“Worm!”

That’s the first thing Atticus shouts at me while I’m walking with the belt still above my head through the boos, slowly and deliberately, toward the center of the arena.

I think that the Elf repeated the word quite a few times before I could actually hear him. The music from my metal blocks has finally expired, but the crowd is still riled up. They are shouting at me, hurling insults, snarling with foam at their mouths. Some of them look ready to jump down from the battlements and dismember me alive, to rip off the skin from my body.

I wink at Atticus as I slowly lower the champion’s belt and put it back in my bag of holding – the thing is a bit too cumbersome to be worn during serious duels.

Suddenly, a shiver runs down my spine. I immediately turn my head to a specific point in the stands, but I can’t see anyone. It’s actually a half-ruined part where no one is sitting. There’s just a massive rock that has fallen on that part of the stands. But it’s like some kind of beast is staring right at me with ravenous eyes.

That artifact is almost relic-level, Joey Luciani.

Lord Juler brings me back to reality and Atticus.

The armor?

The [Supreme Archmagus] nods, spiritually speaking. It’s more like a nudge, physically.

Indeed, Atticus is wearing spectacular armor. However, to me, it looks like a mix of spinach and bovine leather, but it is impressive – I’ll give him that. It’s clearly not metal, but it shines like the most lustrous polished mineral. If I had to place it in a story, it’s the kind of artifact a hero gets before he has to slay the big evil monster. Sadly, I’m the monster in this story. I mean, sadly for him.

The armor reaches his neck and envelops his head but still somehow leaves his long blonde hair flowing in the back. Weird. And not just weird…

I’m not going to lie—it looks kind of gay. It looks like what K-pop girls would love to see their idols in. And that’s not a flattering look if you are a man, gender studies or not.

“Are you ready to die, worm?!”

“Woah, dude,” I recoil. This guy has enchanted his voice a bit too much.

The crowd goes crazy at that. Not that I blame them. He looks like a hero from a book, while I haven’t slept more than eight hours in two days. I have bags under my eyes, and I think my hair is a bit filthy. Not too much, but enough to notice. Plus, my scar and attire make me look like a homeless person with very flashy shorts. Red sparkling shorts, if I forgot to tell you.

But being the underdog is the American way. That’s how we write books and make films, baby. From zero to hero, from rags to riches, from stable to stars – the last one is an Italian saying. Anyway, you get what I’m saying.

I look around, trying to see who the referee of this match will be, when what looks like an [Archmage] levitates above the arena.

“Welcome, everyone.”

It’s a woman. She looks hot from afar, but that could just be my bias for powerful women. She could also be an old hag from this far away, to be fair.

“This is what many of you have been waiting for these past few days. A Human has come to challenge the young generation of the academy, claiming he can lay all of them to waste. Few people could be more arrogant than the dying Vanedenis. But we have a winner here, at least in that regard. And he’s already dressed like a buffoon, it seems.”

Woah. Did she just trash talk Lord Juler’s people? And why didn’t she present herself? Am I supposed to know who she is?

I instantly feel this boiling anger come out from inside my soul. It’s not mine, as you can imagine. It’s my teacher’s. But before he could say anything to me, I cast a quick and easy spell to amplify my voice.

“Yo, lady, you are a bit nasty, aren’t you? But I’m glad to inform your old bones – and everyone else’s here – that I carry the hat belonging to Lord Juler, [Supreme Archmagus], and its will. Plus, if I were you, I’d stop talking smack if you don’t want me to mop the ground with all your disciples!”

A bit cringe, I have to say. But the arena explodes in outrage, nonetheless, and the woman’s figure seems to fade for a second. Then she reappears a few meters from me.

Oof, she’s hot.

And angry.

But mostly hot.

She has white hair with a few deep bluish locks in between. She’s wearing a very elaborate mage robe with golden lines. But the most striking feature is a massive golden wheel of metal levitating behind her. It’s clearly razor-sharp and slowly rotating, bobbing up and down behind her.

“Are you disrespecting an [Archmage], Human?”

Oh, she’s an Elf. And tall. And did I say ‘hot’?

Goddamn Elves.

“You were being quite rude, lady,” I say with a smile.

“Are you a Vanedeni, perhaps?”

She’s back to speaking with her amplified voice so that the whole arena can hear us. And everyone starts booing. It seems that Lord Juler’s people are not so popular, are they? I mean, it’s understandable since they basically conquered the world and then just resorted to taxing everyone in spite.

“Nope. Just a friend. But I do hold a debt to the Vanedenis. And I take my debts very seriously. Out of respect for them, I’d like you all to tread lightly when you think of saying something like that in front of me.”

I’m tempted to dispel this woman’s levitation, but I’d rather not have that huge wheel bisect me at the hip. Or lower. A shiver goes through my body at the thought of my poor nether region suffering such a terrible fate.

“Well, well, well. People of the Nine Towers Academy, do you have anything to say to this Vanedeni apologist?”

More boos, as one would expect.

“Yo, Magneto, can we hurry up? Isn’t there a whole queue of idiots like that one?” I say while pointing at Atticus.

“Let me explain the rules!” she shouts while she levitates up in the air again. “The large columns at the borders of the arena hold powerful enchantments capable of blocking even [Archmage]-level spells and will keep you all safe. The Human will fight until he has Mana or until there are no more opponents. If you want to duel him too, ask the assistant of your [Archmage], and you shall be added to the list. Every participant can request a duel to the death!”

She makes a brief pause, and the audience goes nuts, shouting their approval for my eventual death. Meh, no biggie. I’d do the same in their place.

“The Human can’t refuse to fight to the death unless he wants to be disqualified!”

More shouts of approval.

“There’s no limit on artifacts, relics, or other, as is customary in the Nine Towers Academy!”

Very nepotistic, really. But I don’t care. I have my fair share of good artifacts. And it’s not like I can just drop the hat if the rules said otherwise. Or I could for ten minutes? But how does it work; can you then—

“So, for the first round, the Human…” she interrupts my thoughts.

More boos.

“Will fight with Atticus, the disciple of [Archmage] Titus!”

Lots of cheering.

Meh, come on. Let’s start this. My hands are getting itchy. And not just my hands. I made the bright red sparkly shorts from synthetic material. And I’m not wearing underwear, if you catch my drift. But I can’t just rub the handle during the match, can I?

“So, start as soon as you hear the flute!”

What? The what?