The day of the duel finally arrived.
"How the hell do you always get involved in stuff like this?" Felix asked, staring at Soren like he was some rare, self-destructive monster.
The waiting room was small and utilitarian, with stone walls, a bench, and a rack for spare training gear.
The muffled noise of the arena outside bled faintly through the door.
Soren stretched his neck from side to side.
"Do you think I'm trying to?" he shot back.
Felix crossed his arms.
"At this point? Maybe," he said dryly.
"Shut it, trash."
Felix snorted and shook his head, but the edge of a smile tugged at his lips.
"Well, whatever, good luck."
He reached out and patted Soren's shoulder once, firm, solid, before heading for the door.
Amelia and Esper had already stopped by earlier.
Amelia had walked in, stared at him for a few seconds, then simply said, "Don't lose," and left after leaning against him in silence for a moment.
Esper had barged in without knocking, nearly knocked over a stool, then loudly declared, "You'd better look cool out there, Cutie!" before shoving a candy into his hand and running off again.
Now, with Felix gone, the room was completely silent.
Soren exhaled, looking down at his hands.
"I'm really not…" he muttered.
Not what?
Not looking for trouble?
Not the protagonist?
Not interested in any of this?
He wasn't even sure which complaint he wanted to finish.
The worst part was that as the number of incidents piled up, it became harder and harder to deny that trouble followed him.
Completely rejecting it with a straight face felt… dishonest.
But he knew himself.
He didn't wake up in the morning and go hunting for drama.
All he ever tried to do was mind his own business, keep his head down, and survive.
And yet, somehow, the script always bent toward him anyway.
"There's nothing I can do now…" he murmured.
The duel was already approved.
The penalty agreed upon.
Witnesses had heard the terms.
Backing out now would just hand Ivan ammunition and turn him into an easy target for every noble idiot who thought they could bully him under the guise of "honour".
[Soren Arden, please get ready and prepare to head out in 5 minutes.]
The Overseer's magically amplified voice echoed faintly into the room.
"Yeah, yeah," Soren muttered.
He pushed himself to his feet and started stretching, rolling his shoulders, loosening his legs.
As he moved, his eyes dropped to his clothes.
'I should buy some better clothes later,' he thought.
The Stellaris Academy uniform was fine for walking around, but for combat, it was terrible.
Restrictive trousers that tugged around his knees when he lowered his stance.
A slightly oversized white shirt that caught on his movements.
A tie that flapped around like it was trying to choke him every time there was wind.
And the cloak, long, heavy, flowing past his knees, great for hiding weapons or slacking off, terrible for a clean pivot.
In a crowded dungeon or tight alley, all of that was manageable.
In a formal, open duel?
It was just extra fabric waiting to trip him.
'Should I buy some armour?' he wondered.
The thought had come up more than once recently, especially after forming a connection with Hammond.
Armour meant survivability, and survivability was hard to turn down.
But every time he imagined wearing full plate like a knight, another image followed: his movement slowed, his spells interrupted, his axis of rotation restricted.
The way he fought relied on agility and positioning as much as spellcasting.
Armour might keep him alive.
It might also make him too slow to stay alive.
'Maybe I'll just get some reliable relics later,' he decided.
Rings, pendants, earrings, small things that didn't interfere with his movements.
Dungeon items with enchantments, passive buffs, or conditional skills.
The sort of gear that quietly tilted the odds in your favour without weighing you down.
"I guess I need to start thinking about dungeons, finally," he muttered.
It was a topic he had carefully circled around until now.
Dungeons meant risk.
Dungeons meant intersecting with the main story.
And the main story meant Alex, routes, heroines, flags, and all the things he had spent so long trying not to disturb.
But he couldn't stay at his current level forever.
If he wanted to live well in this world, he needed more power.
Actual, concrete power, not just cleverness, not just game knowledge that got weaker with every divergence from the original plot.
Of course, he still planned to fix the cracks.
To nudge events back onto a safer track where he could.
But that would take time, and he needed to be strong enough to act when it mattered.
[Soren Arden, please come out when you're ready.]
"It's time then," he said quietly.
He unfastened his academy cloak and tossed it onto the nearby bench, rolling his sleeves up past his forearms.
As he turned toward the door…
Ting–♪
A light, crystalline sound rang in his ears.
Soren's lips quirked up even before the window appeared.
.
▶ Quest Received! ◀
.
▶ Duel ◀
[Details: Win the duel.]
[Difficulty: B-]
[Reward: Increase Agility by 0.3, 150 Points]
.
He let out a small, humourless laugh.
"I was already planning to win, but I guess I have to try even harder now."
A B minus difficulty meant the system at least considered this nontrivial.
No auto-win.
No guaranteed stomp.
That actually made it easier to focus.
He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the changing room.
The corridor leading to the arena was short and dim.
As he walked, the faint murmur of the crowd grew clearer: scattered voices, the scraping of benches, the ambient buzz of people waiting to be entertained.
He stepped into the light.
The arena he had been assigned to was the smallest of the five on campus.
A simple oval of white stone, marked with faint circles for barrier spells.
Low stands rose on either side, with a capacity of barely a hundred seats.
This was a place for small disputes, private scores, noble pissing contests, not grand events.
Soren couldn't help but think it suited his current situation perfectly.
'Petty nobles and bad timing, feels about right.'
His opponent was already standing in the opposite half of the arena.
Ivan Olfram.
Plate armour from head to toe, polished enough that the light glinted faintly off each curve.
A long sword hung at his hip, the grip worn enough to show actual use.
His posture was rigid, textbook knight stance: feet set, shoulders square, chin lifted just enough to seem confident, not arrogant.
Soren glanced at him once, then turned to the Overseer stationed at the edge of the arena.
"Hey," he called. "If he's wearing all of that, am I allowed to use my personal weapon?"
The Overseer, a middle-aged woman with her hair tied back in a tight bun, looked up from her clipboard.
[As student Ivan Olfram has taken it upon himself to bring his own equipment, I will permit it,] she said, voice amplified by magic.
"Great," Soren said. "「Inventory」."
The space in front of his left hand rippled like disturbed water.
He reached in, fingers closing around cool metal, and pulled Labrys free.
The axe's current form was compact, no longer the enormous two-handed monstrosity Freya used, but a handaxe perfectly sized for him, courtesy of [Synchronise].
Even so, the weight, the colour, and the distinctive design were unmistakable.
— A spatial ring? Is he showing off?
— I thought his family didn't care about him?
— Maybe that was just a rumour…
The whispers started quietly, more focused on the ring than anything else, until more eyes locked onto the weapon itself.
Then the tone changed.
— Wait, that axe…
— Isn't that Freya Arden's weapon?!
— Why is he using it?
Soren ignored the rising noise and adjusted his grip on Labrys, feeling the mana-conducting metal hum faintly under his fingers.
He took a slow look around the stands.
Most of the seats were empty, but that was fine.
The smaller crowd made it easier to find the people he actually cared about.
He spotted Felix first, sitting near the front, arms folded and legs spread, trying to look relaxed and failing completely.
His gaze was locked onto Soren, brows furrowed, jaw tense.
To Felix's right sat Amelia.
She was slouched in her seat, as if she would fall asleep at any moment, but her golden eyes were open, watching the arena with a quiet intensity that made the fur at the tips of her ears stand out more.
On Felix's other side was Esper, leaning over the railing with her chin in her hands, legs swinging.
Even from here, Soren could see her lips moving as she made some comment that had Felix scowling and turning away.
A little distance away, clustered around a separate row, was a group of girls who kept glancing at Felix with expressions ranging from disdain to mild horror.
'They must be Essy's friends,' Soren thought dryly.
On the opposite side of the arena, standing alone, was Lilliana.
She had chosen a spot near the corner, away from the cluster of nobles.
Her posture was straight, but her expression was tight, lips pressed together, brows drawn in faint worry.
Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers intertwined hard enough that her knuckles were white.
Soren felt a small stab of warmth at the sight.
'You really worry too much, Lilly. It's just a duel.'
Even as he thought it, he knew that for her, pain was pain.
It didn't matter if it was "just a duel".
If he got hurt, it would bother her.
On the other side of the audience, drawing their own little orbit, sat Louise Cruentus.
Black hair cascading down to her neck, red eyes narrowed, surrounded by a small crowd of other nobles.
Even from a distance, Soren could feel the intensity of her presence, sharp, commanding, possessive.
She looked ready to jump down into the arena at the first hint of something unfair.
'And finally…'
His gaze moved.
A golden-haired boy sat near the centre of the stands.
Alex.
He was leaning forward slightly, one elbow on his knee, chin propped on his hand.
When he noticed Soren looking, he smiled openly and lifted a hand in an easy wave.
Next to him, Olivia mirrored the gesture with a softer, more reserved wave of her own, though her smile looked slightly strained.
Soren's chest tightened faintly.
'I should talk to Olivia sometime,' he thought.
He had been avoiding her without meaning to, not knowing how to face her after everything that had happened with Alex.
Now that he had steadied himself a little, the avoidance felt childish.
He exhaled and lowered his gaze.
A rough voice pulled him back to the present.
"You actually showed up?" Ivan scoffed.
"Yep," Soren replied.
"You'd better listen well after you've lost," Ivan said, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Soren tilted his head, his tone flat with boredom.
"You know, usually when people act all confident before a fight, they're the one who loses."
Ivan's jaw flexed.
"Hah," he snorted. "We'll see, won't we?"
"I guess so," Soren said with a small smirk.
Throughout the exchange, Soren never once looked directly at Ivan for more than a second.
Most of his attention was on Labrys, his sleeves, the boundary lines of the arena.
He rolled his wrist, checking the balance of the axe in his hand, adjusting his stance, mentally mapping out distances.
It wasn't deliberate provocation; he simply didn't care enough about Ivan to give him the full weight of his focus before the match started.
Unfortunately, to Ivan, it looked exactly like condescension.
His eyebrow twitched, and he gritted his teeth.
[Before the duel begins,] the Overseer's voice rang out across the arena, [let us read the reasoning for the duel and the penalty for the loser.]
Both Soren and Ivan turned their heads toward her.
[Ivan Olfram, ranked sixty-fourth in Martial Studies, claims that Soren Arden, ranked ninety-sixth in Arcane Studies, has not only abandoned his noble dignity, bringing disgrace to his family, but has also been 'playing around' and 'flirting with women far above his status' in a shameful manner.]
"What?" Soren blurted.
He stared up toward the Overseer, then at Ivan, then back again.
'It's true that I haven't cared about my nobility at all, but flirting?'
His head began to ache.
The Overseer continued, unbothered by his disbelief.
[From high-ranking students such as Esper Rupindolf, to royalty like Amelia Indras Einhardt, and even beyond that with Professor Lilliana Roseblood, Ivan Olfram claims that Soren Arden's behaviour has been audacious, considering his own status and actions.]
There was a ripple across the stands.
A few people turned to look at the mentioned parties.
Esper waved cheerfully.
Amelia closed her eyes.
Lilliana's ears flattened.
Soren pinched the bridge of his nose.
'Why do I sound like some dirtbag playboy when you say it like that…?' he thought.
The Overseer moved on.
[For these reasons, Ivan Olfram challenged Soren Arden to a formal duel. The penalty decided amongst the participants was that the loser would grant a wish to the winner. As both students are nobles, this wish will be overseen by a member of faculty to ensure that it remains fair and reasonable.]
Soren slowly opened his eyes and let out a long sigh.
At least there was a limit.
No insane demands like "give me your title" or "break off all your contracts".
It would still be a pain, but manageable.
Assuming he lost.
Which he didn't plan to.
[Soren Arden, are you ready?] The Overseer asked.
He tightened his grip on Labrys and nodded.
"Yes," he answered.
[Ivan Olfram, are you ready?]
Ivan drew his sword with a metallic hiss, pointing the tip toward Soren.
"Yes," he said.
Mana stirred along the arena's boundary lines as the protective barriers activated, a faint shimmer rising in the air.
[The duel between Soren Arden and Ivan Olfram will now commence,] the Overseer declared.
A hush fell over the stands.
[3…]
Soren inhaled slowly, centring himself.
The weight of Labrys in his hand felt reassuring, solid.
[2…]
He let his mana rise, coiling at the edges of his circuits, ready to burst into [Gaia] the moment the signal dropped.
[1…]
He thought of Amelia's quiet, "Don't lose."
Of Lilliana's worried gaze.
Of Esper's bright grin and Felix's frustrated, "Good luck."
[Begin.]
————「❤︎」————