The mage’s hands moved at a vast speed, creating the impression he was casting six spells simultaneously. Dallion’s motions were even faster, but the quality of the spells was largely lacking. Only his sword skills made up for the difference, maintaining the stalemate.

Circles of purple light and magic symbols flashed into existence, only to be destroyed near completion. Even so, an occasional spell would sneak through. Most of the time, it was Dallion’s spells that were ignored. Too weak to deal any actual damage, they found their way to their target where they would fizzle off. When Nerot managed to complete one of his spells, however, the entire scene changed.

Initially, Dallion feared that the mage would resort to a mass destruction spell and kill everyone in the hall. Why he hadn’t still remained a mystery. If Nil were here, he’d probably provide an explanation.

Spikes of aether burst into the air, filling the space like magic caltrops. All of Dallion’s instances that came into contact with the objects were punctured by his very own magic threads that grew out from the inside. In the process, Dallion lost five health for each instance killed off this way. Normally, such a small amount would be negligible, yet that was only as long as Lux was nearby.

Spinning through the hall like a deadly ballet dancer, Dallion kept on slashing at the mage with a series of spark attacks. He had to be careful not to come into contact with the floor or anything touching it. That was the trick that had caused Ruby and the cloud fox to get captured in the trap—both of them were in contact with Diroh, who, for some reason, had chosen to walk on the actual floor.

I think I’ll have to use the combo again, Dallion thought as he cast an aether barrier on the ceiling to leap onto for a direct plunge attack. The execution was a bit rusty, allowing the mage to cast a protection long before the blade struck him.

Dallion twisted his face in anger. Too many of the skills he relied on were unusable. Line and point attacks were out of the question—he didn’t want to be the one slaughtering everyone in the room. Spreading magic threads through the blade was also impossible since he needed it to have enough spark to keep shattering Nerot’s outer defenses in the hopes of eventually slicing through. Music seemed inefficient, acrobatics and athletics were severely limited due to the prison item trap… What else was there?

“The structure of the Academy has lasted for centuries,” the mage hissed as he kept on casting. The slight pause between words indicated that the fight was exerting him more than he liked to admit. “Created by the emperor himself. And otherworlders like you shattered all that just to gain an inkling of power.”

“What did the Azures promise you?” Dallion twisted in then thrust forward, performing a shattering strike aimed at the mage’s shoulder.

The pure force of the attack managed to pass through the shell of magic, shattering the old man’s left arm.

For a moment Dallion felt a rush of euphoria. Sadly, it was short-lived. A mesh of green light formed around the wounded area, repairing both wounds and attire.

“The Azure federation be damned!” The old man hissed. “They’re no better. Battle mages with delusions of grandeur incapable of seeing the greatness of the universe. It’s time for mages with actual knowledge rise to the top as it should be.”

Another rogue megalomaniac, Dallion sighed internally. They were always the same, just as they were too prideful to admit when they received help. Katka and the other battle mages of the Academy had dealt with close to a dozen such individuals so far and it was always the same: vague, prideful, senior mages who felt even more unappreciated after the latest world changes. Some had even tried to establish rival “academies” only to find that changing the world order of things wasn’t as easy as they imagined.

“Is that why you put me into these clothes?” Dallion successfully cast another spell, causing a circle of twelve aether blades to emerge around him. “So I can’t use my weapons to stop you?” Music threads linked to the blades, causing them to resonate with pain.

The effect was harmful to everyone, though Dallion hoped it would be more so on the mage. He really hated fighting such enemies. They appeared frail and snobbish, yet possessed such an arsenal of spells that could make them boost all of their traits at a moment’s notice, and that was before they started using the really devastating casts.

Can you hear me? Dallion asked, changing his approach. If he couldn’t go against an enemy directly, he was going to go after his clothes. I know you can hear me, he said, using his music skills to add a note of authority.

We were warned not to talk to you, the robe replied.

In the midst of fighting, Dallion cracked a smile. Of course, it would be the robe that would rebel. Someone as snobbish as Nerot probably viewed it as an unwanted stepchild. As a mage he was required to wear it, even if he strongly preferred to have something a lot fancier.

You don’t like him much, do you? Dallion pressed on. Why put up with someone who hates you?

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He’s still my owner.

Help me and I’ll be your new one, Dallion said. This was the first time he had actually offered to bribe an item. It wasn’t a lie. Seeing the magic threads and included symbols, he could tell that the robe had close to exceptional qualities. It wasn’t as good as the archmage’s, but definitely better than his.

You already have a robe.

I also have the ability to modify items, far better than the old man.

There was a moment of silence. The intensity of the fight between Dallion and Nerot increased. Then one of the mage’s long sleeves caught his fingers. It seemed natural—something that could happen to anyone who valued style over practicality. However, Dallion knew that he’d gotten his answer.

The next time the harpsisword struck, no barrier emerged, letting it slice through the layers of garment and into the man’s side.

You better repair that once you’re done, the robe said with an almost audible wink.

“Bastard!” the old mage screamed. All of his spells fizzed away as he quickly started a series of new ones to compensate for the unexpected event. The waves of anger coming from him were deafening. And still, beyond the hatred, there was something else… a barely audible voice that kept whispering.

Once you kill him, you’ll be able to take your rightful place as the head of Linatol, the voice said.

Even he has an echo? Dallion wondered.

Weapons and magic aren’t the only ways to win a battle, the haprsisword said. Realm invasions were quite popular, a lot more than in the current age.

That made sense. It was one of the first warnings Dallion received, both within the realms and without. He had often asked himself why such importance was put on that, considering how rarely it actually occurred. Now he had his answer. Having one’s realm invaded was devastating, and also there was no way to tell that anything was wrong. The mage and all the other members of the “coup” might have had their realms invaded months or even years ago. It was even possible that they themselves had forgotten about it under the influence of a powerful limiting echo. They would continue with their lives, their loyalties unchanged until the moment they were thrust into action… like now.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s weakness, Dallion quickly put a few more strikes in. His speed, combined with the robe’s meddling, managed to grant him a few hits before the mage had successfully cast his protection and healing spells. In his mind, Dallion could almost see the red rectangles pop up. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove enough to earn him the victory. Unlike Katka, experienced mages were difficult to take down. Nil was very right when he said that a good strategy trumped quick reflexes each time.

A new set of aether swords emerged, though this time belonging to Nerot. The mage had swallowed his pride and was now using anything and everything to remain in the fight, including copying Dallion’s low-level spells. Purple filled the room, giving it the appearance of a vortex realm.

Every second dozens of Dallion’s instances faded out of existence, only to be replaced by dozens more. Yet, despite the huge strain, he could see he was starting to gain the upper hand. As much as the mage was doing, he was merely compensating for that single moment his robe had gone against him.

Harp, will his magic withstand a point attack? Dallion asked.

Maybe, the weapon’s guardian didn’t sound certain. It’s risky.

Not if I angle it right. All I need is to make sure that there’s nothing between him and the wall when I—

Reality shattered like glass. Fragments that could be felt, but didn’t exist, filled the hall bringing time to normal.

Both Dallion and the mage instinctively pulled back. Crossbow bolts hit the ceiling, destroying an entire portion of it. With several of his instances, Dallion could see Ruby send wind slashes against a small group of “merchants” who were charging at Diroh. A wave of ice quickly stopped them in their tracks as the fury focused on other targets. Even Skye was moving about like a ball of mist, blocking the vision of everyone who got near. But amid all the chaos, the event that was most notable of all was the archduke standing up from his throne.

Raw power emanated from him as he rose like a titan, his sights set on the mage.

“Did you think you could contain me in a realm, Nerot?” his voice boomed. Beneath him, the throne crumbled as if made of sugar. “You’ve grown bold and stupid in your old age.”

Black tendrils surrounded the mage as the overseer also emerged in the room. Aether and void clashed, with neither gaining the upper hand.

“When you ran from the Academy I took you in and this is how you thank me?” A chunk of the wall broke off, transforming into a spike as it flew at the mage’s stomach. The hit was fatal, piercing through tendrils, barriers, and the mage’s body himself.

The sight was enough to send chills down Dallion’s spine. That was the true power of an archduke. The political defeat had cost him a lot, but as a person, he remained strong as ever. It was that power that kept all other of his relatives at bay. They wanted the throne, but were fully aware they couldn’t have it. The display of power was also a warning: neither mage, nor overseer, nor plot attempt was capable of killing off the rightful ruler of the province.

Dallion looked at the remnants of the mage. While he could still sense the robe and many of the other item guardians, the magic that had been throughout the old man was no more. While a relief, that also was a pity. Dallion would have liked to have a go at questioning the echoes in his realm. It was very likely that most of them would have faded away before answering any questions, but the pride of their owners would have ensured that they be seen doing so. Now, all of Nerot’s secrets died with him.

The floor behind Archduke Linatol rose up, forming a new throne in the place of the last. Content that he had made his point, the noble sat back down, completely disinterested in the rest of the fighting that was taking place.

“So,” he looked at Dallion while the overseer joined the fray on his behalf. “Where were we?”