Chapter 8 - The Road to the Final
As the echo of that solemn speech still resonated through the hall's columns, we were approached by the event's scribes and quartermasters. Carrying heavy scrolls of parchment bearing the royal seal, they formally registered our names and the categories in which we would participate. About fifteen minutes later, we were led through wide stone corridors to the true heart of the complex: the colossal arena of Aluvia Magna.
The sight upon crossing the access portico was imposing. Before us stood a monumental structure of polished stone, whose stands rose in gigantic rings around the battlefield. Dozens of iron torches attached to the pilasters crackled in warm, yellowish flames, casting golden illumination and dancing shadows over the marble steps and the crowd settling into the boxes.
What truly impressed, however, was the protective structure erected for the matches. The arena was embraced by a dual system of magical barriers on a monumental scale. The first, a gigantic, translucent dome of purely defensive energy, covered the entire external perimeter of the structure, containing any residual impact within the complex. The second barrier, denser and more crystalline, rose directly around the combat field, forming an invisible wall between the spells and the spectators.
As I went to the room where the nobles would watch the fights, my eyes swept the entire construction in a fragile hope that my parents might be there, I saw several peasants seated, probably waiting for the spectacle, and some nobles walking with me, but I was not an isolated case: several nobles sent their representatives and didn't even go to see them.
As soon as we sat down, the same captain who had almost blown my ears off with the trumpets took his place to announce the beginning of the competition.
— People of Aluvia Magna! Illustrious guests, lords, and ladies from all provinces of the kingdom! — The captain's voice, amplified by the resonance of the arena's stone walls, echoed with authority over the murmur of the crowd in the stands.
He took two steps forward in the central box, extending his arm toward the combat field.
— Today we shall witness the art and power of the new generation of nobles! Eight young heirs put their honor, intelligence, and arcane mastery to the test in the Great Magic Tournament!
The public responded with a roof of applause and cheers that made the arena's air vibrate. The captain waited for the noise to decrease slightly before raising his left hand, showing a gleaming ring attached to his own demonstration ceiling.
— To ensure that the fury of the elements is released in its entirety without risk to the lives of our participants, each young arcanist wears the Ring of Defensive Sustentation! — This artifact projects a personal barrier capable of supporting up to five thousand units of magical pressure. — If the opponent's attack density shatters this limit and breaks the competitor's barrier, the ring's circuit will collapse instantly, signaling immediate defeat and ending the duel!
He lowered his arm, returning his gaze to the center of the coliseum, where the first pair of combatants was already waiting.
— Without further ado, behold the Quarterfinal matchups!
He unfurled a long scroll with golden edges and read in a solemn tone:
— First Duel: From the land of Aritel, the young Lycon, facing the mastery of air currents of Lord Alan, from Wind Cove!
— Second Duel: The refined tradition of the capital in the figure of Her Highness, Princess Evadne of Aluvia Magna, against the aquatic resonance of Lady Sirena, of High Corals!
— Third Duel: The tactical strength of Lord Arthur Jr. II, of South Port, against the temperament and forge magic of Lady Nina, of the Valley of Blacksmiths!
— Fourth Duel: The unshakable solidity of the mountains brought by Lord Leo, of Pass Refuge, against the arcane refinement of Lady Flora, of New Dawn!
The captain put away the scroll and gestured toward the center of the battlefield, where the torch flames seemed to burn with greater intensity.
— May precision guide your circuits and strength feed your mana! — Let the duels begin! — Combatants of the first match, take your positions in the arena!
As soon as I entered the arena, several people started cheering for me, without ever having seen me in my life — They've never seen me in their lives and they're cheering for me?! — I thought, immediately wondering mentally — Or is it because of my parents?
Lord Alan soon after took his position in the arena, almost analyzing me from head to toe. He saw the magic circles I had made and immediately began his mockery:
— Papyri? Seriously, Lycon? — Alan provoked, raising his chin with a crooked smile. — I hope you brought very heavy stones in your pockets to hold down those sheets. — Back in the Cove, we learn in the first week that the breeze has no mercy for what is light.
He took half a step forward, flexing the fingers of his right hand. Around his knuckles, the air began to distort slightly, creating a small invisible spiral that made the hem of his tunic sway.
— Don't take it personally, kid, but I'm not going to stand around waiting for you to read instructions or draw circles on the ground. — When the gong sounds, the arena is going to turn into a wind tunnel. — Let's see if this paper of yours can handle the pressure!
I remained prepared anyway, solemnly ignoring what he said, leaving him irritated — A few fancy insults aren't going to shake me. — I thought.
After a few seconds of silence, the judge interrupted with a loud shout — Fighting!!!
I was prudent, but even so I didn't hold back; I used a part of my mana to channel a mana slash right where my opponent's ring was.
Alan's eyes widened as soon as he saw the blade, trying to figure out what to do with my slash — Huh, I didn't even use that much energy.... — I thought, trying to understand his surprise.
However, just when it indicated I would hit him, he used a compressed air explosion to dodge my blow, avoiding the mana slash. Even so, part of it passed through the shield. After that, a sharp roar arose, along with a huge amount of dust that blinded me for less than a second.
When everything stabilized, a second of silence ensued, probably because we were both interested in the scale of the damage: besides the amount of dust he kicked up, a significant crater had been made in the arena's walls. My mana slash had penetrated his shield and the large barrier there.
The crowd was in shock, not knowing what to say about it. It didn't seem normal for someone to pierce the great barrier protecting them, even though the construction must have anticipated this.
Before I could do anything, I was confronted by hundreds of small wind blades near him; they were not particularly effective and would barely cut my skin, but the force was enough to tear any papyrus I dared to place near him.
— Let's see if your papers float with stability in the middle of a hurricane, Aritel! — shouted Alan, while the wind howled around him.
— This little wind is nothing! — I grabbed the Wind Gust magic circle, lifting it and applying mana to it. Soon after, a large cone of compressed wind rose from the papyrus, heading straight toward where he and the magic were.
My magic practically swallowed his, making him slide across the arena for about 2 meters before stabilizing. With that, it gave a small opening for him to concentrate on one last spell, a wind needle that would certainly break my shield.
Mimicking what he did to me earlier, I used my wind gust to throw myself into the air by a meter at the very last second. After that, I grabbed my mana blade and wind blade circles, triggering both at the exact same moment he looked at me.
His eyes widened in sheer despair as he muttered something while trying to raise some barrier against the spell. My mana slash hit the shield and part of it penetrated inside, striking his leg directly with a cut that gushed blood everywhere.
Before he could understand what had happened, the wind blade hit the shield. A loud frictional roar arose before the shield shattered with a piercing, shrill sound.
The silence in the arena lasted exactly two seconds before the captain stepped forward in the box and raised his hand.
— Combatant Lord Alan's sustentation barrier has been destroyed! — Victory to Lycon of Aritel!
The stands exploded into a roar of applause and surprised shouts. Alan remained lying on the ground for a few seconds, staring at the arena ceiling with wide eyes and his chest rising and falling frantically, trying to understand how a 12-year-old geometric mage had just discharged more energy in a single round than he possessed in his entire body.
Meanwhile, I went to observe the damage I had caused — I think my attacks pierce this shield... Note to self: Never hit vital parts. — I commented softly enough so that no one could hear.
I descended calmly and with the lightness of a feather while watching Lord Alan almost foaming with rage, thrashing around like a stretched-out gecko with a gash in his leg...
— Are you alright, Lord Alan? — I said, extending my hand to him.
However, he viewed my gesture not as a kindness between dueling peers, but as if I were a venomous viper. The contrast between my calmness and the humiliation of lying on the ground, bleeding and with a pulverized barrier, made him lose control, and his rage overflowed onto his features, showing every vein in his face.
With a dry snap of pure hatred, he swiped Lycon's hand away with his left arm, refusing the support.
— Don't touch me! — growled Alan, his voice failing slightly between the pain of the tear in his thigh and the embarrassment before thousands of spectators.
He grabbed his own leg tightly, trying to stem the bleeding with the torn cloth of his tunic as he dragged himself a meter backward in the arena dust. His clenched teeth ground so hard that the muscles of his jaw bulged.
— "Are you alright?"... Are you making fun of me?! — he spat the words, his face burning in a purple-red shade. — Who the hell channels so much mana in an exhibition match?! — You're insane! A sickly aberration!
Trying desperately to maintain a shred of dignity, Alan drove his fists into the stone and tried to stand up alone before the guard healers arrived. However, the instant he placed his body weight on his injured leg, a brutal twinge made his knees buckle, and he fell face-first into the dust again, letting out a muffled roar of pain.
From the ground, lifting his chin with eyes flashing with rage and involuntary tears of pain, he glared up at Lycon:
— Save that fake courtesy for your funeral, Lycon! — Think you're hot stuff just because you have an absurd reservoir? — Just wait until Princess Evadne or Arthur step in there... — They'll make you swallow every piece of those miserable papers of yours!
Before Lycon could reply, four royal guard medics invaded the perimeter with a...
My posture threatened to destabilize for a few seconds — Darn... — Even so, I swallowed my sadness and walked directly to the room where the nobles watched the spectacle. As I walked and the combat energy faded, the exhaustion became increasingly evident.
While the paramedics urgently removed Alan from the arena, one of the healers from the event's organizing committee approached me with hurried steps. He carried a small velvet box and held an ornate glass vial containing a radiant blue liquid that shone with its own light.
— Impressive display of power, young Lycon — said the man, bowing his head in a clear gesture of respect. — However, a spell discharge of this magnitude certainly takes a heavy toll on the body and mind. — As part of the tournament protocols to maintain fairness in the upcoming phases, the organization provides this high-class restoration potion.
He handed me the crystalline vial.
— It is formulated to regenerate up to half a fassic of mana almost instantly. — It should be more than enough to completely refill your reservoir and leave you as good as new for the next round.
— Thank you. — I replied, accepting the vial.
I removed the cork and drank the elixir in a single gulp. The liquid tasted slightly minty and bitter. The moment it slid down my throat, a pleasant and invigorating sensation arose within me, warding off a bit of the fatigue I felt.
I returned the empty vial to the healer, who stared at me with narrowed eyes and a touch of perplexity. He seemed to search my face for any sign of tremors, paleness, or magical exhaustion, but I was perfectly steady.
— Do you... feel dizzy or tired, Lord Lycon? — he asked hesitantly.
— I'm great. Thank you for the assistance — I replied calmly, turning back toward the combatants' tunnel; I was still tired, but at a normal level my masters usually left me at.
As I walked toward the noble viewing room, my fatigue faded away. However, when I arrived there, several background conversations began to emerge.
As I walked back to the participants' box, the potion's effect made my fatigue gradually fade. But upon stepping into the room, the silence lasted only an instant before several low-toned conversations began to take over the hall.
Among the murmurs echoing through the room, the dialogue between two figures in the corner of the hall caught my attention.
— What a spectacle of charming vulgarity, don't you think? — commented a female voice, melodic and sweetly refined, laden with that polished elegance that seemed to be born straight from the peak of royalty. — An almost ungracious amount of strength... Although I must admit the young man from Aritel's lack of manners had its peculiar charm.
— I fully agree with your impeccable observation, my esteemed lady — replied a male voice, surprisingly deep and velvety for the boy's age. The tone oozed a theatrical formality, cold and meticulously calculated. — A truly fascinating display. — It is always refreshing to witness brute strength... especially when it shows us, well in advance, exactly where we must strike.
— Oh, undoubtedly — the girl let out a crystal-clear, low, and perfectly rehearsed laugh that revealed not a single drop of sincere emotion. — It would be a true pity if such energy were to exhaust itself before the opportune moment.
The next duels took place without major disturbances, allowing me to carefully observe the style and limitations of my future opponents.
The duel between Princess Evadne and Lady Sirena was particularly revealing. The girl from High Corals tried to surround the arena with resonant water currents, but the princess maintained an impeccable posture from start to finish. Obviously, Evadne achieved a crushing victory, but she could not lift the papyri from a distance with pure sorcery the way I did; she needed to physically touch the back of the sheets to activate the circuit geometry. It was an aristocratic, clean, and highly refined technique, yet tethered to traditional methods.
In the third combat, Lord Arthur Jr. II faced Lady Nina of the Valley of Blacksmiths. While Nina relied on heavy heat and thermal distortion spells to destabilize her opponent, Arthur fought with an almost disturbing coldness. He did not waste a single drop of mana. Moving across the arena with a formal and calculated posture, he let the girl exhaust her reserves before delivering a single surgical counterattack, broke her barrier with tactical precision, and ended the match without even a misalignment in his uniform.
The final fight pitted the solidity of Lord Leo of Pass Refuge against the technical refinement of Lady Flora of New Dawn. Flora tried to use thin chains of mana to envelop and wear down her opponent's defense, but Leo's mountain magic proved unshakable. With high-density spells and great sustentation mass, he simply endured the initial pressure and advanced like a stone wall until he shattered Flora's protection ring in a single direct clash.
For some reason, none of them could achieve the same mana density in attacks as I did, but each carried a completely different technique for me — Pity the people who lost here, I hope none of them have mothers and fathers like mine. — I thought.
The dust from the previous clashes had barely settled on the arena's stone floor when the solemn blast of the bronze trumpets echoed through the galleries once more. The crowd in the stands, stirred up by the violence and the technical level of the fights, fell silent in anticipation.
The Captain took three steps forward on the balcony of the central box. With a sweeping gesture of his left arm, he greeted the public before raising his amplified voice:
— Inhabitants of Aluvia Magna! Nobles and citizens of the entire kingdom! — The quarterfinals have come to an end, leaving on the battlefield only the elite of our young nobility!
A collective roar vibrated through the coliseum's walls. The Captain waited for the echo to subside and unfurled a new scroll, whose golden letters glistened under the torchlight.
— Of the eight noble arcanists who entered this enclosure, only four remain! — Four prodigies who have proven to possess the intelligence, circuit mastery, and willpower necessary to vie for the tournament's ultimate glory!
He raised the document with solemnity, casting his gaze over the arena:
— Without further ado, behold the SEMIFINAL matchups!
— First Duel: The surprising geometric power of Lycon of Aritel, against the cold calculation and tactical mastery of Lord Arthur Jr. II of South Port!
The audience exploded into excited murmurs — many still eager to see if the boy from Aritel would repeat the overwhelming display of mana against the southern strategist prodigy.
— Second Duel: The unshakable defense and mountain strength of Lord Leo of Pass Refuge, facing the absolute refinement and royal tradition in the figure of Her Highness, Princess Evadne of Aluvia Magna!
The Captain rolled up the scroll with a firm movement and gestured toward the iron gates at ground level.
— Combatants of the First Semifinal, take your positions on the battlefield!
Once again, as soon as I stepped into the arena, several people started cheering for me, but this time, I had the guarantee that they were cheering for me, not my parents.
After me, the next one to enter the arena was Lord Arthur Jr. II. He did not run, nor did he show the slightest haste; he walked with rhythmic steps and a posture so impeccably erect that he looked like he was entering a royal ballroom rather than an arena still stained with Lord Alan's blood.
His noble uniform did not have a single crumpled fold. His hair was aligned with precision and his expression was one of an almost disturbing tranquility. He kept his hands softly tucked behind his back.
Upon reaching his marker, ten paces away, Arthur stopped. He did not look at the crater in the wall or the bloodstains on the floor. His dark, analytical eyes fixed directly on me — not with fear or anger, but with the cold curiosity of someone examining a specimen under a lens.
Slowly, Arthur removed his hands from behind his back and bowed in an impeccable aristocratic bow, executed with surgical grace.
— It is a singular privilege to share this space with the esteemed youth of Aritel — he said upon returning to an upright position. His voice resonated deep, velvety, and serene, cutting through the noise of the stands with impressive clarity. — The spectacle Your Grace provided in the first round was... truly instructive.
He gave a small, polished smile. There was no visible mockery on his face, only theatrical cordiality and voids of real emotion.
— Young Lord Alan certainly received an unforgettable lesson about the recklessness of overconfidence — Arthur continued, smoothly adjusting the sleeves of his coat without taking his eyes off my papyri. — For my part, I guarantee I will do my utmost to offer you a duel worthy of your distinguished presence. — May etiquette and reason guide our circuits this afternoon.
He extended his right hand in front of his body with relaxed fingers, opening the base of his stance in a clean movement. He did not accumulate visible mana, made no fuss, nor tried to intimidate with demonstrations of strength. The air around him remained absolutely calm.
— He's got something... What could it be? — I was trying to understand what that open stance demonstrated; even after hearing the signal for the start of the duel, Arthur decided not to attack first.
— This is the perfect opening, but... I feel something is strange. — I reflected, while Arthur was still in his formal stance, more formal than Cassian's.
— Aren't you going to attack? — I asked, while preparing a ready mana slash; I would only need to inject mana to be able to attack him.
He tilted his head slightly to the side, adjusting his posture with exasperating calm.
— Haste is a dangerous virtue in a duel, my dear Lycon — Arthur replied, his deep, velvety voice flowing with crystalline clarity across the arena. — It would be an indescribable lack of manners on my part to interrupt the preparation of such... meticulous magic. — Courtesy requires that I allow my distinguished opponent the opportunity to settle in.
He took a slow step to the side, circling the field's perimeter in a fluid movement, maintaining the exact same distance of ten paces between us. His dark eyes seemed to calculate every centimeter of my paper's float.
— However, if Your Grace insists that I take the initiative... it would be rude to refuse.
He created three extremely thin needles that I only noticed when they were halfway to me and my circle. With my reflexes from my mentor's exhausting trainings, I dodged them, and used my sorcery to make my papyrus fly away from the third attack.
— He's really good... And my mother thinking there wouldn't be a Silas here! — I thought while recovering my composure.
Before I could fully recover, Arthur, who had been observing me with the same caution I had to have when I was at the ball, praised me.
— Fascinating — his deep voice was flowing with a mechanical and unpleasant calm — Admirable reflexes and impeccable coordination between body and paper. — Your Grace demonstrates truly exemplary energy economy.
As soon as I stood back up, he stomped the ground; the needles that were previously embedded in the walls and floor began to transform, launching several cutting threads into an area around me.
— Let's see how your admirable geometry deals with a reduced space, Lord Lycon — Arthur provoked with a slight bow of his head, coldly awaiting my reaction.
Without hesitating, I put away my mana blade and pulled out my Mass Firing Circle, a circle with a twenty-pointed star terminal with each of them containing a covered terminal.
The twenty small balls of mana traveled toward him, tearing through the threads that threatened to appear. In addition, 8 projectiles hit him and the shield squarely, creating multiple waves of energy where the mana projectiles passed.
For the first time in the combat, the boy's impassive expression crumbled for a fraction of a second. His dark eyes dilated as he calculated the attack's saturation. He tried to lean his body back and raise an emergency defensive arc, but the distribution of the twenty spheres covered too wide an area for a simple dodge.
The silence that followed in the arena was tense. Arthur remained standing, breathing slightly faster as the dust settled. His tailor-made uniform now displayed punctual tears and dark stains from physical impact, and his left shoulder throbbed visibly beneath his tunic.
Slowly, he brought his gloved fingers to the tear in the fabric, touching the skin sensitized by the bruise. When he raised his face back toward me, the courteous smile and false cordiality had completely disappeared. In place of the aristocratic mask, only a cold, empty, and calculating gaze remained.
— Twenty saturation points with focused pressure concentration... — Arthur murmured, his deep voice dropping a tone, devoid of any staging. — Your Grace not only possesses a monstrous reserve, but understands with surgical precision the mechanics of defensive resistance.
— I appreciate the compliment — but I think this excessive formality of yours doesn't match the battlefield. — I said to him, in an ironic tone of voice to see if I could provoke him.
He solemnly ignored my provocation. Instead of answering it, he let go of the damaged coat, adjusting his body weight onto his right leg so as not to fall in combat, along with preparing his new attack. The mana around him began to vibrate with a deep, steady hum.
— The act is over, Lycon. — Let's see how your intellect reacts when the pressure stops being merely theoretical.
Meanwhile, I prepared the wind blade circle in addition to the mass firing circle. After that, I interrupted him with — Certainly, it's over for you!
I fired a new volley with the mass firing circle, and right after it, I used the other papyrus to create a high-density wind slash, sealing the complete attack once more.
Arthur desperately tried to redirect his mana to contain the sudden attack, but the cadence was overwhelming.
The twenty small spheres of mana struck the barrier in a continuous, deafening barrage, creating multiple points of tension. Shortly after, the Wind Lance struck the same weakened area. The high-density slash caused the ring's defensive dome to emit a sharp overload hum, making Arthur's ring energy indicator change tone instantly: from stable blue to a vibrant, unstable yellow.
The shield held the impact and prevented immediate defeat, but the force of the blow and the sudden breaking of the magic he was trying to structure caused a violent mana reflux within his own body.
The boy's arcane connection collapsed abruptly, causing a small trickle of blood to flow from his nostrils. He staggered three steps back, letting out a choked gasp. When he regained his balance, he bent his body forward and brought both hands to his head, pressing his temples so hard that his knuckle joints turned white.
His previously immaculate uniform was now torn and stained with dust. The yellow barrier floated around him, weakened and oscillating, as he desperately tried to maintain his balance.
— You can give up now... Anyway, out of courtesy, I'll wait for you to recover. — Right after, I yawned in a clear gesture of boredom — You were very clever, logical, but you didn't even make me tired properly.
Arthur remained motionless for long seconds, his chest rising and falling slowly as he absorbed the piercing twinge of the migraine. He pulled an impeccably white silk handkerchief from his pocket and, with measured calmness, wiped the thread of blood trickling from his nostril.
Upon looking at the red stain on the light fabric, any trace of that false theatrical sympathy vanished from his face. The look he cast upon me did not have Alan's overt anger; it was something much worse: a cold, calculating, and profoundly empty vacuum devoid of humanity.
— Your generosity is... truly touching, Lord Lycon — Arthur replied. His deep voice came out low and velvety, without any change in tone, but with an absence of emotion that caused an uncomfortable silence in the arena. — Returning courtesy by using the boredom of someone observing an insect is a move of appreciable psychological impact.
He folded the stained handkerchief into four perfect parts and put it back inside his torn coat, ignoring the throbbing pain pulsing behind his eyes.
— However, reason does not allow itself to be blinded by childish pride. — Fighting with a defensive margin reduced to half of the original, coupled with a second-degree magical reflux, reduces my statistical chances of victory to an irrelevant value. — Insisting on this duel would be an irrational waste of resources.
He released the mana he was trying to gather and lowered his hands, removing the ring that protected him. As soon as he removed it, and the yellow shield vanished, Arthur took a step back, bowing in an even deeper, slower, and more perfect bow than at the start of the combat — an impeccable staging that looked almost mechanical.
— I surrender — he declared in a clear tone, facing the judge's box. — The victory is yours, Lord Lycon.
The Captain in the box took a few seconds to suppress his surprise at the cold and immediate surrender of the boy from South Port, but soon raised his hand to formalize the end:
— By surrender of combatant Lord Arthur Jr. II, the victory of the first semifinal goes to Lycon of Aritel!
The stands hesitated for a moment, shocked by the strategist's coldness, before erupting into thunderous applause for Lycon's advance to the championship decider.
Rising from the bow, Arthur kept his gaze fixed on me. A millimetrically measured smile returned to his face, but his eyes remained absolutely dead.
— A brilliant performance, my dear — he said, turning back toward the exit tunnel with calm steps, without showing the pain in his leg or head. — Enjoy your triumph in the final. — I sincerely hope we can chat again... when the rules of the game aren't as simplistic as those of this coliseum.
