Wallace's eyes returned to the purse, lingering for a long time. I counted the seconds, waiting for him to break either way.

Finally, his gaze wandered back to meet mine, and he said, "Double that, and you've got a deal."

"Double it? You are already getting enough gold to last you months."

"Sure, and you're asking me to ditch this city and take it on blind faith you're not going to ruin my life," Wallace replied, folding his arms across his chest.

I considered it, then nodded, "Fine, but if I win, you will leave this city and remain with me for a year or until I feel we can go our separate ways, whichever comes first."

Wallace seemed ready to agree but paused, "And no magic?"

"No external magic," I corrected, "Your sword trick is still allowed, of course, but you cannot affect my blade. In exchange, I will not use any projectiles, magical defenses, or telekinetic abilities."

I made sure to stress all that I was giving up. It was a verbal sleight of hand, drawing his attention away from the one weapon I planned to retain.

Wallace considered my words for another few seconds, then finally nodded and held out a hand, "Alright, you've got a deal."

We shook hands, and Wallace stepped away before continuing, "I don't suppose you know when and where you want to—"

"Three days from now," I interrupted, "At midday, in the same informal dueling rings the other nobles use. That should give us ample time to rest, prepare ourselves, and make any arrangements if we need to leave the city."

Wallace shook off any surprise and replied, "Perfect. If it's all the same to you, I'm going to head home and try to get some sleep. This has been a...well, you know. See you in three days."

With that, the metal mage turned and walked out onto Colkirk's streets, striding off without a backward glance. I waited until he disappeared from sight before I relaxed, allowing a smile to finally slip onto my face.

Vivienne was right, at least to a point. I did not want to rely on anyone or anything else, but that was an impossibility. I needed training partners to push myself, allies to lean on, connections to utilize, and friends to rely upon in times of crisis. Maybe someday, once I had enough wealth and power, I could go alone, but that day was far in the future.

I did not trust Wallace any more than I did Vivienne, but I could understand him. He was a man with expectations of how his life would go, faced with an unpleasant reality. He was lashing out due to wounded pride, ambition, and a desire to step outside the confines set upon him, giving way to bitterness. I could empathize better than most, even if I disagreed with how he handled those feelings.

If I played my cards right, I could secure Wallace's loyalty and ensure his ambition returned in full. He was talented, and I found myself almost regretful that such talents might waste away beneath an ocean of bitterness and resentment. And if, somewhere along the way, I learned something valuable from him, well, all the better.

I returned to the inn, finding my feline friend napping on my bed. He had by now fully recovered from whatever strange magic he had used weeks prior, which was another point of worry. I still had no idea what he had used that Aether for, and his abilities remained just as much a mystery.

Some people liked mysteries, but I was not one of them.

I filled a bowl with glowing Aether-infused water, then grabbed a vial for myself, sipping it as I planned how best to defeat Wallace without breaking his confidence or violating the rules of our deal. It was a narrow path to walk, all things considered.

If I bested Wallace too easily, he might believe his work these last few weeks had done nothing. He would grow angry or demoralized, sinking further into bitterness. I wanted a willing and motivated ally, working together to improve our abilities, not one going through the motions out of obligation.

On the other hand, if I broke any of the rules of our duel, Wallace would never trust me again. I might not, and likely would never fully trust him, but I needed him to trust me. It was an unpleasant, two-faced reality, the sort of manipulations Girem would commend. I found it distasteful more than anything but swallowed my discomfort.

Lastly, even if I did lose a close battle, I might still convince Wallace to follow me. We both knew I would be holding back the lion's share of my abilities and if he felt he had improved dramatically in a short period, it might stir his ambitions once more. It was less than ideal, but a decent enough fallback option.

Cat meowed at me, and I glanced down at the feline, feeling a sense of ease and comfort for the first time in weeks. Despite everything, it felt good to have a clear goal once more.

The days until our duel passed in a blur. I worked on each of my spells, grinding down the rough edges in favor of ever-greater control and efficiency. It was the sort of tedious work some found boring, but I considered it almost relaxing.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, I rose and made my way to the dueling rings deeper into the city.

Colkirk did not have any formal rings like Volaris might. Instead, they had a series of open wooden platforms designed as much for musical or artistic performances as anything else. Plenty of mages used them for duels, but they lacked the privacy many preferred, with multiple decks and bars overlooking the entire area.

Thanks to this and my growing reputation, an audience awaited when I arrived. Wallace was already there, moving through his warm-ups, and I set aside the whispering in favor of examining my opponent.

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The disgraced noble wore simple, loose clothes designed for mobility and comfort, which seemed restrained compared to his usual fare. I watched as he swung his training sword through the air in quick, casual loops, stretching his neck from one side to the other as he paced.

I spun my own near-identical blade by my side, noting with mild amusement that it was the same weapon I had used against Wallace months prior. Then again, it was possible he was using that weapon and I was using his, but I preferred it the first way. It struck me as ironic.

Wallace gestured towards me, "Rules?"

"Limbs are worth one point each," I replied, "While the torso and head are worth two. First to seven wins. Agreeable?"

"Perfectly," Wallace nodded, walking to the far end of our ring before dropping into his opening guard. I mirrored the action, even taking up a stance similar to his, though a bit looser and more relaxed. We held it for several seconds, and then I moved.

I had agreed to restrict myself to internal magic, and Wallace had agreed, seemingly forgetting that left me one potent tool. Even as I glided towards him, I drew Aether from my core and throughout my limbs. My body felt lighter, my muscles stronger, and my steps surer as the world seemed to grow just a hair slower. I closed the gap in seconds and was on top of my opponent, sword raised overhead.

Wallace's eyes widened, and his blade leaped to meet mine as I swung down in a powerful overhand strike. Our weapons crashed into one another with a ringing of steel, and I twisted to try and slide a thurst past his deflection. He pushed to one side and pivoted, my strike missing his body by an inch.

We pushed against each other for a moment before I planted myself and shoved hard. While Wallace had the height and reach advantage, I was stronger even without magical augmentation. With it, even Sig might not match me anymore.

I shoved Wallace away before following. My sword moved through a dizzying combination of strikes, raining down a series of blows from a half-dozen angles. It was a flurry drawing upon techniques from traditional Ferren dueling, modified with a little more focus on raw strength from Sig's staff and spear forms.

Individually, any of those attacks would batter aside a normal swordsman's guard, but Wallace was no ordinary swordsman.

Wallace's blade moved with unnatural speed, mana flowing through his weapon as he deflected away my strikes almost as fast as I could throw them. His sword became a silver blur, intercepting me at every step and doing so without a hint of magic. Even now, with only inches separating us, I could sense only the faintest flickers of his workings.

Then he made a mistake.

It was not much of a slip. Wallace blocked a strike of mine, but he used too much force. The deflection sailed wide, leaving himself open a heartbeat too long, and I slipped in, dragging the edge of my sword along his forearm before retreating.

Wallace winced, holding up his arm, "Point to you."

I nodded, and we reset a second later. Our next exchange went almost the same, with my brutal offensive battering aside his defenses after a half-minute of unending attacks. This time, I managed to just nick the edge of his ribs, using a feint to draw his blade out wide before stabbing inward with a quick lunge.

When I claimed my fourth point just seconds into our third round, I saw the first signs of tension creep into his demeanor. He hid it well, and his mana flowed just as smoothly as before, but I could tell he was beginning to doubt himself.

The reality was this was an unwinnable battle outside of some very specific circumstances.

I was not a great swordsman, but I was Wallace's superior on a purely technical level. My body was not a peerless marvel of athleticism, but a year and a half of constant, hard training had granted me excellent speed, strength, and stamina, even without magic. And though I had much to learn, my duels since arriving in Colkirk and my experiences in actual combat made this a comparatively relaxing endeavor.

Those factors, coupled with my magic granting me near-superhuman strength and speed, meant Wallace had no advantages over me. He felt it was hopeless, and therein lay the problem. I needed Wallace to think he could win. He had to believe my help had allowed him to close that gap within the past month. He needed to accept that working with me was in his best interest, not mine.

And there was one guaranteed way to restore some of his confidence.

As I had done before, I moved in fast and struck hard. I attacked with the same brutal series of attacks as the last few engagements, but I let my control wane. Rather than measured aggression, my movements carried almost careless recklessness. I allowed my sword to wander and hitch between combinations, leaving small but noticeable openings.

It rankled my pride to allow such imperfections, but thankfully, I did not have to wait long. Wallace seemed to notice those openings within the first couple of strikes and, just seconds later, seized on the opportunity. His blade slapped mine to one side, then flashed in to land a shallow blow against my shoulder.

Wallace pivoted away, and though he did not smile, I caught the way his shoulders relaxed just a hair. I acknowledged his strike with a nod, and we resumed our duel.

This time, I let Wallace come to me. I pulled my blade up and back, moving into a tight defensive stance. The metal mage closed, bringing his weapon up and around in a brutally powerful slash. Even with my magic, his attack had enough force to batter aside my guard. I was fast enough to recover before he could press the advantage, but not by much.

I let Wallace drive me back, finding it was not as fake a retreat as I intended. My style, and personality for that matter, favored aggression in battle, and my defenses had grown comparatively lackluster. Still, I spotted a few places where I could have countered or punished Wallace's reckless attacks.

Instead, I held back. I allowed Wallace to press his advantage, giving only paltry attempts at countering until, finally, his blade snuck past mine and struck me square in the chest.

Wallace pulled up short, and I chuckled, rubbing where he had struck me, and said, "Two more to you. The score is four-four by my reckoning."

"About to be six-four if you don't keep your guard up," Wallace quipped, bouncing on the balls of his feet before he moved again.

I landed the next point, another quick, darting cut landing on the outside of his leg. Wallace brought it back to five-five with a low strike of his own, catching my hamstring with an awkwardly timed slice that caught me mid-retreat.

A blow to the head, neck, or torso would take the duel for either of us, which meant it was high time for me to win. If I could, I would have preferred to give up a sixth point before narrowly besting Wallace, but that felt too risky a gamble. Even the possibility of losing frayed my nerves, but I was reasonably confident I could prevent a two-point strike from landing.

Still, I was impressed, all things considered. In just a month, Wallace had honed his techniques drastically. His blade spell moved faster, his skills with the sword itself looked sharper, and I suspected he could have torn my weapon from my hands if we had not forbidden external magic. This duel might have been close to even given a few more months.

Unfortunately for Wallace, our duel was far from even in the present.

I pushed off, using my full strength and speed for the first time since starting our duel. Wallace remained focused as I closed the gap, and he met my charge with a firm defense, entirely at odds with his more elusive fighting style.

As before, I struck as quickly and ferociously as possible, but I did not let up this time. I struck, feinted, sliced, cut, and thrust, seeking to shatter Wallace's defenses while leaving no chance for him to counterattack.

Slowly, Wallace's confidence cracked. He had become more at ease during our duel, but the simple fact was he lacked my experience. Anyone would break under enough pressure, and I had faced more of it in my lifetime.

Finally, our blades crashed together into a bind. I pushed, feeling him give ground as his boots slid on the wooden platform beneath us. Our weapons inched downward as I levered his sword out of position, opening his body up for a quick, clean thrust. It would be a straightforward, easy win, but when I moved to do so, I found that I could not disengage.

My sword felt stuck, almost like magic. Then, Wallace broke into a sly grin, and I realized the truth. He could not use external magic to move my blade, but he had been streaming mana through his weapon. The same one that was now in direct contact with my sword.

Wallace pulled hard, using physical strength and the flowing mana within our blades in concert. I could have fought him and possibly even won, but I saw another possibility. I released the hilt of my weapon and watched as he practically threw himself to the side, eyes widened at the sudden and unexpected lack of resistance.

I watched my training sword break free from its magically enforced bind, sailing away to land a dozen feet in the distance. I sensed the tiniest wisps of metal mana pull Wallace's weapon back in line, his control frayed by stress. I heard the onlooking crowd, which I had pushed out of my mind, rising into jeers at my imminent defeat.

And I pushed those aside as Aether flowed out from my core and through my body, granting me just enough speed to outmatch Wallace.

My hand drew back, and I had enough wherewithal to withhold my full strength as I punched Wallace in the jaw. It was light enough not to cause lasting damage but hard enough to knock him to the platform's floor. He hit the wooden slats hard, his sword clattering away to land not far from my own weapon.

I stood over Wallace for a few seconds, meeting his shocked eyes and allowing the moment to sink in. Then, I relaxed, letting my mana slip free of my control as I said, "That makes seven, by my count."