Had it not been for Miranda, who was watching Arien's every move, she would not have dared to shake his hand and would have limited herself to a simple nod. But not to show her weakness in front of the spiteful earthling, Arien responded to the firm masculine handshake. Unable to look into those fathomless blue eyes any longer, the girl lowered her gaze.

A cold shiver ran through Arien's body instantly. No, it was not a manifestation of excitement. It was a shiver of disgust! The aristocrat's palm, though strong, was excessively square, and his fingers were too short, resembling sausages. Moreover, those fingers were not well-kept: bitten, dirt under the nails, and numerous hangnails.

How? How had she not noticed his hands immediately?! For Arien, men's palms were the true manifestation of beauty and attractiveness! The sight of those unkempt fingers instantly shattered all the magic of the aristocrat's charm. It was as if someone had removed a spell of obsession from Arien's mind. In an instant, her intellect, accustomed to solving complex scientific problems, saw the whole picture.

The handshake was still ongoing as the girl figured everything out. The evening guest's motives became crystal clear to her. Apparently, the king, burdened by his younger son's infatuation with some foreigner, had instructed the duke to include the kingdom's top charmer in the envoy's entourage to seduce "this upstart" and thus prove to the prince that he had made a mistake in his choice! If that had happened, if Arien had succumbed, the prince would have hated her! After all, she had rejected Him! And jumped into bed with some slick aristocrat who was, moreover, only of the Wootz rank. Shame! And not so much for Arien as for the prince. A harsh lesson the father was ready to administer for the upbringing of his son. Moreover, among the local nobility, Arien would instantly lose face after such humiliation. The picture painted by the girl's intellect seemed so coherent and consistent that when she raised her eyes to the gleaming, dazzlingly smiling, impudent man, her gaze was filled with only cold, calculating fury!

No, Om Rallizor still looked as if he had stepped out of the pages of magazines devoted to male beauty, but now the girl's gaze noted previously unnoticed details. His hair was unkempt, and he had washed it at best a week ago. His magnificent doublet was all stained on the side, as if someone had wiped their greasy hands on it after eating. There were many such details, and now, with a cold gaze, Arien noted them all.

'It's quite possible he's also a Mental Mage!' A sober thought flashed in the girl's head. 'I couldn't have lost control of myself at the sight of, albeit very handsome, but still an ordinary man!' She tried to convince herself. 'But now! Now, when his charm is shattered, I'll make him rue the day! Rejoice, Brunge!' Arien smiled outwardly friendly. 'Whatever you do, whatever magic you conjure, you will not spend this night with me!' Arien thought maliciously, but this fury remained deep inside, and she said:

"Please, as you are a guest, Om Rallizor, I grant you the privilege of the first attempt."

"Excellent!" The aristocrat exclaimed and, clapping his hands, rubbed his grotesque palms, invoking another shudder of disgust that ran through the girl's body.

Admittedly, this Om Rallizor had some skill! The storm he conjured struck the tower's pinnacle thrice with lightning, causing minor damage to the stone masonry. But this demonstration did not impress Arien. Even Miranda, with a combination of three spells, albeit of Bronze rank, achieved a better result!

"My turn!" The girl approached the shore of the lake with an anticipatory smirk.

Even though Lightning magic wasn't Arien's strongest talent, unlike Fire, she targeted the old tower with a spell from the school of Lightning to spite the aristocrat. She aimed at the large block that Miranda had split in half a few days ago.

She aimed and hit! The forgotten local spell, deciphered by Arien in the abandoned temple of Magevra, didn't fail! The mighty block, the size of a bull, cracked and fell apart into large pieces, and those, with a rumble audible even from the shore, fell into the calm waters of the lake.

"Om Rallizor!" Arien pronounced ringing. "I believe you lost!" And, bowing deeply but with utmost mockery, she pointed towards Brunge.

However, she didn't need to point. The villa's owner was already standing nearby. One swift motion - and to the delighted howls of the spectators, the aristocrat's feet left the ground. Smiling so wide that drool ran down her chin, Brunger unceremoniously tucked the aristocrat under her arm and, with a triumphant howl that curdled the blood, rushed towards the house, carrying the duke's seducer with her.

Spinning around herself, the girl savored the moment, absorbing the roar of the audience's applause. After all, the main spectators were the townspeople, and it was their Radiant Arien who had just wiped the floor with a representative of the royal aristocracy! And she didn't just wipe the floor with him; she ground him into the dust, trampled into the mud!

Only one table didn't share their joy.

At Miranda's table, no one was celebrating Arien's victory. A quarrel seemed to be brewing. The aristocratic young man kept trying to rise, but Miranda had clenched her palms into his shoulders and was whispering something angrily into his ear, her face flushed with rage. This continued for almost a minute, after which the man, resembling a bird of prey, gripped Miranda's wrist with such force that she involuntarily cried out in pain. He tightened his grip, carefully removed her hand from his shoulder, and deliberately slowly placed it on the table. The woman, dressed in an elegant dress, red with anger, clearly resisted this gesture, but her strength was not enough to overcome a warrior of Steel. After saying something harsh to Miranda, her escort straightened up and left the table.

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For a moment, Arien thought he didn't like her victory and wanted to leave. But instead of heading towards the road to the city, the man walked purposefully towards her. The way he moved made Arien's temples clench. Unlike the aristocratic wimp, approaching her was a warrior, experienced and skillful, despite his young age. Every step, every move, screamed that he was ready to launch into a swift attack at any moment. And these movements harmoniously matched his appearance, which now reminded Arien more of a predatory bird eyeing its prey.

'A hawk!' Arien thought involuntarily. But then their eyes met, and she saw all the pain and suffering of the World reflected in the man's eyes.

It seemed that every step bringing him closer to her was like a scalpel strike to the solar plexus for this, essentially, young man. Yet this pain was reflected only in his gaze. Not a muscle trembled on his calm, impossibly confident face.

'Not a hawk,' she corrected herself, 'A crow!'

"The bet..." His voice was as cold and dry as Arien's had been when she spoke to the aristocrat earlier. "The bet is the same."

"What?" Arien didn't understand him. Clearly, a warrior stood before her, not a mage. His hands were more accustomed to a sword or spear, not a magic wand.

His hands...

Hands...

For the second time that evening, Arien felt the call of her Affinity with Nature.

Those hands... Strong, weathered palms. Long fingers, like a pianist's, yet capable of rolling a metal plate into a tube without much effort. Clean, well-kept nails with not a trace of dirt beneath them. And incredibly attractive, old, calloused scars from weapons. Just the kind that makes a man's hands truly masculine.

"The bet is the same," his voice resonated unnaturally deep. "A night with you, Radi... Arien!"

The way he failed to say "Radiant" sliced through Arien like a sharp knife. On the other hand, she saw Miranda seething with cold fury in her seat at the spectators' table. The girl was literally being torn apart by impotent rage! And Arien understood this anger. Of course, she did! Another woman had just been preferred over her in front of dozens of people!

'Maybe I should lose?' A playful and cheerful thought flitted through Arien's mind.

Moreover, this man, especially his hands… She wouldn't mind at all if those hands were to embrace her tonight. The Affinity with Nature accelerated her blood flow, awakening subdued desires.

'I'll show that Miranda!' And this thought was particularly pleasing.

"Arien Marchal," the girl introduced herself briefly. "Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Raven..." Each word was uttered with some inexplicable difficulty. "Raven from Seattle."

Seattle?!

Raven?!

He's not a local! He's an earthling, just like her!! This thought was so unexpected for Arien that she froze, gasping for air.

Wait! Did he call himself Raven? The very same Raven that Miranda, the witch, had been buzzing about to the whole town? The Raven whose exploits, if you believe that intolerable Miranda, would dwarf all her Achievements?

Is it really him? In the flesh? Standing in front of her?

"Why... Are you silent... Radiant? Brave only against local inepts, huh?!"

There was so much anger, so much pain in his voice that she was slightly taken aback. Especially when her feminine intuition told her that this anger, although outwardly directed at her, was irrationally focused on himself!

"Inepts?" Arien let her anger flow. Her voice rang out loud and clear, like a funeral bell.

"Prove... Prove the opposite..." the earthling demanded, his sharp gaze, as honed as a sword, fixed on her.

"Easy!" the girl smiled.

Not long ago, she thought of losing to him... But now... No! She would grind him to dust! To the dust beneath her feet! And Brunge would have a second suitor for the night!

"Please..." He bowed briefly and gestured to the shore with his palm. "Ladies first."

"Are you familiar with all the conditions?" Arien asked, savoring the impending showdown.

"No artifacts and spell scrolls."

"Correct," she nodded, not taking her eyes off his right palm.

"Ah..." The man who called himself Raven angrily ripped an artifact ring from his finger and threw it to the ground. The strange hairpin, which the girl hadn't noticed earlier in the audacious man's thick hair, followed the ring to the ground. "I have no more artifacts on me."

"Are you sure?" Her hopes that he was trying to trick her were just shattered by his gesture.

"Sure... and... I... am waiting... Radiant…"

"You think I was given this title undeservedly?" Arien raised her voice.

Their verbal spat drew the breathless attention of dozens of pairs of eyes. To further agitate the onlookers, the girl, with a wave towards the house, said snidely:

"You liked Brunge that much, Raven from Seattle? You don't have to endure humiliation for that. She's always ready!"

The man listened calmly and uttered just two words:

"The tower... waits..."

"Masochist!" Arien retorted shortly.

Quickly approaching the water's edge, she gathered all her anger, all the power available to her, and struck. A "Rain of Fire," enviable even to an Opal mage, descended upon the tormented tower. She had never unleashed such potent magic before. And it did not disappoint. In just about ten seconds, the wretched building lost a whole half floor. After taking two deep breaths, Arien turned to Raven.

"Is... that... all?" was all he asked.

"That's. Enough!" The girl growled shortly.

"So... it's my turn?" Raven inquired.

"Yes, yes..." Arien waved her hand. "You can even turn it into dust," she added snidely, "I have the city authorities' permission for that."

At her words, the guests at the tables burst into cheerful laughter and jeering.

Taking a few steps, Raven came within arm's length of her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the girl felt as if she had known him for a very, very long time. Her body involuntarily leaned towards him, as if wanting to embrace, but this spell was broken as soon as Raven said:

"I repeat... are you done?"

"I repeat... done!" Arien echoed his words.

"Then..."

Raven shifted to have both her and the tower in his sight. He stood like that for a couple of seconds, and without taking his eyes off hers, he pronounced loudly:

"Boom!"

An unbearable wave of heat struck Arien's back. A mighty gust of hot air, as if from a blast furnace, knocked her off her feet. She would have fallen, but strong hands caught her by the shoulders, preventing her from collapsing to the ground. Without turning her head, Arien looked into eyes full of pain and saw in them the reflection of the Element of Fire. Behind her back, a true cataclysm unfolded, the echoes of which even reached the shore. All the onlookers fell to the ground and hid behind overturned tables. Only two remained standing.

Him...

And, supported by his palms...

Her...

When the heat subsided, the girl turned around. Where the old tower once stood, now there was a pile of granite blocks shattered by incredible heat, or rather, what remained of them.

It was impossible.

Unimaginable.

Like a nuclear strike.

Arien lost her power of speech in astonishment. Only the calm voice behind her proved that she wasn't daydreaming:

"You can refuse. I'll understand."

End of Volume 4.