Game Ten - Part Two

“I’ve drafted the terms of the duel according to your suggestions—please review them. Finally, I am obliged to remind you both, verbally, that any injuries or fatalities resulting from this duel—including, but not limited to, physical disability, soul damage, or bodily death—are the sole responsibility of the duelists themselves.

Once you’ve confirmed the details, please channel your magic into the seal as your signature.”

Garnet glanced across the table, locking eyes with Arlo. He smiled, showing a row of straight, white teeth, holding her gaze as he deliberately slowed his movements, pressing his thumb pad bit by bit onto the parchment before him.

A complex, ornate sigil sensed the magic and lit up briefly. The contract of life and death was now in force.

Seeing this, Garnet had no further hesitation and likewise infused her magic into the seal.

“These two copies will be in my custody,” said Ray, his physique as robust as a small mountain, as he carefully put the parchment away. Unlike yesterday, he wore a black robe edged in purple, his muscular build concealed beneath the fabric, and a golden scales brooch, symbolizing law, fastened at his collar.

Indeed, Ray, the elemental summoner of the Thirteen Towers Guard, also held a license to practice law in Thousand Spires City. In fact, his primary occupation was notarizing contracts of all kinds; assisting with the recovery of otherworldly debris was merely a personal hobby.

He had been called in at short notice today by Arlo—dueling was strictly regulated in the city, requiring a signed contract of life and death and the presence of at least one lawyer as witness.

To Garnet, the whole thing was almost laughable: Arlo was hardly a model citizen, and his insistence on a witness was nothing but a precaution against her reneging on the terms and later refusing to grant him his freedom.

He was evidently confident that he could withstand her three attacks. Garnet closed her eyes briefly, suppressing her irritation, and began reviewing which spells she would use in the duel. It was time to let Arlo experience the full measure of her current abilities.

“Everything’s about ready outside,” Arlo said lightly, rising and giving Ray’s shoulder a pat. “Thanks for going to the trouble.”

Garnet nodded to Ray in acknowledgment, not bothering to say more to Arlo, and was the first to head outside.

Up to this point, Ray had not commented on the duel he was witnessing. As the two prepared to leave, the tall, taciturn witness suddenly spoke: “The purpose of a duel is to defend one’s honor, not to kill.”

The words were, of course, directed at Garnet. She glanced back, lips twisting in a half-smile. “Even for me, killing a Magister is no easy feat.”

Ray paused for a moment.

“Thank you for the compliment, Miss Othini,” Arlo responded, his tone laced with irony.

Garnet ignored him, sweeping out of the room, the crimson sleeves of her robe brushing briefly against the front of his deep green coat as she passed.

Outside, Garnet looked up and saw the vast, translucent dome covering the central courtyard.

Elma, brown-haired and blue-eyed, stood at the center of the clearing, staff raised. Luminous blue threads streamed from the staff’s tip, weaving together to form the protective barrier. She had been tasked with shielding the duelists from the outside world, preventing stray spells from harming innocent bystanders.

Somehow, news of the new captain’s challenge to Arlo had leaked, and a crowd had already gathered around the perimeter of the courtyard and even on the rooftops.

Elma seemed nervous as she stepped outside the hemisphere’s barrier, her voice taut as she reported to the duelists, “I’m ready. The shield can be sealed at any moment.”

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but after glancing at Garnet and Arlo’s expressions, decided to remain silent.

Arlo turned to Garnet, bowing slightly with a theatrical gesture, inviting her to take the lead.

Garnet snorted, head held high, and was the first to step through the gap into the dueling ground. Arlo followed, unhurried, a couple of steps behind.

As the protagonists made their entrance, the crowd murmured in excitement. Garnet stood composed beneath their scrutiny, her expression grave. Arlo, ever cheerful, waved to the audience with exaggerated flair, remarking loudly, “Wow—so many people!”

The crowd broke into laughter.

Arlo raised his voice. “I don’t know which version of events you’ve all heard, but the truth is this: I’m planning to publicly demonstrate the latest model of my protective device today.”

What? Garnet glanced sideways.

If Arlo noticed her glare, he gave no sign, producing from somewhere a peculiar, chunky wristband. He held it up for all to see and continued, “Like my previous prototypes, this requires no incantations, no drawing of magic circles, and definitely no dancing for the gods’ amusement. Just infuse it with magic, and the device activates. It takes very little magical energy—stored mana stones work just as well.

“This time, the prototype is equipped with a protection spell. Don’t look so disappointed; I know it’s the most basic of basics. But this invention has real potential.”

He pressed both hands downward as if to calm them. “Just think: nearly half the people in Boreia can’t use magic freely. The magical items they can use are extremely limited, which means they rarely travel far from home. The moment they leave the protection of the churches and sanctuaries, Boreia is full of perils that only magic can counter.

“But! What if everyone had a life-saving wristband like this?”

Garnet hadn’t wanted to pay attention to Arlo’s nonsense, but before she knew it, she found herself listening.

“You’re all clever enough to see where this leads. Naturally, there’s enormous commercial potential, and by the way, I’ve already patented it.”

The audience burst into knowing laughter.

“In short, to test the device’s limits today, I’ve invited our new captain, Miss Othini, to help. She’ll subject it to three powerful attacks.”

He shot her a sidelong glance, grinning. “I can assure you, those will be genuine, merciless, full-strength blows.”

“I’ll do nothing but infuse the wristband with magic. And, so no one accuses me of cheating with other enchanted items—” He paused dramatically, stripping off his dark green cloak and tossing it aside amid catcalls and whistles. “As you can see, I’m carrying nothing else.”

His loose linen shirt and fitted trousers left no room for hidden objects.

“That’s about all I needed to say. Elma, please seal the barrier.”

The blue threads closed the last gap in the hemisphere, sealing off the interior from the outside world. In the sudden hush, Arlo’s approaching footsteps grew ever louder. Garnet, uncertain of his intentions, frowned and signaled him to keep his distance.

Instead, he extended his right arm, the wristband now fastened to it. “Want to check? It really only triggers a basic protection charm.”

Garnet didn’t hesitate, slipping off the wristband to examine it up close. The nearer she looked, the odder the thing appeared.

It was as thick as four fingers, cast from a strange silvery alloy. More like a single, solitary shackle than a bracelet. Its outer contour was neither round nor square; the surface lacked the smoothness of pure silver, instead resembling weathered stone, pitted and uneven.

She couldn’t discern its internal structure. The one clear feature was the ring of amethyst around the surface: quartz, highly sensitive to magic, and a basic medium for spellcasting.

She tried channeling magic into it. The hefty metal trembled, and a warm white glow flashed, then condensed into a transparent film enveloping her whole body.

A basic protection spell, indeed.

Garnet stared at the wristband for a long moment, lost in thought, unmoving and silent. Arlo didn’t hurry her, merely lowering his eyes to observe. The audience, unable to hear what was happening inside the shield, craned their necks to see. Garnet took a deep breath and handed the device back.

“This might be the last chance you and I have to speak. Just in case—any final words?” Her face was expressionless, her tone calm.

Arlo blinked, then shrugged. “None.”

“Twenty paces,” Garnet counted silently, retreating to the edge of the shield.

The spectators could see the white-haired mage’s lips moving inside the sphere, her right hand poised as though grasping something from thin air. Suddenly, her crimson robe billowed as if caught in a storm, the air around her vibrating visibly, fine lightning flickering in and out of sight.

Unstable arcs of electricity writhed and chased each other, slowly converging.

With a swift flick and twist of her wrist, a spear of lightning materialized in her hand—ethereal, but deadly.

“She’s chanting in Draconic!” Finn shouted suddenly, setting off a stir in the crowd.

Dragons, giants, elves, and demons—all extinct from this continent. Yet the rarer the knowledge, the greater its power; the tongues of these ancient beings could channel mysterious forces, making them ideal for spellcasting.

Of the four ancient languages, Draconic was the most difficult.

Draconic differed fundamentally in structure and existence from humanoid tongues, placing immense demands on the caster’s own magic. Few mages could wield it fluently.

Beside Finn, Elma edged away, as if his outburst was too much. “You’re not the only one who can read lips, you know.” Yet her eyes, like everyone’s, were fixed on that weapon, distorting the very air around it.

“What spell is that? Elma, you must know!” Finn lowered his voice, turning to her.

“Undoubtedly, that’s Imaginary Magic, a branch of Draconic magic. Of all the spells I know that fit the description, only the Spear of Thunder comes to mind. It’s an ancient spell, predating the Cataclysm—I’ve seen it described in my grandmother’s magical chronicles,” Elma said hesitantly. “If I recall, the Othini family’s magical heritage is Draconic magic.”

At the word “heritage,” those nearby turned to listen.

In Boreia, all ancient families possessed their own unique magical systems, passed down through generations as psychic imprints. This was the so-called family inheritance.

To most mages, inherited magic was a divine gift, the envy of all.

Unlike common spells, which anyone could learn, inherited magic was a secret locked in a box, open only to those with the key of the psychic imprint.

That is to say, even with the knowledge—the incantation, the magic circle, every detail—without the matching psychic imprint, one could never cast the spell.

“Draconic magic… and the age of dragons—that was before the Cataclysm, right? How long ago was that?” Finn marveled, more at the age of the spell than Garnet’s inheritance.

Elma’s eyes shone as she spoke of magical history. “Back then, humans had to forge contracts with mythical beings to use magic. The Othini ancestors were battle-mages who rode dragons. Using the Spear of Thunder was their way of opening battle—a strike meant to kill in one blow.”

She faltered, her grip tightening on her staff. “Still, using such a powerful spell in this setting is a bit too dangerous…”

“They must have agreed beforehand. Look—Arlo doesn’t look worried at all,” Finn whispered. Like most of the onlookers, he had no idea of the duel’s true nature.

Indeed, Arlo, standing at the far end of the shield, only smiled wider as the spear of lightning took shape. Even from a distance, his eyes shone with excitement.

Veteran team members recognized that look—Arlo was, in most situations, easygoing and approachable, lacking the eccentricities often attributed to geniuses.

Except for one thing: his sense of danger was… unusual. The greater the risk, the more exhilarated he became.

Elma bit her lip, wanting to protest, but with Arlo clearly intent on concealing the duel’s true purpose, she couldn’t very well shout, “They’re dueling!” now.

Just then, a broad hand rested on her shoulder in quiet solidarity. She turned to find Ray, the silent witness, had joined them at some point.

“The spear’s ready,” Ray murmured with a sigh.

The spear in Garnet’s hands had become fully solid, no longer phantom. The Spear of Thunder hovered free from her grasp, charged with power.

The unleashed magic whipped up a storm; her robe flared, and stray silver hair sprang upright. At the heart of the tempest, only the spear—wreathed in lightning—remained utterly still, hovering above her right shoulder, poised to strike.

Even with the shield in place, the moment the spear assumed its attack posture, the air outside seemed to change, as if some ancient, primal terror had been unleashed. The crowd fell silent in collective awe.

Garnet fixed her gaze on Arlo, twenty paces distant, and with a sharp, decisive motion of her right hand, directed the attack.

The spear carved a dazzling arc through the air, piercing the stillness and flying straight at the heart of the black-haired Magister.

No one in the audience had time to blink, nor to exhale the breath they’d been holding, before the crackling tip struck the translucent barrier. The shield bowed inward, straining against the assault, on the verge of shattering.

Yet the Spear of Thunder halted, its tip lodged as if in some elastic, viscous medium, unable to advance. Despite the eruption of sparks and the roar of electric serpents, the spear would go no further.

Garnet’s expression did not change. She showed neither surprise nor anger. Clenching her fist, she shattered the spear into motes of light.

The crowd outside erupted in deafening cheers, but inside the dueling grounds, she and Arlo heard nothing.

Arlo patted down his black curls, singed slightly by the lightning, and grinned at Garnet, mouthing the words:

—Again.