"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Soren scoffed. "You came in full plate armour to a duel."
"A noble is one who always strives to do their best, no matter the situation," Ivan said proudly.
"Ugh, cut the crap."
"Aren't you the one using a dungeon relic?" Ivan shot back.
Soren rolled his eyes.
"Fair point," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
He lowered his stance, weight coiling into his legs.
Wooong—
This time, the magic circle bloomed beneath his feet, a pale-green sigil spreading across the heel of his boot.
"「Breeze」."
WHOOSH—!
The world blurred.
The upgraded spell shoved him forward like he had been launched from a slingshot.
His body hadn't fully adapted to the new level of speed; the force nearly pitched him face-first into the ground.
'Too fast to handle cleanly…'
'But that's fine. He's not moving anyway.'
Ivan, startled by Soren's sudden burst, was a fraction late raising his shield.
THUD!
Labrys slammed into the shoulder of his armour.
"Kugh—!"
Metal groaned, and Ivan staggered half a step, grip loosening.
Clatter—
The bastard sword slipped from his hand and hit the ground.
Soren felt the impact all the way up his arm, but when he bounced back and glanced at the point of contact, the reality sank in.
No cut.
No dent.
No visible damage at all.
"Tch."
Blunt axe.
Walking fortress.
A fantastic match-up.
Still, letting up now was suicide.
He rushed in again, refusing to give Ivan time to pick up his sword.
"「Ignition」."
Fire burst from his left palm, a bloom of orange and red that erupted between them, crawling up Ivan's shield, licking at the edges of his visor.
It wasn't strong enough to melt metal, but it was enough to blind.
Slice—
Labrys came down again, this time aiming for the same shoulder joint as before, pushing mana into the strike.
Thud.
The blow landed.
He felt the shock travel up his arms once more.
'That one definitely got through the armour inside at least,' Soren thought. 'Bruising, maybe a fracture if I'm lucky.'
Ivan grunted, forced back a step as the flames spluttered against his plate.
He shoved forward with his shield to knock Soren away, but…
"「Breeze」."
Fwaa—
Soren slid out of range again, the tail end of the spell catching his tie and sending it flaring backwards.
From the outside, it probably looked like Soren was dominating the duel.
Up close, he knew better.
"Fuck, it's like hitting a wall," he muttered, flexing his tingling fingers around Labrys's hilt.
He had landed several clean hits now.
All of them with a relic axe, powered by boosted agility and careful mana control, combined with the terrain stacked in his favour.
And yet Ivan still moved like the damage was minor.
Slow, sure, but fundamentally solid.
No broken stance, no staggered breathing, no sign of collapsing soon.
'He's already turned it into a battle of endurance.'
Soren clicked his tongue.
The moment the sword slipped from Ivan's hand, he had swallowed his pride and shifted into pure defence, treating Labrys like a heavy hammer he just needed to survive.
'He's willing to look pathetic if it means winning,' Soren thought. 'That's annoying… but smart.'
Whenever Soren was forced to make distance, he threw out spells to keep pressure up.
"「Shockwave」."
Concussive blasts pounded into Ivan's armour.
The shield absorbed most of it.
The rest rippled across the plate, bleeding off into the ground through sheer weight and stance.
It wasn't nothing, but it wasn't enough.
'Think. Think. What can I actually do?'
On the skill list in his head, his weaknesses were glaring.
Support?
Fine.
[Heal], [Minor Blessings], and divine incantations gave him a decent baseline.
Defense?
Between [Shield], [Divine Barrier], and his axe, he could keep himself alive for a while.
Offence?
Pathetic.
[Ignition] was weak. [Shock] wasn't even lethal.
His basic spells didn't have the punch to crack plate meant for Martial Studies kids.
He had blood magic now, but it was still in its infancy.
[Blood Absorption] had matured fast, but [Hemokinesis] was still at the "wobbling blob" stage.
'Actually…'
An idea surfaced, something wild he had toyed with in theory but never tried for real.
It was risky, but so was letting this fight drag on.
He drew a quiet breath, then slid his foot back.
Wooong—
A magic circle formed beneath his boots once more, thin as a ghost.
Soren kept his posture upright this time, giving Ivan nothing visual to latch onto.
"「Inventory」."
He flicked his left hand out.
Labrys vanished in a ripple of light, drawn back into his inventory.
The reaction was immediate.
The audience went from murmuring to loud disbelief.
— Is he giving up?
— Did he just put away Freya Arden's axe?
Ivan's visor turned toward him in open confusion.
"Are you giving up?" he asked, scepticism dripping from each word.
Soren didn't even bother to answer.
He simply let the purplish-silver divine light gather again at the edge of fingertips, feeling the familiar ache behind his eyes as [Concentration] stretched itself thin.
Then…
"「Breeze」."
The circle under his feet ignited.
He shot forward, this time completely unarmed.
The pressure on his focus spiked as he began shaping a new circle, not in his palm, not on the ground, but on the surface of his tongue.
His teeth clenched down, jaw trembling.
He didn't dare open his mouth.
Not yet.
He closed the distance in heartbeats.
Ivan raised his shield, ready for a tackle or a feint.
Instead, Soren jumped.
Grab—
His hands caught hold of the armour, fingers latching onto pauldrons and ridges where plates overlapped.
Ivan grunted, more in annoyance than strain; Soren's weight was nothing compared to the gear he wore every day.
"What are you doing?" Ivan demanded, reaching up instinctively to rip him off.
He froze halfway.
Soren's hand seized his helmet.
In one sharp movement, Soren flipped the visor up, revealing the lion beastkin's face, tan skin, sharp eyes, pupils tightening in surprise.
Soren leaned in close.
Their foreheads almost touched.
He could feel Ivan's breath, hot and uneven, against his own skin.
Ivan had just enough time for his eyes to widen as he saw it.
A faint glow inside Soren's mouth, a tight, pulsing magic circle etched across his tongue like a brand.
Wooong—
Soren bared his teeth in a grin.
"「Ig-ishon」."
The word came out mangled, his tongue fighting the circle drawn across it.
The syllables slurred, consonants clipped.
But intent didn't slur.
He knew the spell.
He held its shape in his mind.
He forced the meaning into the broken sound.
Fwooo—!
Fire blasted out point-blank.
The flames didn't have to cross air.
They didn't give Ivan time to flinch away.
They poured straight from Soren's mouth into the open gap of the visor, flooding Ivan's unarmoured face with heat and light.
"Gaaah—!"
Ivan roared, jerking back in pain, gauntleted hands flying up to his eyes.
Soren let go and kicked off his chest, using the force of the recoil and the dying breeze spell to fling himself backwards.
He hit the ground, rolled, and came up coughing, eyes stinging.
"Cough—! Cough! Fuck—"
His tongue felt like he had poured freshly boiled water over it.
The heat had licked back around his teeth, burning the inside of his own mouth raw.
He tasted smoke and metal.
"Shit, that hurt…" he rasped, pressing his fingers against his lips.
The purplish-silver light in his hand flickered as he pulled his divine power together.
.
[Minor Blessing of Agility has worn off!]
.
"St—stitch thy flesh…" he gritted, tongue protesting every consonant, "and end thy—nnngh—thy agony. 「Heal」."
The blessing snapped off, traded away for the familiar cool flow of healing.
Silver-purple light seeped into his jaw and tongue, numbing the worst of the pain before knitting the burns back together.
After a few seconds, his breathing steadied.
He ran his tongue cautiously along the inside of his cheek.
The raw, blistering pain had faded to a dull ache.
"Let's never use fire magic for that type of attack again," he muttered. "Idiot…"
It had been the first time he had actually cast from a magic circle placed somewhere other than his hands or feet.
Ever since he had learned how to project circles onto other parts of his body, he had been experimenting in secret, etching weak circles on his back, legs, and, eventually, his tongue.
But he had never had the chance to try using them in a real fight.
Class time practice didn't exactly leave room for burning your own mouth on purpose.
Now he knew two things:
One, casting from his tongue absolutely worked.
Two, he really should stick to wind or maybe water there, because fire had almost grilled his own brain.
'Still… it's good to know,' he thought, flexing his jaw.
As long as he held the full image of the spell and its intent, the system seemed to forgive imperfect pronunciation.
The name didn't have to be clean; it just had to be recognisable to him.
That opened up a lot of options in close quarters, especially if his hands were pinned.
He rubbed his mouth a couple more times, then finally lifted his head to check on Ivan.
The moment his eyes landed on his opponent, the small victory he had been feeling evaporated.
"...Shit."
————「❤︎」————