Night had fallen onto the city proper, settling over the streets like a blanket. Despite that, laughter, music, cheering, and the clinking of glasses filled the air, mixing with scents of alcohol, fire, and perfume into a chaotic mess that overwhelmed my senses.

Leon seemed to ignore it all as he turned towards the rest of us with hands on his hips, "So, food or exploring? Which should we do first?"

"Food?" Simon asked an instant before Amelia replied, "Exploring, obviously."

The two looked at one another, and I stepped forward, saying, "Why not both? We can find something to eat as we walk and save ourselves the time."

Leon smiled, "Perfect! Okay, let's get going. The night's still young!"

Our first stop was a building that looked like someone had taken a home, torn off the front half, and stuffed a handful of tables and chairs into it. Leon and I volunteered to brave the crowd, huddled around the counter, and emerged valiantly with a handful of wraps filled with meat and vegetables.

With food secured, we continued on our way, weaving through dense clusters of half-drunk people as we ate our late dinner. We passed shops of all shapes and sizes, most covering mundane things such as food, non-magical clothes, furniture, and various arts and crafts. I stepped into the first few, half out of curiosity and half to accompany the others, but the novelty wore thin.

As the hours passed, we wandered further toward the city's center and, with it, the lake that formed the heart of Colkirk. Docks and water-side restaurants ringed the waters, many linked with walkways and open to the elements without apparent care for the weather.

I glanced upward, hoping to glimpse Colkirk's famous magic, but the night sky overhead was clear of any clouds, showing a dizzying array of stars and a bright, near-full moon.

Finally, after several more hours, we settled at a table in a bustling building with an enclosed wooden square in the center. Leon vanished for a few minutes before returning with five glasses and a dark bottle I suspected was alcoholic. My first taste confirmed as much, but against my better judgment, I continued sipping it while we watched a show unfold.

Based on what I could tell, the ring was a place for entertainers to ply their craft. I could not say what the usual fare was, but for tonight, it consisted of a swordsman taking on challengers from the audience.

The man was a few years older than us, dressed in finery that spoke of some wealth and success but far from that of a noble. He had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and his build was a little too soft for a usual swordsman.

Despite that, the young man seemed untouchable. We watched as he fought and defeated foe after foe. Each one left behind a silver coin within a basket by the edge of the ring, which soon looked overflowing with a small fortune.

While a few managed to put up a decent showing, none landed even a single, clean strike. The man was lightning-fast, brutally strong, and, in my estimation, a little lucky. More than once, an attack missed him by a hair, his opponent's apparently misjudging distance or timing.

But luck and prodigious physical talents aside, the man was far from a great swordsman. In fact, I suspected I was about as good as him, at least based on what he had shown. Then again, he was likely holding back. I would, at least.

Some might call it dishonorable, but you did not draw in over-confident challengers by dominating everyone you faced. You did it by winning by the narrowest of margins, making it seem like luck, not skill.

As the swordsman bested his latest opponent, a bulky man maybe five years his senior, he scanned the crowd for his next opponent. His green eyes slid off me like oil atop water before landing on Leon. I saw something in his gaze, and he practically glided over to us, sword twirling by his side as he walked.

"Care for a challenge, my lord?" the man said as he came within earshot, leaning on the railing separating us with a smile.

Leon returned the smile, "Perhaps. What are the rules?"

"One silver to enter. If you win, you walk away with ten. First to land a solid blow," the man explained, "Ah, but no spells if you would."

I glanced over to Leon, who paused before draining his glass. Then, he stood and nodded to us before walking around the railing and stepping into the makeshift ring.

Leon took a dulled metal sword from his opponent, and I shook my head as I watched him swing it a few times. He might be a fantastic shot with a bow and a far better tracker and hunter than I was, but his skills with a blade were...middling at best, even when sober.

My lord-to-be took up a position at one end of the small square, raising his weapon with both hands. The other man settled into his own stance. The instant Leon nodded, the swordsman moved.

The man closed the gap in a handful of steps, bringing his dulled blade up and around. It crashed into and through Leon's clumsy guard, battering aside the sword in a blur. While my friend did his best to recover, it was pointless. The swordsman flicked his blade out again, and the edge slipped just past Leon's weapon before slamming into his wrist with a hard crack.

Leon shouted and dropped his sword, staggering back and clutching his arm to his chest. His face was screwed up in a grimace, and the swordsman took a few steps back, eyes widening as he held up his free hand.

I was up and over the railing in seconds, running to my friend to stand beside him.

"Founders, my lord, I'm sorry!" the swordsman said, "It-it was an accident, sir!"

"Are you okay?" I said, ignoring the other man and leaning in closer to Leon.

"Yeah...fine..." Leon hissed out from clenched teeth.

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"Sure you are," I said dryly, pulling back the sleeve of Leon's shirt and finding that his wrist was already changing color.

I glanced over at the others, who wore varying expressions. Amelia was halfway to her feet, scowling at the swordsman as if ready to jump over the railing and charge him. Simon was pale, one hand shoved into the pouch on his belt. And Sophia was-

The younger Estton had not moved, but the look in her eyes was sharp enough to cut flesh. I could sense mana gathering in and around her as she prepared a spell. The swordsman seemed not to notice, still focused entirely on Leon.

But Leon had his eyes on his sister.

I watched as Leon straightened, meeting Sophia's eyes and shaking his head. She stared back and, for a long breath, I thought she might ignore him. Her mana did not weaken, but it did not grow either.

Finally, it relaxed. Without a word, Sophia stood and walked from the table.

Leon released a long, low breath before shaking his head. He turned to face the swordsman and inclined his head towards the man, "May I have your name?"

"...Wallace," the man responded after a long pause, bowing his head, "Please, if I may offer my apologies again, sir."

"Accepted," Leon forced another smile onto his face, "I will remember you and your skill, Wallace."

Despite his flaws, Leon was ultimately a good man. It might have sounded like a threat from anyone else, but I knew that Leon meant it in as kind of a way as possible. He meant it to show that he held no grudge and did not desire revenge. Leon saw this as an accident and nothing else.

The noble turned and walked away to meet the others. The crowd clapped, the tension in the room snapping as Leon and the swordsman made peace. I went to follow but cast a final glance back at Wallace before moving.

It was a short look, so brief I almost missed it. But for a heartbeat, Wallace's face turned ugly as he sneered at Leon's back. It was an expression of petty cruelty, there and gone just as fast. Yet, as I stood there and connected the pieces, I realized what had happened.

"Apologies," I said, loud enough to be heard over the crowd, "Can anyone challenge you?"

Wallace's face turned confused, and he tilted his head to one side, "Pardon?"

"Can anyone challenge you?" I repeated, meeting his eyes, "Or do you prefer to challenge half-drunk nobles so you have an excuse when your blade 'slips?'"

Wallace's eyes widened, but he chuckled after a second, "I have no idea what you mean, sir. I assure you it was an accident and will not happen again."

"Good," I nodded, "Then you should have no problem accepting another challenge."

The swordsman made a show of glancing around at the crowd as if searching for a retreat. But there was none to be found. A few shot him suspicious looks while others merely grumbled at the lack of entertainment. Finally, he forced a smile onto his face and nodded once.

I walked over to the others, who still sat at the same table. Simon was examining Leon's arm while the young lord stared at me with something close to a scowl.

"Are you insane?" Leon murmured, "You can't duel him, Vayne."

"Why not?" I replied, meeting his eyes.

"He almost broke my wrist," Leon countered, "I don't want you to get hurt, too."

"I know," I said, handing Amelia my wand and the pouch from my belt. She watched me with a concerned expression on her face.

"This is a mistake," Leon insisted.

"Maybe," I nodded, then turned and walked away, "But it will be mine."

I scooped up the sword Leon had used from where it lay on the ground, spinning it by my side and weighing it in my hand as I tried to throw off the intoxicated fuzz that clung to my thoughts. It was not much, barely enough to notice, but the margin between victory and defeat was often thin.

When I turned to face Wallace, he wore an air of warmth and friendliness. If I had not seen that look of contempt on his face, I might believe it.

"How's about a hand for our newest challenger?!" Wallace shouted, spreading both arms. The drunken onlookers had shrugged off the tension from earlier entirely, cheering and whooping as their entertainment resumed.

I ignored it, dropping into the guard Sig had drilled into me for months. When Wallace finally returned his attention to me, I gave him a single nod. The man examined me for a few seconds, then moved.

Wallace was fast, particularly when he attacked. His blade came up in a flickering silver blur, almost too quick to block with my dulled reflexes.

Almost.

I brought my sword up to meet his strike and caught it, angling it away in a shunting parry as I had a thousand times while training with Sigmund. My mentor had always used his full strength, emphasizing that meeting an attack head-on was a fool's choice. It saved energy, improved efficiency, and opened up more chances for a counter.

Wallace's strike landed like a crashing tidal wave. The sheer force nearly tore my sword from my grip, and it was all I could do to maintain hold on the hilt and retreat. He followed me, attacking twice more, but these felt lighter. Each still sent painful vibrations into my hands but had less of the overwhelming power from that first blow.

The man's grin broadened as we broke apart, and I saw it again. He intended to "play with his food" as it was, savoring this bit of sport and hiding it behind a friendly challenge.

I reset my stance, but my opponent did not strike. Instead, he raised one hand and gestured towards me with two fingers, goading me to attack.

It seemed rude not to oblige.

I settled on a simple combination of shallow cuts and thrusts, one intended to test defenses and distance rather than land a telling blow. Wallace blocked each probing strike, his sword unwavering as he deflected them away before countering with an attack of his own. I was better prepared for his raw power this time, but it still threw me off-balance and forced me into another retreat.

That dance continued for another minute or two. We clashed three more times, and each time, I found myself inching closer and closer to landing something. If Wallace was holding back, it was not by much. In fact, he seemed...off.

I had thought Wallace was as good or better than me. He was undoubtedly faster and stronger, and his reflexes were sharper even if I had been sober. But his footwork was sloppy, his defenses haphazard, and his attacks over-zealous, bordering on reckless.

Yet I could never slip through.

Like the others, my attacks sailed a little too far to either side while his counters flickered past my guard. Wallace never landed anything solid, though he could have, and soon, sweat began to run down my forehead.

The wise move would have been to surrender, but I was not feeling particularly sagacious.

As we broke apart again, I reevaluated my options. I could have pulled on my mana, strengthening my body enough to shift the balance in my favor. It would take me just seconds to gather the focus, and I had no doubt I could batter through his guard within five strikes. But, even if I had little objections to less-than-honest strategies, outright cheating felt wrong.

I wanted to win because I was better, not because I had magic. It was pride and possibly alcohol driving my actions, but that did not change how I felt.

It also did not change the facts. My blade felt heavy in my hands, and my lungs burned. The haze that had fallen over my mind was growing thicker again, exertion from this duel merging with the alcohol and dulling my senses further.

Wallace seemed to notice, shaking his head with a laugh. The man lowered his weapon and turned, letting his gaze wander over the crowd. He waved his free hand, and I saw his eyes land on Leon. That spark of sadistic amusement returned, and his grin widened.

I struck, trying to convince myself it was motivated by pragmatism rather than emotion. The man had lowered his guard, after all.

My strike should have landed. I was just two or three steps away, and Wallace had left himself wide open, his weapon down and to the side. His head turned towards me, his mouth dropping open, but I knew he was too slow to get his sword up in time.

My blade crashed into his anyways.

Wallace's eyes widened, his face set into a grimace. I stared at him, my mind struggling to catch up as I realized he had managed the impossible. Caught off-guard, and with his sword down, he had somehow managed to block me? No one was that fast.

Then, I sensed his mana.

It was faint, so much so that he might not even be a Haze. A weak aura clung to his body, thin but with an unmistakable cold strength, unyielding as the steel blade in my hands. I could feel the slightest wisps clinging to his sword, and the reality of it became apparent. If I had not been so close, I doubted I would have detected it at all.

I snorted and pushed against his guard with my weapon, murmuring, "I thought you said we could not use magic?"

Wallace's eyes narrowed, and his smile became mocking, "I said no spells. It's not my fault you Academy types take that to mean no magic whatsoever."

"So, you are a cheater and a coward?"

"As if you have any actual objections to it," he muttered, "If you were in my shoes, you'd do the same."

I did not understand what he meant. Truthfully, I did not care. He had cheated, injuring a person he did not know for selfish reasons. That was bad enough by itself, but he had made the far worse mistake of harming my friend.

"Maybe," I said, then pulled on my Aether.

Power flooded into my body, bolstering muscle and bone. I could feel newfound strength pour into my arms and pushed, forcing Wallace's guard back. He grunted as I shoved him back a step, then disengaged and struck. The edge of my sword slammed into his weapon, throwing it aside in a mirror of his attack against Leon.

Metal mana flowed from his hand in thin rivulets, trying to shove his weapon back into line and throw mine wide, but I noticed his magic only distantly. I flowed forward, Aether, and months of perfecting my footwork, turning the step effortless and lightning-fast. A heartbeat later, I had the tip of my dulled sword against the hollow of Wallace's throat.

I held it for a second, then released my spell. While I had broken the rules, Wallace had done so first. He might hide behind technicalities, but those seemed the shield of a coward.

"But," I said, stepping back and lowering my sword, "I am not you."

I dropped the sword onto the wooden floor, then turned and walked back to my friends.