“You don’t have to do this… Syl, was it?” Uriel said. She didn’t look particularly happy with the state of affairs.

Duels were shockingly easy to facilitate at any national academy. Since they were such major feeder universities for the military, there were dedicated halls meant specifically for sparring and/or dueling purposes. This particular one was meant for class 1 students only and had significantly more flexibility when it came to settings—as well as fewer safeguards.

“I appreciate your concern, Major,” Syl said. “Is Major the correct title?”

“My name is Uriel,” she said. “You’re a few years too young to be GR yet. I don’t stand on ceremony.”

“Seems that makes one of you,” Syl replied, eyeing the sneering Violet strolling around the dueling hall like he owned the place. Given that he was a member of the main clan, it was entirely possible that he actually did, at least in part.

Jennifer, the engineer, had cited “not wanting to watch a first-year get hospitalized” as her reason not to attend, while Waylan, whose specialty was in duels just like this, had come for the same reason—ostensibly to offer medical support when necessary. Syl could tell he just wanted to watch, though. Ashley was also not attending, citing that while it was technically allowed by the rules, she did not want to be the disciplinary officer who all the blame for this would inevitably fall on.

Bianca had come, of course, and Uriel was officiating.

“He’s baiting you,” the latter told Syl. “Rules state that he’ll have to hold back on anything lethal or permanently harmful, but rules don’t mean much when you’re recovering from broken bones. I saw what happened to the last student who tried to duel Drew. It was over something meaningless, and it took him half a year to recover fully. That was a sixth-year, and he was Reserve. A good soldier.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Syl said. “Indigo, was it? Less projection-focused than the rest of your family, though. I like your FCD. Complex but versatile. I didn’t get to see you cast any spells, but at a guess… long range artillery-type magic?”

Uriel, who had been altogether the professional graduate student until now, paused, frowning. She tilted her head up at Syl, brushing brightly colored regulation-length hair from her face.

“You got that from a visual?”

“I have good senses,” Syl said. “Judging from the complexity of your FCD, you do too. I know you’ve been holding a concern back. Feel free to voice it.”

“Hey,” Drew drawled, twirling a staff taller than he was. “When are we going to get on with it?”

“I’m done setting up the arena whenever you’re ready,” Waylan said, a hint of sadistic glee in his voice.

“Your ranking officer is speaking to me,” Syl said. “It would be best to assume she has something important to say.”

Uriel glared at them, which got both of them to stop talking.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized, focusing back on him—and, more specifically, his throat. “You’re only speaking because of that FCD in your throat.”

“Correct,” Syl said. “I’m open with that fact.”

“So you, as a first year with practical scores so low that they would have been an auto-deny if not for the highest theory score we’ve ever seen, interfering with your own FCD output with a disability device, and lacking the ability to verbalize spell components—believe that a duel with a sixth year who is 23-2 in duels so far is advisable.”

“You know the students well,” Syl said.

“It’s part of my job.”

“Again, I appreciate the concern, but I’m certain.”

Uriel sighed. “I cannot stop a willing participant from entering a duel. I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re talented, that’s for certain. Please don’t take a loss as a sign of failure.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Syl said. “I’m ready to begin whenever everyone else is.”

After casting one more wary glance at him, Uriel walked away, situating herself on the sidelines.

Syl stepped into the arena.

“Arena size forty by twenty meters, acknowledge,” Waylan said.

“Acknowledged,” Uriel said.

Drew, clearly used to this, tapped his metallic staff, which rippled with flux before a red light appeared at the top.

A bit over the top for a dueling FCD, Syl thought but didn’t say. He followed suit, taking a full second to get the casting processes in order to properly create that light.

Waylan wasn’t quite able to hide his snicker at that, though he coughed loudly when Uriel looked askance at him.

Walls of force rose around the two of them, restricting the effects of their spells to within the arena. A moment later, the floor itself began rising in places, creating artificial cover.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Setting six. Basic cover. Acknowledge.”

Syl and Drew both acknowledged again.

“The duel will end when one party is incapacitated, cannot adequately continue to cast, or acknowledges defeat,” Uriel said. “Duelist Drew Violet. Do you accept the terms of the duel as previously stated?”

“In nomine virtutis,” Drew said. “I accept.”

“Duelist Sylvester Auria. To be clear, the words you should repeat—“

“In fide et sapientia,” Syl replied. “I also accept.”

“Very well,” Uriel said, smoothly brushing away her surprise. “Begin.”

Syl didn’t have direct line of sight on Drew because of the cover, and he had no active spells for him to track, but the arena was small enough that it wasn’t too hard to play keep-away for a bit.

“I’ll make this easy for you,” Drew said mockingly. “I’ll tell you the spell I’ll use to beat the shit out of you.”

“You can make it not so easy,” Syl said, preparing his own magic as he crouched behind a white block half his height.

“This spell,” Drew said, ignoring Syl’s words, “is called Violet Eyes. Do you know who my family is?”

“I’d say that I’m offended that you would ask, but your entire existence offends me at this moment,” Syl said. “Violet. Third ranked of the prismatic families. Lots of battle magic, but your edge is in personal control skills. Amplification of the body and control of the mind.”

“Reading a description off the intranet isn’t going to win you any points here,” Drew continued. “This spell is one of my favorites. Most of the time, it disorients you by messing with your vision, but one thing it can do to little wimps like you is force your senses into mine. You’re going to be pissing yourself, unable to move your body, and I’ll lend you my eyes. Aren’t you excited? You’ll get to watch and feel me beat you. You should be honored, really.”

There.

Drew and Syl stepped out into the open at the same time, facing each other at a distance of less than five meters. The sixth-year’s staff was already active, magic circles forming and encircling its length.

He shouted a command word, and his eyes glowed his family’s trademark violet, boring into Syl—and then Drew staggered, his open hand clutching at his eyes wildly. he cursed in pain, stumbling around like a drunkard.

In a flash, Syl was behind him, both bracers glowing. Instead of wasting time casting a spell, he simply kicked Drew in the back while he was disoriented, knocking him off balance. To the sixth-year’s credit, he wasn’t totally helpless, but he was still temporarily blind and already reeling from the loss of his spell.

Syl’s casting speed might have been no good, but his body was a different story. In a swift exchange of blows, he knocked Drew to the floor, wrenching his staff away.

A buzzer blared. Artificial terrain began to fall, sinking back into the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Waylan asked as the forcewalls dissipated as well.

The duel had been broadcast to them through any number of hidden cameras, Syl knew, which was part of why he hadn’t done anything flashier.

Besides, sometimes simplicity was best.

“The winner of the duel is Sylvester Auria,” Uriel said, her own shock clear in her voice.

Only Bianca wasn’t surprised. She clapped politely, beaming down at him. “Told you.”

“You…” Drew muttered from the ground.

“Right,” Syl said. “Your FCD. It’s mistuned. Might want to have someone take a look at it.”

Waylan practically bounded down the steps from the mostly-empty viewing bleachers, excitement clear in his body language. “Dude. Syl, right? That was awesome. Where did you learn how to do that?”

Maybe Syl had misjudged the Red. He’d thought Waylan had come to watch him get beat up, but from his reaction, it was looking more like the boy—man, Syl corrected himself, Waylan was a good five years older at least—had come here because he wanted to see interesting magic in action.

“I pick things up,” Syl said.

“What… did you do?” Drew asked, having managed to sit up properly. “My spell…”

“You did say you were going to take it easy,” Syl reminded him. “That couldn’t have helped. I counter-cast you.”

Uriel gasped. “But counter-casting… leave the fact that you shouldn’t know how to do that yet, it’s something that takes even strategic-class magicians years to master.”

“It helps that I was given both time and a warning. Violet Eyes is on the list of public prismatic family spells. All counter-casting boils down to is fully inverting a spell pattern. Casting from multiple FCDs is usually a problem because they have a high chance at interfering with each other, but when the cast is done for the explicit purpose of interfering, it’s much simpler. All I did was prepare the inverted Violet Eyes during the monologue. I imagine you don’t usually practice dealing with your spell when it backfires, which is what it ended up doing.”

“Because that’s not all counter-casting is,” Waylan countered. “I know my fair share too. No two castings of a spell are exactly alike. Minute changes in airflow, preferences of the caster, FCD settings… there’s a thousand variables that modify the spell pattern of any given magic weave. Plus, the effect of Violet Eyes might be public, but the full spell sequence sure as hell isn’t. Without a more advanced counter-casting FCD, you would have to be able to read a spell activation on the fly just to even try.”

“I read the spell activation,” Syl said, acknowledging Waylan’s expertise with a nod. “It takes less adjustment than preparing the spell in the first place, and it’s not something that a verbal component can substitute, so it’s not something that I have a disadvantage in.”

Waylan shook his head in disbelief. “To think there’s a first-year like you in class 3, of all places…”

“I’ve been saying for a long while that the practicals aren’t all that matter,” Uriel said. “This is just proof of that. There’s plenty of talent out there, just waiting for us to find it.”

“By the way,” Syl said, looking to where Drew was bracing himself against his staff to get up. “This wasn’t in the agreement, but you should apologize to Bianca before you stop being rude to her again. A sixth-year like you has no excuse to call the first-year student representative a… what was it, again?”

“A ‘mouthy bitch,’” Bianca supplied happily.

“Fuck you,” Drew hissed at Syl. “Don’t go getting a big head because of… beginner’s luck. Do you know who my mother is?”

“I do,” Syl said. “Not a good look for the son of the legendary Allison Violet to be such a sore loser, I would say.”

“I’ll show you sore loser,” Drew snarled, FCD activating again.

“Drew!” Uriel snapped, but Syl was faster.

Before Drew’s staff could finish the spell it was activating, Syl was in front of him, plunging a fist straight into his gut.

Drew doubled over, and Syl helped him to the ground, sweeping his feet out from under him as he expelled the contents of the lunch they’d just been having. Syl grabbed the staff as the sixth-year fell into a puddle of his own vomit, tossing it aside.

He sighed. “I suppose we’re going to have to meet his mother a bit early. Bianca, the mess, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course,” she said.

“General Violet is on her way,” Uriel said, one hand to her ear. “How did you know?”

Instead of replying, Syl took Drew’s staff and started tuning it. The misalignment in the settings was bugging him, and it wasn’t even his FCD.

Ten minutes later, the door to the arena slammed open. Bianca, Waylan, and Uriel saluted, while Drew moaned, still holding his stomach on the ground.

Syl turned, belatedly saluting after he finished up with the staff.

“General Violet,” he said. “How can I help you?”