," she said, nodding like a proud stylist.
He got dressed while she turned away politely, only stealing quick glances when she thought he wasn't looking.
"Alright, your turn," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "Let's pick something that isn't frilly or black-and-white."
Mayla turned red, suddenly shy.
"Y-you'll help me pick?"
"Fair's fair."
They walked to her room, it looked like a regular girl's room hinted with the scent of perfumes, he ignored it of course and walked toward her wardrobe.
She hesitantly opened it — and was greeted by a wall of maid dresses.
"…You weren't kidding."
"I-I told you they fit me best!"
Arthur shook his head with a smirk. "We're fixing that."