"Reynard, I hate you. I will never kiss you, and that blue-dressed lady will never massage your body with her breasts. Also, I am in love with Markus now."
Each word said by Marien struck Reynard like a spear. His entire body shook as he stared in despair at her face, which was a wheel of cheese.
"No... Why him?!"
"Because he has—mister—generational wealth, while you only—mister!—robbed him for so cash. Clearly, he’s more superior than you are, peasant—Mister Artemy!"
With a gasp, Reynard woke up and realized that he was lying on his bed in the dormitory. Terence was shaking his shoulder. Other beds in the dormitory were empty, and sunlight was coming from the small windows.
The nightmare was already wiping itself from Reynard’s head, leaving behind only a throbbing headache and a strong feeling that he shouldn’t have drunk so much of his potions lately.
"Phew, you finally woke up! Look, you pay to watch over your piglet and your garden, not to... everything!" Terence glared at Reynard. If he were five years older, this might have been intimidating. "You are almost late to your duel. If you don’t appear, you will just forfeit your Inner Athanor!"
Reynard blinked, then jolted upward.
"Shit, the duel!"
He vaguely rembered practicing his spells day and night, then...
Then he decided to take a nap to refresh himself before the duel. That happened TOO recently.
"There’s still half an hour, Mister Artemy. I saw how hard you trained and that you didn’t co to the dormitories at night, so I guessed this might happen." Terence shook his head with too much disappointnt for soone as young as him.
"Hey, don’t give that look! I could have been sleeping in the garden, or an inn."
"But you didn’t!"
Reynard scoffed at him and just went to the exit.
"I don’t have the ti to deal with this, kid. I have a duel to fight!"
***
The dueling arena didn’t change since the last ti Reynard was here. A simple circle, surrounded by a runic do.
Again, a large crowd gathered to watch the spectacle—perhaps even larger than before. Not only was Reynard in the center of another scandal, but he was an Albedo magus now, and so was his opponent.
There wasn’t a single Citrinito-stage magus in the entire Blue Bismuth School, so the Albedo magi, even of the First Cycle, were the top dogs of the place. And they had the best spells.
The Magister Bartholow sat in his seat, watching the duelists with regal and wizened expression. Only when his eyes fell on Reynard, his gaze sharpened into a glare.
It wasn’t strange for him to sit in attendance at a fight between two Albedo magi. However, this ti Marien wasn’t anywhere in sight. But Reynard saw Terence in the crowd of spectators.
The kid waved at Reynard.
Reynard nodded and turned to his opponent. Orlan glared, raising his hands into a spellcasting stance, and Reynard mirrored his movent.
With his sharpened senses, if Reynard closed his eyes for a second, he could see the slow swirling of Orlan’s white aura. It was brighter than Reynard’s, likely because Orlan was in the middle of his Cycle of Operations, but it was still full of chunks that were a sign he was a long way from the Final Cycle.
Bartholow raised his hand.
"You have already announced your reasons to fight and your bets, duelists... Now, let the most HONORABLE win. Begin!"
’He definitely won’t rush to save my life if I get hit by a powerful attack!’ Reynard thought in a flash.
Both he and his opponent were already making passes for their first spells.
Fights between truly experienced opponents sotis beca akin to gas of poker, where both parties carefully picked the best card to use while trying to guess what the opponent had.
But Reynard already knew what his opponent had. The Blue Bismuth School had too few Albedo-stage spells, and of course, Orlan would start with one of them!
A second later, a bow of solid flas appeared in Orlan’s hands, ready to shoot much faster than a Nigredo spellcaster could shoot Fire Bolts.
The magus drew the flaming string, and a white-hot arrow flew at Reynard. At this distance, missing was near impossible.
This entire ti, Reynard’s full focus was on not fumbling his spell. He couldn’t afford to even dodge...
The flaming arrow struck his shoulder, turning into harmless sparks. When the fire dissipated, a soft outline of almost transparent armor beca visible. It fully encased Reynard and his clothing, and not a single spark had singed him.
A wave of gasps, murmurs, and exclamations went over the spectators.
"Is this the Spirit Armor spell?"
"It has to be!"
"This power... This complexity! It had deflected a shot from the Molten Bow like it released ordinary Nigredo-stage Fire Bolts!"
"No wonder. Molten Bow is just a black-class spell, while Spirit Armor is white-class. And he learned it in only three weeks? Hard to believe that Reynard actually has so much talent..."
Reynard grinned, staring at the shocked face of his opponent. Orlan even staggered back in shock, but then he drew his bow again.
"Ha-ha. It will take you ages to break this armor! Just give up while you can," Reynard said, reaching for his guns.
Orlan shook his head.
"You are bluffing. A First Cycle, like you can’t hold a powerful spell under pressure for long! It already wavers!"
He was right—Reynard could sense a few ripples. But...
"Okay, let put it differently. It will take you the rest of your life to break this armor, Moron-lan!"
Reynard sidestepped again, but the second flaming arrow still hit the side of his torso and sent more ripples through the Spirit Armor.
He aid his pistols at Orlan, who tried to duck out of the way.
BANG!
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