If Only I'd Been Born Twenty Years Earlier!

In the Realms, a creature's abilities were broadly divided into six attributes: strength, constitution, dexterity, intelligence, wisdom, and charisma.

These six basic attributes directly determined what a creature could do.

The first four were self-explanatory. Only the last two needed a little explanation.

Wisdom was a broad measure of mental faculties, including willpower, judgment, perception, and the legendary sixth sense. A creature with high wisdom could notice every detail in a scene. One person might come home, sleep through the night, and never realize the place had been robbed. Another might walk in, notice that a chair had moved two centimeters to the left, and immediately go on guard.

And in the Realms, where gods, faith, magic, and all manner of supernatural forces existed, high wisdom also meant sensing hidden presences, reaching higher powers more easily, and communicating more readily with gods or beings from the outer planes.

That was why priests, druids, monks, and others who served gods or devoted themselves to a particular principle needed high wisdom.

Lady Silverstar stood behind a stone wall with Eleanor. Holding the priestess's small, white-gloved hand, she glanced at Aaron, who sat outside sorting his weapons and equipment while talking with the barbarian woman Asha. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Eleanor did not much like being touched. The half-elf looked puzzled. "Strange. Asha has never thought much of noble-born boys like him."

"It was a charm!" Lady Silverstar said gravely, interest showing on her mature, full face. "He used a charm, perhaps without realizing it."

The priestess knitted her golden brows.

He really had changed. Eleanor had always thought Aaron mediocre: courteous and well-mannered, certainly, but plainly untested by real combat or hardship. Now he struck her as a noble who had earned his honors on the battlefield and faced life and death. There was a ruthless edge to him, along with confidence, maturity, and a methodical way of doing things. He had even gained a touch of noble cunning.

His request for help, for instance, had been remarkably well handled.

He had laid out his predicament and asked openly for help, offering a price. When that failed, he had appealed to their relationship, then offered to leave, turning retreat into an advance. After accepting their kindness, he had not made the sort of grand, hollow vows so many nobles favored. He knew exactly what strength and resources he had, so he had merely said they could come to him if they ever needed anything.

Those were the qualities a fine noble ought to possess.

More intriguing still, Aaron now radiated charm. His sky-blue eyes seemed as deep and unfathomable as a cloudless sky. After meeting them for a moment, she found herself wanting to keep looking, as though her soul had risen into the high heavens and lost its way beneath the thin vault of the sky.

At the thought, a faint blush spread across the priestess's jade-smooth cheeks. Even with most of her face hidden behind a mask, she was stunningly beautiful.

How did he suddenly become so charming? Was the Silver Mother's blessing really that powerful?

Wait!

The clever priestess caught on at once. "Supernatural charisma! He's a sorcerer! He's become a sorcerer?!"

Lady Silverstar nodded slowly. "That was charisma-based spellcasting."

Charisma was perhaps the hardest of the six attributes to understand.

Taken at face value, it meant "good looks plus personal magnetism."

What were good looks?

"Once in Russia lived a peasant, big and strong and handsome too. His eyes burned like fire; timid men fled at the sight of him, but Moscow's women flirted whenever he appeared.

He spoke of scripture with more passion than a priest, and he taught other lessons too—lessons women longed to learn."

"Ra-ra-Rasputin, the queen's lover was that peasant."

And what was personal magnetism?

A short, unremarkable, slightly balding fat man faced thousands of soldiers sent to stop him and spread his arms wide.

"Soldiers of the Fifth Regiment, I am the Emperor."

"Soldiers, if you wish to kill your Emperor, fire."

But beyond looks and personal magnetism, the attribute's most important aspect was affinity. That included leadership, negotiation, persuasion, deception, intimidation, and an affinity with the laws of the world and the elements of nature.

When someone had high charisma, most creatures found it hard to dislike them unless they harbored an inborn prejudice or hatred.

Someone with extraordinarily high charisma might wander around a dragon's lair, and not only would the dragon leave them unharmed, it might even give them a parting gift!

At still higher levels, charisma could grant a profound affinity with the laws of nature and even the universe.

"Supernatural charisma. The charisma Aaron is displaying has surpassed the human limit!" Lady Silverstar grew cautious as she spoke.

Yes, mortal attributes had limits. That was one of the laws governing the world. Breaking through required outside help, such as divine power or the aid of some being from an outer plane.

Without such help, no mortal could awaken supernatural charisma through their own efforts!

"A draconic bloodline sorcerer?" Eleanor grew more wary.

"Unlikely. Even draconic bloodline sorcerers don't have supernatural charisma." Lady Silverstar narrowed her eyes. "And he can't be the child of a god. I watched him grow up."

"He is a touched one, blessed by our lady. Eleanor, I have a task for you." Lady Silverstar rubbed her brow wearily. She truly needed rest. "Listen to me..."

Aaron did not have to wait long.

The charm had already worn off, but Asha had not realized the eighteen-year-old boy had charmed her. She only felt that the Silver Mother's blessing really had changed him somehow. After using Aaron's gold coins to fetch him a standard-issue longsword and a small bundle of travel supplies—a tinderbox and a waterskin—she kept wanting to talk to him. But Asha was clumsy with words and usually so blunt that she could not think of a topic. Her whole face turned red. Finally, she went to a nearby corner, picked up two great iron blocks weighing at least two hundred pounds each, and began working out.

"Hah! Hup! Hah! Hup!" For some reason, Asha shouted especially loudly. She felt unusually strong today, as though strength were pouring into her from behind, filling her with energy for everything she did.

Aaron finished packing. He glanced at the barbarian woman's back, then at the two iron blocks she handled like toys, and broke into a sweat.

In his eyes, those iron blocks gradually took on his own shape. He and all his armor, weapons, and equipment together did not weigh two hundred pounds!

He remembered a murder case in Suzail. A barbarian woman had quarreled with her husband, and both had been at fault. But barbarians were not generally known for their wit. As she ran out of things to say and her husband kept talking, she grabbed him by the back of the neck, hauled him up to the roof, and let go. The world fell quiet, and she won the argument.

This was a fantasy world!

Now that was female empowerment!

With her second-tier elite strength, all she had to do was get close enough to punch Aaron's brains out!

Best not to mess with her. Aaron swallowed and shook his head repeatedly.

"Are you ready?" A cool, aloof female voice drew Aaron's attention back. The priestess stood gracefully before him with a medium-sized pack on her back. Her lovely face was still concealed by a mask bearing the Silver Mother's holy symbol. A golden ponytail gleamed in the sunlight and fell to her waist, while the shorter hair at her temples looked neat and practical. Even beneath her priestly robes, Aaron could make out the slender line of her waist.

The priestess was not tall, perhaps a hundred and sixty-two or sixty-three centimeters, considerably shorter than the barbarian woman beside her, who stood a hundred and eighty centimeters. But her figure was beautifully proportioned, slender and graceful like a ballet dancer's.

Beneath her robe she wore a finely crafted priest's breastplate over a white shirt. She was covered from head to toe, with nothing exposed. A hefty tome hung from her belt, the Silver Mother's emblem stamped on its cover, while her other hand held a standard church warhammer named Hand of the Moon.

Yes, a warhammer.

After seeing too many Japanese fantasy stories and risqué illustrations in his previous life, Aaron knew people often developed a stereotype: priests were delicate, helpless beauties in white, rather revealing robes—sometimes practically bikinis—who hid sweetly behind the party's tanks and cast healing magic.

That was not how it worked at all.

But neither did every priest dress like a heavily armored warrior, as Eleanor did.

How most priests dressed depended on the god they worshiped and the domain they served. Lady Firehair's priests really did favor thin robes and low-cut gowns that showed off their figures. Priests of the Three Gods of Justice mostly wore white helms and armor, while priests of the god of thieves wore close-fitting leather and cloaks, looking no different from wanderers.

Aaron noticed the priestess had changed into a brand-new pair of deerskin boots. The perfect curve of her calves held his gaze for an extra moment, though her robe and armored skirt were both long, and she had carefully tied a bow at the collar. "I'm ready too. Shall we leave now?"

"Yes." Eleanor had intended to begin the journey calmly, but when Aaron looked her way, she hurriedly averted her eyes. A blush flashed across her face.

There seemed to be a frightening magic in his gaze.

"Then let's go." Aaron took the bag containing Hicks's remains from Eleanor and weighed it in his hand. "I can't wait to get back to Suzail."

As the two left the open-air altar, the priestess realized her impression had been right.

Whether they were beastfolk, commoners, clergy, or guards, everyone who saw Aaron found their eyes drawn to him. They kept watching until he disappeared from sight.

The moment the pair left the altar, Asha put down her iron blocks.

"What's wrong, Asha? Keep going!" a burly paladin said with a laugh.

"I'm done! Don't feel like it."

Seabury lay in the heart of the kingdom beside Wyvern Lake. It was the ancestral home of two noble families, Dragonspike and Thunderblade. Both wielded enormous influence there, holding a near monopoly on the town's trade and crafts. Every commoner entering or leaving Seabury faced a strict inspection.

The Dragonspike scions in particular, dressed in finery, searched every "suspicious" person at the gate. There was also an "express paid passage": hand over five Golden Lions, and you could go straight through.

The result was a crush at the gate. Adventurers, merchants, townspeople, farmers, and craftspeople crowded together beneath the archway, where sweat, spit, body odor, fish, and raw meat combined into a stench.

Amid an argument, guards overturned an entire barrel of fish and prodded through it with spears in search of "contraband." At the shouted orders of the Dragonspike scions, other guards meticulously searched every traveler's baggage and vehicle.

It was utter chaos.

"This could be troublesome, Miss Eleanor. Stay close to me," Aaron said casually.

"Lord Salian, I don't need your protection. No one in Seabury would dare trouble a servant of the Silver Mother!" Eleanor frowned. The stench blowing into her face was bad enough; Aaron's "inappropriate" behavior only irritated her more.

What does he take me for? Some frail woman who needs protecting?

"You're the one protecting me, Lady Eleanor." Aaron smiled and caught her sleeve. Lowering his voice, he said, "I mean, stay close to me and you won't have to smell it!"

Why would standing closer to you help? The priestess did not understand at first. Yet when Aaron came beside her, nearly all the stench beneath the gate vanished in an instant.

She caught a faint fragrance on him: citrus and lemon, with the barest trace of rosemary.

The priestess relaxed at once, her irritation fading.

Was this another effect of supernatural charisma?

This man is hard to read. Is he good or evil? Whatever the answer, I must carry out Lady Silverstar's instructions.

The half-elf found a reason to reassure herself: she was here to watch over and escort him. There was nothing wrong with walking a little closer, was there?

She really did hate bad smells and filthy things.

Eleanor studied the man's back intently. She would spend a long time keeping watch over him.

I hope you don't disappoint the Silver Mother, Aaron of Salian.

Because even if the Silver Mother forgives you, I won't!

I'll deliver righteous judgment with the warhammer in my hand.

Aaron felt the gaze on his back.

His skin gave off a fragrance that dispelled every foul smell. It was a peculiar power of Slaanesh.

The Prince of Pleasure had always hated the blood, brass, and lava smells that clung to Khorne, and Nurgle's stench was worse still. This small power erased all foul odors nearby and replaced them with a faint scent.

Slaanesh always wastes attention on useless things like this, Aaron thought.

No wonder the other three gods beat on Slaanesh all day.

But that was not where his attention lay now. He was watching the finely dressed Dragonspike scions at the gate!

Over the past year or two, the Dragonspike family had risen to unrivaled prominence in the kingdom, almost reclaiming its former glory.

Because two years ago, someone from the Dragonspike family had ascended to godhood!

Vander Dragonspike, one of the founders of the Harpers, was now the God of Art and Reptiles. During the Time of Troubles, the legendary bard had slain Moander, God of Rot. With Lady Luck's recommendation and the approval of AO, Overgod, he had successfully become a god!

The Dragonspike family had consequently become one of the most influential families in the Realms.

Yes, the Time of Troubles had ended two years ago! The gods' calamity had ended two years ago too! Apart from a rare few who already wandered the Material Plane, all the gods had returned to their divine realms!

I arrived too late!

The thought hurt Aaron so much he could barely breathe.

In most webnovels he had read, the protagonist began his journey before the Time of Troubles, laid all his plans, seized every advantage and opportunity, then slaughtered the gods who had fallen from their divine realms to the mortal world—or took them in as lackeys.

But when it was his turn, it was already over?

The young viscount stared at the Dragonspike family crest, seething with indignation.

If only I'd been born twenty years earlier, I could have joined Asmodeus in conquering the world on equal terms!

Uh, no, that doesn't sound right. I'm a child of Chaos, while Asmodeus is the Lord of the Nine Hells—lawful evil. We're nothing alike!

Let's try someone else.

If only I'd been born twenty years earlier, I could have joined Demogorgon in conquering the world on equal terms!