Saphar hadn’t really changed after these many years. Maybe he got a bit taller, but that was all. He was of dark blue skin like his father, but his hair was white-blond instead of orange-red. He wore a red tunic, like the one he used in the duel back then. Saphar had a scar-looking birthmark on the side of his face, which I now could see that it was very similar to the one his father had. Only he had one, while his father had two.

Actal Nay’s mana dissipated as he relaxed, not wanting to show such unfitting behavior before his son and branch family member.

“I have recently been made aware that you have lost a duel against this… student.” Actal told to his son.

With the influence that Mystic’s Dominion had over Actal’s soul, I knew he intended to say ‘commoner’ but held his tongue at the last second.

“Em… Yes, father.” Saphar responded with confusion and insecurity.

Not only he was ashamed to be reminded of his loss, but Saphar had done whatever he could to erase that memory from his mind. The emotion lingered in his soul, though. Saphar’s thoughts weren’t far off from mine. He was also surprised by the fact that this was brought this many years later.

Another emotion appeared in his soul. Sadness.

I couldn’t believe the lack of presence of a parental figure in Saphar’s life. Maybe Olivia was right, Saphar (mostly) wasn't at fault. He just hadn’t had a father.

In the brief moment of silence that elapsed as both noblemen looked at each other, I carefully examined both souls. And yes, the douchebag was the father. Saphar didn’t want to be here, and Actal only worried about the reputation of House Nay.

If I didn’t hate highborn by default, this would have definitely done the trick.

“I see.” Actal responded after a while, showing no emotion. Not even remorse.

His expression was similar to that of my father, but instead of the natural stoicism of my father, Actal was fueled by a pure disconnection between himself and his own son.

“I don’t believe it.” The patriarch continued. “So, duel against him once more.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.

Saphar’s face paled as he looked at me because he had one vital piece of information. He knew he couldn’t beat me. Not even a single chance.

“What are you waiting for?” Actal’s expression grew sterner as time passed by without an answer. “The arena is right here, fight him.”

“Yes, father…” Saphar looked down at the ground, accepting his father’s order without complaining.

Maybe I was self-centered, but what bothered me more is that no one asked for my opinion on whether I wanted to fight or not. And the answer was no. I was literally waist-deep in the tomb! Only maintaining myself alive by clever manipulation of my soul, treating my body as a pseudo-phylactery instead of the actual living vessel that it was.

Yet I didn’t bother speaking up. Not because I was cowled down by this clown of a patriarch, but because I knew the conversation would stretch out if I intervened. And the sooner I went home, the better.

Wordlessly, Saphar and I went to the marks on the arena’s ground. It was a bit worrisome that the ground was made of white stone instead of dirt, but no wounds made by a fall against the solid ground would be lethal to mages of our caliber.

Saphar looked at me with sad puppy eyes. There was a double meaning in that soul. He knew he was going to lose, yes, but he also didn’t want to fight. I wanted to assume he had changed instead of having ulterior motives.

There was a brief silence in the shrubbery garden. Actal looked at Olivia, commanding her to work as a referee without saying a word.

“Ready?” She spoke with a servile attitude.

Saphar nodded and I just closed my eyes.

“Go!” Olivia shouted, indicating the beginning of the duel.

Not even a single hundredth of a second had passed since Olivia’s words had died down and the mana around Saphar began moving.

Instinctively, or more accurately, my soul told me Saphar’s train of thought. The pyromancer had learned one thing about our duel and that was what type of mage I was.

I wasn’t only an arcanist, and even then, I wasn’t like the average arcanist.

Manaweaver and psychimancer.

Two very different types of magic that worked beyond the corporeal plane. Psychimancy allowed me to strengthen my soul, currently keeping me alive, and also to affect other people’s souls. Manaweaving was the science of destroying the inner workings of a spell to dissipate the accumulated mana in a non-threatening manner. Manaweaving wasn’t limited to arcanists per se, mentalists from the Mind affinity were very good at that, but mana was of Arcane affinity in its more primordial state.

Psychimancy could only be countered by soul practitioners, same as mind compulsion was easily, mindlessly countered by mind practitioners. But manaweaving had one fatal flaw.

It didn’t work if the spell hit you before you dispelled it.

So, Saphar chose the safest strategy, spellcasting an incredibly complex spell that I had no hope of dispelling before I was struck by it.

Judging by the intense flow of mana, it was around the high nine-star. Even I, a ten-star sorcerer, had difficulties spellcasting a nine-star spell in a short span of time.

The next logical step was to overpower Saphar by countering his strategy.

Without any telegraphed movement or reaction on my part, I spellcasted a six-star Arcane Bolt toward Saphar.

The pyromancer hadn’t expected the surprise attack, but his automatic defenses proved strong enough to block completely the arcane projectile. Yet hurting him wasn’t my intention but inducing a small lapse in his thought.

I could have exploited this lapse to overwhelm his soul and instantly end the duel but even I wasn’t that anticlimactic and party-pooper of a person, even at death’s door.

My next action was to recall my swordsmanship training with Adrian and dashed to the man.

I was no Adrian nor Marissa. I had no well-toned body nor several movement-enhancement spells, but I could ignore gravity and had no weight.

In the blink of an eye, I had traversed half the arena. Saphar’s colorful reaction was quite amusing to me. I saw the mana around him lose shape as his concentration wavered.

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At my unburned, left arm appeared a seven-star Arcane Blade, and readied myself to cut the man.

Yet in my savage assault, I became aware I was the short-sighted man.

I knew nothing about pyromancy, and I couldn’t even have thought that most fire-based spells had a short-fuse emergency button that pyromancers could metaphorically press such button to release the spell before it was ready, albeit with some consequences.

Or that’s what Saphar’s surface thoughts told me.

Either way, I had fucked up.

I quickly spellcasted a seven-star Arcane Aegis, the lowest tier I could instantly spellcast, to protect myself. Even when the aegis type of spell had the advantage of not being omnidirectional like barriers, therefore requiring less mana and time to compute, it was only by a tenth of a second that I managed to finish the spell.

And even then, it wasn’t enough.

The unfinished nine-star spell had the power of a high eight-star one, my makeshift Arcane Aegis was assaulted in more ways than one as it was engulfed and destroyed by the fire.

My reactive defensive spells managed to cover most of the debilitated flames, but nonetheless, I was hit hard by the close explosion.

Only because of my non-existent weight, I managed to hit the ground without furthering my injuries. I slowly got up as the massive smokescreen dissipated.

Saphar was also stunned by his spell, the knockback wasn’t a thing to scoff at. But he not only was a pyromancer with high Fire affinity, which made him resistant to fire but also possessed a fire-proof enchanted robe.

As the smokescreen disappeared, Saphar and Olivia looked at me with expressions of dread, whilst the patriarch chuckled to himself.

I knew why they reacted that way.

I didn’t possess innate fire resistance, nor my tunic was heavily enchanted. As a matter of fact, the academy’s tunic was the only thing unphased by the burns. My body not so much.

I could feel the scorched flesh, the uncovered skin being burnt off, my face and hair set ablaze. It was painful, but I still had problems feeling pain. But that didn’t truly bother me, as I knew these third-degree burns ached less than death. The common bandages on my left arm became ashes, revealing a way nastier burn to the spectators.

I sighed, feeling a piece of my soul leaving me, as my skin and flesh began regenerating.

Leyline damage was strong, it permeated the three planes of existence. Fire damage? Corporeal damage was a joke compared to cognitive or spiritual ones.

Perhaps if the fire was so concentrated to create a singularity that affected every plane as leylines did I would worry, but if I only began to see such spells were possible with ten-star magic, a nine-star one couldn’t even comprehend it.

“S-so, why arr yu shtoppinh?” I taunted the afflicted man.

My speech came off rather sinister as my cheeks had some holes in them, making my mouth do weird noises. No matter, that damage quickly disappeared by Dominion-empowered Regeneration spells. My left arm still remained burned, though.

“If yu thinh diz…” I said as the patches on my cheeks finally healed up, “pitiful amount of damage will stop me, then you are wrong.” I spoke in a neutral tone. I wasn’t angry, or at least not to Saphar. This whole ordeal had been my fault.

What made the corners of my mouth rise was seeing Actal’s shit-eating grin of superiority disappear. The two young ellari had been scared before they thought I was deeply hurt. Now the old patriarch was scared because I was unphased by the flames of hell.

“I see,” I commented as everyone in the garden stood still.

I spellcasted an impromptu Force cantrip and pushed Saphar outside the arena. He hadn’t recovered his footing from the explosion’s knockback and was mostly confused, so the pathetically weak spell did the job.

“If we are done here…” I turned back and began walking outside the arena, “then I’m going to make my way home.”

“Stop right there!” Actal shouted at me, trying to force his ego as he had done to his family members.

I continued walking as I was getting really tired. Mentally and physically.

“I said stop!” The man tried to command to no avail. He was truly shocked by the lighting fast duel. A single exchange of magic, and it had ended without the need for a decisive attack, just a single push.

I ignored him.

I felt the surrounding air get hotter and a projectile struck my back. Thankfully, I had already known that the man would dare to attack me. Now I wasn’t caught off guard and had begun spellcasting an eight-star arcane barrier spell to block the attack.

I turned to look at him, his attack hadn’t finished yet as it wasn’t a single projectile but a beam-type spell. The omnidirectional barrier allowed me to look at him as the beam continued emitting sparks.

I recognized the spell Actal was using, Saphar had once tried to spellcast it against me. It was called Scorch Ray, according to True Recall. Nine years ago the high seven-star spell had been a bit overwhelming, and Saphar himself needed to take mana from the outside and a full minute to even cast it.

Now I couldn’t even bother to scoff at such a spell. I wasn’t even amazed that the patriarch had spellcasted it instantly and all the mana came from his reserves.

I just looked at him. And I was pissed.

The leyline damage to my body and soul had been way worse than I had imagined. That eight-star arcane spell took most of my physical mana pool and made my arm burn. I knew I had to lay off arcane magic for a while, but I didn’t think I was this badly hurt. I gritted my teeth as I was assaulted by the metaphysical arcane presence in my soul.

“How would people react if they knew that the patriarch of House Nay attacked a student whilst he had his back turned,” I spoke with hate. “But better even enough. How would they react if they knew such a prestigious patriarch failed to hurt the student?”

Now that hurt the man. I knew how people like him worked. Only their ego and reputation mattered to him, and I had punched him right in the balls with that jab.

His face fumed with silent rage, still maintaining some decorum before his family.

But I wasn’t done yet.

I flared Mystic’s Dominion, activating the worst, evil parts that Alatea liked to call them so. Possession was a nasty spell, a spell that was part of the foundation of Mystic’s Dominion. It was also a weak spell, it presented difficulties even to make a non-mage child succumb. Not that I had tried.

Yet the soul-manipulating capabilities of the spell were perfect to induce fear alongside the Charm spell.

“If you dare attack me or anyone near me one more time, you will know what being a true expert of magic looks like.” My words carried through another place besides the air. They traveled across the spiritual plane, hitting the patriarch’s soul like a sledgehammer. They were imbued with hidden runic power words.

Olivia and Saphar trembled even if the words weren’t directed at them. The patriarch just stood still and didn’t make a noise. I highly believed this was the first time he had been hit by spiritual damage in his whole centuries-spanning life. And he wasn’t sure how to react, or how to swallow the pain.

I walked outside the Nay state, slowly and in pain. My body was crumbling, my soul aching, and my mind was filled with hate and bloodlust.

I was doing them a favor by not staying.

Without any care for my body, I dropped to the bench of the gondola, hearing some bones crack. I literally couldn’t care.

I sensed souls approaching me as I lazily inserted a blue manite on the gondola’s central pedestal. I stared daggers at the cowed Olivia looking me over at the stone port.

“I… um…” The woman was unable to express her feeling in words even if her soul was an open book to me. “I’m sorry,” Olivia told with a bow; a small tear being shed. “This is my fault, I should have ignored the patriarch’s orders, especially after seeing that you were hurt.”

I knew she meant it. I knew she felt truly sorry and felt worse than I did in her own way. She felt like shit after doing this to Saphar and me.

I stood there, unmoving as I looked at the sky, Olivia apologized once more and went back to the garden, yet I didn’t go away yet. At least she could read the room.

“I know you are here, Saphar,” I said with a tired voice, almost a whisper. “Come out.”

The pyromancer came up from behind a tall dark blue shrubbery and looked at me with an equally tired gaze. But I could see some determination hiding inside of it. Those eyes weren’t dead, there was a spark.

“I felt like I had to tell you something.” The man confessed.

“An apology?” I said.

“Well, no,” Saphar answered. “Quite the opposite.”

If I had to credit Saphar with something, it would be his innate ability to make me want to punch him. But his soul told me there was more behind his words.

“In retrospective, I should have known better before challenging you to a duel.” He admitted.

“Do you?” Those weren’t words of guilt.

“Yes.” He nodded. “After having fought you a second time, and especially after seeing you deal with Father, I know you aren’t what I had thought.”

Did I sense tender words coming?

“I didn’t lose to a commoner.” The pyromancer told. “You are a noble, Edrie.”

I looked at Saphar. The child believed his words, to him, I had beaten him because I was a highborn. He hadn’t changed after all; this was but a very flawed form of escapism.

“You are wrong,” I said, hidden poison oozing from my words.

“No, I’m not,” Saphar said with uncharacteristic conviction. “What I am seeing before is noble. A future patriarch of a new House.”

I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t distinguish if the man was being truthful or avoiding the truth. Not even with my yoke over his soul and with Mystic’s Dominion I could make sense of his words.

Yet he looked at me with a hint of reverence.

With a grunt, I turned on the gondola and made my way into the canals of Nikt’un, disappearing over the violet-tainted twilight.

For some reason, his words hit me harder than the botched explosion.

And I knew why.