The Duel
Things had gotten far more out of hand than anticipated.
Before anyone realized what was happening, the duel had drawn the eyes of half the city.
“You selfish bastards!”
“Keeping all the fun to yourselves?!”
“We have a right to watch too!”
“Make it a public match while I’m asking nicely, or I’ll tear down this whole damn street!”
Initially, both the Magic Tower and the Stonemasons' Union had intended to settle the matter behind closed doors. But at this rate, the furious crowd gathered outside looked ready to burn both buildings to the ground.
“What in the world… how did it come to this?”
Darahalt had lived for decades, yet he had never witnessed a spectacle quite this absurd. He felt an ominous knot tighten in his gut. A quiet resolution is completely off the table now.
Once public fervor caught fire like this, not even the Governor of Morasil could easily put it out.
No matter who won, whoever lost would see their reputation reduced to utter ash.
Darahalt shut his eyes tightly. He could already picture the grim aftermath of defeat. All of Morasil would jeer at the Stonemasons' Union. And if the guildmaster of the Carpenters' Guild—their eternal, insufferable rivals—swaggered over with that smug grin and sneered, ‘Haha! Well, that was quite the match, brother!’ Darahalt was certain he would cough up blood and drop dead on the spot.
We cannot lose. Whatever happens, we cannot lose.
Yet winning presented its own nightmare. If they won, the Magic Tower’s pride would plunge into the dirt, irrevocably souring relations between the two organizations. In Morasil, making an enemy of the Magic Tower was bad business. Unbelievably bad business.
As Darahalt agonized over how to navigate the brewing disaster, an unexpected visitor arrived.
“Greetings, Guildmaster! My name is Paul, a reporter for the weekly tabloid West Life! Yes, indeed—I’m the very man who broke the story on this duel!”
The self-proclaimed reporter puffed out his chest with insufferable pride. To be fair, he had every reason to gloat. The piece had become an explosive sensation overnight, so how could he not be thrilled?
To Darahalt, however, the fellow looked entirely punchable.
“Thanks to you,” Darahalt growled, “we’re up to our necks in trouble.”
“And I feel an immense sense of responsibility for that! Which is why I’ve come with a humble proposal.”
“Hmph?”
“Would you permit our paper to organize and host the duel?”
Darahalt squinted, eyeing the scribe with blatant suspicion. What nonsense was this charlatan peddling?
“We reframe it as a friendly exhibition,” Paul explained smoothly, gesturing with open palms. “We prepare a proper stage, sell admission tickets, and have yourself and a representative from the Magic Tower exchange a pleasant handshake before the crowd. We wrap it in a pretty bow, you see.”
Not a grudge match fought over wounded pride, but a sporting showcase held to foster fraternal bonds between the Magic Tower and the Stonemasons' Union.
In truth, it was a paper-thin farce. Who in their right mind would actually believe such a spin at this point?
Yet, in high society and public affairs, that paper-thin wrapping was often everything. Losing a bloody grudge match was public humiliation; losing an amicable exhibition match was merely a sporting disappointment.
“Our papers will shout from the rooftops that this is a goodwill exchange!” Paul urged, leaning in. “What’s more, every single copper from the ticket sales goes straight into your pocket. Well? Sounds rather enticing, doesn’t it?”
“……And what do you want in return?”
“Haha! For a third-rate rag like ours, hosting an event of this scale is a massive triumph in itself. All we ask… is exclusive rights to all post-match interviews.”
Darahalt rubbed his bearded chin, weighed the options, and finally gave a begrudging nod. Under the circumstances, this was the best compromise they were going to get.
“So that’s the arrangement,” Darahalt later told Reed. “Are you all right with this?”
“Works out even better for me,” Reed replied without missing a beat.
The moment Reed heard they were taking all the gate receipts, he agreed without a second thought. Once the Magic Tower formally accepted the terms, the date and venue were promptly set.
Reed threw himself straight into training. He fully expected to win, but he had no intention of growing complacent. Day and night, in the open yard of the Stonemasons' Union, he honed his spellcraft over and over again.
At that very same hour, Julian was facing a far colder reception.
“Useless wretch. You’ve finally managed to bring calamity upon our threshold.”
“I am… deeply sorry, Father……”
Beneath the icy glare of Patriarch Erentir, Julian bowed his head until his chin touched his collarbones. Beside their father, Julian’s elder brother watched with open contempt. The black sheep of the household had stirred up a monumental scandal, and neither of them was in a forgiving mood.
Still, the milk had already been spilled.
“Since matters have come to this,” Patriarch Erentir said, his voice flat and unforgiving, “you must win. If you lose, both the Magic Tower and House Erentir will be dragged through the mud.”
“O-Of course, Father! I will win! I swear it!”
“Hmph……”
Patriarch Erentir studied his sniveling second son with palpable distaste, then reached up and unfastened the necklace resting against his chest.
“Take this.”
It was a silver chain set with a large, translucent pale-green gemstone. Julian’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“T-This is……!”
“The Mana Predator. As you well know, it is a relic capable of devouring an opponent’s mana.”
It was an heirloom woven into the very fabric of House Erentir’s history. The family’s heraldic crest bore the likeness of this very necklace; to call it the physical manifestation of their house’s pride was no exaggeration.
“Even an archmage would find themselves severely hard-pressed against the Mana Predator. Against a raw, inexperienced fledgling like that commoner…… if luck is against him, the sudden shock of mana depletion might very well stop his heart.”
The sacred artifact passed down solely through the patriarchs of House Erentir was now resting in Julian’s trembling palms.
Tears welled in Julian’s eyes. Never in his entire life had his father bestowed such absolute support upon him. Beside them, his elder brother cast a venomous, envy-drenched glare in his direction.
The patriarch spoke once more, his gaze boring into Julian’s skull. “Julian. Can you win?”
Julian wiped his eyes, a vicious smirk spreading across his lips.
“Father…… even if I wanted to lose, I couldn’t.”
The chosen battleground was a wide clearing on the outer edge of Morasil.
Canopies and wooden benches had been erected across the open expanse, and spectators had packed the grounds hours before the match was even scheduled to start. Those unable to secure an admission ticket clambered onto the roofs of nearby buildings, while shrewd peddlers bustled through the crowd, hawking ale and skewers to the thirsty patrons.
Yet the liveliest corners of all were the bookmakers' tents.
“Hey, who’d you put your coin on?”
“Julian, obviously. The odds on his side are practically guaranteed.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Think about it! Just being affiliated with the Magic Tower means he’s got proper fundamentals. Besides, do you really think the Tower would let him lose and humiliate them all? They probably loaded him up to his ears with magical tools and family relics to ensure victory.”
“Oho…… that makes a lot of sense.”
Convinced by the man’s plausible reasoning, bystanders hurried over to pile their wagers onto Julian.
Virtually everyone foresaw an easy victory for the noble mage. Even among the stonemasons, an anxious, hushed consensus lingered that Reed was facing an insurmountable disadvantage.
Yet Reed himself sat quietly in the staging tent, eyes closed in serene meditation.
“Hey, Reed. Reed!” Loty hissed, pacing frantically. “How can you sit there looking so relaxed? My hands are shaking just watching you!”
“If I’m already certain of winning, why should I be nervous?”
“I mean… sure, I don’t think you’ll lose either, but still……”
Loty continued to fidget, casting fretful glances across the clearing toward the opposing camp. Over there, Julian sat like a young prince, holding court among the senior mages of the Magic Tower with an insufferable smirk on his face. He, too, seemed thoroughly convinced of his inevitable triumph.
He definitely has some underhanded trick up his sleeve, Loty thought, his heart sinking further. He opened his mouth to warn Reed, but stopped himself. What good would it do to raise an alarm when they didn't even know what that trick was?
Before long, the appointed hour arrived.
The master of ceremonies hired by West Life stepped forward to the center of the ring, raising his voice across the grounds.
“Attention, citizens of Morasil! We shall now commence this historic exhibition exchange between the Stonemasons' Union and the prestigious Magic Tower! First and foremost, allow us to extend our deepest gratitude to everyone gathered here today……”
Darahalt and a senior elder representing the Magic Tower stepped forward, each reciting their rehearsed platitudes.
Droning on about fostering mutual fellowship.
Babbling about how, regardless of the outcome, the enduring bond between craftsman and scholar would remain unbroken.
Once the dull speeches finally concluded, the two dignitaries exchanged polite smiles and shook hands for the press.
It was tedious political theater, yet indispensable. The fact that the Magic Tower had sent a mere elder rather than the Tower Master himself rankled the stonemasons, but Darahalt kept his composure and didn't let the slight show on his face.
The crowd, having endured the farce with barely concealed boredom, offered a round of polite applause.
Clap, clap, clap!
“And now! Let both duelists enter the ring!”
“Whoa! At last!”
“Here we go!”
“Julian! Show him what a real mage looks like!”
“Gravekeeper! Knock him flat! I’ve got half a month’s wages riding on your hide!”
Reed and Julian stepped onto the dirt ring from opposite sides. Reed looked as placid as still water, while Julian gazed around the sea of roaring spectators with flushed, intoxicated wonder. In all his life, he had never received this kind of adulation.
Julian curved his lips into a cruel, sneering smile as he glared at Reed.
“You’d be wise to surrender now. Consider it the final act of mercy you’ll ever receive from me. If an ‘unfortunate accident’ occurs while fighting me, I won't be held liable, you know?”
Reed didn't even bother offering a retort. Julian scoffed at the silence.
The referee stepped between them, his voice solemn. “Lethal force is strictly prohibited, as is the intentional infliction of grievous bodily harm. Should either party surrender, or should I deem one unable to continue, I shall declare a victor. Do both participants agree to these terms?”
“I agree,” Reed said.
“I agree,” echoed Julian.
“Then fight with honor! Combatants, draw your staves!”
Julian produced his weapon first: an ornate, master-crafted staff capped with a brilliant crimson jewel. Upon closer inspection, intricate geometric runes were etched across the jewel’s polished facets. Even to the untrained eye, it looked dazzling and opulent.
“Ooh.”
“Now that’s a real mage's weapon!”
Reed drew his staff next.
A battered, rustic iron shovel.
“What… what in blazes is that?”
“He brought a shovel?! Pwahaha!”
“Wait, look closely! There are runes carved right into the steel blade!”
“He—he engraved sacred runes onto a dirt shovel?!”
Half the audience erupted in laughter, while the other half stared in slack-jawed bewilderment. The mages in attendance looked particularly horrified, their eyes bulging in shock. What lunatic on God's green earth would engrave precious, sacred runes onto a manual laborer's shovel?!
Hearing the crowd’s ridicule, Julian’s chest swelled with boundless confidence. He chuckled derisively.
I knew it. He’s nothing more than an uneducated gutter rat who stumbled onto a bit of luck.
Ignoring the chatter, Reed turned and walked to his designated side of the ring. Standing at opposite ends of the packed arena, the two youths locked eyes.
“……”
“……”
Silence washed over the clearing. Even the boisterous spectators fell quiet, holding their collective breath. The air grew so taut that not a single whisper broke the stillness.
At the center of that breathless tension, the referee raised his right hand high—and brought it down with a sharp snap.
The duel had begun.
“Haaah!”
Julian struck first. Having cleverly pre-cast the syllables under his breath before the signal, his spell manifested almost instantaneously.
Sssss!
Moisture in the air condensed and froze solid, shaping itself into seven razor-sharp, jagged icicles.
Fwip-fwip-fwoosh!
The seven frozen spikes tore through the air, hurtling straight toward Reed’s chest.
Reed casually flicked his wrist as if swatting a fly. Loose soil surged from beneath his boots, forming an earthen barricade that solidified into dense granite in the blink of an eye.
Crack! Shatter!
The ice spikes slammed into the stone bulwark and exploded into useless frost.
“—!”
Julian stiffened in surprise, but he didn't falter. Clenching his teeth, he rapidly conjured volley after volley of frozen projectiles. Thud-thud-thud-thud! A relentless rain of ice hammered against Reed’s earthen shield without pause.
To the untrained eye, it looked like a fierce, evenly matched duel.
The common folk in the stands cheered, thrilled by the flashy display of magic.
“Julian’s pressing him hard, isn’t he?!”
“Yeah, looks like he’s got him pinned!”
Anyone with even a shred of combat experience, however, saw the truth.
“Ha. You call that pressing him? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Looks more like throwing eggs against a mountain wall to me.”
Julian was straining with every breath, desperately launching barrage after barrage. Yet Reed’s barricade hadn't budged an inch. Whenever a tiny crack formed on the surface, Reed simply drew a handful of fresh soil from the ground, restoring the barrier to pristine condition in a split second.
At this rate, there was no question as to who was bleeding resources.
No one understood this better than Julian himself.
Damn it! The bastard isn’t completely worthless after all!
He couldn't afford to waste mana like this. He needed a shift in tactics. Snarling, Julian invoked his next formula.
Whoosh!
Fist-sized globes of crimson fire bloomed in the air before him.
“Go!”
With Julian’s furious shout, the six fireballs plummeted to the dirt. Upon hitting the ground, they bounced upward with elastic momentum, ricocheting forward in chaotic, zigzagging arcs.
Six blazing spheres bounding erratically like rubber balls—a trajectory impossible to anticipate, designed specifically to slip past stationary shields.
Reed had no intention of standing idle and waiting for them.
Rumble!
Like a baseball infielder snapping his glove shut around a fly ball, massive hands of compressed soil burst from the earth, snatching the bouncing fireballs right out of midair.
Smothered beneath tons of dense earth, the flames were snuffed out without so much as a spark escaping.
One by one, the earthen palms intercepted every single projectile, turning Julian’s clever assault into a hollow farce.
Reed tilted his head slightly, as if asking: Is that all you’ve got?
“You little bastard—!”
Panic clawed at Julian’s throat. He began casting haphazardly, firing off whatever spells he could conjure: crescent blades of wind, crackling whips of fire, piercing darts of condensed mana.
His repertoire was surprisingly diverse, yet every single spell lacked depth and weight. It was the classic trademark of an academy noble who skimmed the surface of theory without mastering the fundamentals.
Against Reed’s earth magic, such superficial spells were utterly useless.
For an earth mage facing an opponent who lacked raw destructive power, Reed’s defenses were practically an unbreachable fortress.
“Huff… huff… huff……”
Having exhausted an enormous portion of his mana pool, Julian gasped for air. Sweat poured down his temples, and his temples throbbed with a burning ache from cognitive overload.
Reed, on the other hand, stood completely unruffled, not a single hair out of place.
“Done with your turn?” Reed asked mildly. “Then I suppose it’s mine.”
“Gah!”
Reed twitched a finger. A clump of loose soil leaped from the ground, compressing into a rough sphere before sailing through the air straight toward Julian.
Terrified, Julian threw himself sideways in a desperate dive. The mud ball landed with a soft thud right where he had been standing—and did absolutely nothing.
“……Huh?”
Reed offered a relaxed smirk. Realization dawned on Julian like a slap across the face: he had been completely bluffed. And he had made an utter fool of himself in front of thousands.
The stands exploded with mocking laughter.
“Look at that! The Gravekeeper took every single spell without taking a step back, and that pampered brat dives in the dirt over a handful of mud!”
“Bwahahaha!”
“Booo! Coward! Stand your ground and fight!”
“I bet my entire life savings on you, you brainless idiot!!”
Reed had stood firm against an endless onslaught of elemental spells, yet Julian had panicked and rolled in the dirt at the sight of a harmless clod of earth. The contrast was humiliatingly comedic.
Julian’s face flushed crimson. Rage burned behind his eyes, but beneath that fury lurked a cold, creeping dread he had never once contemplated.
Defeat.
No. No, no, no! I cannot lose!
To lose to a commoner? A filthy slum orphan? If he lost here, Julian was finished. His family would discard him, and the Magic Tower would cast him out like garbage.
Consumed by terror, Julian desperately scanned the arena. In the front row of the spectator stands, his eyes locked onto his father’s.
Patriarch Erentir gave him a subtle, cold nod.
At once, the panic receded, replaced by a surge of spiteful malice. Julian gripped the pendant hidden beneath his collar and bared his teeth in a savage grin.
You brought this on yourself, you wretched peasant.
Julian drew his final trump card and pointed it straight at Reed.
“Die!”
“—!”
Flash!
The necklace flared with blinding radiance. A piercing beam of emerald light erupted from the pale-green gemstone, striking Reed directly in the chest. In an instant, a hazy azure vapor billowed from Reed’s body, siphoned along the beam of light straight into the jewel.
The audience gasped at the sudden turn of events.
Among the spectator stands, several high-ranking mages recognized the artifact’s distinctive aura, their jaws dropping in utter disbelief. They had never imagined House Erentir would stoop to deploying their most sacred family heirloom in an exhibition duel!
“Hahaha!”
Julian threw his head back and laughed. Falling back on an artifact after losing the magical clash wasn't the prettiest picture, but who cared about aesthetics? All that mattered was that he won.
Yes! Suffer as your mana is ripped from your core! Writhe on the dirt like the worm you are! While you’re helpless on the ground, I’ll impale you with an ice spike myself—
“What is this? It kind of tickles.”
“……?”
Reed stood there with a look of mild amusement. He wasn't screaming in agony; he didn't even seem fazed by the sudden loss of mana.
Stunned, Julian frantically checked the necklace.
The relic was functioning perfectly. Even now, it was draining a torrent of mana from the boy at terrifying speed.
If the relic is working properly……
How could this monster still be standing there looking bored?!
As Julian stared down at the pendant in dazed horror, the gemstone began to tremble. It vibrated violently, humming with an unstable, screeching resonance. A heartbeat later, a sharp crack echoed across the quiet ring as fissures spiderwebbed across the jewel’s polished surface……
Shatter!
The pale-green gem burst into a shower of glittering dust.
The sacred heirloom passed down through generations of the noble Erentir bloodline had shattered beyond repair.
“Ah……”
At that moment, every visiting mage and member of House Erentir froze in paralyzed disbelief. An impossible, unthinkable disaster had just unfolded before their very eyes!
Julian’s mind snapped under the sheer weight of the shock. Mouth hanging open like an imbecile, he knelt in the dirt, clawing desperately at the broken silver setting and the fine powder slipping through his fingers.
Reed scratched the back of his neck, thoroughly perplexed.
Well. What was all that about?
The fellow had made a grand show of pulling out a secret weapon, only to blow it up all on his own. Truly, he was a clown to the bitter end.
I suppose that settles it.
Curious to see how other mages fought, Reed had intentionally limited himself to defense throughout the match. Thanks to that, he had enjoyed a front-row seat to standard academy spellcraft for the very first time.
Personal feelings about Julian aside, it had been quite an entertaining display. Fireballs bouncing across the dirt and ice shards whizzing through the air had a certain theatrical flair to them.
His own earth magic tended to be rather plain and rugged by comparison, after all.
Still, play time was over.
Reed glanced around the packed grounds. Thousands of spectators were leaning forward, gulping nervously as they watched him.
He could simply ask the referee to declare a technical victory right now, but……
All these people paid good money for admission. Leaving them with such an anticlimactic finish would be a terrible disappointment.
Since he was pocketing their gate money, he felt an obligation to provide a proper show. That was simply his sense of professional responsibility.
Reed shaped a small handful of earth, compressing it into a miniature crystal orb. He infused it with the barest trickle of mana—just enough to create an impact. If he used his full strength, Julian would be turned into red mist.
Thanks to its diminutive size, the crystalline pellet zipped across the ring and landed cleanly at Julian’s knees.
Then, making sure every spectator in the arena had a clear view, Reed hoisted his crude iron shovel high into the air. The engraved runes along the shovel’s blade ignited with brilliant, golden light. The very tool everyone had mocked just minutes ago now radiated unmistakable power.
BOOM!
A concussive shockwave ripped through the dirt.
Even heavily suppressed, the kinetic burst was more than enough to catapult Julian off his feet and send him flying backward through the air. He crashed hard outside the chalk boundary, sprawling limp across the turf. Whether he had been knocked unconscious or simply lost his wits from terror, he didn't twitch a finger.
“……Uh. Ah.”
Blinking in disbelief, the referee took a ragged breath and raised his arm high.
“Julian Erentir, unable to battle! The victor…… is Reed!”
“……”
“……”
A heartbeat of stunned silence gripped the clearing.
And then—
“WOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAHHHH!!”
A deafening, thunderous roar erupted from thousands of throats, shaking the very sky above Morasil.