Chest

Atticus stared down at his reflection with a calm gaze. He was getting one good look at himself before he headed out to war.

'Damn…'

As he did, Atticus couldn't help but admire his entire look. His skin was flawless, his face so incredible it was as though it had been sculpted by the hands of a god. His hair appeared like silk, and his height…

Atticus was tall. In fact, tall was an understatement. Because of his height, they had to adjust the door to his room to accommodate him. Luckily, the ceiling had been high in the first place.

And his presence appeared serene, so peaceful he could calm the most anxious of minds.

'Stop fawning over yourself, bond. You're not even as good-looking as me,'

Atticus heard Ozeroth's snide remark inwardly. He scoffed.

'Please, the only thing you have going for you is your goatee, which I know you trim practically every second.'