Savages and Pawns

Part 2

Eliot

In a similar fashion to the first week, only with Master Camble's training resumed, two more passed. Finally, after four versions, Eliot put together a theoretically functional prototype for what he dubbed his portal engines. The amazing thing about the portal spell—any spell technically—was that its effects didn't have to originate from the caster or the spell’s runes. If he so pleased, he could cast the fireball spell, and have the fireball be created a kilometer away from him. Ordinarily, spells weren’t used like that because the mana cost would shoot up and it added an unneeded layer of complexity to the casting and planning of the spell.

When it came to the portal spell, however, orientation and distance were basically the only layer of complexity available to play around with. The main idea of his plan to make portals easy and accessible to everyone was simple. He would bury portal engines all throughout Everveil, then sell an engraved item that would send a message, or a ‘ping’ as it was called in his journal, to the portal engines. That ping would tell the portal engines when and where to make a portal.

He decided on such a roundabout set up for three reasons: secrecy, ease of use, and mana cost. If he sold engravings of the portal spell itself, suddenly everyone and their mom would know what the portal spell’s runes were. While no one except him should be able to cast it without his permission, he still knew far too little about the portal spell’s mechanisms to be sure it would stay that way. For all he knew, someone could figure out how to circumvent those limitations and steal the portal spell for themselves. He just couldn’t risk letting the portal spell out into the hands of the public. Instead, only the portal engines, buried hundreds of kilometers below ground, would have the portal spell. And, if they were ever dug up without first receiving a ‘maintenance ping’ from a unique divination spell only Eliot knew, they would explode in blazing glory. He would also be immediately notified so he could handle the situation personally. Finally, he also embedded smaller, separate engravings into each individual section that would melt whatever was still intact.

When it came to the practical limitations of using the portal spell in an engraving, it was basically impossible at his skill level to create an item that would let someone use the portal spell with as much versatility as he could. Engravings, for the most part, were rigid things. Something that required situational input like the portal spell usually wouldn’t be considered a good spell to be engraved. That notwithstanding, instantaneous travel, even if limited, was still a massive boon. And even though the portal wouldn’t be versatile, he still managed to figure out how to create an engraving that would ‘remember’ a location. When the item pinged the portal engine, it would create a portal from where the item was, to the remembered location.

The mana cost was both the biggest and easiest to solve problem of his whole operation. With a bit of extra testing, he found that although others could borrow his Authority to cast the portal spell in the first place, they couldn’t borrow his proclivities or specific mastery. Meaning the costs of even shorter portals would be astronomical. Furthermore, if he really wanted the portals to be accessible by anyone, mana sensitive or not, he needed to figure out a way for the engraved item to pay that mana cost itself. The mana cost problems basically resolved themselves thanks to the solution of his secrecy problem, though. The spell that pinged the portal engine was about the same complexity as the cleanse spell. The basis of it was the integral runarch used in almost every divination spell he knew, and casting it costed so little mana that it could easily be fueled by the nearby ambient mana. As for the portal engines, they would be fueled by the weight of the earth above them.

Since the academy was made by Karl Favesh and Eliot was his only discipulus, he saw no problem with peaking at the rituals under the dueling arenas. The rituals that powered all sorts of powerful effects by somehow converting the weight of the earth to mana. He knew frighteningly little about rituals since it was still considered a newer magical discipline in the Crucible Empire. The Empire as a whole knew basically nothing about them until Karl Favesh, then later Celeste Chantelle shared some of their knowledge. Luckily, Eliot was able to puzzle out the important bits with trial and error. As it turned out, there was actually another ritual buried much closer to the surface that acted as a conduit of mana and a container for the first ritual. Eliot only realized after he found the second ritual that the first ritual didn’t just convert the weight of the earth, it converted the weight of everything on top of it—which made a lot of sense in hindsight. There needed to be a second ritual higher up to stop the effect and ensure the earth at the surface still had weight. Otherwise, he had no idea what would happen if someone stepped on weightless ground but he imagined it wasn’t anything good. It was probably situations exactly like that when Authority got personally involved and threw around consequences without mercy.

The day before the two weeks were up, he portaled out into the forest to see if his prototype engine would work. The whole set up was in three pieces. The uppermost ritual that ‘caught’ the weight conversion effect, the conversion ritual, and the portal engine itself that was stored in a protective, conduit case that connected it to the conversion ritual. The outside of the case allowed for mana from the ritual to easily and smoothly transfer to the engine and sported all sorts of defensive, structural engravings, just in case. The inside of the case finished delivering the mana to the engine and had all sorts of engravings that maintained the climate and general condition of everything inside the case.

The engine itself had all sorts of moving parts. He drew inspiration from self-driving carriages, locks, clocks, and so on to create a system of levers, cogs, springs, and the like to make up for the engraving’s rigidity. On the top of the engine was the portal spell with the distances and diameters of the portals empty. Below was a moving apparatus with every line and flourish needed to make up to five digit runic numbers. When pinged by the divination spell, whichever pieces were needed to make the specified number would slot into the empty spaces.

Everything except the moving apparatus took him only a few hours to figure out. Making a moving apparatus that actually worked and fitting it in to seamlessly connect to the rest of the engraving took him the rest of the thirteen days. Never before had he been so challenged. No math problem, no magic problem, no science problem was anywhere near as difficult and frustrating. So, when he finally had a prototype made of bronze and various copper alloys, he was praying it would actually work in practice. Although he hadn’t thought about what exactly the item would be that had the pinging spell engraved into it, he didn’t need it to test the portal engine since he could cast the spell himself.

Relief like nothing he ever knew before crashed into him when it worked on the first try. It functioned as expected no matter what test he threw at it. Needless to say, he broke out the bubbles with Henry and Penelope later that night. He still didn’t like the drink, but he was getting used to the carbonation and alcohol to a certain extent. He had to admit that when it was his friends and not belligerent oafs, watching and interacting with them while they were drunk was entirely too amusing. Especially Henry. He found out that night that, for whatever reason, when Henry got drunk enough, he started to talk more like a commoner and had a difficult time not slurring his words. It was one of the most hilarious things he’d ever witnessed.

The day after, when Eliot and Henry woke up hungover—Penelope cheated with spells—they finally received a letter back from Henry’s sister. Penelope casted the same restoring spells on Henry since he was already dealing with enough anxiety, and offered to do the same for Eliot, but he refused. He was having too much fun experiencing all the new qualia, even if he did have to fight through a throbbing headache. On second thought, he got Penelope to cast the spells on him and they crowded next to Henry while he opened the letter.

Henry took a deep breath, cut open the flap, and pulled out a long, two page letter. The actual content of the letter seemed to be nothing but Henry’s sister raving to him about random things. The amount she jumped from one unrelated topic to the other made her appear more scatterbrained than even Eliot when he was in an excited mood.

“Did she . . . ignore you?” Penelope asked. “Did you write to her about more than just the Crown mage?”

“It’s a code,” Eliot told her with furrowed brows. “I have no idea what she’s actually saying, but it’s a code, right?”

Henry nodded, a small smile on his lips as he read the letter. “I haven’t figured the entirety just yet.”

After a few seconds of reading, Eliot couldn’t help himself. “So . . . I don’t mean to pry, but she seems pretty excited you wrote to her. And you guys have a secret code. I’d hardly call that ‘on bad terms’.”

Penelope reached over and smacked the back of his head. “It’s complicated and not your business.”

Very displeased with the assault, Eliot was ready to launch into a tirade about friendship, trust, and hypocrisy. But he took a mental breath and decided more than he didn’t like the assault, he wouldn’t like the outcome of that course of action. Penelope was handsy; he was preparing himself for the inevitability of a few smacks. Thankfully, he managed to work his way down to an exasperated, “Fine.”

Henry’s smile expired and his brows furrowed as he read the last of the letter. “She’s confirmed without a shadow of a doubt, no Crown mage bears such a visage.”

“So, my informants were right. Have you managed to catch another ritual yet? Was it the same person?” Penelope asked Eliot.

“I think so,” he nodded.

“You think so?”

“I don’t have any outstanding evidence, but I’m pretty sure it is. I’ve managed to catch a few more rituals, and every time the mage looks different but every face wears the same robes. So, I started to pay extra attention. Out of the nine different looks I caught, the tallest was about one hundred eighty-five centimeters tall and the shortest was one hundred seventy-nine. It’s a six centimeter difference from each other, but it’s only a three centimeter difference from one-eighty-three, which is the average height for adult males. That information is more damning knowing that none of the ‘different mages’ were female, when females are more spiritually inclined than males. They all walked and seemed to move differently from each other, but when it came to after casting the draining ritual, they all rested similar to each other and they all breathed exactly the same.

“Also, they all had a Crown mage robe. I can believe that the BrotherHood has people in the Crown mages, I can even believe they have as many as nine. But I can’t believe that they’d send only their Crown mages to power the ritual. Also they all wore the robe while sneaking into and out of the Guild locations, which is just stupid unless you want to be seen with it on.”

Eliot took a deep breath and laughed, “So, yeah it’s pretty obvious it’s the same person who’s really good at illusion magic.”

“We appreciate your detailed findings,” Penelope snorted with a roll of her eyes. “The question now is why do they want to start more trouble than there already is between the Crown mages and Guild mages?”

“Take advantage of the chaos to do . . . something,” Eliot guessed. “What that is I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably something that will get them more money, or power, or both.”

Penelope shrugged, “I get that, but what I don’t get is what now? We have more information, but how should we use it, you know?”

Henry nodded along as they both looked towards Eliot, their designated idea man.

“Well, we’re at war with the serpents, right? The way I see things, we only have one option: use the illusion mage to uncover important locations, information, resource caches, and whatnot. The question is how we go about it. We can continue with the subterfuge and follow this guy around, or we can ambush him right after—or right in the middle of—powering the ritual and get him to talk directly,” Eliot posited.

Henry and Penelope stirred thoughtfully.

“After last time, they already know we have it out for them. And even if they increase our perceived threat, the academy's campus and the Grand Cathedral are some of the safest places to be. Even the BrotherHood wouldn’t dare to send Zephyrs after us in those places. I’ll have to bother you about travel, but otherwise we should be safe,” Penelope mused.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Eliot asked in anticipation. He and Henry, already on the same page, looked to Penelope for confirmation.

Penelope nodded her assent. “We can ambush the mage and interrogate him. Then, hopefully storm some locations before they know we know.”

They shared a small cheer. Their last altercation was definitely a shitshow, but now they knew what they were dealing with. Henry and Penlope had plenty of time to hone their specialties and prepare themselves for another life or death fight. Eliot finally had time to catch up and prepare, with a small amount of battle experience himself. None of them needed to say it to know the next battle would be different.

“I don’t mean to ruin the mood, but there is something that needs to be resolved before we can do that,” Eliot told them, knowing they knew what he meant.

Penelope shoved a thumbs down towards him and decried, “Boo.”

“It’ll be quick,” Eliot promised with half-raised hands, “No more than another week. I have a meeting later today and I’m told it’s a surefire thing. I definitely shouldn’t go around causing ruckus without knowing who tried to assassinate me and why. Usually, you’d agree.”

“Yeah,” Penelope sighed. She took a step closer to him and looked him in the eye. “If something goes wrong, you portal back here—or reach out to us for help if you really want to fight. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eliot nodded. “Promise, for real this time.”

Later that night, he portaled to a dilapidated street in the slums. After taking a second to familiarize himself with his surroundings, he walked half the street and stopped at his destination.

“Huh,” he sounded as he took in the peculiar restaurant.

The building would have fit in pretty well with its surroundings of unpolished, marred walls if it wasn’t for the batwing doors and large letters mounted on its top that spelled out Tal’s Tavern in neon red. Furthermore, although he was in the slums, there was a constant stream of people entering and exiting the brightly lit, loud, and cheery establishment. He also didn’t know why it was called a tavern when there was no extra space for rooms and it was described to him as one of the best dining experiences Everveil had to offer.

He fixed his frankly overdressed clothing and walked in. His eyes widened in shock his first step in as he realized they had bigger-on-the-inside-spatial magic. Easily over a hundred people sat at round, square, and triangular wooden tables, all of which were shiny with professional grade lacquer and complemented with plush seats. Upon closer inspection of a table of a group that just left, after the server picked up the dining paraphernalia, the table cleaned itself. The air smelled of delicious spices and meats, the floor wasn’t sticky nor did it creek, the large team of servers all dressed well and wore perpetual, bright smiles. And to top it all off, everyone seemed to be in delight of the food. There was no one in sight that just liked the food, it was either delicious, amazing, or delectable, nothing less.

In a small daze of wonder, Eliot circled the whole place before following his directions and finding what he assumed was called a booth in the southern corner. The floofy dark blue seats were made of a weird material that felt like some mix of rubber and wood. The seating arrangement formed something of a private atmosphere since the booth was higher than you could see, wrapping around to cover most of the way in, only leaving a small space to actually enter with the table in the way.

Only when he sat down and scooched in a comfortable distance did he find there was already someone sitting across on the other side. The man was dressed in muted, heavy clothing with a feathered homburg shadowing most of his face.

“Good evenings, Lord Reileus. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man greeted in a crackly voice. He removed his hat and placed it on the table, revealing slicked black hair, gray eyes, and a crooked smile.

“Good evenings. I’d rather not be called lord, Eliot is fine. Or Sir Reileus if you feel the need to be formal.”

“First I’ve met who minds the title. Wonder if there’s a story there; bad blood with a noble?”

Eliot shrugged, leaning back comfortably. “No personal grudges, just general contempt. You know who I am, who might I be talking to?”

He tipped his head. “Romano. Hope Tal’s is to your liking.”

“Most certainly,” Eliot laughed. “Especially after I asked for our meeting to be outside of the BrotherHood’s reach. It makes one wonder who backs this place.”

“You should know more intimately than most, there is no place in Everveil outside of their reach. Tal’s stands as neutral ground. Before the BrotherHood came to power, the powers at be fought wars over this territory. Tal said no more and refused to cook for any of them. Enough time choking on swill, they agreed Tal’s was no one’s. No fighting, no spying, no nothing anywhere near this place.

“Closest you can get to outside their lunge,” Romano chuckled.

Eliot hummed as he sorted the information. Romano and the group he represented were known as the most accurate information brokers outside of the BrotherHood. Specifically, they were infamous for sharing information they had no right ever knowing. If he took his words as truth, they seemed to heavily suggest that the BrotherHood had plants everywhere, even in the castle and other noble houses. Which was exactly what the trio were starting to suspect, as well.

“Who was Tal to be able to refuse food to underground organizations?” Eliot questioned curiously.

Romano turned his palms up. “Dead men don’t talk. Some say he was a Hallowed Demigod. Others, an Archmage the likes of your late Magister. Alls I know is, there isn’t anyone alive that can say for sure.” He cocked his head in consideration, then added, “No one’s guessed it right, either.”

Eliot definitely found the mystery interesting, but if Romano’s organization didn’t know, it was probably lost to time. “I appreciate the explanation, even more that it was free. I’m told you usually operate tight lipped.”

“Alls we ask is you remember our generosity. And our mutual blood feud with the serpents.”

“The hated of my hated is my cherished ally. Now, I apologize for taking up so much of your time. Let’s hear who slighted me,” Eliot moved the conversation along. Cold calculators like Romano were the hardest to read. Even people trained to keep a serene facade just had different kinds of tells from other people. Romano had no tells whatsoever, so he had very little to go off of when interacting with him.

Romano produced a thick envelope and slid it over to Eliot. “Archmage Orend Lastra, alchemist of both elixir and potion. There is everything we could find.”

“Did you find anything to explain why he would do such a thing?” Eliot queried as he pocketed the envelope and surreptitiously portaled it to a different location.

“Too protected, that,” Romano shook his head.

“Alright. It’s been a pleasure,” Eliot told him as he attempted to get up and only managed a half squat with the table so close to the booth’s seat.

“Stay, please,” Romano implored, holding out a hand to stop him. “Order anything, the chef knows we’re paying.” Putting on his hat, the man slid out of the boot effortlessly. “We could only reserve this booth for so long because we promised a new regular. Enjoy.”

Romano walked out of sight with a gesture of his hat. Eliot stuck his head out to observe how he walked out, if any of the staff seemed to know him. And was met with a mostly empty walkway, Romano nowhere in sight.

“Wow, that guy’s cool,” he whispered to himself with a smirk.

Resigning to at least try the food, he looked around the booth in appreciation. Cosey, candle-lit, mostly private. After some consideration, he scooted himself to sit mid-way into the booth, unable to see anything out of the small opening besides the wall. Then, he cast a two-way white barrier around the booth to silence the rest of the clientele—allowing room for the server, of course.

He took a deep breath into a sigh. “Now it’s private.”

Hardly a second later, his server turned into view with a notepad and pencil, looking for him hidden away in the booth. When she finally saw him, she bounced on her feet and broke out into a cheery smile. Eliot’s brain immediately set to work coming up with how he should consider this person.

His server was clearly special. She sported vibrant pink hair, long glossy eyelashes, and light blush, whereas the others had no such dolling up. The most obvious indicator was the fact that she wore a different uniform. The others had white button-ups, black coats, and flat shoes. She had something reminiscent of a maid’s uniform, complete with garter belts, bows, and shiny platformers. Most egregious was the design of the dress. The skirt was long but tight and the bodice, from the fit to the pattern, did everything it could to frame, support, and draw attention to her very supple bust. Which bobbed almost comically when she bounced on her feet so deliberately.

“Howdy there, I’m Cherry and I’ll be your server! It’s a very big pleasure to meet you, Sir Reileus,” she introduced herself in an over-the-top sing-song. Her zealous gesticulating and completely unnecessary movements, once again, drew attention to her breasts. Although, to be fair, it was kind of hard not to for her.

Eliot was so stuck figuring out his approach that he just stared at her with a harsh glare.

Instead of balking at something that would make just about anyone uncomfortable, she seamlessly transitioned into a worried pout. “What’s wrong? Is my blouse not tight enough?”

Eliot dropped his face into his hands and sighed. His mother very much would not approve of him compliantly accepting a practice that had pretty women strutting around and literally serving powerful men. But, on the other hand, it wasn’t his place to comment. It wasn’t his business to meddle with; Cherry could make her own life decisions. Besides, he was sure they had a male equivalent to serve all the powerful women that frequented the place. Was gender equality the point? Or was it perception? When a hot guy stood around looking pretty for a girl, they had it made. When a hot girl did the same for a guy, she was a trapped trophy wife. If so, was it enough for him to not objectify Cherry? Or did it matter more that others would see them and assume he was enjoying some good ‘eye candy’?

Cherry looked down at herself with a deepening pout. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn undergarments! I should have listened to Diana! She said be bold, but I thought most mages were more shy. I’m so sorry, I’ll go change right now,” she spilled out in a pitiful whine.

Eliot only managed to respond half a second later. He broke into a grin when he realized she had no immediate intention to leave. If she was as sorry as she sounded, she would have turned on her heel and left without a second thought. Instead, she waited for his response. It reminded him that she was, in fact, a person that knew exactly what she was doing. And reading into her character let him focus on the conversation instead of pointless, stupid, circling philosophy.

“That’s not necessary, though thank you for the offer. I’m sorry for my uncouth staring, I often find myself stuck in my head,” Eliot told her with a placating face.

“Oh, is that all that was? Don’t scare me like that!” Cherry fussed at him. “Well, if there’s anything different you want me to wear your next visit, just say so.”

Eliot cocked a brow. “Everyone I talk to is so sure I’ll like the food enough to come back, I’m starting to think maybe there’s something unsavory in it. Is the food really that good?”

Cherry pressed a finger into her cheek and made a show of thinking. “It’s not like Tal’s cooking makes everyone into some mind controlled zombies. It’s more like our food has its own taste you can’t get anywhere eltse. If you like what you get, you gotta come back here to get it again.”

“In that case, I’ll order whatever you recommend. As for my next visit, I’d like it if you wore a plain dress. It’s nice, but what you have on is just too fabricated,” he told her musingly.

Cherry held her face with her hands and looked away with a demure bat of her eyes. “My! Nothing but a plain dress? You’ll have me embarrassed walking around so lightly.”

“No, I don’t mean just a plain dress,” Eliot chuckled, “Please, wear what’s usual underneath. Oh, and a coat, too, in case it gets cold.”

Cherry didn’t let it show it on her face, but a sudden and ever so momentary stillness in her demeanor clearly betrayed that she was caught off guard. She subtly reset to a baseline of attitude and countenance, changing her approach.

“Even a coat? You spoil me! I didn’t know you were so chivalrous, Sir Reileus. I should have known you were dashing in more than just looks,” she laid it on thick.

Eliot had to give it to her, she was a consummate professional at what she did. She was constantly assessing what he wanted and doing her best to give it. In hindsight, her opening line was her being bold. Considering his background and age, it was basically impossible to put together an idea of his preferences beforehand. So she started out immediately with a polarizing, and in many ways smothering, opening line. She seamlessly transitioned to put on a show of feigned passivity, after noting the confidence and stateliness of his reply. She also wrongly assumed he was indulging in her appearance from his shameless, scrutinizing glare. Then, when he broke the idea she had of him, she swiftly changed her approach to compliment his ego. Because, unfortunately, most everyone she met in her line of work who treated her so kindly were just looking for an ego boost.

Eliot wanted to break out into cheers and clap for her, he was so impressed. She rose so high above his expectations that he realized too late his approach of kindness was actually a setback to his main objective. He wanted Cherry to like him so that when he dined at Tal’s in the future they could both be at ease and forgo most of the mind games.

Although Cherry’s tells were small, to Eliot it felt like she was oozing disappointment. Her once egregiously over-the-top mannerisms were clearly dampened to his eyes. And compared to before, she was just shy of the sickly sweet enthusiasm in her voice, when complimenting him. It seemed, in Cherry’s opinion, nice guys—for lack of a better word—were worse to deal with than those outrightly arrogant and demanding. In Eliot’s experience, she was right. Out of everyone else she dealt with, no other archetype was idiotic and unstable enough to pose any kind of real harm to her.

He was originally hoping that he could leave their first interaction with an inoffensive to favorable opinion, seal the deal with their second, then instill consistency with their third. If he wanted to stay on schedule, he would have to risk being more polarizing himself without a decent grasp of her preferences. He wasn’t keen on playing the long game when Cherry and Tal’s were glorified sidequests compared to his real problems.

Eliot shrugged helplessly. “You might be surprised how little good looks matter to a mage. We all cheat with magic, so even the most unassuming mage looks stellar compared to any non-mage. After being around other mages and nobles for so long, I’m starting to get sick of the look, to be honest. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me before I came here, but I’m starting to miss the simpler, more genuine styles of my home town,” he opined lazily.

The best part about it was he wasn’t entirely lying. Now that he’d spent a good amount of time familiarizing himself with Everveil’s fashion, especially noble fashion, he found it lacking in creativity. He also felt people dressed up for all the wrong reasons. They made use of clothing primarily to hide what they perceived to be their unattractive qualities, which was just boring and misguided.

In response to his words, Cherry’s stance grew ever so subtly relaxed and her smile got just a bit brighter. “That’s right! They say you come from the edge of the Empire; it must be awful to live so far away so long. Don’t you worry bout a thing, I’ll be here looking nice and plain whenever you want! And I know just the right meal for you!” she chirped excitedly.

Although Eliot’s smile lessened in size, it shifted from polite to genuine. “Thanks, Cherry, you’re a doll.”

A few hours later, Eliot leaned on the railing of a third story balcony, examining a gothic mage tower. His stomach bulged comfortably full as he took in the refreshing filtered air near the tower. Cherry hit the nail on the head with her description of the food. He ended up eating a stew that somehow reminded him of home while also exposing him to entirely new flavors and spices. By the time he was done eating, and Cherry gave him a complimentary glass of wine to close out the meal, he’d upgraded Tal’s from sidequest to vested interest. All in all, he had a good time figuring out Cherry, the food was amazing, and he learned there were alcoholic drinks that didn’t make him want to puke his stomach out.

It was the perfect primer of relaxed stimulation for what he was about to do. The mage tower was more than twenty stories tall, as well as home and laboratory to just under a dozen mages, riddled with so much magic and mages that it was a massive spire of sensory overload to his mana sensitivity. Any divination was similarly plighted to return a horrendous nightmare of akashic feedback.

But he didn’t need any of that to know where the Archmage of the tower would be. He also kinda cheated since the tower felt more like a mushroom to his mana sensitivity, but he would have guessed it right regardless. Eliot pulled a black glove over his left hand as he failed to suppress a beaming grin. The glove immediately began to shift hues and textures; by the time he was done fixing it, the glove was indistinguishable from his normal hand.

“This is going to be epic!” he squealed in excitement while opening a portal to the mage tower’s uppermost floor. Just in time, too, since the door of the balcony he was borrowing threw open right as he jumped through.

Though it was silent, he was sure all sorts of alarms flared to life the second the portal opened, then probably more when he stepped foot inside. Orend Lastra looked to be a low-key and mildly dressed man. Aside from the usual flawless skin and lush brown hair, the man looked perfectly average. He had no cosmetic spells and wore a protective apron and gloves over usual streetwear. The room, on the other hand, was awesome to behold. The walls and items breathed magic, and the ambient mana inside was orders of magnitude purer than outside. The fifteen meter diameter-ed room housed all sorts of alchemical marvels, from vats and cauldrons to vials of all shapes and sizes to weird spiraling and bent connections between containers. The second the Archmage noticed him: no mana formed runes, no engraving or ritual was activated, and yet Eliot felt reality buckle under the casting of a spell. A ball of warbling blue energy generated and sped towards him at a speed in the realm of tens of kilometers per hour.

Eliot tempered his goofy grin to an arrogant sneer as his glove activated. His left hand shot up at blinding speeds and backhanded the energy off course. His entire body shook violently and his shoulder filled with pain, but thankfully the kinetic-nullifying engraving kicked in just in time to save it from snapping. At the same time, the warbling energy hit the wall, bursting into an explosion that encompassed half the room and buffeted the rest in blue flames and shock waves.

Along with the air, the ambient mana lurched out to even itself with its surroundings. When all was done, just seconds later, they were facing off in a mess of a room—shattered glass scattered across the floor with variously dangerous liquids splattered all around—breathing thin air, stripped of the intoxicating ambient purity. Eliot stood unharmed thanks to the defensive engravings he’d woven into his clothes, meanwhile Lastra was untouched thanks to orange and red barriers that sprung to life the same instance as the explosion.

“Unlike you, I haven’t come here to assassinate or ambush,” Eliot declared, his voice amplified and strengthened via engravings. He ripped off his glove—steaming and flickering between colors from the overload of mana and engravings in such a small item—and threw it at Lastra’s feet. “I challenge you to a formal duel!”

The man scoffed, “Why ever would I duel the likes of a trespassing miscreant?”

“If you refuse to meet me in a duel, I’ll be forced to settle my grievances here and now. Your tower will likely be destroyed and I won’t be able to guarantee the safety of your apprentices,” Eliot told him smoothly, “Neither of us wish that to be the outcome.”

As if on cue, three younger mages ran in up the stairs, huffing from the journey. The second their eyes locked on Eliot, they all started casting.

Lastra stopped them with a lift of his hand. He glared at Eliot impassively as he considered. “Are you aware a formal duel is to the death, victor takes all? Or did you misspeak?”

Eliot nodded. “If you wish me dead, have the self respect to will it by your own hand.”

A long stretch of silence hung over them, neither breaking eye contact.

“Very well.” Lastra reached for the glove, casting a quick attraction spell to make it fly into his grasp. “I accept. When shall we debase ourselves?”

“Three days, at noon.” With nothing else to say, Eliot opened a portal and left. Using the fly spell to hover in the sky, above the Veiled Forest where the portal deposited him, he took a deep breath. And cheered.

“That was so cool!”

He made his hands and wrists go limp, then violently shook his forearms. He continued until his hands went numb and then some, shouting his victory at the top of his lungs. This was everything he’s ever wanted. Arriving out of nowhere, backhanding an explosion, dueling an Archmage, and looking cooler than a dragon-riding kobold while doing it! His heart beat so hard it racked his entire body. Every part of him felt alive. And he was literally flying—and teleporting and making items that can backhand balls of energy! It was everything he’s always wanted. And he had it all.

Eliot canceled his flight spell, savoring the wind as he free fell towards the canopy. Three seconds before he hit, he clicked his heels together and spread his arms straight. His body spun upright, swiftly counteracting his acceleration. He stopped right as his soles bent the highest leaves of the tree below him.

Sure, the fly spell was cool, but it was just too slow, too controlled. So some of the first items he’d made during his three week training were to rectify that. Eliot created a system where the midsole of nearly all his footwear was removed, and instead he had separate, engraved midsole parts that he could slot in and attach with magic at the beginning of each day. The one he was wearing was a fairly simple kinetic setup that could accelerate him up or down, along with a few quality of life features. It was linked to small metal rods he’d sewn into his sleeves near the cuffs that acted as controls. Straight out to slow down, down to stop any output, and up to go up.

Eliot raised his arms as high as they could go. He shot up into the sky faster than any mortal should have the right to, leaving a whirlwind in his wake. He could feel the blood drain from his face and only smiled wider. The wind whipped through his hair and clothing, chilling him to the bone despite the temperature regulating engravings in his clothes. His eyes were forced shut and his neck threatened to buckle under the load, yet he kept going. Faster and faster and faster, until finally, everything went black. He woke up a few seconds later, falling back down and violently shivering.

He multi-cast a slow falling spell and portal spell to safely deposit himself on the forest green. He curled up into a ball after mulit-casting an inverse red barrier and heating spell, trapping a small but steadily increasing warmth around himself. Once it got to a suitable temperature, he canceled the spell and laid there for a few minutes to bask. Eventually, he broke down into weak, stomach clenching laughter. If anyone chanced upon him at that moment, or saw his celebration, they would either assume he was high out of his mind or just insane. Sometimes, Eliot didn’t know himself—well, that wasn’t true. He knew he was probably some kind of insane, but it was more fun to play into the mania. And if he wasn’t having fun, what was the point of living at all?

After having his fun, Eliot shook off any residual elation, mentally donned his guise of normalcy, and portaled back to his dorm. Henry and Penelope shot to their feet at his arrival. They were decked out in armor with their choice of a sword or staff at the ready. Seeing how on-edge they were, Eliot felt kind of bad taking so long to get back.

“You can relax. Nothing went wrong, it all flowed smoothly,” he told them.

“Then, why did you take so long?” Penelope questioned as she walked up to him and threw his coat open.

Eliot grabbed her wrists and stepped back. “I’m fine, I promise. I just had some trouble burying the ethereal engine, which I resolved.”

“Then why do you have burns? And only on the inside of your coat, like you’re trying to hide it?” she accused pointedly.

“I just burnt out some engravings,” he sighed helplessly, “It’s not just some euphemism. When engravings on most materials are overworked, they stop working and literally burn themselves from the inside out, to nothing. Hence the burns.”

He let go once she pulled back, finally sated enough not to attack him for answers. “What happened to make the engravings burn out?”

“Archmage Orend Lastra, the guy who ordered the hit, threw this weird blue ball at me that exploded in blue flames. They were abnormally hot and even though I didn’t get burned by them, the engravings did burn out shortly after,” he fabricated an explanation. In reality, though what he said about the flames was true, his engravings only burnt out because of his flying fiasco.

Interestingly, Henry seemed to zone out at the mention of blue flames. It was fire that was making him distant. Something to do with the Rod of Fire, then?

“You’re still insistent on fighting someone that can burn out your engravings with a single spell?” Penelope scoffed.

By the way she reacted, it was a very good thing Eliot didn’t tell her that the Archmage had reflexive master of that spell, either. Lastra was definitely a force to be reckoned with to any other normal mage.

“Yes?” he stifled a laugh.

“Don’t give me that! Take this seriously,” Penelope demanded angrily, “You promised you would.”

“I am taking this seriously. I’m not planning to get hit in the first place, that’s the point of the ethereal engine. It’s quite literally cheating.”

She took a deep breath and crossed her arms. “How do I know that engine will work when it really counts? I saw you working on the portal engines; you were stressed. You don’t get stressed. The ethereal engine is like ten times more crazy, so how do I know it won’t fall apart when you start using it?”

Eliot lifted his finger defiantly. “I was frustrated, not stressed. There’s a big difference,” he corrected. “As for the engine itself, I tested it extensively, there’s no way it’ll fail. If you want to test that yourself, then go right ahead.” He cast a divination spell to turn the engine on and crossed his arms in challenge.

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Penelope glared, clearly accepting. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shelled seed half the size of a fist. Eliot had to stifle a laugh at the sight. Who carried around seeds in their pockets? Maybe she was too much of a plant girl.

She only glared fiercer at his mockery. Getting into a proper stance, she threw the seed at him with everything she had, despite the fact that they were barely outside of arm’s length from each other. The seed passed right through him, clacking against the corner behind him and plinking to the ground.

Eliot looked at her halfway between amusement and confusion. Penelope just smirked at him and swiftly cast a short spell. It seemed to use all sorts of runes Eliot had never seen before, but unfortunately he wasn’t able to commit them to memories since they were formed for less than a second before she finished casting. Suddenly, a massive, jagged spike of wood appeared through his chest with a screeching peal of bark. Eliot stepped out of the way—the wood seemed to shrink in length as he did—and turned to look at the seed in shock. He and Henry gaped at the now fully grown seed with large roots that spooled in a large pile covering half of the room.

“Since when could you do that?” Eliot asked, genuinely impressed.

“It’s a recent development,” Penelope answered smugly.

Eliot lightly gasped as he realized, “You’re going to plant these around the arena, aren’t you?”

Her smugness instantly disappeared. She stiffened and opened her mouth to refute, but she was seen through so easily that nothing came out. Eventually, she just crossed her arms and said, “What of it? The church has enough clout that I won’t be put to death for interfering. And I’d rather bear any punishment than watch you die.”

Faced with that, how was Eliot supposed to be mad? “Nothing of it, I guess. Thanks, I appreciate it . . . but you won’t need to use them. As you can see, the engine works. And I’d like it to be known that I could win even without the engine.”

Penelope’s shoulders drooped as the defensiveness left her. “I suppose you’re right. Sorry,” she sighed. “Then, everything else went according to plan, too?”

Eliot sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, there was one, small, little, insignificant, little, small detail that was changed. The duel will take place in three days, not a week like we agreed.”

Penelope gripped her staff and started smacking him with it. “Eliot, you ass! Why do you have to be so damn difficult?” she huffed.

With the ethereal engine still running, her staff bounced off harmlessly. Still he put up his arms and laughed, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I got really excited in the moment! In my defense, I didn’t know you had plans!”

She only stopped when she was leaning over huffing for air. “Serves you right,” she puffed.

“On the bright side, now that you don’t have to be secretive, we can help you with whatever plans you have. I only said three days because I basically finished everything I originally thought I would need another week for. I even have the blueprint for the bracelet and necklace done, I just need to make the props,” he explained his reasoning.

“As long as you’re ready, that’s what’s most important,” Penelope insisted solemnly. “Henry and I can get my stuff done, so just use the time to prepare yourself in any way you want, okay?”

Eliot looked between her and Henry with a warm grin. “I’ll be ready,” he assured them. “And now that I think about it.” He turned and threw his hands at the wooden spike. “That would have killed me in seconds, faster than even you could save me. What would you have done if my ethereal engine didn’t work?”

Penelope shifted with obvious chagrin, once more bereft of words. Henry shifted with trace amounts of shock. Only after Eliot pointed it out did he realize how badly that could have ended. Of course, Eliot was just taking advantage of the fact that they didn’t know exactly how the engine worked, and putting her on the spot to warp the narrative in his favor. It was perfectly reasonable of her to assume it worked fine after the seed’s first pass.

“Somewhere deep down, on a subconscious level, you trusted me implicitly. You didn’t doubt me for a second, you just wanted to show off!” he accused her grandiosely.

She threw her staff at him—it went right through and hit the wall—and harrumphed, “Is it so bad to trust, Eliot? Not everyone is a deceitful bastard like you!”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled with a shrug. He walked towards his desk to get started on the bracelet. “Don’t be afraid to ask, if you really need my help. I really don’t have much I need to prepare.”

Penelope grabbed Henry and walked out in protest.

Three days later, as the sun crested, Eliot lounged in the sky below a cloud. As much as he disapproved of the flight spell, it was still in a league of its own. Sure, he could create a spell that counteracted the pull of gravity, but he would still intimately feel those forces acting on his body. The flight spell nullified gravity’s pull altogether. And since that feature was a part of the general fly rune, it was going to be a long time until he could come up with something better.

He sighed contentedly when his internal count told him he had less than a minute left. In less than a minute, he was going to duel an Archmage and win. And he wasn’t going to abuse the portal spell to do it. No, he wouldn’t stubbornly refuse to use it at all, but he wasn’t going to let it be the only tool he used for victory. As talented as he was, as smart as he was, he hadn’t done anything but rely on the portal spell to solve all of his problems for him. Since he was the only one with the knowledge and Authority to cast the spell, he regarded it as personally his. But he knew the accomplishments of the spell, the effort, work, and genius that went into making the spell, was most certainly not his. Which meant everything he’d accomplished with it wasn’t entirely his either. Now that he had the ability, that would all change.

Penelope was going to be livid with him when she saw he wasn’t going to use the ethereal engine, but that wouldn’t last long. Eliot was finally starting to understand her enough, and they’d reached a high enough point of familiarity, that he didn’t really need to be careful with her anymore. Her anger would be overshadowed, or at least tempered, by relief when he won. And afterwards, he’d play the part of a remorseful but foolhardy seventeen-year-old that was too ambitious for his own good. He could finally relax around her now. She ended up being so much more of a pain than he’d originally thought. There was something awfully wrong with that girl’s regulation of emotions. But that didn’t mean she was naïve or stupid because of it. She was perceptive as all Abyl, almost as much as Cel. If she wasn’t riddled with insecurity and loneliness, if she was everything he was planning on helping her to become, he never would have stood a chance in winning her over. She would hate his guts like she knew deep down she really should.

Everything was going exactly the way he wanted it, with none the wiser.

He counted less than twenty seconds before the agreed time. Stretching like he just woke up from a nap, he opened a portal to the academy’s dueling arenas. Usually duels between nobles were held on either castle ground or property owned by one of the two duelers. Because they weren’t nobles and neither of them had the appropriate fixtures in place, and they were mages, it was common knowledge that the duel would be held at the academy. When he finally dropped to the ground through the portal—canceling the flight spell—the crowd exploded into cheers. The vast majority of the spectators in the colosseum were students at the academy who were conveniently nearby. Meanwhile, hundreds more less privileged surrounded the colosseum and watched from giant magical projections. Although it once held six, the many individual arenas were all combined into one; apparently the embedded white crystal that made the arena’s borders was malleable enough to be added, taken away, or even moved with minimal effort.

Eliot quickly scanned the crowd, waving to Henry and Penelope when he found them in the frontmost, ground row. They didn’t share his enthusiasm. Henry looked almost sickly, while Penelope had an air of overwhelming solemnity. He turned to look at Lastra, hiding his smirk behind a challenging glare. Lastra clenched his jaw, meeting Eliot’s glare with his own.

Walking into the arena and stopping between them, an official overseer called them close. According to tradition, they needed impartial spokespersons and had to get through all sorts of rounds of discourse and bargaining, but they’d both chosen to forgo all that.

“Is there truly nothing to be done for compromise?” the overseer asked only as a formality. When they stayed silent, he said, “Verywell. Take your sides.”

Eliot and Lastra marched to the border of their respective sides of the arena. The overseer raised his hand and shouted, “Commence!” A circular hyaline barrier appeared above the arena that denied anything physically moving out or in, but allowing sound and sight.

Immediately, Lastra’s mint green mana formed runes all around him. Eliot’s eyes widened in disbelief at the sight. He realized that Lastra was casting one really long, complex spell in multiple parts. Although Eliot didn’t know why, it was common knowledge that it was easier for a mage to ‘split’ their focus and multicast two shorter spells, than to try and all at once cast a longer spell that was equal to the two in length. So, usually for a really long spell, a mage would form the runes of the spell one to three ‘lines’ of runes at a time. If Lastra were to cast the spell he was currently casting using that method, even if he could cast three ‘lines’ at a time, it would take him somewhere around eight seconds to cast it in full.

Instead, he’d split the spell into four parts physically separated in space, each two ‘lines’ long. It also acted as multiple fuel points for the spell, allowing it to reach its mana threshold much faster. Using that method, what would have originally taken him eight seconds was done in just over one. Tens of thin white planes that resembled giant sheets of paper appeared in the air around Eliot. Above him and the sheets, appeared a cube made of the same opaque, glass-like material. Generated from Lastra, a thick laser of light shot into the cube, refracted downwards, and bounced off the planes with enough intensity that the ground around Eliot’s feet started to vitrify.

The whole display completely covered Eliot’s form with blinding light. The audience shaded their eyes and squinted down at the arena with baited breath. The spell continued for well over thirty seconds. For each one, the crowd grew more bewildered. The ground at Eliot’s feet only glassified further; the air itself steamed and warped. Yet there was no discernable movement or casting from him. It was also obvious that he hadn’t had any time to cast a spell of his own before Lastra’s engulfed him. The longer the spell went on, the more the audience wondered if it was already over. There was no way Eliot could survive prolonged exposure to such high temperatures!

The spell finally winked out once it hit a minute, planes, cube, and all disapparating. Eliot stood completely untouched on orangish-brown glass; his hands had never left his pockets. The crowd exploded into cheering and chatter. Even Lastra, who was lightly huffing from the exertion of the spell, was taken aback. Eliot looked down and around him with mock praise.

“Wow, I have to say, you sure know how to heat things up,” Eliot quipped, his voice magically projected to everyone watching by the barrier and screens, “But it’s a little too hot for me, right now. Let’s cool this down, shall we?” He cast a chilling spell on his vicinity that cooled everything back to regular temperatures over a few seconds of time. The newly-made glass cracked and shattered, but Eliot expected to be flying some time soon anyway.

Although he appeared unbothered, even Eliot was starting to sweat with how long the spell was going on for. Put simply, the ethereal engine was just an advanced portal engine that incorporated advanced levels of divination and illusion. It was a glorified if-then machine. Since the speed of magic was instant—or close enough to it—the engine triggered if something was about to touch him. Once triggered, a portal appeared infinitely close to his skin or clothing, wherever he was about to be touched and on the opposite side of his body. If the thing touching him was big, the portal would be big, if small then small portal. If whatever was trying to touch him completely exited out the other side, the portal would close. If whatever was about to hit him wouldn’t fit through the portal, it would bounce off the portal frame, which as far as Eliot knew was physically indestructible. Then, to sell the illusion that he was ethereal, it also covered the portal with an illusion of what ‘should’ be there, on both sides so it didn’t obscure Eliot’s view.

If certain conditions were met, like a uniquely shaped attack or an AOE spell, the ethereal engine would completely separate him from the space around him by covering every part of him with portals and covering any gaps with a second layer that was infinitely close to the first. Since the laser fulfilled multiple of those conditions, it was obvious that the engine was in separation mode. Problem was Eliot never tested prolonged activation. All of the engine's effects required monumental amounts of mana. Fortunately, the weight conversion ritual supplied enough mana. Unfortunately, the engine would still have a huge amount of mana running through it for as long as separation mode was active. He did everything he could, but in the end he wasn’t planning to use the ethereal engine in the fight itself, so he made it according to his plans even though he knew there was a chance it wouldn’t be able to support that much mana for a long amount of time. With all the Abyss that the portal engines gave him, Eliot was absolutely sure that something had burnt out, or at least would burn out before the cooling could get things under control. He needed to get it out of separation mode—hence cooling down the area—and hope that Lastra didn’t throw another big spell at him.

The crowd exploded into cheers and chatter, in complete disbelief. With a frown, Lastra reflexively cast the warbling blue ball spell. It passed right through him and exploded against the barrier. Thankfully, the amount of heat it put into the air wasn’t enough to activate the separation mode, and it seemed nothing integral had burnt out yet. The crowd’s zealous shouting petered out to quiet shock.

Lastra grimaced, crossing his arms in obvious disapproval.

“I am physically present, if that’s what’s on your mind,” Eliot told him, grinning from ear to ear.

“It isn’t much of a duel if my spells phase through you, is it? Yet you look down on those who attack from shadow. A mage should be above such hypocrisy,” Lastra admonished.

“There’s no need to worry about that,” Eliot chuckled. “I don’t intend to abuse it for the entirety of the fight, only to ask of you the time to make an announcement.”

Lastra raised a brow. “Of what kind?”

“To advertise my engravings, of course!”

Lastra snorted lightly. “Very well, be quick,” he allowed.

Eliot turned to the crowd with a budding grin. Lastra was a lot easier to convince than he’d originally thought. He’d prepared in advance for all sorts of conversation and action paths depending on what Lastra did. The one thing he didn’t expect was for Lastra to agree immediately. Maybe Lastra wasn’t as bad as Eliot had thought.

“Now, I’m sure all of you watching are simply dying to know how I remain unscathed!” Eliot addressed the crowd with over-the-top zeal. He waited until the crowd in the arena broke out into affirmative yelling. “Well, it’s nothing grand, really. I used a multi-part engraving that incorporates my portals with advanced divination!”

The crowd went wild at his claims. He was already known fairly well as the only mage alive that could use Karl Favesh’s famous portals. The mention of divination was also something only archmages were supposed to be capable of. Put together, his claims necessitated the fact that he had enough mastery and understanding of the portal spell, divination, and engravings to put it all together. Not to mention, the visual effects of his engraving were just downright oppressive. The common mage didn’t know about his severe talent in destabilizing space, so they all wrongly thought in the back of their heads that it was only fair something so unfair could be countered by space stabilizing spells. Those in the know, however, heard him loud and clear. To them, if what he claimed was true, Eliot was untouchable.

And that wasn’t hyperbole on any level. All Eliot needed to do was perfect the materials and the climate control engravings. When he did that, he would be untouchable. That’s how unfair the portal spell was. That was why, although Eliot usually didn’t have any qualms with being shameless, he promised himself that he wouldn’t rely on the portals for sentimentally important things, in the future.

Eliot waited until the noise died down some, then said, “My, what an invigorating response! It makes one wonder . . . would all of you here be interested in using the portal spell for yourselves?”

The crowd went ballistic at his proposition.

“Then despair no longer!” Eliot reached into his coat and produced the bracelet. He held it high for everyone to see. “This here is the Reileus Bracelet. With this, anyone whatsoever can use the portal spell. Yes, even non-sentitives.”

The silver bracelet was oddly shaped. It had noticeable fullers that wrapped around the cuffs from the clasp to its top, where a small purple gem was held by a gimbal in a small hollow. It was noticeably thinner on either side of the hollow and had rectangular protrusions on the lower halves of the cuff that jutted upwards. The crowd in the arena was lulled into an awe-filled silence as they all studied the bracelet and its idiosyncrasies.

“The functions of the Reileus Bracelet are simple. Simply turn the gem like so” —Eliot used his fingers to twist the gem on the y-axis gimbal— “and the bracelet will remember the location you were at that time. From anywhere within Everveil and five kilometers out, if you flip the bracelet inwards, a portal will be created leading to the remembered location.” Eliot demonstrated by grabbing the cuff with his hands turned two hundred seventy degrees. With a little effort, the cuff snapped upwards, but he put his fingers in between the protrusions so that they didn’t touch. “So long as the protrusions touch, the portal will open.”

Eliot snapped the bracelet he was using apart and pulled out a fresh one, turning the gem to remember his location. He walked towards Lastra until he was just out of arms’ reach. The closer he got, the more he was mentally surprised. Lastra didn’t didn’t back away, nor did he adopt a hostile front. Instead, he took the opportunity to study the bracelet at a closer vantage point.

Since Lastra was taking it so well, Eliot handed him the Reileuss Bracelet, and said, “I would be honored if you were to assist in my demonstration.”

Lastra took the bracelet, studied it for a good half-minute, then finally snapped the bracelet. Lastra furrowed his brows when an insignificant amount of mana flowed into the bracelet through natural flow, and created a large portal two meters in diameter that connected the space in front of him with Eliot’s previous position. Eliot beamed a grin at Lastra and stepped through the portal back to his side of the arena.

“To close the portal, simply pull the Reileus Bracelet in twain.” Lastra did so, closing the portal he’d made. The crowd bubbled in excited discussion at the demonstration. “Now, I mustn't lie to you all. The bracelet is not perfect. The bracelet itself is destroyed by a single use, as is apparent. Unfortunately, to allow for such a low mana cost and to allow for general use, that is inevitable,” Eliot lied. In reality, there was an easy and obvious way to make it reusable. He just never planned to make it reusable in the first place, since the one-time use would be how he made his money. “Secondly, the Reileus Bracelet will not be sold for some time now. However, none of this should deter you. The Reileus Bracelet will be sold within the next four months. Furthermore, as the more perceptive of you all have undoubtedly noticed, the engraving itself is held solely in the gem. Once you’ve used your first Reileuss Bracelet, simply remove the gem and return hence you bought it. A new bracelet without a gem will be available for a much lesser price, in fact it will be available to turn over your broken bracelet for an even lesser price on another.”

The crowd ended up a lot less riled then they were at first, but they were still infected with exuberant enthusiasm at the future prospect of the Reileus Bracelet.

“And for my closing remarks, I promise that within six months there will be a total of three Reileuss engraving models!” Eliot casted a prepared illusion spell that created large, visual examples of each model in the air at the top of the arena’s barrier. Next to the bracelet were a necklace and a pocket watch; all of them had a very similar mechanism of the gem in a gimbal. The pocket watch was just a prototype and would definitely be changed by the time he finalized it, but building up expectations and advertising its existence was more important.

When he was done speaking, Lastra’s mana collected around him to cast a spell. Eliot jumped to face him, at first disappointed he had the right read on the man. Then he quickly realized the spell Lastra was casting wasn’t an attack. A white barrier appeared under the arena’s original barrier, muting whatever happened in the arena to the onlookers.

“How exactly did you reduce the mana cost and engraving to such tiny proportions?” Lastra questioned him.

As far as Eliot could tell, the man was genuinely curious. With the white barrier in place, he had no real reason not to tell him, either. One of them would be dead by the end of the duel, afterall.

“In short, I didn’t. The portal spell isn’t engraved on the bracelet or on the gem. Instead, in the gem I’ve engraved a simple divination spell that communicates with a much larger, more complicated, and—believe it or not—moving engraving of the portal spell. I call them portal engines, and I’m planning on burying them under and around Everveil. Of course, I eventually plan to have them all around the world,” Eliot told him honestly.

Lastra chuckled and covered his mouth in thought. “Your engravings are sure to change the world as we know it. I have no doubt they will be used for decades, if not centuries. Tell me of any portal engines you’ve buried and any schematics that could be used to make them. If I am the one to leave alive, I will make them in your stead.”

Eliot crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Why the sudden change in nature? You’ve shown me nothing but contempt until now.”

“Till just now I assumed you just an arrogant brat,” Lastra snorted. “Now I see you deserve every ounce of praise you are showered with, then some. You bear a genuine passion for magic.”

“Damn right I do!” Eliot snapped, offended that something like that was questioned in the first place. “I’m surprised you love magic, too. Now I have even less of an idea as to why you would want me dead in the first place!”

Lastra’s jovial expression crumbled. “You should know, though I commissioned the assassins, it was not by my will you were attacked.”

“Then whose?” Eliot demanded.

Lastra lowered his head and cast a spell. It looked to be a longer illusion spell, more tedious than complicated. When he was done, Eliot heard in Lastra’s voice, “I received direct orders from the Crown.”

Eliot froze in thought. Why the blazing Abyss would the Crown want him dead? He was good friends with Henry, for gods’ sake!

“Why!?”

“I haven’t any idea of their machinations,” Lastra shook his head in defeat. “Though make no mistake, the Crown hardly wished your demise.”

Eliot crossed his right arm over his chest, then used its wrist as a support for the elbow of his left arm. He bit into the nail of his left thumb with wild abandon. Lastra was right, there was absolutely no reason the Crown would want him dead. Master Camble had even called him an asset to the Empire. He also had no doubt that if the Crown actually wanted him dead, he would be dead. No amount of portal spell fuckery would change that. He was just too shocked to coherently think about it at first.

Most likely, it was for multiple reasons. Many of which Eliot wouldn’t be able to guess without more information. That notwithstanding, he was sure he knew at least one reason they would want to send assassins after him: to accurately gauge his abilities. There were a lot of rumors and hearsay about him, but without a tangible battle, it was impossible to say for sure how proficient he was in magic, the portal spell, and combat. So why not use a lesser Archmage they could order around to do their bidding? No sane person would ever expect Eliot, someone who’s been a mage for less than a year, to turn around and challenge said Archmage to a duel. Especially not after he was humbled by those lowly assassins.

And yet he was playing right into their hands. He wanted to prove himself, they wanted to see if he was worth all the hot air. And he had no way out of it, anymore, either. The Crown was still uncertain about exactly how much he was worth to the Empire. He couldn’t bank on the fact that the portal spell would grant him amnesty if he just portaled away from the duel. If the king and his advisors were stupid, they would hunt him down and actually kill him. If they weren’t, they would find a way to ensure he faced a punishment of life-long servitude instead of an execution. If he purposefully lost and used Penelope, he had no guarantee she wouldn’t suffer something along the same fate. Even if he won and killed Lastra, the Crown wouldn’t step in because it would still be a win for them. They lost a lesser Archmage and gained a magical genius that was on the level of an archmage in just some months. Lastra was an alchemist, too. They would lose his potential future value, but they would be able to consistently replicate anything he’d provided the Crown so far. Even if Lastra had some secret recipe or technique, technically it wouldn’t be lost to the Empire since it would transfer to Eliot’s possession.

No matter which way he looked at it, he was trapped. There was nothing he could do but dance for them.

Eliot grit his teeth and turned away. He wanted to shout at Lastra for his failure to communicate up until now. But he deserved just as much blame as Lastra. They both thought the other was something they weren’t. If he really had power, if he was Master Camble, he could stop the duel and silence any consequences with a word. But he wasn’t. Even after growing by leaps and bounds, so much so that he felt the indulgent need to show off, he still didn’t have true power. Not yet.

Eliot slapped himself with both hands. Getting angry wouldn’t help things. As much hatred as it generated within him, there was nothing he could do about the Crown at the level of power he was at. He was still only at a level of power that even fighting Lastra was risky. He was confident he could win, but it certainly wouldn’t be easy.

Once he was back on his side of the arena, he told Lastra, “My demonstration is finished. We can begin whenever you’re ready.”

Lastra nodded and stopped funding the white barrier. A few seconds passed where they just stared at each other. Then, their manas rushed to form spells at the same time. Unsurprisingly, Lastra’s spell went off first. Very surprisingly, his spell hit Eliot before he could even finish his spell. By the time he registered the flash of light, it had already slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him even through his mage armor. Then it exploded, making everything go dark.

He came to a few seconds later, both burning and shivering, still in the middle of falling to the ground. For some reason there was ice around him that the temperature regulation engravings in his clothing were working very hard to melt. Eliot couldn’t allow himself more than a scant second to be disoriented, though. He knew Lastra would be attacking again as quickly as possible, so before anything else Eliot casted a large portal in front of him.

It was a good thing he did because by the time he hit the ground Lastra finished casting the same spell, only there were two this time around. They moved so fast that Eliot only registered the spells’ existence after they exploded, on each side of Lastra just far enough away that he wasn’t caught in their explosions. Getting back on his feet, Eliot narrowed his eyes at what happened next. The explosions somehow reversed and solidified into large chunks of ice against the ground.

Eliot took very quick stock of the situation with the few seconds of reprieve he had. His mage armor was depleted, probably the main reason he was only unconscious for a few seconds after a point-blank explosion. With it gone, he absolutely couldn’t afford getting hit by one of those again, let alone multiple. From now on, he would have to counter that spell with his portals. His hope to not have to use the portal spell at all was wishful thinking. He didn’t think using it in this way would be in bad faith, though. Considering what he knew about Lastra, it seemed fair to him that he used his go-to, best spell to counteract Lastra’s go-to, best spell.

With his head screwed back on right, Eliot prepared a portal spell and divination spell that would recognize the akashic feedback of Lastra’s next spell. The Archmage’s mint mana poured from every available meridian. Walls of runes surrounded him, each one growing taller by the moment until it all sunk into reality. They casted their spells at the same time. Once more, the projectiles flashed at incomprehensible speeds, redirected through the portals, and laid siege to Lastra’s side of the arena. As fast as he could, Eliot used his original akashic recognition spell in a slightly longer spell that would ping him just before Lastra finished casting that spell again. With forewarning a moment before the spell went off, Eliot would have enough time to react with a portal spell, instead of just having to have one prepared the whole combat.

“Lasers, explosions, and freezing,” Eliot announced, “Those are your proclivities, aren’t they?”

Lastra flinched. “Yes, they are,” he chuckled soon after. “Most simply assume them to be their general counterparts, others mistake them for the wrong niche. Very impressive of you to catch on so soon.”

“Not really,” Eliot deflected with a smile, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “I only figured it out because of how amazingly optimized your spell is. Clearly made of light, but not sustained. Not combustion because its main focus is a blast with no fire, just heat. And the only way it could make sense for the spell to freeze after is if it's specifically freezing, and not cold, ice, or some such. You’re the impressive one for being able to make the spell. I’ve seen all of its runes yet I can hardly understand them, not even most of the conjunction runes. It’s relieving to know I still have so much to learn.”

“Then let’s continue with the lesson.”

“Let’s.”

Lastra casted a spell that materialized hundreds of tiny beads of blue light that scattered across the arena towards Eliot. At the same time, he positioned the casting of a freezing-explosion-laser to overlay with his first spell, so every other line was for that spell. Eliot noticed the peculiarity of the runes, but he didn’t grasp exactly what was going on until his divination spell pinged him. A portal opened right as the laser blinked at him, except before the laser could be redirected with the portal, it hit one of the blue light beads, causing both it and the bead to explode. That explosion reached another bead, which exploded and triggered another bead, on and on, tens of beads exploding each moment and spreading further.

Thankfully, Eliot reacted as soon as he registered the first explosion. He shielded himself with a thick barrier of white ice and covered his ears. Explosions flared all around him in a grand cacophony of blustering booms. His ice barrier warped and cracked from the explosions, however, just as he hoped, it was reinforced right after by Lastra’s own spell’s freezing effect. Damaged and fixed over and over too fast for Eliot to perceive anything other than the ice’s screeching wails.

When all was said and done, Eliot’s ears rang and his mouth and sinuses recoiled at the arid air. His temperature engravings—that he luckily figured out how to improve in the short span of time since he burnt out his last ones—worked overtime to keep him warm. He couldn’t see much outside of his icy barrier but he imagined the rest of the arena was similarly entombed in frost. Eliot sucked in a breath as he thought back to his duel with Henry and realized what Lastra’s obvious next move was. He jumped to set up three layers of orange and red barriers that would hopefully be enough to protect him from the scorching gas when the ice flash boiled. Then he set to work on figuring out how to change the flow of the battle.

So far, Eliot focused solely on the defensive. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself before he understood what Lastra was capable of. Now that he knew his proclivities and saw some of the applications, Eliot was ready to counter attack. Exactly how he would go about being offensive was a problem that eluded him for a long time. He had an animus in offensive spells in general, after all. Trying to use utility spells for a roundabout attack would never work against someone of Lastra’s caliber. And as Eliot tested more of the portal spell, and the sparse amount of spatial spells others used, he found that messing with space itself was relatively harmless. Whenever he opened a portal directly inside of an inanimate object, it was completely untouched once he closed it, like the portal was never there to begin with. Whenever he used a shift spell to try and teleport inside of something, like say the ground, he ended up wherever the nearest open space that could house him was. It was almost like every spatial spell was originally made with idiot proofing. Except, the more he experimented, the more he felt it was Authority's guiding hand at work. Like trying to weaponize spatial shenanigans was in some way directly against the wishes of reality. At this point, he was fairly confident that even if he could open a portal directly inside of a living being, it would ultimately be harmless, if psychologically distressing.

The answer to his problem was simple. So what if he had an animus for offensive spells? Compared to his innate, intuitive talent for magic, did it really matter? It was time to find out.

Another shockwave rocked his vicinity, growing stronger over the course of a few seconds until everything went white and his body buckled from the pain in his ears. His barriers shattered one after the other, then so did the ground beneath his feat. He fell on an uneven bed of shattered earth. The space was filled so thick with steam that he wouldn’t be able to see his hands if they were right in front of his face; too thick to even breathe. Before anything else, as he cast the flight spell, he also generated a whipping wind strong enough to funnel the choking swathes of steam up and out of the arena. When an adequate amount of steam finally left, he took a deep breath and took off towards the roof of the arena.

The crowd cheered seeing Eliot rise alive from under the main mass of the steam. The ground was pulverized nearly thirteen meters deep. If the barrier around the arena hadn’t been there, he could only imagine the scale of devastation such a huge blast would have inflicted. In fact, the barrier was obviously dimmer than it was before. If Eliot didn’t have a major proclivity in utility spells, he would have needed a lot more than just six barriers and a lot more mana spent to come out of that unscathed. In the air, surrounded by a few barriers of his own, Lastra narrowed his eyes at Eliot in scrutiny. Eliot was sweating with some superficial burns, and his ears ached something fierce with a constant ringing, but otherwise he was perfectly fine.

Eliot grinned, spreading his arms wide along with a flush of mana. Using the same technique Lastra was so fond of, he managed to multicast eight spells in the span of just three seconds. Two fireballs, two ballista bolts of light, and sixteen crescents of water. Each water crescent was a different temperature, on a different trajectory, had a different pattern of oscillation, and had varying levels of salt and minerals.

Lastra multi-casted two shorter spells that redirected the ballista bolts with pulses of light. At the same time, he reflexively-casted a spell that created a fast moving cloud of white particulates. The cloud passed through each fireball, somehow putting them out and neutralizing any sort of combustion. He specifically waited until each water crescent was within fifteen feet, then casted a spell that flash froze and shattered them into harmless crystals.

That went about as well as Eliot had expected, though the ease at which he directly countered each one was interesting to watch. By the time Lastra was done, however, so was Eliot with his second round of spells. The entirety of Lastra’s half of the arena came alive with a silent buzzing. Lastra glanced down at himself in distress; a tingle made his hair stand on end. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Time seemed to slow down as brilliant purple plasma flared into existence. It showered half the arena in an outpour of crackling energy. Lastra’s mage armor shattered instantly. Then it was gone, leaving a rapturous thunder clap in its wake. That and a frazzled Lastra sporting severe burns and a disheveled everything.

Eliot wasn’t about to let him have a breather. His second spell, a sword of solidified darkness—a modified version of the spell Henry used against him—plunged towards Lastra at an alarming pace. Lastra strafed down and to the left, at the same time reflexively-casting a sustained laser of light. The light stripped away the sword’s being until it was nothing but an unraveling stick. But Eliot was well aware of solidified darkness’ weakness to light. As per the spell, an influx of mana left his storm. The sword manifested shadow around it in a cyclone, repairing itself good as new in just seconds, and too close for Lastra to destroy it again. Instead, right as the sword reached arms’ length, he cast a spell that spurred moisture in the air to collect around it and flash freeze. With the added weight, he was just able to twist out of its path. More and more moisture froze around it until the weight was too much for the spell’s specified kinetic output, making it careen to the broken ground below.

Right after, in time with Eliot’s next spell, he spewed ten warbling blue energy balls. Eliot shifted to use a spell that generated a traveling kinetic force, like a controlled shockwave. The wave hit the volatile projectiles and catalyzed premature explosions. At the same time, Lastra’s half of the arena once more gained an indescribable air of anxious anticipation. The Archmage erected a hasty blue barrier, but it didn’t amount to much with the amount of time he had. Scintillating whites and purples blazed to life and faded to nothing in a bare moment. Lastra wavered unsteady, his eyes glazed, his skin burnt to black. But he ultimately held firm. With a grunt of exertion, he reflexively-casted the same sustained laser spell, only pointed at Eliot and at a much higher intensity.

It devoured Eliot in its light instantly. He hunched over and buried his head in his arms with a silent scream. He clicked his heels together and canceled the flight spell, accelerating free of the laser’s scorching wrath. He took a deep breath, shuddering from the overwhelming temperature difference, but the sigh caught in his throat as Lastra angled the laser to follow after him. Eliot launched himself at the craterous ground and multi-casted two spells. One to make the solid earth under the rubble rise, the other a slow-falling spell to cushion his fall. A wall of solid rock practically jumped from the ground, violently displacing debris and lifting clouds of particulates. Eliot crashed into the base of the wall despite his slow-fall spell, though thankfully it didn’t topple.

Knowing it wouldn’t do anymore good, Lastra killed the laser. Both heavily injured and severely winded, the duel lulled for a mutual breather. Eliot took immediate stock: his biggest threat posed by his wounds was being overwhelmed by the pain. Nothing integral to staying alive was affected. His temperature engravings burnt out protecting him from the laser, then his other engravings were destroyed simply because the laser left his clothing in tatters. Thankfully, he was only supplying his temperature engravings with mana. If an engraving was destroyed—not burnt out—while actively in use, it would explode just like a botched spell, only ten times worse. Which was why most professional engravers didn’t walk around decked out in hundreds of complex and powerful engravings just in their clothing. Eliot was well aware of the risks, though, and after that laser he was glad he trusted himself not to blow up, otherwise he would have been melted and frozen to death five times over.

Transitioning to consider the state of the duel, Eliot felt just as confident as ever. The main reason being: Lastra was most definitely low on mana, meanwhile he was sitting pretty with more than half his storm left. It was obvious that none of Lastra’s proclivities were major. Having more than one was already rare, let alone three, and having any of those be above minor was another statistical deviation. From evidence, Eliot felt if Lastra had an intermediate proclivity it was most likely his explosion proclivity. He didn’t see enough of the freezing proclivity to bet on its strength, but he was sure that the laser proclivity was minor. Lastra’s opening left him breathing heavily. That would only happen if the amount of mana used was so much that it was physically taxing. Light spells were known to be a large degree more expensive than others but so were spatial spells, and Eliot’s major proclivity let him cast those basically for free.

As for the spells used, Lastra mostly relied on reflexively mastered spells—which was something Eliot would bitch about after the duel—meaning those were basically free. Still, as an Archmage, even a lesser one, Lastra had to have experience using large amounts of mana. For the opening spell to have left him so fatigued, it had to have used at least a quarter of his mana storm. Those freezing-explosion-lasers couldn’t have been cheap, either, from sheer complexity and output alone. Also, his mastery over the spell couldn’t be all that much, considering its length, complexity, and severe nature. Eliot didn’t see how Lastra managed to flash-boil all that ice, but what he did know was that it all reacted practically at the same time. Catalyzing such a big reaction had to have used a good chunk of mana, too. Then, there was the fly spell. Eliot’s major utility proclivity nearly caused him to skip over the fact that other mages didn’t get to use utility spells for free, especially a more costly one like the flight spell.

The odds were so much in his favor that, ordinarily, Eliot would start to suspect a suicidal ploy at mutual destruction. Knowing Lastra’s character, though, that wasn’t something he had to worry about. Right now, his biggest focus should be on negating injury. As much as it helped him find motivation the first time, he wasn’t keen on spending another length of time in bed without much action. He had Serpents to hunt and a romantic partner to lure, afterall. He needed a plan of action to finish the duel the way he wanted to end things. From the very beginning of the duel, Eliot was aware of a handful of instant-kill moves. But the reason he wanted a duel in the first place was to prove himself beyond unfair and unceremonious tactics. Now that he was in the thick of it, he also felt that Orend Lastra deserved a better death. It needed to be honorable and clean. With the Crown depriving him of options, Eliot wasn’t going to settle for anything less.

Eliot caught his breath with a sigh. Two more exchanges. Lastra wouldn’t have enough mana to do anything worthwhile if he tried for anything beyond that, and they both knew it. So he was going to put everything into the next two. Knowing the type of person Lastra was, a courteous, diligent, and upright alchemist, he was going to use the next exchange as a setup for a big finish. Probably something he hasn’t used yet. A trump card he was keeping up his sleeve only to be used when it was absolutely necessary. That also meant it would be something costly or brutal, probably both.

Suddenly, reality transfixed into place. Everything felt sure and immutable. Eliot looked up at the wall in shock. Stabilizing space? There was no way Lastra didn’t get some sort of report from the assassination attempt, right? So, then, why would he do something ineffectual? Unless it was some sort of last-ditch attempt to stop him from using portals for just a moment longer. It was something that was sure to hit, then. Not something that was targeted, like his freezing-explosion-lasers since those were thwarted by portals and cover—something that was too big to miss. An explosion. Not a steam explosion that was only heat and pressure, something destructive. How was he supposed to dodge that without portals?

Eliot caught sight of it in that moment. A glimmering potion bottle arching through the air lazily flipping end over end. In it sloshed a viscous, sickly green liquid. Weapons, engravings, and magical preparations of all sorts were allowed, of course Lastra would have a potion, elixir or two. Simultaneously, in that moment, it dawned on him that his want to not use portals was misguided. Not because of any of his previously stated sentiments. But because in a fight to the death it was a slap to the face of his opponent if he didn’t give it his all. He still wouldn’t use portals, but the portal spell had been his only spatial spell for such a long time that he forgot he’d recently learned others. And his major proclivity wasn’t for just portals. It was about time he expanded his dominion over space.

Eliot shifted his point in space to the other side of the arena. As soon as he did, the explosion rocked the world. His hands flew to his ears and his entire body cringed from the deafening boom alone. Thankfully, in the middle of the arena was a massive, five meter thick wall of ice, containing the explosion to Eliot’s previous half of the arena. Mostly. Even with its thickness, the wall cracked and fractured across its entire body, so violently that melting shards of ice were sent flying far enough to pelt Eliot at the arena’s farthest edge. Then he caught sight of Lastra, on the ground protected by a smattering of barriers and casting a long spell. The spell finished casting before Eliot could catch any of the runes, but he didn’t need to to recognize the spell. Time seemed to slow down as his hair stood on end and goosebumps traveled up his arms. He was completely overcome with the sick excitement he felt all around him.

At that moment, he knew he’d lost. Lastra had bested him. Although he made large strides, although the duel was completely in his favor, he was still just short of where he needed to be. He just didn’t know enough. His knowledge of offensive spells was completely rudimentary. His berth of utility spells wasn’t encyclopedic enough to deal with every situation. He was just entertaining the idea of using other spatial spells.

He didn’t have enough time to do anything other than surround himself with portals. Except his own casting without the support of divination spells was nowhere near the precision of the ethereal engine. The lightning would be weakened from having to travel a more difficult path, but it would still hit him. He crunched into the fetal position with his hands linked over his head, and as a last ditch effort, he shoved his mana outward with everything he had. Hoping it would do something to help.

The lightning blossomed into white archs so brilliant that it stabbed Eliot’s eyes through closed lids. His body screamed, his pitiful will to hold on through the suffering shattered. The pain completely overwhelmed him. He was reduced to nothing; he knew nothing and was nothing except an agony so thorough that it scoured him to his very core. Then it was gone. Fading almost as fast as it came. Until it settled on a terrible ache and the fierce sting of lasting burns. He floated motionless in the air for a long time, slowly coming back to himself.

Eliot languidly stretched back to his full height. He whispered his relief to himself in Dan, but couldn’t help a smirk. Lastra resorted to using his own spell against him, and used it to greater effect, too. In doing so, Lastra forced him to use his portals and injured him enough that they were equally wounded. And since that final effort left Lastra drained of mana, the duel was over and Eliot’s victory was rendered more empty than it already was.

Eliot closed the portals around him and floated to the ground. A raucous applause reminded him that the crowd was still there, that their fight was being used as a spectacle. During the duel Eliot was able to forget for a second about the sorry circumstances he was in, but now, seeing Lastra defeated, hunched over on the ground, it all rushed back with a vengeance. He was going to have to kill a good man, all because he wasn’t powerful enough to say no. Even with the circumstances, Lastra didn’t have to die. If he surrendered, Eliot could decide that their grudge was settled. But Lastra wouldn’t want that. From their short duel alone, Eliot glimpsed into the core of a man honorable to a fault. Even without additional funding, Lastra could have sent much more dangerous ‘assassins’ after him. There was an innumerable amount of setups he could have opted for that would ensure Eliot’s demise, or at least severely risk it. Instead Lastra found people at exactly the right level for Eliot to succeed. What the Serpentine Brotherhood tried to do to him was assassination, what Lastra sent his way was nothing but a challenge—ultimately a positive one that taught him a valuable lesson. Only now did Eliot realize how stupid he’d been. Lastra didn’t want to take the duel in the first place. He only agreed after Eliot belligerently threatened his apprentices.

Eliot touched the ground just a meter away from Lastra. If he canceled the flight spell, he would end up a heap on the ground just like him, so he used it to assume an illusion of strength: the one left standing.

“Yield. You don’t have to die,” Eliot told him desperately.

Lastra chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t a life left now. I’d be bereft of Crown support and no doubt charged for my crimes against you.”

“Then run! I can help portal you to any corner of the Two Continents. You can start over in a new place!” Eliot pleaded.

“There is no life worth living more than my own. If I were to flee, my apprentices and life’s work would fall into the hands of those malicious in power. I would much rather see them cared for by you.”

Eliot grit his teeth. Frustration and anger made his chest burn more than it already did. “Kusotsu!” he yelled in Dan.

“You shouldn’t harbor so much regret. You’ve bested me, Eliot Reileus, be proud,” Lastra admonished.

Eliot took a deep breath and adopted a collected façade. Lastra was right. It was selfish of him to act sorry for himself in front of the man whose life he was about to take. The least he could do was pretend for the final moments.

From the damage done to the barrier around the arena, any non vital functions were discarded in favor of efficient mana use. So no one except those in the lowest rows could make out what they were saying. Eliot surrounded them in an inverted white barrier. Instead of dampening sound it would amplify whatever sound was made inside of it, which was exactly what the arena’s barrier was doing, to an extent.

“Do you have any final words?” Eliot asked solemnly.

Lastra moved with difficulty to look behind himself. Eliot followed his gaze to a group of heartbroken mages sitting in the front row, just a few seats away from Henry and Penelope. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t fulfill any of my promises. I hope you’ll find it within yourselves to forgive me.” He looked back down and closed his eyes. “Take good care of them.”

“I will,” Eliot promised. His mana poured into a final spell.

A thick spike of ice froze in the air above Lastra. Suddenly it accelerated to nothing more than a blur and pierced through the back of Lastra’s head. The audience erupted. Eliot continued to cast a few more spells in an effort to make the body presentable. All the while the crowd cheered their hearts out. Their disgusting cries of elation reached a fever pitch that drowned out even Lastra’s last explosion. By the time Eliot was done, he didn’t even try to hide his contemptuous snarl. They had the spoiled arrogance to derive pleasure from death, when if the roles were changed they all would be sniveling cowards begging for their pitiful, worthless lives. They had the audacity to cheer loud enough to drown out the mourning of Lastra’s apprentices.

After ending the duel, Eliot was supposed to wait for the overseer to announce him victorious, prance around for the crowd, and let the supports on standby heal him.

Instead, Eliot turned and left through a portal. Every time he started to think people weren’t so bad, they never failed to remind him that they were nothing more than savages. And he was no better. He was the worst of them all. He was a monster pretending to be a savage.