Matabar

Book II. Chapter 55 - First Match

Chapter 55

Six Months Ago

Ardi was sprawled out across the cold floor of the training grounds. In the basement of the Aversky estate, which was situated along the Guild Embankment of St. Vasyli’s Island, the air was, as always, a biting mix of stifling heat and a heavy, persistent smoke.

Some days, not often, but sometimes, the Grand Magister of War Magic smoked with such intensity that Milar, by comparison, looked like a shy schoolboy who’d just snagged his first ever cigarette.

Even now, Lord Aversky was sitting next to his favorite little table, one leg crossed casually over the other. In one hand, he was holding a cup that had long since yellowed from the sheer volume of coffee it had contained over the years, and in his right was yet another printed publication dedicated to the high, esoteric matters of Star Magic. And finally, clamped firmly between his lips, a cigarette smoldered lazily.

Ardan, his chest heaving, stared with a certain degree of genuine hatred at the unshakeable “Tony” doll.

Wearing that same wooden smirk it always used to taunt him, it was refusing to let Ardi get through its defenses, managing to form a shield faster than Ardan could weave his spell… every single time.

And this was taking into account the fact that he was now forming seals quickly enough that Aversky offered some criticism only occasionally, rather than with every attempt he made.

“You really must decide, Ard, which of the strategies you are going to be adhering to,” Aversky remarked, shaking a flake of ash from the scarlet coal of his cigarette. “Otherwise, your endeavors will just annoy me for no reason.”

“I would’ve done so already, Mister Aversky-”

“Edward,” the Grand Magister interrupted smoothly. “I have already asked you to use my name.”

Ardan muttered an apology and continued.

“Edward, if you had actually told me something about the strategies, I would have applied them immediately.”

At times, Ardan had to draw upon every ounce of strength he had left after his work, his own research, and his studies just to keep from snapping at Aversky’s teaching style.

Thank goodness that his invigorating concoctions were still effective.

“Did I not tell you about them?” The Grand Magister asked with genuine bewilderment.

Ardan only waved his hand vaguely. He had long since grown accustomed to the fact that Aversky was a consummate professional in his field. This field, however, had absolutely no relation to the ability to transfer one’s knowledge and skills to others.

The man might have deservedly been considered a genius, but nature had taken a vacation right before it should’ve granted him teaching abilities... empathy... basic politeness and... Well, quite a lot of things, really.

“Then watch and memorize,” Aversky cleared his throat, set his book aside, and placed his cup back onto the saucer with a delicate clink.

It did not escape Ardi’s notice that Aversky was having a hard time getting up from the chair.

In recent months, the Grand Magister’s schedule had treated him to the same lack of mercy Ardan experienced from his own. The Grand Magister was growing paler by the day, losing weight by the week, and his skin was turning gray in places and becoming marred with unhealthy red spots.

Aversky lacked vitamins, sun, rest, and a normal diet, but the Grand Magister himself had declared that, in truth, all he really lacked were a few additional hours in the day and adequate officials in the Ministry of Defense.

Those same officials who, with every new order they issued, imposed stricter and stricter deadlines on him.

“So,” Aversky took one of the staves from the rack and stood in the center of the training ground. “There exist only two fundamental strategies for one-on-one duels. All the rest are nothing more than derivatives and frivolous executions of these two paradigms.”

“And what about a group battle?” Ardi could not refrain from asking.

Aversky employed his signature gesture: he arched his right eyebrow and frowned slightly. Ardi raised his hands apologetically.

“So then, the first strategy is called... to be honest, I have forgotten,” Aversky cut himself off and tapped the pommel of his staff against his chin. “Yes, I really can’t recall it. But the essence of it is that you are required to rewrite the seal as quickly and for as long as possible.”

“I need to cast… faster and longer?” Ardan asked again.

“Yes. Is something unclear?”

“To be honest… everything is unclear about that.”

Aversky sighed and shook his head wearily.

“What mediocrity you flaunt, Ard... You need to rewrite the seal on the fly as quickly as you can, and then continue doing so right up until the very last moment before you conjure it.” After such a detailed description, things became immediately clearer.

Aversky, however, likely thought that he had wasted those extra words and some of his time in vain. “Watch and learn.”

Ardan assumed a sitting position and, focusing hard, tried to track all the nuances of the Grand Magister’s casting. Aversky raised his staff and struck the floor with it.

He did so unhurriedly, not at all like he would have done in battle.

And as soon as the base of it touched the tiles on the floor, the simple scarlet seal of a Spark spell flared up beneath him.

Only instead of defining itself with clear contours, arrays and vectors, it bubbled like a boiling mirage. Or perhaps it looked like the clumsy attempt of a child to paint something with watercolors... on water set over a fire.

The runic connections tangled with one another, the contours merged in some disgrace of chaotic intertwining, and the vectors danced in circles around the unfolding mess.

Things went on like this until, for a brief moment that resembled a flash more than the actual formation of a seal, everything froze, and then the spell was conjured in the form of a simple Spark.

Calmly, and with an undertone of impudent mockery, it passed through the defenses of the “Tony” doll.

The complex mechanism simply hadn’t managed to adjust to the unexpected incoming parameters, and the stationary shield let the attack through.

This was made all the more impressive thanks to the fact that the “Tony” doll was powered by two Pink Star generators, each with a capacity of sixty rays. It wasn’t really surprising that neither the Grand nor the Spell Market possessed such training aids as they were too expensive... assuming that Aversky had even shared his “Tony” schematics with anyone.

“That is the first strategy,” Aversky explained. “Will you name its strengths for me, Ard?”

Ardan, calling up the memory of what he had just seen and analyzing the event anew, answered with a small bit of uncertainty:

“The opponent is very unlikely to create a shield that’s attuned to the parameters of the offensive spell,” Ardan hypothesized. “I saw that you were forming a Spark, but the specific parameters remained a mystery until the very last second. That means that I would have had to, in any case, just to be safe, spend more rays to include as many variations in the shield as possible.”

Aversky sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

“An excellent answer for an engineer, my dear Ard, and... absolutely unbearable for a war mage. You have three Stars, so you should already know that besides shields, a war mage has an entire arsenal of countermeasures against enemy spells!”

“Edward.”

“What?”

“I have two Stars.”

Aversky blinked a couple of times and hissed something inarticulate.

“Then fine... yes... Overall, you noted everything correctly, Ard,” Aversky began, but immediately raised an index finger. “But! A good war mage must bring the use of shields with basic parameters to the level of reflex! That fraction of a moment which separates the strategy of multiple rewriting from conjuration should be quite enough to mount a solid defense!”

Ardi strongly doubted that Aversky was telling the truth right now. If that fraction of a moment were truly enough, then such a strategy would not exist because it would lose all meaning.

“Good, and can you name the negatives, Ard?”

The youth fell silent again for a short time.

“One needs to know all the modifications thoroughly, by heart,” Ardi began to list. “And one cannot repeat them in a cycle, because the opponent might notice that. It’s also a heavy load on the brain—you can’t encrypt several seals like that in a fight. And there is a high probability of making a mistake in the process of rewriting. And if you drag it out, you might break the seal entirely during the process of creating it.”

“Approximately,” Aversky waved his hand, which, by his standards, was akin to someone else yelling “Excellent!” “You are right, Ard. Another problem with this strategy, which is admittedly hard to notice, is that if you use it with common seals and their modifications, your opponent will understand everything at the early stages. Therefore, it is recommended to use it either with your own modifications, or with your own spells entirely. But, alas, one’s own military spells are difficult for even war mages of the Yellow Star to make. There’s too little time...”

Ardi didn’t doubt that this was exactly how things stood. He estimated that the process of learning to encrypt one’s seals in such a manner… and not even in battle, but a calm training environment, would require hundreds of hours.

Hundreds of hours for a single seal, not several of them.

“The second strategy, which you and I have been practicing lately without your knowledge,” the Grand Magister continued, “consists of forming weakly encrypted seals as quickly as possible, then rewriting them on the fly. You do several rewrites in a short period, and then conjure them as quickly as possible.”

Aversky raised his staff and tapped it against the floor.

Beneath him, another Spark seal flared up, the bridges of the runic connections clicked over several times, the vectors distorted, and the contours trembled.

And then a thin, fiery needle no longer than a pinky finger plunged into the “Tony” doll.

Everything happened faster than a blink, perhaps.

Ardi, over the last few months, had learned how to form seals quickly. And perhaps he was even proud of this achievement of his, albeit to a small degree. But, after seeing his mentor casting rapidly, he truly understood how far he was not just from the level of Grand Magister Aversky, but even just a graduate of the Military Faculty of the Grand.

Ardi hadn’t even come close to the speed Aversky had just demonstrated, and he certainly could not have rewritten the seal even twice, let alone six times, like Edward had, in such a short span of time.

And he’d done it so easily and casually that such a monstrous level of mastery over war magic had looked accessible to almost anyone.

“Will you name the strengths of this approach?” Aversky suggested.

“It’s faster than the previous strategy,” Ardi began to list. “In the same span of time, one can conjure more seals. There isn’t such a great need for memorizing a multitude of modifications, and less of a need for concentration while rewriting on the fly.”

“Buuuuuut...” Aversky said encouragingly.

“But it’s too costly in terms of rays and Stars,” Ardi continued, rising to his feet and brushing off his training clothes as he did so. “There’s a risk that several of the conjurations will hit a shield that neutralizes all of them. Also, if the opponent prepares a good countermeasure, it would be much harder to change up the seal to respond to that.”

Aversky clicked his tongue and grimaced slightly. Translated from his “language,” this gesture meant “better than I expected.”

“In any case, in a real, serious battle, you will be required to do something similar to this...”

And then something happened that Ardi would probably never forget for as long as he lived. Aversky lightly struck the earth with his staff.

Immediately, a seal flared up around him. It was another Spark.

And like the first time, it bubbled and shifted in broken rhythms of rewriting until, a brief moment later, it shot forward... only to scatter in a spray of blinding sparks that showered Tony’s shield with abrupt flashes.

And following that, the very same seal, which turned out to be a multi-component one upon further inspection, launched the main Spark—once again rewritten and supplemented—which punched right through the doll’s head.

And everything happened so fast and in such extensive variations of the same spell that Ardi wasn’t sure he would be able to recreate this feat of magic even if he practiced only this move, and only this variation of it, for the next couple of years.

This was truly a Grand Magister of War Magic... A man who could, by himself, replace if not an entire army, then a small division at the very least.

Because one thing Ardan was absolutely sure of was that if he had been in the “Tony” doll’s place, he would already be walking the paths of the Sleeping Spirits.

All because of a simple Spark...

“There are various other tactics applicable to these strategies,” Aversky placed his staff back on the rack. “But you will be able to read about them in the manuals on warfare that I gave you so you could study the topic of Resonance. How is that coming along, by the way?”

“Quite well.”

“Well, well,” Aversky narrowed his eyes at him doubtfully. “Naturally, there are countermeasures in defensive magic that can be used against all strategies and tactics, but it is pointless to discuss them until you reach the Blue Star. However, if you are curious, my dear Ard, I will write you a list of the necessary literature. It might come in handy...”

And so, Lord Aversky, not waiting for an answer, tore a page from a notebook and, arming himself with a scratchy pencil, began to quickly scribble several titles.

Ardi, who was still blinking in astonishment, recalled his one and only duel against a war mage.

Saimon Davos, at the Irigov estate… Ardi had already known that all of them, including Milar, Alexander and Din, had been very lucky that Davos had been a broken drunk and hadn’t really expected Ardan to put up a fight.

And that was why he’d died. In any other situation, everything would have happened the other way around.

Nor was it surprising that he had laughed so much at Ard’s leaps and dodges.

If one cast magic the way Aversky did, said mage truly didn’t need to move from their spot. And in all honesty, exerting such monstrously demanding focus over one’s own magic while running around was likely beyond the capabilities of… probably everyone.

And what would even be the point?

Ardan exhaled and sprawled out on the floor again.

Damned war magic... How tired he was of it already...

The Arena, Present Day

As he exited the corridor, Ardi squinted involuntarily and covered his face with his hand, setting it against his forehead like a visor.

The massive spotlights that had been arranged atop towering, planed wooden poles were as blinding as the sun itself.

They felt like it, too. It was as if seven miniature stars had fallen from the silken sky that had not yet had enough time to get thoroughly stained by the gloomy autumn, and now hung over... whatever this was. Certainly not sand.

Grass had long since sprouted here, carefully watched and tended to. He even spotted running tracks.

Somewhere, all sorts of sports equipment was waiting for its time to shine in non-Star Magic competitions, which were gradually garnering even more fame than Magical Boxing.

Indeed, even plain boxing had become a lot more popular in recent times.

Boris had theorized that a sport was made popular not so much by the spectacle and fees involved, but by its accessibility to the kids in the courtyards, to the tired workers wanting to unwind after a shift at the factories, and also to students of all ages on the nearest meadow, or in a gym.

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That was the whole recipe.

Magic could not boast such a broad appeal, and was therefore only holding on due to monetary infusions from the Spell Market, some state support, and the notorious spectacle in which it won out over all others.

But even so, the famous “Rhombus” (in reality, it was more of a rhombohedron: an elongated wooden polygon raised above the ground, with a surface area of three hundred square meters) was gradually ceding its spot to the field for Ball and Arch.

This was a game that had arrived to the western continent along with the sailors, coming straight from the Confederation of Free Cities.

Ardi didn’t quite understand the appeal in about two dozen people trying to shove a leather ball past some wooden posts with their feet, but, evidently, the absolute majority of people did not share his skepticism.

The only sand that could still be found in the erstwhile Arena of Blood that had once belonged to the Firstborn was located in the jumping pit.

So be it.

Ardi closed his eyes and allowed the cool wind to touch his face. It still remembered the stories of the stone that had become the foundation for the Arena.

And even though it had been brought as a trophy from the other end of the continent, it still saw fragments of the past in its silent and calm dreams.

A past that modern Firstborn shunned, for it went against their foolish belief in their own infallibility.

A past that humans did not allow themselves to forget in order to justify the atrocities they themselves now inflicted upon those who had tormented them for centuries.

Ardan opened his eyes and shook off the strange thoughts that had likely been caused by his recent visit to the Conclave.

“Don’t be so dead faced, Mr. Egobar,” Lucius blurted out while walking alongside him, instantly revealing himself to be a regular of the very peculiar establishments in Baliero.

Such words were usually used there... along with the rest of their “street jargon,” which Arkar was also a prominent expert of.

“And don’t forget to greet the spectators.”

Ardi, adjusting the mask that didn’t sit very tightly on his face, wondered if his opponent was overly optimistic or just trying to deny reality.

As John Brolid had predicted, out of nearly fifty thousand seats, far less than one percent of the stands was occupied.

In total, Ardan managed to count about a hundred spectators with a brief glance. Maybe a little less.

And nearby, under the stands, beneath a tin canopy, the other participants of the qualifier bracket were sitting and waiting for their turn.

Along with Lucius, who was waving his free hand to the imaginary “crowd,” he walked across the soft, well-groomed grass and ascended the wide, massive wooden staircase set against the Rhombus.

Ardi’s practiced gaze noticed the Ley-wiring hidden in the base of the structure, and his non-human hearing caught the buzzing of the external circuit of cables that formed the perimeter of the protective dome.

When it touched Ard’s consciousness for a moment, the young man tensed reflexively.

Apparently, Colonel Kshtovsky’s sabotage had ensured that the tight grip of his gradually developing paranoia would not loosen for some time yet.

“Gentlemen, I am glad to welcome you to the first match of the season,” a middle-aged man in a formal suit with wide, shiny lapels shook their hands in turn. Such suits were usually worn at solemn events or when one was visiting the theater.

He spoke calmly but strictly. “Let me remind you of the rules. The match will go on until a total of three points is acquired by both of you combined. A spell going through a shield or inflicting a wound is one point. Any trauma that forces the affected mage to use a healing seal with a total load of more than twelve Red Star rays or their equivalent is two points. Anything less than twelve is still one point. When you reach two points in total, the end of the first round is announced and a break of ten seconds follows. If you can no longer continue the match, that is an immediate loss, and all three points are awarded to your opponent, while you lose all of the ones you’ve accumulated thus far. The system of point stealing used in tournaments up to the Yellow Star will not be a factor here. Is this understood?”

“Yes,” Lucius and Ardi confirmed one after the other, as the regulations required.

Due to the almost total lack of spectator interest in their bracket, there was, of course, no master of ceremonies present here.

At the judges’ table, which was located under the canopy a few meters from the Rhombus, half of the ten chairs remained empty.

While they were technically starting the season here, the opening people truly cared about would occur next week, when two Yellow Star Mages would meet in a duel on the Rhombus.

That was when a performance before the match would also take place, and the stands would turn into a screaming, boiling frenzy where there wouldn’t be enough room for an apple to fall, and the master of ceremonies would talk into a Ley-microphone to warm up the crowd and introduce the boxers.

Right now, however, everything was proceeding calmly, without any pomp. Ardan was pleased by this.

“Do not get distracted, sir,” the senior judge, which this man was, verbally yanked him back to the here and now.

“Do not forget, gentlemen boxers, that we operate strictly according to the Al’Zafir Pact. Furthermore, intentional grievous harm caused to one’s health when the situation clearly indicated a lack of necessity will be punished to the full extent of the law. Is this understood?”

“Yes,” Lucius and Ardan answered again, this time in chorus.

“Then introduce yourselves and choose your accumulators.”

The judge held out a lacquered box to them, where red and green faceted Ertalain crystals lay on a velvet cushion.

The draw for who chose their accumulators first also took place in absentia (which, according to Boris, had caused disputes not only among the spectators, but also among the boxers themselves), so Ardi got to choose second.

Some would consider this lucky, as he could now adjust his strategy according to his opponent’s choice, while others conversely saw it as rendering him unable to impose his own will upon the duel.

Ardan, since he didn’t understand these subtleties of the sport, didn’t care who got to go first or second.

“Lucius Raft, six Red Star rays, seven Green Star rays!” The young mage introduced himself by simply shouting loudly since they hadn’t been given a microphone. “Two green, one red accumulator!”

According to the international rules, participants were granted an arbitrary choice of three accumulators. They could be combined in any quantity.

It was not hard to guess that such a rule had been added to the sport straight from the bloody duels.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ardi noticed several people in the stands applauding.

There were several young men Lucius’ age there, and a girl barely older than the minimum age for receiving one’s documents.

Their gazes connected and did not turn away for slightly longer than was the norm for friends or good acquaintances.

Did Ardi envy his opponent because his match would be seen by a companion dear to his heart?

Of course.

“Ad Abar,” the young man offered up his pseudonym. “Eight Red Star rays. Nine Green Star rays. Two green, one red accumulator!”

The judge waited until both mages slotted the crystals into their rings, after which he closed the box and raised a signal revolver above his head.

A resonant command rang out:

“Boxers, move to your corners!”

Lucius and Ardan turned on their heels and, opening their grimoires as they walked, headed to the far corners of the Rhombus.

The distance between them, in the end, was about one hundred and fifty steps. Boris had said that this stage of the match was called the “Road.”

The majority of famous magic boxers used it not to prepare for the match, but to entertain the spectators and their fans.

Ardan, however, was feverishly leafing through the pages of his grimoire. It wasn’t like he hadn’t mastered his most used spells, but Lucius, Rakshad and Neil’s words had sunk deep into his soul.

The boxers hadn’t wanted to deceive him—quite the opposite, in fact, which was why he was now nervous.

“Get ready!” The judge commanded when both mages were on opposite sides of the Rhombus.

After going down the stairs, the man stepped back another few paces and, still holding the revolver above his head, squeezed the trigger.

Ardi was already preparing to use a Poisonous Wind (an unpleasant modification of the simple Air Strike) spell, when something that he had previously only seen in Aversky’s spellcasting happened.

Beneath Lucius’ feet, a seal bubbled. Shimmering with colors and, every now and then, switching its runic connections amongst themselves and drawing scribbles with its vectors, it gave Ardi not even a ghost of a chance to read it.

All the young man could glean from the colorful haze was that Lucius truly hadn’t lied and intended to use a shield spell. Only… he was encrypting it to the same extent as offensive military magic.

After almost a year, Ardan hadn’t even considered the possibility that the rules of war magic were applicable not only to offense, but also to defense!

He had only skimmed the books Aversky had told him to read because he’d simply been too busy.

And in his line of work, he had never encountered war mages except for Davos!

Sleeping Spirits!

This time, not at all motivated by Colonel Kshtovsky and his mental magic tricks, but exclusively his own instincts, Ardan returned to something that he could use with reflexive ease.

Beneath him, changing several times in quick succession, snowy symbols and vectors shone, finally folding into the seal for the Carpet of Flowers—a modification of Ice Flowers.

Perhaps Ard should have been proud of the fact that, after just a year of studying, he could add the necessary parameters on the fly: distance, angle of incidence, area, and vector of attack.

The mirage that erupted from the tip of his staff covered the platform beneath Lucius’ feet, immediately forming a small field of ice flowers ringing with solemn crystal.

The ringing grew and grew until it forced the flowers to crack into a whirlwind of ice petals, but instead of scattering to the wind, they were immediately locked into an Ice Cage, and right after that, Ardi sent out an Ice Artillery.

The wind swirled around him, gathering drops of moisture and forming a sphere from them. It had a volume barely greater than his own head, but it weighed no less than the kettlebell stored in his apartment.

Vibrating, it instantly accelerated to the speed of the signal cartridge recently fired from the judge’s revolver.

It hadn’t even had time to reach the highest point of its trajectory before Ardan formed three more offensive spells.

Combining them in a long sequence and encrypting each of them beforehand while revealing them only at the very last second before he conjured them fully, Ardi did not spend even one and a half seconds on the attack.

On his fingers, the red accumulator scattered into shimmering dust and one of the green ones cracked, hinting that it had lost half its power.

Only...

In Lucius’ eyes, sadness, understanding and a modicum of boredom were reflected simultaneously.

The seal beneath his feet started shining with a scarlet color even before the blocks of ice forming right in the air could close into a cage.

A fiery whirlwind that somewhat resembled grapevines swirled around Lucius.

“I warned you,” the mage’s lips moved in a soundless whisper.

The Ice Flowers, which were supposed to bind him in icy shackles, evaporated in a whitish haze the moment they touched the fiery vines.

Ardan was surprised to see that Lucius had managed to add the parameters of every spell from Ardan’s combination to his shield at the last second.

And as the flowers along the vines blossomed with myriads of threads and stamens, they shredded the blocks of ice, bringing down a whole hail of large and small shards.

Then, even before the Ice Artillery reached Lucius, his fiery vines bore fruit.

An unending stream of miniature fireballs burst out from the gradually dissipating whirlwind. More numerous than the raindrops in a downpour, they fanned out in different directions.

The majority of them disappeared amidst the flashes of the stationary shield above the Rhombus, but a part of them found their target: Ardan.

Ardan conjured a two-meter ice shield to defend himself even before he realized that he hadn’t encrypted the spell.

And Lucius, whose boots ended up drenched in the boiling water from the shattered Ice Artillery, immediately took advantage of this.

Something that, at first glance, had looked like a complex, very costly shield of the fire element, turned out to be a combination as well upon closer inspection.

It consisted of three spells that had been fused into one. It was all very simple and cheap, costing Lucius only a cracked green accumulator.

And for his next, fourth spell, having read Ardi’s defense like an open book, he simply Resonated, leaving Ardan no chance to defend himself properly with a second spell.

“Resonance is always faster than casting a new spell entirely.”—Ardan remembered this rule perfectly, and now he got to experience it being used against him.

Using the energy of the three spells that he’d cast before, Lucius fired a cloud of black haze from the tip of his staff.

Instantly shifting toward Ard, it flowed like fog around his shield and, squeezing his throat like a steel vise, it crushed him with suffocating force.

Had this not been a match governed by rules, Ardan would have immediately departed to the Sleeping Spirits, because the spell clearly possessed a force limiter and did not break his neck, but merely squeezed it.

This made it so that Ardan, who was wheezing and choking, had to use a healing spell and restore the integrity of his trachea and adjacent muscles.

This cost him half of his own Red Star and a shattered green accumulator that had been covered in a web of cracks after that crude, massive shield he’d cast.

In less than three and a half seconds, Ardan had lost two accumulators and four of his seven red rays.

Leaning heavily on his staff, he wheezed and spat out viscous saliva mixed with blood.

Lucius, however, looked as if he had only just stepped onto the Rhombus. He was fresh as a daisy, slightly bored, and only mildly interested.

Yes, he possessed fewer rays in his Stars, but where he surpassed Ard, and not just by a little, was experience.

Ardan had indeed clashed with others more than once in magical duels, but… They’d always been opponents whom he’d had to overcome with cunning and who’d expected absolutely nothing from Ardi, or people who’d never really practiced war magic before, or his fellow students who’d combined both of these qualities. Even Iolai had only ever been tutored and had likely been coddled due to his status.

For the first time in his life, Ard was actually facing someone who had dedicated many years to the art of war.

“Round!” The main judge at the table whistled and, putting aside the whistle, read the notes he had made.

“Lucius Raft’s Suffocating Night Fog spell passed through Ad Abar’s shield, after which it inflicted harm upon him and forced Ad Abar to use a healing spell that ended up costing him nine red rays in total. Two points to Lucius Raft!”

“I told you, Mr. Abar, all novices make the same mistake,” there was neither mockery nor any desire to humiliate Ardan in Lucius’ voice. He was speaking quietly and with sincere empathy. “But you did use an excellent combination! It’s effective and, what’s most important for our sport—spectacular. If you had managed to Resonate it, you probably would have taken a point from me.”

Ardan, who’d finally caught his breath, straightened up and wiped away the sweat that had appeared on his forehead.

“Thank you for the vivid lesson, Mr. Raft,” Ardan thanked him just as sincerely.

Lucius nodded and smiled openly and cordially.

Regardless of how this match ended, Lucius had already given Ardan the greatest gift a mage can give another.

He had brought Ardi down from the lofty heights of his own delusions and all but thrown everything Edward had spoken of so much in his face.

Ardan would not always be able to rely on his wits, the skills of a Speaker, the element of surprise, or his opponent’s lack of preparation or caution to win.

In a real battle of military magic, Ardan Egobar was still nothing more than a novice. And Lucius had just proven that.

Ardan knew that his chances of victory were rather slim now, but even one point would be enough for him.

After all, simple mathematics suggested that if he earned at least one point, he would not lose his chance to advance into the main bracket of magical boxers.

And, unexpectedly, aside from the obvious goal of earning money, Ard suddenly... felt a thrill.

This had sometimes happened when he’d hunted in the Alcade and encountered an unusually nimble and cunning sort of prey.

The type of prey that had forced him to not just follow Aergar’s instructions, but to invent something new as well.

Albeit for a brief moment, just a couple of instants at most, war magic had seemed remotely interesting to him.

And so, when the judge fired the revolver again, signaling the start of the second round, Ardan felt... unexpectedly light.

Yes, he was breathing heavily, yes, that sometimes turned into a wheeze, and yes, he had only three Red Star rays left, which rendered almost his entire arsenal moot and clearly hinted at the fact that his choice of accumulator color caused by that same inexperience had been a mistake, but Ardan... still wanted to do something.

“Second round!”

And so he did.

He struck the ground with his staff and forced not only Lucius to open his eyes slightly wider, but also several judges to rise halfway from their seats.

The seal beneath his feet bubbled with a boiling mirage. Dozens of modifications replaced one another in a ceaseless, wild dance.

The movements of vectors, runic connections and contours accelerated more and more until they turned into a bright fog.

Ardan felt invisible vises squeezing his mind just as hard as the spell Lucius Raft had cast.

Invisible claws all but compressed his temples. Scarlet circles danced before his eyes, but Ardi did not let go.

Time and again, utilizing dozens of modifications, he rewrote the seal, cycling between nearly a hundred versions of his main and first war spell—the Ice Arrow.

Edward had said that the two strategies had all sorts of different combinations and permutations.

Ardi chose to use one of them. A very simple and obvious one. He would combine both of them...

“Oh my...” Lucius exhaled aloud.

The shield seal beneath his feet also began to boil, but it did so much slower and somehow even more... jaggedly.

It was as if the man was unsure of what exactly his opponent was trying to do here and simply could not read the seals he was using.

In fact, forget reading it—he didn’t even have time to see the individual fundamental nodes. It was all too fast... Too much!

Ardan, sensing that he was approaching the limit of his capabilities, conjured... the most ordinary, simple, standard Ice Arrow.

A meter-long, almost unhurried icicle sprang forth from the tip of his staff.

Lucius, judging by his face, was barely restraining himself from swearing. Just in case, he’d cast a complex, multi-component shield, which looked like a fiery tapestry shaking in the wind, with its shining threads forming the outlines of a solar fortress.

Yes, Boris hadn’t been lying when he’d said that the most important thing in Magical Boxing was the spectacle.

The icy arrow evaporated even before it managed to touch Lucius’ shield, but Ardan paid no attention to it.

His arsenal was limited due to the short time he’d spent building it up. And using the prototype version of Ice Beasts in such a setting was akin to asking for a pointless loss.

Instead, Ardan followed Lucius’ advice. His seal, which was rewritten several times on the fly, shimmered as it caused the entire Rhombus to ring out with the crystal chime of a Thicket of Ice Flowers spell.

The modification, which relied almost entirely on his Green Star, destroyed his second accumulator, but in that moment, as sparkling dust spilled onto Ardan’s boots, a whole meadow of ice appeared, separating him and Lucius, and all along it, the buds of ice flowers bloomed at knee level.

Fragile and beautiful, they shimmered in the light of the spotlights, catching the brightness and reflecting it within a multitude of their sharp facets.

And all Ard needed to do now was to spend the last rays of his Red Star on the notorious Air Strike.

A whirlwind swirled around his staff, and then rushed across the icy garden.

It broke stems, tore off buds, and, scattering petals everywhere, produced a real blizzard.

Lucius, whose shield had a strict orientation in space and could not protect the mage from behind, was forced to change his spell.

Despite being confused earlier, he immediately pulled himself together and, a moment later, rainbow lights flared and danced around him.

Accelerating more and more until they merged into a ribbon of multicolored light, or perhaps flame, they fished the petals flying toward him out of the air.

Ardan’s practiced eye immediately identified this spell as an active shield with an independent function of seeking out threats.

Driba and Semyon Davos had used something similar, and it was quite popular for a reason.

Lucius, after realizing that the ice storm was no threat to him, had already begun to encrypt his own offensive seal, which glowed like a mirage beneath his feet, when suddenly, he raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes wide, and... smiled happily.

He smiled as Ardan grasped his own spent Ley and used Resonance.

Scooping up the remnants of his own energy from the area, he cast his fastest spell.

This was a new spell he had begun developing back in the summer and whose modification he used even more often than the original.

The air vibrated around the pommel of his staff, and right above it, pulling moisture into itself like a whirlpool, a small, conical, but very dense icicle formed.

It was indistinguishable from a bullet in shape. And that was exactly what it was called—Ice Bullet.

Lucius’ shield could track several targets at once, but only slow ones.

And so, when the bullet shot forward with a whistle, leaving a ghostly haze behind it, the rainbow threads from the ribbon of light merely tried to stop it, but were too late.

The shining and shimmering threads ended up tangled somewhere behind the swift icicle after it had already scratched Raft’s shoulder.

Had this been a real battle, Ardan would have aimed for the heart… and then died as well when he let Lucius’ spell through. Had they been competing according to the system of the second triad of Stars, Ardan would have directly shattered his opponent’s shoulder joint and forced Lucius to use a costly healing spell.

Then he would have won two points, and consequently, due to the rules of “stealing,” their points would have been divided in half, each of them would have had one left, and, after another break, the third round would have begun. In the second triad, there could be a maximum of seven rounds, after which the winner was announced based on the current score.

But they were using simplified rules, so there was no point in being bloodthirsty.

“End of match!” The judge announced, blowing the whistle again. “Ad Abar’s unknown spell passed through Lucius Raft’s defense, earning him one point. Thus, the first match of the Sponsored League of this season of the 518th year is concluded! Winner—Lucius Raft, two points. Loser—Ad Abar, one point! Both sides, shake hands!”

Ardan, feeling as drained as if he had just been chasing mutants, demonologists or terrorists around the city again, wearily hobbled to the center of the Rhombus.

The dense fabric covering rustled under the heavy soles of his sports uniform boots, and the boots themselves now seemed to weigh several times more than at the start.

Lucius, who’d already healed the trifling scratch, looked much better than him.

“Well done, Mr. Abar!” He shook Ardi’s hand so furiously that it looked like he was trying to yank it right off. “A superb match! Despite that novice mistake, you showed us your best side! Let’s stay to watch the others. I am also sure that everyone will want to chat with you at the club! We can discuss our match there.”

Ardan almost agreed, but then immediately apologized:

“I beg your pardon, but I need to leave.”

“Ah, for work... Yes, yes, of course,” Lucius nodded understandingly as he was going down the stairs, and Ardan was in no hurry to correct him.

“Don’t forget that we gather there almost every fifth day. Be sure to drop by before the next match! We have things to discuss and suggest to you!”

“Of course,” Ardan nodded. “I will definitely visit you.”

He really did intend to visit this boxers’ club. Maybe they could even help him neutralize the problem Kshtovsky had created for him.

After this match, Ardi was more aware than ever that he needed to carve out time in his schedule for war magic training with someone who was at the same level as him, if not better.

He now had the war magic club... his part-time job at an Manish’s company... his studies at The Grand... his future enterprise with Bazhen... And, of course, there was also his work at the Black House.

Clearly, the Metropolis simply wasn’t aware of the concept of a peaceful life!

And even without chases or shootouts, this city would surely find another way to occupy the far-from-infinite time of one young Alcade hunter.

But all of these were thoughts for tomorrow.

Ardan hurried to the changing room to wash the sweat off himself, put on a suit, and try to make it to the opening of the Baliero Concert Hall.

He had to make it to see Tess.