Nozumu sat deathly still as the two Humans stared at each other, neither making a move. He’d skipped straight past the rapid leg bouncing phase of nervousness to stunned anticipation.

In the short amount of time the two had spent apart, he’d somehow managed to piss off some… [Lord]? [Prince]? Nozumu had studied numerous foreign kingdoms and their [Kings] and [Queens]; calling people peasants was par for the course, if a little stereotypical.

But still, he watched. He couldn’t make out any specific emotions in either faces other than what they wore from the beginning: Ivory, passive expectation; Fabian, vexed superiority.

Despite his aggressor’s towering height, Ivory categorised his feelings at the moment as ‘meh’. This wasn’t some after-school special at the local park, after all: you wouldn’t actually get very hurt here. At least, not at this level.

The only issue he identified were the potential repercussions for Linda… but she had everything under control.

Two minutes, now, with no movement, and Ivory was getting bored.

Oh, he had his battle plan set up: play defensively with barriers and parries, see his movements and what spells he favours all without showing his hand. The aim wasn’t to throw the first match, but losing was a certainty against an adventurer who had real combat experience.

But, he was bored. In one swift movement, Ivory pointed his wand directly at him. Fabian reacted coolly, as befitting his stature, and braced for a spell.

But nothing happened.

“Aaa ha haa.”

It was quite funny. Potentially even objectively. He expected Fabian to get mad and react with some drivel like ‘you insult this sacred ground’ or ‘fuck you, peasant’—

“[Quick Bolt].”

A colourless flash blurred briefly in his vision, and his felt a spike of pain in his chest.

20/21.

Ivory sobered up quickly upon getting struck, and so swiftly. 21 ‘hp’, too, up from 10?

“[Static Terrain]!”

The air visibly shuddered as static electricity infested the battlefield—it felt like the oxygen had been rubbing itself on a titanic carpet. Ivory’s arm hair stood on end as he assumed what he was up against: a [Lightning Mage].

Arguably, this was the best outcome, as the only explicitly defensive Skill he had was for lightning. Electricity, but same thing.

Ivory wordlessly erected a [Whelp’s Barrier]; he was ready to [Gale Parry] whatever was thrown at him. Fortunately for him, lightning spells weren’t as fast as real lightning, but he knew he had to be on top of his reactions.

“[Paralysis Bolt]!”

Like a light bulb fluttering to life, Fabian’s staff lit up and shot a fluro-yellow little ball at Ivory. He was ready for—

Screeaaaww!

Almost instantly after he had finished speaking the spell, the [Paralysis Bolt] had made contact with Ivory’s barrier, activating its retaliation mechanism. His [Gale Parry] was on the edge of his mind, ready to be activated, but it was just too fast.

“What the—”

The little fireball had struck Fabian as finely as it could have.

25/27.

His superiority lingered, as even one as arrogant as him knew that such tit for tatts were to be expected against a new opponent.

Ivory, though, wasted no time with such thoughts. He had already began getting as much distance as possible the second his barrier had counterattacked.

Picture a gun, a hose—a water gun. Supersoaker.

“[Venom Spray]!”

Ivory was ready for a quick victory after hearing how shook Fabian had been at not only his spell not working, but being hit by Ivory’s own spell somehow. His arrogance used against him.

Nullified. Combatant: Ivory Henderson, Spell: ‘[Venom Spray]’ prohibited. Arbiter: Oscar Cotton.

The notification hit Ivory and Fabian at the same time. The former tskd in frustrated recollection, but Fabian’s eyes beheld fear. He had seen [Valmira’s Comets] here, yet this kid’s spell had been personally vetoed by the Relic Mage?

Frightening.

“[Gust]!”

Ivory took advantage of Fabian’s break in composure to continue the offensive. The dense stream of air was a direct hit!

Fabian, despite himself, had braced. He had a number of Skills that were useful for combating the undead native to his homeland of Noelictus. None utilised the element of wind—that he was capable of fighting, anyway—so the best he could do was to plant his feet firmly on the ground, hold his staff tightly, and prepare to guard his eyes.

… But he didn’t move at all, other than to move his non-dominant arm up across his eyes. Ivory’s stomach lurched as he cast another [Whelp’s Barrier], concerned at not only the lack of reaction, but the lack of a notification indicating he’d taken any damage!

“[Fire Strike]!”

Fabian retaliated immediately. The orb atop his staff flashed red, and short forth an orb of fire that streaked through the air, hastened by the latent, conjured wind. It was an effect that he hadn’t anticipated, as Fabian was still taking stock of Ivory; he’d chosen a simple Tier 1 spell to see what he’d do.

But, he realised, that would not do. The conditions were right—[Exploit Foe: Quick Spell]!

“[Gravel Volley].”

Ivory was reeling. Not only did the spell that Corina had complimented do nothing to this fool, but he was immediately on the offence!

Steady. Steady.

The little ball of fire was getting closer and closer, and his wand was ready.

“[Gale Parry]!”

Ivory swished his wand in a leftward arc, and the incoming spell, as if being struck in pinball, veered left, passing him by harmlessly.

His elation at the spell’s efficacy was instantly dashed when he saw the hail of grey flying towards him.

There was a brief moment for Ivory to shield his face; he had no momentum to try and dodge. The first of the multitude of pebbles struck his lower leg and activated his [Whelp’s Barrier], which was instantly consumed by the subsequent pebbles.

17/21.

It took only a second for the barrage of pebbles to assail Ivory. He’d actually saved himself a point of damage by shielding his face.

“Weak, and pathetic!” Fabian cried, a confident grin affixed on his face. “[Flurry of Tondor]!

The pale head of his staff flashed aquamarine; winding rings of yellow began closely orbiting it.

Ivory gulped—regrettably so, since the swallowing motion stimulated the pain from a pebble’s direct hit to his neck. As he had some of his own, he was very concerned about ‘of Name’ spells. Dreadful excitement filled his lungs—

———————————

Leaning against the railing, Nozumu watched hawkishly as dozens of spinning rings of electricity spun out from the staff—no doubt some notable Noelictan’s, if his study on artefacts taught him anything. The rings reacted with the electrically-saturated arena, spinning faster and emitting sparks as they flew. Misoe’s eyes were on her friend and master, who knew what was about to happen; Corina followed her gaze.

The first shocking ring from the [Flurry of Tondor] was a hair’s breadth from colliding with his face, when a grand rumble echoed through the arena, like thunder itself. The yellow-grey [Breath of Lightning] engulfed it and all else as Ivory exhaled.

Visibility was stormy with a chance of imminent victory. The entirety of the arena was covered with Ivory’s breath attack, like a lit match thrown into a container of gas. Nozumu heard a shout and a thunk, and his heart began racing. He’s won!

———————————

Ivory couldn’t see jack—and all he knew was that he needed to keep the spell going. A minor thought in the back of his head knew why this was happening, but it was being drowned out by the sensory onslaught. Even his internal monologue was almost inaudible as cone of lightning he was exhaling was starting to hurt him.

A vibration crawled up his legs and his check began to burn! He breathed his last spark and buckled down, licking his inner cheek and panting hard as he saw his greater peripheral vision return to normal. The real, intended [Breath of Lightning] was snaking to the side toward a great wooden spoke; a poor facsimile of what he’d seen days earlier, yet achieving the desired effect.

Fabian appeared in his vision, panting as he was with smoking robes.

9/27.

“You’re out of tricks now, peasant. [Tondorian Neuroshock].”

Ivory exhaled and inhaled, still reeling.

“An—”

Ivory’s mouth went limp, his tongue lolling out, and falling forward completely prone. Only his eyes and mind remained unaffected.

“You backwater [Sorcerer], do you see it now? Taken down by one spell. You are at my mercy, you disgusting thing.”

Tasting the lesser detritus he had tracked in, Ivory tried to look up and see his opponent, but saw only his hair and the ground.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Ivory groaned wordlessly as he felt a bludgeoning ache on his back.

“I’ve slain toddler-ghouls that put up more of a fight. Now, fry.”

Ivory convulsed as electricity coursed through his body, seeing in real time his simulated hit points drop lower and lower.

Victor: Fabian Crototia.

As it ticked down to 0, a flood of feeling flushed through his system. His knees and cheek, victims of his extended breath attack, were instantly ‘healed’—the bruises on his knees dissipated in seconds, and the cheek-ulcer that was preparing to form was thwarted.

His mana, too, was almost completely restored. He was prepared for that, but not for how much better he felt due to the sheer amount of mana that had been given to him; from just under half mana to almost full.

“Get up.”

Fabian scoffed at that, the exasperation palpable. He held his Staff of Tondor with white knuckles, his right foot jigging up and down.

“He’s nervous,” Ivory thought, “but why?” As he rose, rejuvenated, he looked up at Corina, Nozumu and Misoe. They met his gaze, with the former giving him a powerful thumbs up and a heckling wooo.

Ivory held out his wand, expecting a tap against his victorious opponent’s staff. Fabian merely walked back to his original position.

___________________

Ivory didn’t know if he’d learnt anything from that fight. He was of the mind to think of the two Drathians that he saw fight… though you’d have fared better to compare two infants competing in Olympic high jump to actual Olympians.

To his credit, Ivory had rewatched the opening sequence of the fight a few times, and was able to watch it with a more critical eye after having joined this queer little institution.

Apart from the obvious—power, capabilities, variety, to put it simply (offensively so!)—the main thing was movement. Damaring had been stationary in footage he’d managed to get, but he remembered her flitting to and fro. Perhaps it was due to it being a ‘melee vs. mage’ situation, where the melee class is by definition mobile. But even mage vs. mage would require some dodging, as tanking spells—whether it be by barriers, parries, or anything else—wasn’t feasible. That much was overwhelmingly evident in this first round.

Another thing was, as much as Ivory could reckon, his attitude towards the place. This institution was geared towards magical practise—fighting. Duels. It was a place where you could do so safely; in the outside world, you’d die, be maimed, or lose your gear. A combination of the three, and more! Here, a spot of exhaustion and perhaps a smoking robe.

In essence, fight for keeps; fight to kill. This is what Fabian was doing, Ivory knew, but whether that was due to his intense loathing of him, or whether he simply had the right idea. Based on his performance so far, probably the former.

So, he knew how best to approach the next round. And, he had the advantage: Fabian, too, was guilty of being a spot too stationary.

__________________

“Loser’s move,” Fabian spat. “Hurry up.”

That earned him multiple scornful looks from the auditorium—for different reasons from each ‘faction’ respectively. Ivory had been consulting his cantrip that had all of his spells and Skills listed in (that he definitely needed to better organise). This wasn’t the place to experiment with non-combat spells, so his capabilities were inherently bogged down.

He had some cheeky little ideas, nonetheless.

Ivory didn’t want to take the piss, but seeing Fabian taking a defensive stance and waiting for his move was kind of funny. Both of his legs were together, and was dual-wielding his staff close to his chest. Some lightning, no doubt, would be his choice of attack. If anyone else knew what a Mexican standoff was, he’d have made some fatuous comment.

__________________

Fabian had learned from his mistakes, despite his arrogance. As a [Lordling], he was always aware of his conduct and its effect… but maturity couldn’t be fixed by a few Skills. The mistakes, in this case, pertained to his underestimating of the upstart [Sorcerer]. He had little real beef with him; he was cognisant enough to realise that he was projecting his anger on to him as a proxy for that contemptuous woman.

There was no other mistake. His spells were basic and unvaried, and the damage he’d taken was due to flukes that he could not have foreseen. He’d win this round and then move to have his access here revoked. Yes, Magus Rendon would do that. Just one more win.

He was doing something. Fabian saw his opponent’s wand arm making a series of eloquent movements, with no visible effect. Was he being faked out? Trying to fuck with him? He must have known that actual magic had to be cast to constitute a first move…! The temptation to flood this peasant with lightning was overwhelming, and he could have—it wasn’t a hard rule, but part of fair etiquette. To have tapped his wand was to have accepted him as an equal.

And then he saw it. The arena started to turn a sickly green, filled with—

“[Toxic Mist].”

He had cast the spell as if announcing a tax break to the lower classes; it was enunciated smoothly, matter of factly and with superiority.

Fabian didn’t panic; he had [Lesser Poison Resistance], and some sub-20 [Sorcerer] wouldn’t be able to win with this kind of trump card. It posed a problem, however—it was travelling forwards and would eventually engulf him.

Well, you can’t make an omelette, and all.

Fabian took a deep breath and scooted forward into the miasma, safe in the knowledge that he’d feel no adverse effects after the battle.

[Charge Barrier] and [Power Barrier: Electricity] were his two barrier spells; the latter empowered the former as he cast his lightning spells. In a battle between spellcasters, it was not as effective as it could be. It did not work against magic other than lightning; it was one that blocked against melee attacks—zombies and ghouls specifically—but could also affect magically-summoned things, such as Fabian’s own [Gravel Volley].

He heard the nyoom of projectiles whizzing past him, and instinctively inhaled in expectation. He smelled the slight char of the spell, but nothing resembling the odour of poison and pox, which he was well accustomed to. It smelled... salty?

Fabian let out a vexed screech. He’d been had!

Ivory was waiting for that realisation. Holding his [Petrel Feather] against his wand, he uppercut the air, raising the [Cosmetic Spell]-augmented cloud. He flicked his wand down at the incensed Fabian and began phase two.

“[Flash of Darkness]!”

A cone of instant darkness soundlessly cracked, engulfing Fabian’s vision completely. It only lasted for a fraction of a second—reminiscent of an (inversed) speed camera flash—but it was discombobulating.

“You! [Tond—]”

“[Flash of Darkness].”

Fabian didn’t finish the spell, instead screaming again in anger at this strategy. Two, now, and his vision was splodgey.

“[Rapid Casting]. [Serpent Strike], [Flash of Darkness], [Serpent Strike]!”

Two spectral snakes twisted through air, their fangs bared, towards the discombobulated Human who was wildly firing sparks of lightning. Not being totally blinded and still knowing where he was, they were still generally accurate—one of the snakes ate multiple [Static Sparks] before dissipating harmlessly into nothingness. Ivory was able to weave in and out of the sparks’ trajectory, as the second snake unhinged its jaw and started savaging Fabian’s barrier.

“Begone!”

With great dexterity, Fabian hoisted his staff and flipped it so he was holding it like a dagger, bringing it down upon the pest assailing him. It flashed with yellow light as it made contact, flooding the snake with electricity, obliterating it.

“[Flash of Darkness]!”

Another cone of darkness, another shout of frustration. Ivory dodged another volley of sparks and began running anticlockwise around Fabian. He felt awkward running and casting spells, like he was performing some amateur pantomime of an action film.

But—the fight did not last much longer. The [Mage], continuously blinded, couldn’t meaningfully fight back other than to fire off spells with wild abandon. [Flash of Darkness] followed by a few Tier 1 spells, rinse and repeat.

Ivory came to another halt and prepared another [Flash of Darkness]—

Victor: Ivory Henderson.

Oh, that felt good.

“You cheating little rat!” Fabian yelled, pounding over towards Ivory. There was true rage in his eyes.

Ivory’s own winning grin began to falter as the tall [Lightning Mage] staunched Ivory, looking down inches from his face. His hot breath made Ivory’s eyes water, but he stayed strong.

“You embarrass yourself, and this entire institution,” he spat, and began to walk away. “My inevitable victory will be hollow against such a pathetic facsimile of a [Mage].”

“It’s called strategy, mate. A [Bandit] could do the same; some adventurer you are to lose your cool so easily. Perhaps a change in occupation?”

You could hear a pin drop. Fabian just smiled offputtingly, considering the situation. The silence was broken by a familiar noise.

“Aaaaaaa.”

Ivory turned to see Misoe floating down, a great smile on her face.

“Aww, thanks darl. Better get b—”

“[Lightning Bolt].”

Ivory heard a crack, and then a sickening thump. He turned his head to see a smoking Misoe some 20 metres away, twitching. He looked at her in stunned disbelief—what?

“Can you afford to look away?! [Tondorian Neuroshock]!”

The veiny, arcing electricity missed Ivory by the skin of his teeth.

“Hey, what the fuck, Fabian?!” Corina screeched, her hands white with fury as she gripped the wooden handrail. Nozumu was looking at Misoe, equally as indignant. His belief had waned just now, but he stayed hoping that the future was set in stone.