On the second day after Princess Alice's arrival in Toristine's capital, she requested a meeting with Duke Yanryu, who remained under strict guard. Accompanied by Queen Henrietta and several Royal Musketeers, she entered the chamber to speak privately with him. The audience lasted nearly an hour. When she finally emerged, her face was taut with fury.
That afternoon, Alice suggested that the festivities resume — specifically, the second of the Three Contests of the Bridal Welcome: the ten-on-ten magical duel.
Queen Henrietta, cautious, neither agreed nor refused immediately. She convened Osman and Sora for counsel.
"Duke Yanryu's dragon familiar is dead," Osman began, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully. "Against the Duke in his current state, Marshal Gramont would have perhaps a six-percent chance of victory, and Lady Vallière only slightly higher — perhaps seven."
Henrietta tilted her head. "And what would your own chances be, Osman?"
He smiled wryly. "I, too, lack a powerful familiar. At best, seven percent."
"Understood." Henrietta's tone softened. "Then I'll rely on you for the third match."
"I shall serve Your Majesty with all I have," Osman replied with a respectful bow.
The Queen turned to Sora. "Captain Sora, I realize your griffin was slain in the recent battle. Will that affect your squad's performance in the second contest?"
Sora glanced down for a moment, then met her eyes. "It's inconvenient, yes — but I believe in the strength of Tabasa and William. The Griffins will claim this round."
Henrietta smiled approvingly. "Then prepare for battle. The honor of Toristine rests with you."
"I will not fail," Sora said, bowing before leaving the chamber.
After conferring with Alice, Henrietta officially announced that the second match would take place the following afternoon at the capital's grand central square.
The news spread quickly. The square was soon transformed into an arena, with designated observation areas for nobles and foreign envoys, while ordinary citizens gathered beyond the cordoned perimeter.
When the appointed hour arrived, the city buzzed with life. Tens of thousands crowded the surrounding streets, their cheers echoing across the rooftops.
Queen Henrietta entered the grand viewing platform with Alice and other dignitaries, escorted by soldiers along a cleared path.
Below, the combatants took their places: on one side, Kelmania's red-robed magicians — on the other, Toristine's Griffin Squadron.
Ten crimson-clad mages walked in silence to the center of the square, their presence oppressive. The air rippled visibly around them, warped by intense heat and a faint, metallic scent of blood and flame. Onlookers instinctively stepped back.
Then, from the sky, came the piercing cries of griffins and dragons. All heads turned upward.
Tabasa's Cloud Dragon led the aerial procession with Sora on its back, followed by William and eight Griffin riders in tight formation. The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
"Go, Griffin Team!" "Don't lose to them!" "Captain Sora, show them Toristine's pride!"
The squad's morale surged. They were fighting on home soil — in front of their people — and none intended to disappoint.
The red-robed magicians stood motionless on the opposite end, their covered faces unreadable. Beneath their hoods, they watched in chilling synchrony — eyes like embers fixed on the griffins circling six or seven meters above.
Sora, seated behind Tabasa, narrowed his eyes at the strange, disciplined group.
As the presiding official, Osman floated forward to the center of the arena. "This contest represents friendship between nations," he declared ceremoniously, though most knew it was little more than a formality. With a sweep of his wand, he carved a shimmering scar across the stone floor — a ten-meter line glowed faintly where his wind blade struck.
"The match begins!"
"William," Sora called, "probe them first. Harass from above."
"Understood." William signaled three of his teammates, and together they dove toward the enemy line, chanting.
Two shouted [Fireball], the others [Wind Blade], their voices ringing crisply. Four spells launched in convergence as their griffins swooped within ten meters of the red-robed mages.
Without hesitation, the enemy raised their hands and chanted in perfect unison.
"Yah Fell Albrook!" [Fireball]
The harmony of their voices was eerie — every syllable identical in pitch and timing.
Before the smaller spells could even strike, a massive crimson orb, three meters across, bloomed before the ten mages and rolled forward like a miniature sun. It swallowed the lesser attacks whole, devouring them effortlessly before surging toward the Griffins.
"Scatter! Evade!" William shouted.
The four riders split into pairs, banking hard left and right. The enormous fireball burst between them — BOOM! — sending shockwaves and a wave of searing heat through the air. Their mounts screamed in distress but recovered their balance.
From the viewing platform, Queen Henrietta's brow furrowed. "What in the world was that, Osman?"
Osman's expression had grown grave. "A rare phenomenon — resonance casting. I read of it only in ancient records. Two mages with identical mana signatures and synchronized rhythm could amplify power by chanting together. But ten in perfect unison? That should be impossible."
Alice, seated nearby, smiled serenely. "Indeed, perfect synchronicity among ten magicians would be impossible — unless trained from birth. I handpicked these ten in Kelmania — children of similar aptitude, raised together, educated identically, molded to breathe and speak as one. It took twenty years to create these red mages, each barely reaching [Line-tier 4]. Together, they act as one soul."
Osman's frown deepened. "Ten peak Line-tier magicians capable of resonance casting… this will be difficult."
"Is there a countermeasure?" Henrietta asked quickly.
"In theory," Osman said, stroking his beard, "it works by stacking destructive force. A single [Fireball] has a power rank of one. Ten simultaneously can form a merged [Fireball] at rank ten. However, a third-tier spell such as [Pyroburst] ranks at sixteen — enough to overpower their combined output."
Even as he finished explaining, the battle below intensified. The Griffin riders had pulled back, leaving William alone. Hovering high, he began chanting loudly — his voice echoing through the square.
[Pyroburst], the third-tier flame spell.
A massive orb of fire, four meters across, flared into existence before William, its surface rippling with molten texture. With a forward thrust of his arm, he hurled it toward the enemy.
The red-robed magicians didn't falter. As one, they extended their arms, chanting the same line once more.
Another colossal fireball, nearly as large, surged to meet William's attack midair. The collision was deafening — a bloom of fire and shockwaves tearing across the field.
William was hurled backward by the concussion, barely managing to stabilize his griffin before landing atop a nearby rooftop, singed but alive.
The red mages' robes burned at the edges, yet not one moved or screamed; they simply resumed casting. Their burning flesh gave off a sickly-sweet smell as they chanted again in unison.
"Another [Fireball], incoming!" Sora warned. "Everyone, spread out — shields up!"
He and Tabasa raised wind barriers. The next blast detonated prematurely in midair, throwing a wave of hot air across the square.
From the stands, Alice smiled again. "Dean Osman was partly right — but his calculations neglect efficiency. My red mages can conjure [Fireball] using only a quarter of the usual mana, thanks to twenty years of specialization. Third-tier magic consumes four times as much. Even a peak [Triangle-tier] fire mage can cast only two or three [Pyrobursts] before exhaustion. But my ten red mages can unleash a dozen giant fireballs — each one stronger than a full [Triangle-tier] spell."
The Griffins reeled under the continuing barrage. Even without direct hits, the heat waves tore at their wings and scorched exposed skin. Several riders lost control, crashing into rooftops or spiraling down. Within moments, nearly half the squad was forced to withdraw.
"At this rate, we'll lose," Sora muttered. "We have to break their chant cycle. Tabasa — cover me!"
She gave a firm nod, gripping her wand.
The next fireball roared toward them. Instead of dodging, Tabasa steered her Cloud Dragon straight toward it. At the last second, the dragon pivoted sharply, its wingbeats deflecting the oncoming blast to one side.
BOOM!
As the explosion threw waves of hot air around them, Tabasa completed her spell.
"Haya Yat Water 2 Griffin!" — [Water Shock]
A surge of water burst from her wand, exploding into steam the moment it met the heat. The resulting pressure wave catapulted the Cloud Dragon and its riders forward — straight toward the enemy.
The red mages, unflinching, had already prepared their next spell. A three-meter-wide fireball shot toward the advancing pair — too close now to dodge.
"Dever — full absorption!" Sora shouted.
"Oh-hoh, a feast for me, buddy!" the sword replied eagerly.
Standing tall on the dragon's back, Sora swung Dever with both hands. The sword flared brilliantly, pulling the oncoming flame toward it like a vortex. The entire fireball distorted, spiraled inward, and vanished into the blade.
"I can still eat!" Dever roared delightedly as the weapon's surface glowed molten red.
Another fiery sphere formed instantly ahead of them.
"Then take it back!" Sora thrust Dever forward.
A torrent of crimson light erupted from the sword's tip, slamming into the new fireball.
Tabasa completed a secondary incantation — a [Freeze] spell, blending water and wind. Ice encased both her and Sora just as the two fires met.
The twin explosions merged — the blast consuming the center of the arena. But the thin layer of ice, melted by superheated air, dispersed the energy, sparing them from harm. The Cloud Dragon roared and flapped furiously, bursting free from the smoke and flame.
When the dust cleared, the red mages' robes were gone — their bodies blackened, blistered, yet still chanting with blank expressions, utterly unfazed.
Sora grimaced, vaulted off the dragon's back, and landed amid them.
"Hash Wendy Lie!" — [Wind Blade]!
He swung, unleashing a horizontal surge of wind that cut through three of them, drawing sprays of blood. Still, they continued chanting.
Sora's expression hardened. He drove his blade straight through another's chest.
"No!!" Alice's voice rang out. "We surrender! Stop at once!"
Around him, four bodies had fallen. The remaining red mages stood motionless, void of emotion — empty vessels built only for casting.
"I order you to stop!" Alice shouted again, trembling.
At her command, the surviving mages lowered their arms, forming a silent cluster around their fallen comrades.
Sora exhaled slowly, flicked the blood from Dever's blade, and sheathed it. The killing stopped.
For a moment, the entire square was silent. Then, a deafening roar erupted.
"Griffin Squadron!" "Sora! Sora!"
Cheers rolled like thunder, echoing off the stone walls.
Alice turned away sharply, her expression cold, and strode out of the grandstand. Foreign envoys whispered among themselves, each interpreting what they had witnessed differently.
Queen Henrietta, however, allowed herself a small, proud smile.
Under the watchful eyes of the cheering crowd, Sora, Tabasa, and their scorched Cloud Dragon left the arena with quiet dignity.
..
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