A sigh slipped past Ethan's lips, his teeth clenching tightly as the terrifying sword intent flooded every corner of the room.
Just as mages who reached the fifth stage were called Archmages, swordsmen who climbed to that same height received the title of Sword Master.
Each were supreme beings in their own path.
Naturally, the aura of such a powerful being could never be weak.
Ethan felt the terrible pressure bearing down on his shoulders. Small cuts opened across his skin, thin scarlet threads trickling down his face and arms.
He ignored them.
The key step to becoming a specialist was forging one's own aura, and he could not fail at that.
Creating a weak aura, or worse, failing to shape one at all, would be an unforgivable waste of the gifts the system had granted him.
Some men carried repulsive, loathsome auras. Others bore dignified, noble, powerful ones, capable of bringing enemies to submission with a single thought.
