Chapter 8 A Friendly Duel
The clamor of conversation in the grand hall of the King’s Summer Palace stilled abruptly as Mikhail Crima stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. He moved through the crowd with an air of confidence, his gaze locked onto Robert as he closed the distance between them. Nobles and heirs turned to watch, curiosity and excitement flickering in their eyes.
Mikhail’s sharp features were set in a determined expression, his lips curving into a smile that held more challenge than warmth. He stopped a few paces away from Robert and offered a small, formal bow. Despite the courteous gesture, there was an undercurrent of something more—something fierce—in the way he held himself.
“Lord Robert,” Mikhail called out, his voice clear and strong. He took another step forward, and then another, until he stood just a few paces away. His posture was relaxed, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes, the kind that spoke of suppressed anger and the thrill of a challenge. “I’ve heard many things about you—your skill, your talent. But I’ve yet to see it for myself.”
Robert straightened, meeting Mikhail’s gaze without flinching. The tension between them was palpable, a taut thread that seemed ready to snap. He could feel the weight of every eye in the room on him, the pressure of expectations and judgments pressing down from all sides.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Lord Mikhail?” Robert asked evenly, keeping his tone calm and measured.
Mikhail’s smile widened, a flash of teeth that was more predatory than friendly. “I’m suggesting a duel. A friendly one, of course,” he added, though the mocking edge in his voice was impossible to miss. “A chance for us to show the fine lords and ladies gathered here what we can do. After all, we wouldn’t want them to think we’re just resting on the laurels of our houses, would we?”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Robert could see the eager anticipation on the faces of the nobles around them. This wasn’t just a duel—it was a public spectacle, an opportunity for the heirs of two powerful houses to display their strength and skill.
Refusing outright would be seen as cowardice, but accepting without clear terms could lead to an unpredictable—and potentially dangerous—encounter. Robert took a deep breath, his mind racing as he weighed his options. He glanced briefly at Alexander, who stood beside him, his expression calm but watchful.
“If it’s a friendly duel you want, I won’t refuse,” Robert said finally. His voice was steady, carrying just enough volume to be heard by the surrounding nobles. “But let’s be clear on the terms. Spells only—no physical attacks. And we’ll need a protective array in place. I wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents to befall our audience.”
Mikhail’s eyes gleamed with something like amusement. “Agreed. Spells only. First to yield, or until one of us is incapacitated. Your guard can set the Duel Ring.”
He glanced pointedly at Alexander, who nodded and stepped forward without hesitation. From within his robes, Alexander produced a small, intricately carved stone. The runes etched into its surface glowed faintly with mana, casting a soft blue light over his fingers. He moved to the center of the hall and placed the stone on the ground, pressing his palm against it.
“Array of Dissipation!” [6th Circle]
The stone pulsed once, and a shimmering dome of translucent energy spread outward, encompassing the entire dueling area. The array’s surface rippled like water, a clear sign of its magical properties. Designed to absorb and neutralize stray spells, it would prevent any collateral damage from reaching the spectators.
The crowd murmured in approval as the array settled into place, its protective barrier reassuring in the otherwise charged atmosphere. Alexander stepped back, his gaze flicking between Robert and Mikhail.
“The array is set,” Alexander announced calmly. “You may begin when you’re ready.”
Mikhail rolled his shoulders, his fingers flexing at his sides. The air around him shimmered faintly with a crimson light as he began to channel his mana. A confident smirk curved his lips as he met Robert’s gaze, the challenge clear in his eyes.
“Ready when you are, Lord Robert,” he said, his voice low and steady.
Robert took a deep breath, letting his own mana flow through him, filling every corner of his being with a familiar, comforting warmth. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, the intensity of their stares. But he pushed it all aside, focusing solely on Mikhail.
“I’m ready,” Robert said quietly.
Without another word, Mikhail raised his hand. The air around him shimmered with heat, and a faint glow surrounded his outstretched fingers. The ground beneath his feet began to crack and split, a deep red light seeping through the fractures.
“Molten Serpent!” [3rd Circle]
A stream of molten rock burst forth from the ground, snaking across the floor like a living creature. The fiery serpent twisted and coiled, its glowing eyes fixed on Robert as it surged forward with terrifying speed. The heat radiating from it was intense, warping the air and filling the room with the acrid scent of burning stone.
Robert didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand, his mana surging outward in response.
“Psychic Shield!” [4th Circle]
A translucent barrier of shimmering energy formed in front of him, catching the molten serpent’s attack. The fiery creature hissed and sizzled as it struck the barrier, steam and smoke billowing outward. The force of the impact sent ripples through the shield, but Robert held firm, his jaw clenched in concentration.
Mikhail’s smirk widened as he raised his other hand. The ground around him erupted once more, jagged pillars of stone shooting upward in a deadly arc.
“Stone Spikes!” [3rd Circle]
The spikes burst from the ground, aiming to encircle Robert and trap him in place. He moved quickly, leaping to the side just as the spikes erupted through the floor where he had stood moments before. He landed lightly, his mana already shifting as he cast his next spell.
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“Force Wave!” [3rd Circle]
A powerful wave of kinetic energy exploded outward from his hand, sweeping across the ground in a wide arc. The wave struck the stone spikes, shattering them into pieces. The force continued forward, crashing into Mikhail with enough power to send him stumbling back a few steps.
Mikhail’s eyes flashed with irritation. He recovered quickly, spreading his hands wide as a blazing ring of fire formed around him.
“Infernal Ring!” [4th Circle]
The incomplete ring of fire expanded rapidly, flames licking at the air as it surged toward Robert. He had only a split second to respond. With a sharp motion, he channeled his mana into the ground beneath him.
“Bone Pillar!” [3rd Circle]
The earth exploded in a burst of pale light as a massive pillar of bone shot up from the ground, towering over the courtyard. Robert leapt onto the pillar, using it as a platform to launch himself above the expanding flames. He landed gracefully, his eyes never leaving Mikhail’s.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Mikhail taunted, his voice dripping with disdain.
He flicked his fingers, and the flames of the “Infernal Ring” twisted and coiled into the shape of a fiery lance.
“Fire Lance!” [3rd Circle]
The blazing lance shot forward, leaving a trail of molten rock in its wake. Robert’s mind raced. He couldn’t block that kind of concentrated power with a simple shield. Instead, he shifted his mana into a different spell.
“Telekinetic Grip!” [3rd Circle]
He grabbed the lance using the powerful psychic spell and sent it sideways, into the array.
Mikhail’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face.
Robert didn’t hesitate. He swung his arm in a wide arc, guiding the slabs underneath Mikhail to erupt upwards, they moved up with speed that belied their weight, floating in the air around him, before rapidly converging on Mikhail’s location.
Mikhail’s expression shifted from surprise to something darker—anger mixed with grudging respect. He spread his hands wide, summoning a wall of molten rock around himself.
“Molten Wall!” [3rd Circle]
The slabs struck the wall with a resounding impact, but Robert didn’t let up. He poured more mana into the spell, his mind straining as he forced them to press harder against the wall.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as the two spells clashed, the air around them shimmering with heat and energy. The tension was palpable, every gaze fixed on the struggling combatants. Then, with a sudden burst of power, the wall burst outward, dispersing the “Telekinetic Grip” spell on the slabs.
But just as Mikhail prepared his next spell, Robert’s enchanted sword came towards him at staggering speeds.
A tense silence fell over the courtyard. Mikhail stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the blade, now hovering by his neck. He glanced at Robert, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief.
“I… yield,” Mikhail said finally, his voice strained.
With a flick of his fingers, Robert recalled the blade to his side and sheathed the sword.
The murmur of voices filled the hall as the crowd began to stir, a mixture of excitement and disbelief rippling through the gathered nobles. The duel, short yet intense, had left a lasting impression on everyone present. Robert stood at the center of the dueling area, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Sweat trickled down his brow, and he felt a dull ache radiating from the core of his mana reserves.
Mikhail Crima took a step back, his shoulders stiff and his gaze locked on the sword that had been hovering mere inches from his neck. He looked as if he were struggling to process what had just happened. Slowly, he raised a hand and ran it through his disheveled hair, his lips tightening into a thin line.
“You fought well, Lord Robert,” Mikhail said, his voice taut with barely suppressed frustration. “I underestimated you.”
Robert inclined his head, accepting the praise with a calm he didn’t quite feel. “The feeling is mutual, Lord Mikhail, for a mage of the third circle, you were a formidable opponent.”
Mikhail’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Robert thought he might say something more. But then Mikhail took another step back, his gaze sweeping over the watching crowd. He offered a stiff bow, his movements almost mechanical.
“I yield the victory to House Rest,” he said loudly, his voice carrying across the hall. “Lord Robert’s skill is beyond question.”
The acknowledgment sent a ripple of murmurs through the audience, and Robert could see several of the gathered nobles exchanging meaningful glances. There was respect in their eyes—respect, and a hint of something else. Uncertainty, perhaps. They had not expected this outcome, and now they were scrambling to adjust their perceptions.
As Mikhail turned and walked away, his expression thunderous, Alexander stepped forward, a proud smile tugging at his lips. He moved to Robert’s side, his gaze softening as he took in Robert’s exhausted state.
“Breathe, Robert,” Alexander murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only Robert could hear. “You did well, though in the future you should use less demanding spells, it will be easier to stand up after battles, believe me.”
Robert nodded slowly, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He could still feel the strain of the duel—the heavy drain on his mana, the effort it had taken to maintain his spells. But he had done it. He had won, and he had shown the other nobles that House Rest was not to be underestimated.
“Thank you, Alexander,” Robert said quietly. “For the array… and for your advice.”
Alexander’s smile widened. “You’re welcome. But you did all the hard work. That was no easy opponent you just faced.”
Before Robert could respond, the soft sound of footsteps approached. He turned to see Lady Elena Belen making her way through the thinning crowd, her emerald gown flowing gracefully around her as she moved. Her expression was calm and composed, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as she looked between Robert and the dissipating remnants of the duel array.
“An impressive display, Lord Robert,” Elena said, her voice carrying just enough volume to be heard by the few remaining spectators. “I must admit, I hadn’t expected such control and precision. It seems I underestimated you as well.”
Robert offered her a small, polite smile. “I’m honored by your praise, Lady Elena. But I’m sure I still have much to learn.”
“Perhaps,” Elena murmured, tilting her head slightly. “But that’s what makes it interesting, doesn’t it? To see how much more there is to someone than what first appears.”
There was a subtle challenge in her words, one that Robert didn’t miss. He met her gaze evenly, his expression calm. “Indeed. I hope we have the chance to see just how much we can learn from each other.”
Elena’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m certain we will.”
The moment stretched between them, a silent exchange of intent and understanding. Then, with a graceful nod, Elena turned and made her way back toward the main hall, the eyes of several nobles following her as she moved.
Robert let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. The duel had been a success, but the real challenge—the political maneuvering and subtle negotiations—was just beginning. He could see it in the way the other heirs and nobles watched him now, their expressions thoughtful, calculating.
Alexander glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “It seems you’ve made quite the impression.”
Robert chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with weariness. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s more than just an impression,” Alexander said quietly. “It’s about power and respect, people might fear your uncle, but now they will also fear you.”
Robert nodded slowly, his gaze drifting across the hall. He caught glimpses of other nobles watching him—some openly, others with more subtlety. He could feel the shift in the air, the recalibration of expectations and perceptions.
But there was something else, too. A hint of tension, of unease. Not everyone was pleased by his victory. He could see it in the tight expressions of a few lesser heirs, in the way some of the older lords and ladies whispered among themselves.
‘This is only the beginning,’ Robert thought grimly. He had won the duel, but now he would have to navigate the repercussions. His actions tonight would ripple through the noble circles, influencing alliances and rivalries in ways he could only begin to guess at.
“Shall we move on?” Alexander asked, breaking through his thoughts. “I think you’ve earned yourself a moment to rest.”
“Yes, that sounds good,” Robert agreed. He took a step forward, but his legs wobbled slightly. Alexander’s hand shot out, steadying him with a firm grip.
“Easy,” Alexander murmured, his tone gentle. “You’re exhausted. Let’s find a place to sit.”
Robert nodded, his fatigue catching up with him all at once. The adrenaline of the duel was fading, leaving him feeling drained and unsteady. He let Alexander guide him to a nearby bench, where he sank down with a relieved sigh.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the low hum of conversation filling the background. Robert closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow as he focused on regaining his strength. He could still feel the dull ache in his mana reserves, the lingering strain of pushing himself to his limits.
“Robert,” Alexander said softly, drawing his attention.
Robert opened his eyes, meeting his cousin’s steady gaze. Alexander’s expression was serious, his eyes searching Robert’s face as if looking for something.
“You’ve proven yourself tonight,” Alexander said quietly. “But remember, this is just one battle. There will be many more to come, and not all of them will be fought with spells.”
Robert nodded slowly. “I know. But tonight… tonight was important.”
“It was,” Alexander agreed. “But don’t let it go to your head. Keep your wits about you, and don’t forget why we’re here.”
Robert gave a tired smile. “I won’t. Thank you, Alexander. For everything.”
Alexander’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Always. Now, get some rest. There’s still plenty of night left, and I have a feeling we’ll be having more conversations before it’s over.”
Robert nodded, letting his eyes drift shut again. The sounds of the palace seemed to fade into the background, a distant murmur that he barely registered.
For the first time since he had arrived at the King’s Summer Palace, Robert allowed himself to relax, even if only for a moment. He had faced Mikhail, and he had emerged victorious. But more than that, he had taken the first step in proving himself—not just as the Heir of House Rest, but as a force in his own right.
There would be more challenges ahead, he knew. More duels, more battles, both physical and political. But for now, just for now, he allowed himself to savor this small victory.
It was only the beginning.