Astor stood ten feet away from Rowan in the center of the dueling grounds.

The rules he chose specified no equipment, so any weapons they had would be made of mana. Astor formed her longsword.

It was unfortunate, Princess Rosalyn mused, as the royal family's deep pockets would have otherwise ensured that Astor could steamroll a mere university student with top class magic items.

Even if something technically illegal was snuck in, it would be hard to prove. With her identity, nobody would dare try.

It wasn't as if Astor would need such things, though. Rosalyn trusted her knight.

She'd put that evil bastard in the grave where he belonged.

Astor observed her opponent intensely. Princess Rosalyn seemed to think he was just a normal university student who was a bit lucky, but as an experienced fighter, she wouldn't make that mistake.

She had heard he instantaneously deployed an anti-magic field in time to block the spell that killed Lady Amarine. Princess Rosalyn might not understand, but that was a feat that spoke of his incredible speed, awareness, and casting ability.

Still, she had been the one to challenge him and she was not so dishonorable as to back out over something like fear of death.

She lifted her sword, and Rowan moved.

She had barely registered where he had gone when she realized there were hundreds of tiny, explosive pellets of mana flying towards her at supersonic speeds.

Leaping sideways and deflecting as many as she could, she managed to avoid the worst of it.

Rowan was already there, waiting for her, like this had been his plan. A blade of mana shot towards her neck.

Still in midair, she blocked it with her sword. The recoil sent her upper body reeling back.

She flipped, getting her feet under her, only to see that the ground was covered in spikes. She blasted them apart before landing, but barely had an instant to conjure a shield before getting hit from the side.

Every time she dodged, she would find herself in the path of another attack. She was completely on the defensive.

Something had to change. Gritting her teeth, she allowed a ball of fire to slam into her mana shield, then charged forward through the heat and pain.

She couldn't beat his casting speed, so she would have to continually press him in physical combat. His abilities as a magician would matter far less if he didn't have the opportunity to cast .

By the time she arrived at Rowan's location, he had conjured his own weapon. Her mind and body were quickly occupied with a furious clash of blades.

Rowan's skill with the sword was somehow greater than his skill as a mage. If she weren't desperately fighting for her life, she would've been in awe of the beauty of the way he fought.

Every motion was perfect.

His attacks rained down on the gaps in her techniques, systematically slashing apart her defenses with ruthless efficiency. Whenever she managed to get in a strike of her own, Rowam easily deflected it at the worst angle possible for her.

She couldn't cast anything, or even back away. Every fiber of her being was focused on surviving the next strike. She knew she would be cut down the instant she left an opening.

With her senses in overdrive, she could feel her abilities evolving. She was becoming acutely more aware of her own weaknesses. Finally, she adapted enough to Rowan's strikes that she was able to anticipate where one of them was headed.

She neatly blocked it and stepped in. Born of desperation and the will to survive, her sword cut forward in what she knew to be the most beautiful attack of her life. It arched through his defenses, aiming at his chest.

Suddenly, she couldn't feel her arm anymore. Blood spurted, and she collapsed on the ground.

Rowan watched her calmly with those cold, emotionless eyes.

"Any last words?"

"Tell Princess Rosalyn that this was my own choice. She isn't to blame."

Rowan nodded.

"I'll make it painless."

He did.

Fighting with magic was, in some ways, a childhood dream come true. It was like being able to use every weapon in the world at the same time, but stronger, and with no ammunition or recoil.

That being said, I still had far more experience with physical weapons.

I bombarded the knight for a while. Then she charged in close, so we casually clashed for a bit, and I killed her.

I was slightly surprised by the half-decent strike she pulled off at the end. I wouldn't go so far as to say it nearly cut me, but it was impressive enough. As expected of a royal knight, I guess. She wasn't a particularly skilled or senior one, but she must have trained a lot.

It wasn't as though that would bring her back from the dead, though.

I had won the duel.

The area surrounding the arena was silent.

The referee announced my victory. The claim that I had insulted the princess' honor would be considered void.

Princess Rosalyn's shock, horror, and loss were visible on her face. She looked positively broken.

She'd probably take a while to process this, but I wouldn't count on it. Dodging the crowds, I headed home.

I could feel something was wrong before I even entered the apartment complex.

Blood and gunpowder.

It wasn't a huge building like modern ones, but it was still large enough that it shouldn't be anywhere near empty. None of the rooms I passed contained a single person.

There were signs of doors being forced and barriers that let people in, but not out.

As I drew closer to my room, the air gradually filled with fresh blood and the scent of smoke.

I opened the door and saw him.

He was standing in the center of the room, tall and imposing, in the middle of a pool of blood. The walls around him were blackened from mana discharge.

I could tell what had happened. He had forced my neighbors to walk in and set off as many of the defensive traps as possible, (a good move, as many of them were designed to only activate when triggered by people) before dealing with the rest himself. Some people had been caught in the non-lethal traps, so he finished them off, probably because he thought they were annoying.

He didn't look injured, but given the apparent nature of his mana, that only meant that he still had fuel in the tank.

I was furious.

"What the fuck are you doing here, you cowardly piece of shit?"

Johan smiled.

"Glad to see that you missed me, Solomon."

"I don't want to here that name coming out of your mouth."

"It's been a long time."

"No shit. Do you know that I was enjoying my life? Because of you, I'm now trapped on this fucking planet."

Solomon looked so angry he was practically steaming. The overflowing murderous intent in his eyes was sharp enough to cut.

Even in that state, though, Johan noted with joy that, as always, Solomon had no openings. Despite his inevitable rage, he still carefully analyzed everything around him and was always prepared to respond.

"It might not have been me, you know?" Johan responded easily.

"I can count the number of people alive who could've made that shot on one hand. I knew you were a monster, but I never took you for a coward."

Johan didn't bother denying it. Sniping Solomon had been something he'd regretted as soon as he pulled the trigger.

He shrugged.

"If I apologized, would you accept it?"

"Like hell I would."

Solomon had his blades out, and they were practically thrumming with mana.

In response, Johan grinned widely.

"If it's any consolation, I won't do it again."

It apparently wasn't.

"How did you get here? It can't have been easy for someone like you, who stinks of light mana. I see you've become that priestess' bitch," Solomon spat.

"I did have to put in some effort, yes, but it seems to have been worth it. And my relationship with the priestess is mutually beneficial. Not everyone is as rigidly obsessed with freedom as you are. As long as I can do the things I want to, I can put up with it for a bit."

Now that he was face to face with Solomon, Johan was reasonably convinced that he was real. There was only one thing left to check, and then he could be certain.

Solomon seemed to be eyeing the bloody mess Johan had made with some distaste.

"Why did you have to fuck up my room? Couldn't you have just waited in the hallway."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Johan scoffed.

He highly doubted Solomon's setup consisted only of defensive runes. Waiting in the hallway without destroying the room would've been like letting your enemy climb into a tank.

Without another word, Solomon closed the distance. Johan raised his blood-soaked swords.

No matter how angry I might've been, from a purely technical perspective, fighting Johan always felt like taking part in some sort of sublime ritual.

Putting aside his awful personality, I could not deny that he was a true master of his craft.

There were no wasted movements. Every strike was controlled and deliberate, yet backed with incredible power and blinding speed.

As we tried to kill each other, I found myself laughing. He was laughing, too.

His madness was contagious.

The blood on the ground splashed with the movement of our feet.

His style was a marriage of viciousness and calculation. Probably due to the extraordinary healing abilities he had presumably gained from his training with the priestess, he was far more willing to let strikes through than usual.

I didn't object. I quite enjoyed having more opportunities to stab him, although the wounds unfortunately did heal immediately.

I didn't have his recovery powers, but I made up for it by instead pouring my mana into increased firepower and defenses.

There isn't any need to heal if you don't take any major injuries.

Johan would rather take injuries in exchange for being able to attack his opponents more. You can consider it a matter of personal preference.

However, while he was an amazing fighter, he wouldn't be able to hold me off for much longer.

He was running low on mana.

While he had healed from all the damage he must have taken from destroying the formations in my residence, it had to have taken a lot out of him. I had been thorough when constructing them.

And I was practically running on full.

We had both known from the start how this would end.

Johan knocked one of my swords aside, making space for himself to shift backwards, towards the window.

It had been barred, but he had fully broken it open before I had arrived home. My sword bit deep into his side as he reduced his defense in favor of gaining distance.

Without magic, it would have been fatal. He didn't seem to care.

"I'll see you again, my dear, perfect little brother," he said.

Then he launched himself through the open hole. As he fell, he activated a teleportation scroll and disappeared.

Now I was alone, standing in a pool of blood and surrounded by the mangled bodies of my neighbors.

This would be a fucking treat.