Matabar-Chapter 66 - 65 - Duel

After setting aside his staff, putting down his grimoire, removing his boots, leaving his patched crimson cloak on a makeshift hanger, and unbuttoning his coat, which was too light for Metropolis' still biting winter, Ardi, now dressed simply in a jacket and pants, collapsed onto his bed.

Spending almost six hours endlessly practicing his spellcasting under Aversky's guidance was perhaps only comparable to…

Ardan pondered.

To be honest, he didn't even know what to compare such brutality to. Physically, he wasn't tired at all, but his mind, now that was another matter. By two in the morning, Ardi had begun to feel as though sweat was trickling down the inner walls of his skull.

And yet, even if it was just for a single spell — Ice Arrow — the young man had finally managed to master the ability to rewrite its seal on the fly. Aversky had even deigned to offer a respectful, albeit restrained, nod of approval.

Although, when you thought about it a bit more, the seal wasn't being entirely rewritten; rather, as the Grand Magister had mentioned before, it was simply being adjusted.

Ardi didn't yet fully grasp, in a practical rather than theoretical sense, the necessity of using this style of adjustable spellcasting. The simple fact was that he still needed to read his opponent's seal in time to properly utilize it, and Aversky himself was always forming his seals faster than cowboys could draw their revolvers.

The Grand Magister had insisted that such a tactic — rapid casting — was also a way of counteracting the ability to read and analyze seals. Naturally, this also had its drawbacks: the faster you created your seals, the higher the chance was of you making a mistake. Also, it was significantly harder to alter the structure of it in the process.

"Years will be spent on this," Ardi sighed, burying his face into his pillow. "And the most annoying thing is that military magic is just not that interesting."

Ardan really didn't enjoy training with Aversky when it came to practical matters. Star Magic, like the art of the Aean'Hane, had fascinated him since his childhood with its vibrant enchantments. What Ardan was being taught in the Grand Magister's house amounted to one thing only — effective destruction.

So, the lectures of Professors an Manish and Convel were far more intriguing to the young man, not to mention more useful to his own research.

Speaking of which…

Ardi shifted slightly to the side and, lowering himself closer to the floor, reached out his hand to a particularly squeaky floorboard. He lifted it up by using the groove he'd drilled into it and retrieved the notebook that held his sheet with the seals from the Staff of Demons.

Ardi had long ago ceased to wonder how such an artifact had ended up in a private collection and why the Second Chancery wasn't in a hurry to confiscate it. Perhaps the catch lay in the fact that the matter involved Trevor Man — one of the wealthiest people not only in the Empire, but in the entire world.

Armed with a pencil he would gnaw at from time to time, his entire body heavy with weariness, Ardan trudged toward the table. He flicked the switch, and his old lamp, much like a disgruntled old woman, grumbled at him and finally sparked to life, shining with a steady, yellowish light.

The young man opened one of the last few pages of the notebook he also used to copy the seals and make notes, then armed himself with a pencil.

"What if this isn't a classic free dynamic array," he began to ponder while opening the reference books and textbooks stacked beside him. "But something else… The question is what, exactly…"

Ardan bit his pencil and began to tap a leisurely rhythm with his fingers.

Over the past month, he had made considerable progress in studying the structure of the Chaos School's seals and had even come to understand why Lady Talia had named them that.

The thing was, Talia hadn't used the standard set of elements or kinetic energy. No. She'd relied on some other laws and rules. Which ones? Ardi didn't know yet.

To comprehend these seals, he would need knowledge far deeper and more extensive than what he currently possessed.

"A second Star is needed," the young man declared once again, sprawling out on his chair and staring up at the ceiling. "And it should have no fewer than six rays. Preferably seven. Then I can move on to studying vectors and runic connections."

Ardi pulled out a drawer and took out one of the blue accumulators that, along with some exes, he had taken from his storage in the second branch of the Imperial Bank.

Nearby lay the book of Nicholas the Stranger.

"With this, my mysterious apprentice, we will conclude the foundation upon which we will one day build… I forget the term… ah yes — the Temple of Knowledge. I have shared my thoughts on runic sets and how they can be created as both permanent and non-permanent. Next, what I would like to discuss… To be honest, I would like to talk to you about my thoughts regarding the increasingly obvious connection between the Aean'Hane art and Star Magic, but I still find this matter too premature.

So, I would instead like to move on to studying a much more complex issue, namely — the heart of the seal. Or as I call it — artificial Ley Lines. But for that, you will need to ignite a second Star.

As before, I would advise you to prepare a blue crystal or that trendy 'accumulator' device, but if one is unavailable, a green one will suffice.

And while you only encountered pain last time, this time, you will have to endure not only physical suffering, but also mental anguish. What do I mean by that?

During the ignition of your second Star, the Ley Lines you will see before you shall begin to entangle themselves in knots, and you will have to find the green one you can use to untangle them. This process, as it is now becoming clear to me, resembles the usage of seals. So, before you begin igniting your second Star, try to ensure that the casting of all the spells I described earlier does not lead to even the slightest errors or hesitations.

Also, try to create a couple of your own seals to practice castings and connections.

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I will await you in the following chapters, my dear friend. And once again, as always, I ask you to forge ahead."

Ardan sighed and set aside the old work. The more he delved into modern research and textbooks, the less he referred to Nicholas' book. Not because the latter explained his thoughts and ideas as incoherently as his History professor, but because Star Magic had not only made huge strides over the past five hundred years, but it had also changed its terminology. Sometimes, considerable effort was needed to translate the Stranger's words into the modern vernacular.

Not to mention the fact that the seals outlined in the book had become so outdated that Ardi was already capable of improving them by several orders of magnitude.

This, by the way, was what he was currently trying to do. But only in theory, as the chance to snag a free practice ground in the Grand was becoming increasingly rare, and during his training sessions with Aversky, they dealt with entirely different matters. The only option he had left was to perhaps visit the Spell Market, but alas, if before, the issue had been money, now it was a far more valuable resource that eluded him — time.

"And how do I know I'm even ready?" Ardan muttered to himself, examining the seemingly unremarkable blue crystal in the light of the lamp.

"Ready for what, Mr. Ard?" Someone asked from behind him.

Immediately, his nose caught the scent of forest herbs and fur. Poplar, as always, had appeared silently. Over the past several months, Ardi hadn't once noticed the fluffy creature's arrival.

Poplar, as was his custom during the winter, wore a black jacket adorned with tin medals, red boots decorated with kokhloma patterns, and a toy sabre at his belt.

Half Vila and half forest cat, he sat on Ardan's bedside table, waving his paws in the air.

"To ignite my Green Star, Mr. Poplar," Ardi responded honestly.

"A serious matter," the cat nodded knowingly, causing his long, thin whiskers to quiver amusingly in the air. "You can't make a mistake in such matters."

"I know, Poplar, I know…" Ardi pulled out his second drawer, retrieved a sealed letter, and handed it to the cat.

A fluffy paw flickered and, with a swift, almost imperceptible motion, snatched the envelope from Ardan.

"Do you have something to convey verbally, Mr. Ard?" Poplar asked, folding the letter and tucking it under his arm.

"Not this time."

"Very well," the cat leaped to the floor and, stretching, began to gradually dissolve into the shadows. "The Great Princess has asked you to take care of yourself. Until we meet again, sir."

Those last words were spoken by what appeared to be empty air. They rarely engaged in a dialogue that was longer than a couple of necessary sentences. Instances like this were more the exception than part of their routine.

Mostly, the cat would appear, take Ardan's letter, hand him Anastasia's, and then vanish to deliver his message to her.

The young man set the accumulator down on the table and, taking out his father's knife, carefully cut the seal on the letter. It hadn't been made from candle wax, but from a special postal wax stamped with the Empire's emblem.

On paper scented with lavender and dusted with talcum to prevent the ink from smudging, elegant curls of calligraphic handwriting spiraled into long, neat rows.

"Dear Ardi,

How happy I am to get to write you a letter again. Since the last time I wrote to you after the New Year's ball, where I was once again disappointed by my distant relative and our mutual acquaintance, nothing particularly noteworthy has happened.

I hardly see Father — he's either traveling endlessly across the country, attending interminable meetings and receptions, or involved in other state matters. I see Mother more often, but even that's still only a couple of hours a week.

The rest of my time, as always, is spent among governesses, mentors, and court maidens, with whom I feel both awkward and equally uncomfortable. Their lengthy conversations about clothes, suitors, weather, and fortune-telling tires me. Oh, that's a new pastime among the young heiresses of nobility and wealthy families, believe it or not.

They're completely unscientific ramblings that attempt to explain their own and others' fates through the positions of stars and planets.

Much dearer to my heart and far more pleasant are your adventures, Ardi. Eternal Angels, what I wouldn't give to have the opportunity to join you in your investigations, university life, and all the other things hidden from me by the palace walls.

Regarding your last message: did you manage to make any progress in your investigation into the Staff of Demons? I took the liberty of contacting some reliable, knowledgeable people.

It turns out Trevor Man inherited Lady Talia's staff. Their family has an entire collection of historical artifacts, and for all those items, even during my grandfather's time, the necessary permits and other papers were arranged, allowing them to legally possess such rarities.

In my opinion, there was no lack of corruption there. I will try to find out more. I feel involved in your research, my dear friend. It lightens the gray days I spend in voluntary confinement.

I am only pleased about the fact that my studies with Senior Magister Urnosov are very successful. Father promised to consider my request, when I turn 17, to enroll at the Grand University if I can pass the exams with flying colors.

I hope that, even if it's a few years from now, we can talk face to face once more.

Your friend,

Anastasia Agrov."

Their letters never spanned several pages, as was the case when it came to his correspondence with his mother and brother. It wasn't because they had nothing to say to each other, but because his letters to Delpas arrived every six weeks, whereas with Anastasia, they exchanged messages twice a month.

Of course, this still resulted in delays when it came to exchanging news, but there was nothing to be done about that.

"So, it's part of a collection," Ardan concluded.

He struck a few sparks with the old flint that had been gifted to him by the cowboys he'd worked with, then set the letter ablaze and, waiting until it was smoldering in the ashtray, threw the trash into the bin.

He didn't even want to think about the possible consequences if someone discovered that the Great Princess and the sole legitimate heir to the Empire's throne was corresponding with an ordinary mage who was simultaneously a descendant of the Dark Lord's infamous right hand.

Ardan sighed and, laying his head down on the table, opened his mind to the world. In the rustle of falling snow brushing against cables, which were like strings stretched between buildings, in the creaking of tires sliding on icy embankments, in the series of wing flaps from seagulls and pigeons seeking shelter in the frozen night — within this light, barely noticeable, frosty assembly, Ardi heard the fragments of a Name.

He uttered it, exhaling frost patterns that lay on the inside of the glass, and a small figure appeared in his palm. It somehow resembled Tess — a slender girl in a light, flowing ice-water dress, who swirled before him on the table. With each graceful gesture of her hands and long legs, she created miniature blizzards that swept away his notebooks and thick textbooks.

No matter how outdated Nicholas the Stranger's work was, it remained the only book known to Ardan that touched upon such an ethereal topic as the connection between the art of the Aean'Hane and Star Magic.

Back in Evergale, Ardi had read Nicholas' observations in which he'd suggested that the longer one engaged in Star Magic, the stronger their Aean'Hane art became, and vice versa.

Ardan had discovered that he'd been right. It was now incredibly easy for him to hear the fragments of the Names of Snow and Ice, and he could even summon them reliably. Furthermore, maintaining his concentration and his connection to them had become easier with every passing month.

The ice girl, gleaming with a blue hue, kept dancing and dancing, while Ardan kept his gaze fixed on the accumulator.

Perhaps only a complete idiot would attempt to tackle a matter that could determine his future after spending a full six hours training with a Grand Magister in the field of military magic… while also still not being fully recovered from taking a bullet at close range and various encounters with demonologists, chimeras, and sewers.

But Ardan, as if something inside him was urging him on, felt as clearly as he sensed the figure on the table that the time had come.

Breaking his connection with the Name fragments and brushing off the swiftly-disappearing snowdrift from his table, the young man grabbed the accumulator and his staff, and then sat down on the floor.

Placing the crystal before him, Ardi, as he'd been instructed by Skusty, regulated his breathing and listened to all his senses, then, as if turning away from reality, allowed them to show him what was happening on the other side, where the human eye couldn't reach.

The moment he did so, Ardan almost lost consciousness from the images and flashes of light tearing through his mind. From every crack, every corner, every fold of space, shining rays of Ley rushed toward him.

He saw them as snakes racing from one foggy building to another. He watched them burn in the iron trees that stood over the frozen street. He saw them beating rhythmically like a heart underground, flickering across the skies, and transforming the city into an endless dance of lights that made even the New Year's decorations look pale and unseemly by comparison.

Inhale. Exhale.

Ardan mentally pushed away the roaring storm of mystical light.

Exhale. Inhale.

The brilliance grew less intense by the second. The lights gradually retracted into the cables, returning to the lamps and slowly dimming within the bulbs, plates, transformers, and expensive, humming refrigerators.

And so it continued until all that remained in the midst of this spilled dark ink, which the surrounding world had turned into, was the crystal. The crystal and an endless flow of much less bright, barely-perceptible threads that seemed to be everywhere and that permeated everything around Ardan.

These were the Ley Lines… Or rather, their echoes. Emanations. Ley-radiation. They could be called anything.

They drifted along as threads of invisible wind, bending and twisting and intertwining into such a complex pattern that it was impossible to discern where one began and another ended.

The view that unfolded before Ardan this time was strikingly different from what he had seen all those years ago in the old shed.

This time, it all seemed a bit more expansive, but because of that, it was also much more complex and tangled.

The blue crystal had become something like a beacon in the midst of this colorful ocean of Ley threads.

As soon as Ardan reached for a green thread, it sparked and began to emit a steady glow, like a flame in a dark forest. The other green threads racing through the air paused briefly, akin to a group of weary travelers who had decided to rest by a warm fire after a tiring journey.

Ardi mentally touched these threads and, ignoring the pain, walked their paths. Alongside them, he traversed trails so astonishing that even the Fae's own paths appeared to be both narrower and straighter than the capital's avenues by comparison.

Keeping close to them, Ardi untangled the intricate patterns, freeing the green color from all other impurities. He sifted it through the red clusters, filtered out the blue, unraveled the yellow and pink knots, pierced through the veils of black and gray, and tried to bend all the other colors into arcs to let the green pass through.

But no matter how hard the young man tried, the green threads refused to fit into his consciousness. Every time he stood on their paths and attempted to connect with them, they disintegrated into a sandy haze in his hands.

And then the path began anew.

Strangely, Ardan didn't feel any pain. He simply walked and walked along these paths beyond the grasp of reason and thus beyond a description in the human language. It was sort of like how indescribable it was to feel your own heartbeat during a first kiss; how your soul would howl in anguish at your mother's funeral; how your insides would twist when you said goodbye to a friend forever; how light and high you felt on distant mountains; how calm and heavy it all was at the bottom of a lake, where only silence and soothing darkness would surround you; how an artist's brush would fly across the canvas, leaving patterns of eternity; how fingers would run across piano keys, saying things that tongues usually remained silent about.

No. Those paths could not be described.

They could only be walked. After that, you could maybe sit in silence with someone who had also been fortunate or unfortunate enough to tread them. After all, even if you both knew something, it wasn't guaranteed that you could always find the right words to discuss it. But silence… Silence could sometimes say more than the loudest of songs and sweetest of poems.

Ardan walked, not keeping track of the time, which probably didn't exist here at all. Step by step, he picked up green threads and no longer tried to take them, as he had with his Red Star, in their pristine form.

No, he folded them carefully and leisurely, intertwining them, creating shapes and curves. Some, he passed from below, others, he directed from above, and the few final ones, he guided along and across, until he formed something vaguely familiar yet hidden from his mind. It was like a forgotten word rolling on the tip of your tongue amid a heated argument.

Ardi took the resulting pattern with him and finally felt the first sting inside his mind. It was as if someone had burned him with a hot needle.

But the young man continued.

Inhale. Exhale.

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He wove new patterns over and over, marveling at what he saw before him. It felt like the world was collapsing into a point within which it would reveal all its secrets and mysteries, allowing his desire to create something new and unseen to flourish, only to suddenly, while still inside that point, spread out into endless expanses. Compared to these never-ending vistas, the distance between him and the dark cosmos seemed as irrelevant as the distance between his room and a neighboring house.

And Ardi, marveling at these expanses he didn't even understand, simply walked along invisible paths, and all the while, without paying attention to his actions, he was constantly weaving new patterns. He did so not because he wanted to, but because he remembered that he had to. And if it hadn't been for this memory, he would've probably abandoned his attempts to take the green light with him and simply set off on a journey that would never end, for it had nowhere to end.

But with each new pattern, with each new ray ignited in his burgeoning Star, mysterious waymarks of increasing pain arose in the midst of these enigmatic paths. They marked the route taken, reminding Ardan that this was a foreign, inhospitable world to him.

And Ardi kept trying and trying to climb farther. To see more. He almost felt as if, behind the next bend, around the upcoming turn, he could find something important. Something that would fill the ever-growing void in his chest. It was still small, bead-sized at most, but it was tirelessly expanding and infinitely hungry.

But the pain was already close to blinding him. He walked almost by feel now, so to speak, since when it came to something so ethereal, even a half-forgotten dream was more solid than granite by comparison.

And yet, at some point, Ardan realized that his next step would be his last, and he would either burn in the ocean of pain or disappear, losing himself amid the invisible paths.

Inhale. Exhale.

The young man opened his eyes and severed the connection of his mind with the world of the Ley. Outside the window, the sun was already blazing, breaking through the blanket of gray clouds. On the floor lay the cracked, shattered accumulator, and Ardi, still sitting with his back to the table, was holding his staff in his hands.

He couldn't understand whether he was merely imagining it or not. Was he already "here" or still "there?" And his thoughts were hindered by the fact that, within his mind, his second, Green Star now burned.

A Star with nine rays.

Ardan counted once more. Then again, and again, but the number did not seem to change.

"Damn it," sighed the young man, lying back on the floor and stretching to his full height. "And what am I supposed to do with this now?"

The ceiling Ardi gazed at remained silent as stone.

The young man clearly understood, like he had last time with his Red Star, that by taking a greater risk and with a stronger desire to urge him on, he could have progressed even further. But if back then, the matter had concerned his eighth and ninth rays, now...

"Tomorrow's thoughts," Ardi chastised himself with deliberate sternness.

He stood up and, following his established routine, opened the window and shoveled snow off the roof. Ardan wrapped himself in a towel and wiped down his body. Once a week, he would go to the public baths, spending about seven kso per visit.

Returning to the table, Ardan clicked his flint again, lit the burner, and started boiling water on it, dissolving a powder made from a mixture of invigorating herbs and roots into it.

After downing the bitter liquid in one gulp and washing it down with another pill provided by the Cloaks, Ardan dressed and headed for the exit. At such a late hour, he encountered no one on the stairs except, perhaps, for the ubiquitous slushy puddles. They were cleared in the morning and evening.

The bar, too, was now obviously empty, only having chairs that had been lifted onto tables and…

"What were you doing all night?" Arkar squinted at him. He'd changed from his black suit to a dark coral one.

"Huh?"

"Well, you were doing some magic crap up there... Don't deny it, yeah?" Arkar continued, still squinting, and adjusted his monocle while clicking away at his tally counters. The half-orc was checking numerous report forms and expense sheets. "You had colorful lights flashing in your windows. I thought you were heating up... or burning something, I mean, right?"

"It was a small magic experiment," Ardan did not lie again, precisely, but he did not tell the truth, either.

"Remember our shaking... our agreement, I mean?"

Ardi checked if his grimoire was still tightly chained to his belt, then wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on a knitted cap.

"If you blow something up-"

"You'll break some of my bones," Ardan interjected.

"Perhaps I'll even do so with some added cruelty, Matabar," Arkar nodded.

"See you tonight, orc."

"See you tonight."

Ardan dashed outside, almost hopping as he went, bypassing the rare passersby, letting humming cars go by, and ran to the tram stop. His thoughts were occupied by... no, not the nine rays of his new Star, and certainly not his duel with Kerimov. The young man was entirely absorbed by imagining scenes from his upcoming date. Considering the late hour, the fifth day lectures were almost over, so he would make it to the Grand just in time for the start of his duel.

And after everything was resolved, he would definitely need to visit the infamous baths and maybe, if Arkar had any to spare, ask to borrow a decent suit from him? Or maybe not?

Tess would surely understand, given where she worked, that an outfit meant for someone else's shoulders could never fit him properly. Or, conversely, she would find the thought of going out on a date with a raggedy fellow in a suit that had been patched up and stained with ink unpleasant. His vest with its colorful buttons and his cloak stitched together after acid had eaten away at it would certainly not help matters.

"Are you going to board or not?" A gruff, dissatisfied voice tore Ardi from the whirlpool of thoughts swirling around in his head.

"Yes, of course," he snapped back and, after showing his pass — a cardboard ticket adorned with stamps from the City Transportation Department — climbed the iron steps into the wagon.

The conductor shook his head in disapproval and knocked on the wall, signaling to the driver that they could keep going.

Once he settled into a seat in the last row, where he preferred to sit, Ardan opened his worn, graying wallet.

He still had a decent amount left from the sum he'd received from "Bri-&-Man" — 143 exes and 87 kso — even after all his expenses were tallied together, including his current costs, his textbooks, and paying off his debt to the Anorsky family, which he had finally decided to settle once and for all. Currently, as Arkar would say, four and a quarter exes were on his soul, to which Ardi would add another ten exes for the date.

It would definitely be worth it to ask Din about the bonuses. Or maybe interns weren't eligible to receive them?

In any case, when it came to his income, Ardan still had a scholarship, a stipend (there was a week left until he got it) and a salary from the Cloaks (another twelve days until he received it) to look forward to, but, as always, it wasn't enough.

"I hope something piques their interest," Ardi said dreamily, patting his grimoire.

He tried not to think about what had happened last night — the feeling that he could've ignited more than nine rays. Instead, the young man focused on remembering Elena's explanation about how the Spell Market worked.

Would they like the Water Shroud? It certainly had a very specific set of properties and a rather narrow field of application, but, false modesty aside, for a spell requiring only a couple of Red Star rays, it was a very decent creation.

Ultimately, as Aversky had stated before, a battle between Star Mages could be reduced to the basic need for effective ray expenditure. Any military mage's task was to spend fewer rays than their opponent, or to force them to spend more.

And his Water Shroud perfectly met these requirements. Not only did it neutralize the enemy's spell, but it also directed it back at its caster, forcing them to conjure a shield or react with almost miraculous speed and agility in some cases.

For example, Ardan had never been able to dodge even casually thrown spells when they'd come from Aversky, since they'd always been faster than bullets. But, in the case of Selena, who'd clearly lacked adequate practical training, he had managed to evade her monstrous magic even with a wounded leg.

"Flowers..." Ardan suddenly realized and almost hit himself on the forehead. "I definitely have to go buy flowers."

In the capital, even in winter, those with decent reserves of money still had the opportunity to purchase flowers. They were kept in special greenhouses where the necessary climate was maintained using Ley cables and wards.

"Star Square," the conductor announced.

Ardan moved past several passengers and stepped out onto the street. Then, for the umpteenth time, he slipped on the ice-covered snow. He still couldn't, even after so many years spent wearing them, get used to shoes. He constantly had to fight the urge to take them off and walk barefoot.

"Be careful," Bazhen grabbed him by the elbow. He was dressed in a warm fur coat, hat, and a red scarf adorned with his family crest. Yes, Bazhen actually belonged to a small noble family that had gone bankrupt. Long ago, they had received a title for services in the field of... Ardi honestly couldn't remember what.

"I thought you actually decided to skip the fun," he grumbled and hurried toward the towering mass at the edge of the square. "The last lecture ended ten minutes ago. People have started flocking to the practice ground."

The Grand never ceased to amaze Ardi with its size and monumentality that was mixed with its enchanting, almost floating grace.

"People? Like… plural?" Ardan asked in a despondent tone.

"The first years, at least. All of them came to watch, for sure. And some of the second years, too, those that are interested for their own reasons," Bazhen nodded. "Bloody duels are a rare phenomenon, Egobar. You'd normally have to beat a demon to get permission for one of them... And then along comes a descendant of Aror, wanting to fight one of the Great Prince's closest allies. That's a spectacle in the making."

Ardan, of course, had suspected that it would turn out this way, but had dearly hoped he would be proven wrong. He couldn't stand drawing extra attention to himself. It was an old, ingrained habit. A hunter on the trails had to, above all, remain unnoticed. That was what Aergar had always taught him.

"Did you bring an accumulator with you?" Bazhen grumbled at him, still clearly dissatisfied, over his shoulder.

"Why are you so annoyed?" Ardi was quite surprised. Bazhen usually looked like he didn't care about anything.

"Because, Egobar, the house decided on some ridiculous grounds to make me your guide and chaperone while you're at the university," Bazhen said testily. "Now I have nothing else to do but run around with a wild cowboy. I have, by the way, a week's schedule all planned out! There's drinking, cabaret, lovely ladies, more drinking, and, if you'll deign to notice, there's nothing about a Matabar on that list!"

Ardan only shrugged at that, but the young man who was walking ahead of him did not see this, of course.

"Did you bring an accumulator with you, cowboy?"

In bloody duels, only one accumulator was allowed, with a maximum of nine rays.

"Here," Ardi showed him the red crystal in his ring.

Of course, he hadn't spent money on it. Thanks to a bit of work with a knife, he had taken it out of Gleb's family ring (so that no one would recognize it by accident) and placed it in his own ring. However, he didn't know how many rays it had left. His replacement analyzer hadn't arrived yet.

"Why are you so calm, Egobar?" Bazhen almost croaked out in irritation. "It's still Baron Kerimov. One of the best duelists in the first year."

"I'm..." Ardi began and stopped.

He truly didn't feel the slightest bit of excitement. Not after everything that had already happened. From the Wanderer to Selena Lorlov. Each time, they'd tried to kill him. And this... This was almost a sporting contest. Magical Boxing, basically.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No," Bazhen grumbled, hiding his hands in his pockets. "But you'll ask it anyway."

"How much time do mages have to notify the authorities about igniting a new Star?"

"Six months and three weeks," Bazhen replied instantly. "Then you get a fine of four exes for each week you delay. If you don't notify them within a year, you're criminally liable."

"So, is there a way to find out when a Star was ignited?"

"And how many rays it has," Bazhen nodded. "It's just concentrated Ley energy, Egobar. Of course there are devices and methods that can count and analyze those besides post-mortem skull cracking. They use them, though extremely rarely. After all, what would be the point of a regular mage hiding their Stars or lying about their number of rays?"

"What about the non-regular kind?"

"Our superiors will take care of the non-regulars," Bazhen parried verbally.

At this point, they had already entered the atrium, shed their coats, and after a brief but extremely unpleasant elevator ride down, they found themselves in a long corridor. Ardan hadn't been here since the week before last.

Overall, it was not too long of a period if you looked at it rationally, but it seemed to him like, since then, an entire lifetime, or a significant portion of it, had flown by.

Passing doors leading to testing grounds, Ardan and Bazhen entered the men's locker room and, leaving it behind, stepped out into the light of Ley-lamps.

Ardan whistled lightly, like a cowboy would. Besides the usual barrier of Ley cables over which a powerful shield had been erected, rows of wooden benches had now been laid out along the walls, merging into the wings of a large amphitheater. As Bazhen had warned him, there was barely any room to breathe. Everything was packed to the brim with the haze of scarlet and occasional green cloaks.

"Iolai took care of all of it," Bazhen whispered in his ear. "He wants everyone to watch his man humiliate you."

"Humiliate me?" Ardan didn't understand.

"You know, when he defeats you in the duel," Bazhen explained, a bit bewildered.

"What's humiliating about that?" Ardi still didn't understand. "We're all learning."

Bazhen bowed his head and looked at Ardi with a somewhat strange squint, as if trying to figure out if he was serious or not.

"You're some strange half-blood, Egobar," he declared his verdict and headed toward the barrier.

Ardi only shrugged. In the Alkade, he'd often dueled against young lynxes, bear cubs, wolves, and a couple of times, on Aergar's orders, he'd even fought snow leopards.

And he could count his victories on one hand, but his losses on the long paths of the Spirit of the Day that had left bloody marks on his hide. But no one considered a defeat in battles of cubs humiliating. On the contrary — it didn't matter who won. Fully-fledged hunters valued and respected not the fight itself, but the spirit shown in it.

But, apparently, humans had slightly different norms. Ultimately, if one didn't count the farce against Gleb Davos, and the similar spectacles involving Iolai Agrov and Colonel Kshtovsky, Ardan was, for the first time ever, participating in a real magical duel.

And speaking of the colonel…

Vseslav Kshtovskyas always—with an unremarkable, round, smoothly-shaven face and wore an inconspicuous three-piece suit, over which he wore a pink cloak of the fifth Star. He was standing in the center of the arena.

Ardan, after glancing at the man's epaulettes, smiled to himself as he noted the similarity in their number of rays. Senior Magister Vseslav Kshtovsky had also started with seven and nine rays, and then he'd continued on to acquire eight, six, and another eight rays. That was a monstrous amount of power, as Ardi could now better attest to.

On the other side stood Grand Magister Aversky, who had seven, eight, eight, nine, three, and two rays. Although he'd lost out in the fifth Star, the two rays in his sixth meant that he could use spells requiring six Stars, whereas Kshtovsky couldn't. And when such a mismatch occurred, no amount of accumulators, nor any artifacts, nor anything else for that matter, would be able to help him.

A mage could only use as many rays and Stars in their seals as they actually possessed.

"Student Eorsky, hurry your protégé along," Kshtovsky growled out in his calm, soft bass. "Or else he might just change his mind at the last second."

Some of the students chuckled lightly, while others weren't paying any attention to what was happening, and had buried their noses in their grimoires and lecture notes. They were apparently only interested in the duel itself.

"Don't freeze up," Bazhen glanced at Ardi and gestured dismissively.

Along with him, Ardan stepped over the barrier. For a moment, he felt the titanic magical shield brush against his mind. Such a massive spell definitely couldn't be created or maintained without constant power supplied by Ley cables.

On the side opposite the Senior Magister (who was presumably acting as the judge) stood two people. There was Baron Kerimov, who was massaging his square jaw and shaking out his shoulders that were as round as melons. Dressed in training gear — a pair of loose blue pants with sturdy seams and a black-and-white striped sailor shirt — he somewhat resembled Arkar's distant relative.

Next to him stood Zahatkin, who looked like his surname should've been Scarecrow-kin. Even his suit, which had clearly been tailored to fit him well and attempt to flatter his figure, still hung off him like he was a sentient stick. Or, indeed, a scarecrow.

And, of course, behind them, in the central rows of the improvised amphitheater, sat the smirking Iolai Agrov with the remnants of his entourage.

"Introduce yourselves," Colonel Kshtovsky urged them.

"The challenger," squeaked Zahatkin. "Student Kerimov. Military Faculty. Five rays of the Red Star."

"The defender," replied Bazhen, who was now wearing a monocle. "Student Egobar. Faculty of General Knowledge. Seven rays of the Red Star."

"Both sides," announced the Senior Magister again. "Approach me and present your accumulators."

All four of them moved toward Colonel Kshtovsky. First, Baron Kerimov held out his accumulator. At the tip of his steel staff that had clearly not been cheap and which already had several seals etched into it, a scarlet crystal the size of a palm glimmered.

But appearances could be deceiving. It was not a military class accumulator, so his rays would be restored much slower, at a speed of something like one ray per ten seconds. Compared to military ones, which were able to replenish energy almost instantly, that was sorely lacking.

It was all about purity. His crystal might have been large, but it contained too many impurities.

Without using an analyzer, Kshtovsky demonstratively touched his crystal and announced:

"Nine rays. You pass."

This meant that the baron had fourteen rays in total at his disposal.

Then it was Ardan's turn. He removed his ring and handed it to the colonel. No one was surprised that Ardan had a military-class accumulator. Only Kerimov was grinding his teeth faintly in annoyance.

The professor, after glancing at the ring, first raised his eyebrows, then, frowning, handed it back.

"Seven rays. You pass." He was now looking at Ardan quite differently than before.

No, Kshtovsky hadn't liked Ardi much before, which was apparently due to his dislike of the Firstborn.

But right now, something akin to surprise mixed with actual hatred was flickering in the colonel's dark eyes.

Maybe he'd recognized the ring itself, and the Second Chancery displeased him?

"Both sides — disperse!" Kshtovsky barked.

Bazhen, who hadn't missed the change in the Senior Magister's gaze, led Ardan back to his starting position.

"Please tell me that's not Davos' accumulator!" He hissed fiercely into Ardan's ear.

Of course Bazhen would know about the incident with the noble scion. He'd been made his shepherd, after all.

"Yes, it is," Ardan admitted in an even tone as he opened his grimoire at the Ice Wave page. Kerimov also opened his grimoire and flipped through it. "But I took it out of-"

"It's still engraved, you idiot!" Bazhen spat while barely moving his lips. He sounded like he was ready to breathe fire and simply burn his problem to ashes.

Ardan reached out to scrutinize the accumulator more carefully, but Bazhen grabbed his hand.

"Have you lost your Light-damned mind?!" He shielded him from the colonel's view. "Check it later."

"But why-"

"One of the colonel's daughters is married to Semyon Davos, who-"

"Is Gleb's brother," Ardan finished for Bazhen. As he did so, he recalled what Mart had told him about the Davos family.

"Military mages are a very tight-knit club, Egobar," Bazhen calmed down slightly, stepping aside and standing nearby. "Let's hope the colonel thinks he made a mistake."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we are fu-"

"Sides!" Kshtovsky thundered again. "I will remind you that according to the rules of bloody duels held for training purposes, you are allowed to use offensive military magic. Each side has the right to surrender at any moment, after which the duel will be immediately stopped. Also, the duel will be instantly stopped after one of the duelists takes damage that could cause disability or death. For your safety, healers are on standby."

The colonel pointed at two bored young men. One had a green cloak, and the other, surprisingly, wore a blue one. Both were from the Faculty of Healing.

"Understood?" Kshtovsky turned to the baron.

"Understood," the baron nodded.

The colonel shifted his impassive gaze to Ardi. Maybe his issue was indeed with the ring itself, and not the accumulator.

"Understood?"

"Understood," Ardan confirmed.

"Seconds, you have ten seconds to give advice, after which I will ask you to leave the duel area," the colonel said, turning and exiting the barrier.

"Egobar, listen to me carefully," Bazhen stared at him intently. "Use your entire arsenal. Even the House's spells. Admittedly, judging by the reports, you don't really know any others, but that's beside the point. In short… Make sure the baron comes to fear even the word 'duel' after this."

Ardan frowned in confusion.

"But-"

"It's Aversky's order," Bazhen interrupted him, stressing that last word. "I have no idea what his motives are, and, to be honest, I don't care. I already have enough woes without meddling in the affairs of Grand Magisters..."

Aversky? But why hadn't he said anything to Ardan himself? Why hadn't he even told him that he was aware of his upcoming duel? Except... He had been running his student ragged all night, making him forget how to breathe sometimes.

"Alright, let's go," Bazhen pounded his fist against Ardan's shoulder. "Make it beautiful."

The young man, who was now somewhat overly enthusiastic, seemed to have forgotten about the incident with Kshtovsky.

"Half of your winnings are mine."

Bazhen cursed.

"What an investigator, demons take you… You get a quarter."

"A third."

"Agreed," Bazhen replied after a second's pause, taking a candy from his pocket, putting it in his mouth, and walking toward the benches.

Soon, he and the baron, who was holding his staff out in front of him, were alone in the dueling area.

"Begin!" The colonel thundered.

Kerimov was the first to react. He glanced at his staff, which flashed with the seal of the classic Stone Fist for a moment. That same shimmer could also be seen beneath his feet. And then...

Ardan, frowning, took a step back and lifted his staff above the floor.

Something was wrong here.

Kerimov struck the floor with his staff, and his seal, blazing with energy, disappeared, and then, from the tip of his staff… The most ordinary Stone Fist came out.

But it was slow.

Much slower than gunshots, the tail strikes of that nameless Fae, the chimera's paws, or Selena Lorlov's spells.

Ardan, not wanting to waste his rays, jumped aside and immediately regretted his action. Kerimov, smiling widely, formed his next seal much faster and, in the spot where Ardi was about to land, quicksand suddenly appeared across the floor. This was a spell that the young man had only read about in textbooks before.

Ardi, realizing that he couldn't use magic while in the air, rolled desperately and, falling onto his battered side, tumbled back. Erupting from the floor at the speed of wildly-swung sabers, stone needles shot out at him.

One of them cut his leg, creating a tear in his last pair of pants, and another almost buried itself in his jacket, which he was still supposed to wear on his date.

Ardi couldn't allow this to go on and, while still lying on the ground, he struck the floor with his staff, forming a modified Basic Shield around himself. Its main goal was to maximize his protection from external physical impacts.

And Kerimov had apparently been waiting for this, because as soon as a steely film of energy began to coalesce around Ardan, the baron lifted his staff with both hands and drove it into the ground with great force.

In the same instant, the stone needles shattered and, merging with the quicksand, formed a massive ball almost half a meter in diameter in the air.

Meanwhile, the baron started gathering the lingering energy from his past spells in an effort to be efficient.

The large stone ball, which was barely slower than a bullet, struck Ardan's shield, causing it to vibrate and gradually begin to crack.

"Indeed," croaked the stunned Ardi. "He really is the best duelist among the first-years."

Kerimov's strategy was to first lull his opponents into a false sense of security, then bombard them with a series of rapid spells, forcing them to raise a shield, then the baron would collect his spent Ley and unleash a powerful finishing blow with it.

And Ardan had fallen for it.

He'd acted exactly as Kerimov had planned. Not because he was a fool, but because he had essentially never fought mages before. Not on an equal level, at least.

"Sleeping Spirits," sighed Ardi while looking at the stone ball gradually piercing through his shield. And this was happening despite the fact that Ardan had deployed an absorbing shield.

Kerimov, who still had no fewer than six rays at his disposal, waited. He already saw himself as the victor. If his spell pierced Ardi's shield, that would bring him victory. If Ardan dispelled his shield and tried to escape the follow-up strike, Kerimov would have a window of opportunity to launch his next attack, and his opponent wouldn't have time to defend himself, which, again, would be a victory.

And Ardi couldn't counterattack because then he would have to remove his shield. Or that was what Kerimov thought, anyway.

Ardan, shaking his head and lamenting his own shortsightedness, lightly struck his staff against the ground.

The seal depicted on the pages of his grimoire flashed into being, and accompanied by a collective, astonished gasp, an icy mass formed above the baron's head, siphoning five rays from Ardan's reserves.

The baron wrapped himself in a stone cocoon at the very last moment, which the healers who'd jumped to their feet were glad to see, since they wouldn't have been able to help him. He used up all his remaining rays out of fear as well.

The stone ball, which had almost gotten through his shield, shattered into fine crumbs, and Ardan, rising to his feet, struck his staff against the floor once again.

Of course, he didn't yet know how to reuse energy for spells of the same elemental school as the previous ones he'd cast (students were only taught this, Ley Resonance skill, at the Military Faculty, and Aversky had started him off with the basics), but he didn't need to.

Calmly, feeling unhurried now that Kerimov had completely depleted his energy reserves and was relying on his stone cocoon to protect him, Ardan flipped through the pages of his grimoire.

"Found it," he nodded to himself, then poured his remaining six rays into his own modification of the Ice Arrow.

A wisp of steam curled out from his lips. Instead of the standard, one-meter-long, icy spike that would only take two rays, a two-meter-long spear that was about the thickness of a palm started spinning in front of the top of his staff. It was rotating at such a high speed that the air around its tip trembled slightly and his ears were pierced by a thin, unpleasant whistle.

This shouldn't have worked this well, even considering the amount of Ley he'd spent...

Ardan, staring in shock at the monster he'd created, recalled too late that there was a connection between the art of the Aean'Hane and Star Magic.

"Watch out!" He shouted just as the spear, faster than a bullet fired from a rifle, sped toward its target.

The healers, who hadn't returned to their previous positions, ran toward the baron.

The stone cocoon was… mostly intact. A hole now gaped through its center. It matched the one in Kerimov's stomach.

And the spear, which had flown for another few meters, had shattered and disappeared inside the practice ground's shield. But that didn't concern many people right then. Having lost their ability to speak, the students silently watched as the healers first dispersed the stone cocoon and then started casting spells on the bleeding, choking baron, who was frantically trying to cover the enormous hole in his gut with his hands. His intestines and torn apart internal organs were spilling out of it.

"Damn it!" The healers were joined by Kshtovsky, who started casting spells of his own and covering the baron with various healing wards.

"Leave," a worried Bazhen whispered to Ardan. "I'll handle everything, but… don't show up at the Grand for a couple of weeks."

"I didn't mean to-"

"Leave while no one is watching," Bazhen interrupted him and also walked toward the wounded.

Ardan, turning around, hurried out.

Only one thought was racing through his head: Sleeping Spirits, please make sure that Kerimov doesn't head off to meet the Eternal Angels.