“Stop moving so much.”

“I’m not. You’re the one whose fingers are shaking.”

“My fingers aren’t shaking.”

“She’s right, Master. Just relax and let us finish this.”

With a sigh, Nox shook his head and tried to remain as motionless as possible, letting Estella and Ireela buckle the straps of his school-issued armor. The last time he had worn this, he didn’t remember the thin chest plate being this tight.

You’ve acquired some muscles. It will be tight.

Mmm.

He closed his eyes as the girls worked, letting his mind go over his plan once more. There was no guarantee it would succeed, but it was the only option he had considering the circumstances. If it fails… well, he would think of another plan by then.

“There!” Estella said, tightening the leather strap one last time. She looked at it critically, made some tiny adjustments, and finally stepped back in satisfaction just as Ireela finished.

Nox stared at the nearby mirror. Thin black plates covered his torso and limbs, light but sturdy enough to ward off blows. Estella had insisted on heavier equipment, but it would only restrict his movement. This was better.

Through the mirror, he saw Estella’s and Ireela’s worried looks. He turned to them. “I’ll be fine,” he said softly.

“If you can no longer fight, don’t push yourself.” Estella’s voice was tight, and he could feel her churning emotions through the Resonance that no words could properly express.

He nodded, trying to convey his own feelings through that simple act alone, magnified by their link. It was getting difficult to hide anything with Estella these days, and he hoped his confidence was enough to sooth her.

The door opened. “Ah, Sir Nox!” Headmaster Garion smiled as he entered.

They stared in disbelief. The headmaster rarely, if at all, visited participants in duels. “Headmaster, what are you doing here?” Estella said.

“Ah, Dame Estella! And… Miss Ravein, is it?

Ireela nodded. “Yes, Headmaster.”

“Good, good. I thought I’ve forgotten. It’s hard for me to keep track of surnames these days.” He turned to Nox, nodding in approval. “The armor fits, yes? Everything is protected?”

“Yes,” Nox said uncertainly. Why is he here? he asked Estella.

I don’t know, she said, just as confused.

“Mmm. But do be careful, Sir Nox. Even the best armor can have the smallest gap. Nothing is impervious.” His eyes twinkled. “Well, I just came in to check on you. I’ll be going now!”

He soon left. As the door closed, Nox glanced at Estella and Ireela with a bewildered expression.

“What was that about?”

***

The roar of the Thurinian students was louder than all of the Favenian students.

Nox didn’t pay it any attention, but he could see some of his schoolmates, particularly those from Estella’s class, glancing at the boisterous crowd in annoyance.

They’re acting as if they own this place, Estella grumbled in annoyance.

Let them. It won’t bother us.

I know, but…

As Nox stepped on to the stage, the Thurinian crowd booed and jeered. He whipped his gaze in the direction of the Favenian seats, and sure enough, a lot of the students, and even Princess Luciana, were now glaring at them.

Estella’s fury raged like a storm in his head. Can I burn them? Please?

Nox suppressed a sigh. He could understand his lovers anger, but it was going too far sometimes. Ask your father, not me.

He’ll just say it will lead to an international scandal that will have serious repercussions for Faven.

Because it will. You need to calm down, Ella. Let this duel decide.

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Yes, let it decide that we are far more skilled and stronger.

He shook his head as he approached the center of the stage where Zalthor already waited. In truth, he wasn’t confident of defeating the Thurinian champion, and the only thing fueling him was the reward that awaited victory against Thurin’s prodigy Wielder.

As Nox drew closer, he frowned. Zalthor, like before, wasn’t wearing any kind of protection. He turned to the overseer. “Is this allowed?”

The man glanced briefly at Zalthor, then nodded. “It is within the rules of the Inter-School Competition.”

Zalthor smiled. “I assure you, Sir Nox, I am well protected.”

Something about that unsettled Nox, though he couldn’t say why. With a nod from him, the overseer proceeded. Nox retreated to thirty feet, as did Zalthor, with the overseer between them.

“Maiming is prohibited; killing is forbidden. The duel ends when one side yields or can’t continue. Step out of the stage and the match is forfeit. Are the rules clear?… Then with the power vested to me by the Dueling Committee, let the Final Round commence!”

It was Nox who charged first. He knew it gave Zalthor the advantage, but he was hoping to swiftly immobilize the Triple Wielder before he could summon Surtur.

Ten feet away from Zalthor, he realized that something was terribly wrong.

Without a word, Zalthor was engulfed in flames. It was only for an instant, and he soon emerged in gleaming black armor, the horns curling around his temple.

Duck.

It was Nox’s only warning, and he knew better than to ignore such a warning. The thought hadn’t even finished when he was already lowering his head, barely avoiding the armored fist from slamming to his face. He looked up to see Zalthor’s helm, his eyes burning—literally burning!— in delight.

Everything became clear in an instant: Form Shift, just like Karsos’s Animarta. Surtur had transformed into Zalthor’s armor. It explained why he wasn’t wearing any protective equipment yet was still able to fight.

With a silent curse, Nox leapt aside as the other fist smashed the spot he had just been standing on. Nox stood, gripping Erebos in a guarded stance. Zalthor watched him behind his helmet. No weapons except for his fists, and maybe even his legs and head.

Somehow, it made the Thurinian Wielder even more terrifying. Nox scanned the armor for weaknesses, but there was none. Then again, an Animarta never had any weaknesses except…

A thought occurred to him, a memory of one of Estella’s lessons. But first, he needed to know Zalthor’s trump card. Or did he even have one?

He has to be. An armor form is just a protection, not a weapon.

Which meant Nox had to bring it out… by attacking.

He raised his hand. “Burst!” As the ice spears launched toward Zalthor, Nox charged him. The projectiles wouldn’t do much damage, but it should provide enough of a distraction.

Zalthor stood in defiance. His arms didn’t rise in defense. He didn’t even move. He just waited.

Nox didn’t. Just as the ice spears broke against Surtur, Nox barked, “Engulf!”

A dome of darkness bloomed over the stage, with Zalthor in the center. Nox halted in his path and swerved left, circling around. Zalthor should have his hearing and vision impaired by now.

Nox slowed, creeping toward Zalthor’s back. He couldn’t let his guard down even if his opponent couldn’t see or hear him. He watched for any subtle movements, any indication of a sudden attack as he continued.

Fifteen feet. Ten feet.

“You’re behind me, aren’t you?”

Nox swiftly rolled as Zalthor’s right leg swung with the force of a war hammer. Then he was back on his feet, Erebos streaking toward Zalthor’s chest. The Thurinian jumped, flipping over the air just as Nox grazed the shin armor.

As Zalthor landed heavily, Nox shouted, “Erupt!”

At the spot he had just struck, ice exploded in a shower of azure pillars and white shards. Frigid air blew, spreading across the black surface. Zalthor grunted, but it was too late; the ice was already covering his torso, and before he could utter a word, his head was completely encased.

A second later, Surtur glowed orange.

With a roar, Zalthor was engulfed in a torrent of flames, melting the ice and sending a heavy cloud of steam to spread around him. Beyond the thick white smoke, Nox saw his opponent, burning bright as a coal.

This time, Zalthor lunged.

Nox blocked the first blow, and it was like getting hit with the force of a mountain. His arm rattled. Then the second one came, too fast, pounding his left side. He toppled, rolled over to avoid the downward arc of a leg, shielding his face with his free arm from the showering stones of the stage.

Zalthor laughed. “So this is the power of a Shadow Wielder? How pitiful! Master was wrong to think you are the one.”

Kneeling on one knee, Nox rose again, deflecting another blow. He swung Erebos in a swift counter—a bad move, in hindsight—and cursed as Zalthor grabbed Erebos’s with one hand.

The dark blade shattered in his grasp, dissipating into black smoke. “Pathetic,” he spat, before sending a punch at Nox’s gut.

The blow knocked the wind out of Nox’s lungs, and he sailed in the air. He gritted his teeth. Erebos wasn’t broken, only dispersed. But the way Zalthor disarmed him so quickly didn’t bode well for his victory.

He twisted in mid-air and landed with a bone-jarring impact on one knee. As he rose, the ground shook. Zalthor was charging him once more, relentless. Without a weapon, he wouldn’t survive. Surtur was impervious and—

Even the best armor can have the smallest gap. Nothing is impervious.

Was this what the headmaster meant?

Nox dodged to the right, barely avoiding Zalthor’s charge. He scanned his armor as he retreated to a safer distance. It was smooth, almost like a second skin, except sturdier and thicker. There was no seam, no chink he could exploit; an impenetrable protection, polished brightly as glass.

Glass. Armor. A hot metal quenched at cold temperature.

And Nox knew what to do.

Drawing the power within himself, he summoned Erebos once more, the hilt cool in his hands. Zalthor was already facing him. “You know you can’t defeat me. Why keep trying?”

“Because I know I can defeat you,” Nox muttered. Then: “Burst!”

A pillar of ice rise from the ground, slamming into Zalthor with the force of an avalanche. An ordinary Wielder would have already been thrown outside the stage, but Zalthor smashed it aside with a single swing of his armored arm.

He laughed again. “Is this really all you can do? For shame, Sir Nox. How can you protect the Princess with this meager power?”

Zalthor was taunting him, Nox knew. He didn’t rise to the bait, however, and instead surged after his opponent head on. In response, Surtur’s flames roared.

Just as planned.

Nox ducked low under the first swing, the flames nearly licking his hair. He lunged, blocking the other fist, and deflecting the first one just as quickly. In the darkness, Zalthor’s burning Animarta was almost blinding to look at, but it didn’t deter Nox.

A hail of punches buffeted him. He held on, Erebos weaving a net of steel that barely stayed the assault. Not yet, Nox thought.

His defense came to an end when Zalthor managed to sneak in a blow. Nox tried to dodge a punch, but it was a feint and he felt the impact on his left rib rather than his cheek. He staggered backward with a gasp, clutching the dented armor. It restricted his breathing.

.

Reflexes saved his head from suffering the same fate. But instead of avoiding the swift punch, his free hand shot out and grasped Zalthor by the wrist.

“Cocytus.”

And ice exploded. Zalthor barely had time to react before he was fully encased in a hardened armor of blue and white. With a sigh, Nox stepped back, still vigilant. He had used his most powerful spell, but that didn’t mean the battle was now over.

A sphere of darkness still covered the stage. He felt bad that he stole away the audiences’ excitement, but this was the only way he could have had an advantage against Zalthor.

A crack sounded. Pursing his lips in a thin line, Nox stared at the ice statue. A hairline split started from the head, then rapidly spread across the torso. Beneath, Surtur glowed white.

Nox resisted the urge to just run Zalthor through with Erebos. It wouldn’t work anyway, and he certainly wouldn’t gain more favors from the king, and Estella especially. But he still had to do something.

“Engulf!” he barked, stretching his free hand outward. A blast of ice struck the recovering Zalthor, and yet it was all Nox could do to maintain the spell; Cocytus had already drained him of most of his energy.

His heart pounded. Sweat covered his brows, and his lungs felt like they could give out any moment. Finally, he lowered his arm and collapsed on his knees, planting Erebos on the ground for support.

With a last resounding crack, Zalthor shattered his ice prison, laughing. “Is this really all your power could do, Nox Stigan?”

No. Unless you want to die, Nox thought. He staggered upright on wobbly feet. Zalthor’s armor was a shade of white now, crackling with electricity. His third element.

You can’t defeat him in your current state.

I have to try. He made a promise, after all.

Then you’ll have to use me to fulfill your promise.

Nox hesitated. He had done it before last year when he dueled Karsos. His opponent barely made it out alive, but only because Nox held back his rage and hunger.

He wasn’t certain if he could hold back now.

“A pity,” Zalthor said. “I was expecting a good fight too. But it seems—“

“Oh, you want a good fight?” Nox spoke for the first time. He raised Erebos over his head. “So be it. I will give you one.”

At his declaration, Surtur burst into flames and crackled with lightning. Zalthor charged, unbothered, unfazed. But his confidence would be his undoing.

With a grin, Nox let his mind fall into the Shadow.