The sun hung already low over Wildeguard Academy, its golden light casting long shadows as the new students were led further through the campus. Calla, their guide, gestured ahead as they approached a massive circular stone structure set slightly apart from the main halls. The building was old, its stone walls worn, but it still carried a palpable air of danger. Blue-tinged wards hummed along the edges, flaring faintly as a distant boom echoed from within. The air smelled of scorched earth and crackling magic.

  Calla made a grand gesture as they reached the entrance. “This, my dear freshbloods, is where disputes are settled properly. Duels, exhibitions, combat tests. You name it. This is where it happens. The academy strongly discourages brawls outside these grounds. If you have a problem with someone, you come here. Challenge them. Fight it out under fair, regulated combat.”

  The students walked into the arena and spread out across the ascending rows of seats.

  At the moment, a pair of students inside the arena clashed, their hands weaving through the air, throwing elemental projectiles. Streaks of fire and ice collided. One of them miscalculated, took a blast to the chest, and went sprawling backward against the softly glowing barrier that surrounded the fighting pit. The wards flared, absorbing the impact before dumping him unceremoniously onto the sand.

  “Fascinating,” Ulmenglanz murmured, watching the magical field absorb the spellshock. “It negates lethal damage.”

  “Correct,” Edrin nodded. “These wards are self-adjusting. They prevent injuries worse than broken bones or bruises. Anything fatal is turned into a harmless knockout. If you go too hard and break too many bones, the referee on duty will step in.” She just finished the sentence before a voice cut through the group.

  “Well then, I suppose it’s time for the rabble to learn his place.”

  Weylan sighed inwardly before he even turned around.

  Valen Aldrich strode toward them, his finely tailored academy robes pristine despite the dirt paths. He looked past everyone else and locked eyes with Weylan.

  “We seem to have a rather unfortunate living arrangement, don’t we?” Valen drawled, his aristocratic accent making every syllable drip with condescension. “Your presence is… unsuitable for someone of my station.” He folded his arms. “So let’s resolve this the proper way.”

  “I challenge you to a duel, Weylan,” Valen declared. “Winner keeps the dorm room. Loser finds accommodations elsewhere.”

  Weylan raised an eyebrow. “I was assigned to that dorm. What, do you want me to do? Sleep outside?”

  Valen smirked. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less where you end up.”

  The rest of the group exchanged glances.

  Calla raised her voice: “Okay, listen. Academy rules are allowed for duels to settle non-critical disputes. Room claims, seating arrangements, team formations, but forcing someone to completely move out of their assigned housing is borderline petty nonsense.”

  “Well?” Valen asked smugly. “Afraid to face me?”

  Weylan stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled. “…Fine.”

  A collective murmur went through the group. Calla lowered her hands in defeat. “Why do I even bother…” She clapped Weylan on the back and called out. “First duel of the semester for the freshlings. Clear the arena.”

  Selvara, perched on Weylan’s shoulder in her raven form, let out a low caw.

  “I’ll be fine,” Weylan muttered. “But I’m definitely going to make him regret this.”

  Weylan sighed audibly, rolling his shoulders before giving Valen an easygoing shrug. “Look, I really don’t mind sharing a room. It’s a big place, we’ll barely even see each other.”

  Valen’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the casual tone.

  “But,” Weylan continued, “I do have one concern. Our names sound too similar. If we’re both studying in the same semester, people might confuse us.”

  Valen scoffed. “As if anyone would mistake a noble heir for a commoner.”

  “Still,” Weylan pressed on, ignoring the jab, “we should avoid confusion. So, let’s make this duel more interesting.” His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “If I win, you accept a name I choose for you. For the rest of the semester.”

  A murmur of interest rippled through the gathered students.

  Valen’s expression twitched. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Afraid?” Weylan asked innocently.

  Valen’s nostrils flared. “Fine,” he snapped. “But when I win, you’re moving out.”

  Weylan shrugged again. “Deal.”

  The duel was quickly arranged, with nearby students streaming in from outside. It wasn’t every day that a student challenged someone this early in the semester.

  When the two entered the arenas floor, the glowing barrier of the Duelists’ Arena flickered to life, ready to prevent lethal damage.

  Edrin Voss, a senior student acting as impartial judge, stepped forward. He held a faintly glowing white staff. “Standard rules: The wards are strong, but not infallible. So, no trying to circumvent the protection. No intentionally lethal attacks, no outside interference. Winner is decided by surrender, incapacitation, or judge’s call. If I throw this white staff, you stop casting and step apart immediately.”

  He looked at both duelists. “Ready?”

  Weylan gave a lazy nod, stretching his fingers.

  Valen smirked arrogantly, raising his hands as magical energy flared around them. “Of course.”

  Edrin swung his arm down sharply. “Begin!”

  The moment the duel started, Valen wasted no time. He started casting and flourished his hands dramatically, gathering raw magic into a blinding sphere of fire. Weylan exhaled.

  The fireball roared forward, hissing as it tore through the air…

  Weylan simply stepped aside, and the fireball streaked past him, crashing harmlessly into the arena’s barrier before being absorbed.

  * * *

  Edrin adjusted his position on the raised platform. He was only supposed to observe, but years of officiating student duels had turned him into something of an unofficial commentator. He couldn’t help himself. “And we begin! Valen Aldrich leads with a Level 2 Fireball. Good choice, going for the kill while his opponent isn't ready…”

  He trailed off as Weylan dodged effortlessly. “Oh. Thought he wasn’t.”

  The fireball sailed past empty space and exploded harmlessly into the ward around the arena.

  Valen’s expression darkened. He snapped his fingers and half a dozen tiny fireballs appeared floating around his hands. A showing gesture sent them all forward.

  “Right into a Firebolt volley, good instinct, rapid follow-up. Let’s see if Weylan can…”

  Weylan rolled forward in a tight tumble, just barely ahead of the first bolt. He twisted sideways mid-motion, dodging another. Then, instead of continuing the logical path of retreat, he did something completely unnecessary. A full backflip.

  Edrin blinked.

  “Uh. Interesting choice. Flashy.”

  Another spell came Weylan’s way, and instead of stepping aside, he vaulted sideways in a flick-flack. His feet barely touched the ground before his body flipped over itself again.

  Gasps from the crowd and a few cheers.

  “Now he’s just showing off. He’s going to get an earful. I can see Professor Kaelthorne coming down from the observation tribune. Well, technically, that is dodging.”

  Valen’s frustration was palpable.

  With a growl and an arcane word, he slammed a foot onto the stone, sending a shockwave outward in a wide crescent. No dodging that.

  Edrin leaned forward, expecting to finally see Weylan forced into a block or counter-move.

  Instead… he jumped.

  No. Not just jumped.

  He twisted mid-air, kicked off the barrier field, and flipped completely over Valen’s head.

  Edrin let out a low whistle. “I have no idea what that was, but I respect it.”

  Valen spun…

  SLAP.

  A single open-palmed strike landed clean across Valen’s cheek.

  Edrin winced. “Oh no.”

  Valen froze.

  The whole arena went dead silent.

  Weylan stood behind him, completely relaxed, as if he’d just swatted a fly instead of a noble heir.

  Slap.

  A light pat to the cheek this time. Mocking. Patronizing.

  Laughter erupted from the audience.

  Valens hand dropped to his side, but he didn’t carry his sword on campus. His entire body shook with rage. “Fight me like a mage, you peasant!”

  Weylan shrugged. “I don’t know any combat spells… yet. That’s what I’m here to learn. I could stab you, if you insist…” He drew the mundane dagger he’d brought to avoid showing off his Assassins Dagger. He twirled it around his fingers.

  Valen went completely still. It was clear Weylan was too close to cast a spell before his opponent could stab him. Or worse, slap him again.

  Finally, with rigid, mechanical movements, Valen raised his hand. “I yield.”

  The protective field dissipated.

  The crowd erupted.

  Valen turned and walked away, face red, every step stiff with bottled rage.

  The assassin-turned-student then called out, loudly enough for all to hear: “Wait, I didn’t choose a name for you yet.”

  Valen stopped.

  Weylan smiled.

  Students started immediately started calling suggestions.

  “Slapface!”

  “Noblenose!”

  “Hodgepoddle!”

  Weylan held up his hand and the crowd fell silent.

  His mind raced. He needed to do some quick last second thinking. The bet about Valen’s name had been a spur of the moment idea, but hearing the suggestions offered, he realized that bet could have dire consequences. He could humiliate Valen for all to see. He thought himself a good judge of character and all he felt, was that Valen would honor his bet. Whatever name he chose, the noble would bear it for the rest of the semester. And it could start the equivalent of a blood feud against a noble house before he even had his first lesson at the academy. He had to be diplomatic.

  “From now on, you go by… Aldrich. The name of your house, instead of your first name. That should suffice to avoid any confusion.”

  Valen paused, then nodded and left without a word.

  As the group tried to leave the arena, they were stopped by a female mage. Her weatherworn face was marred by three ragged scars and age lines that hinted at a high age, even for an elf. “Not so fast! It is customary to accept post-combat evaluation after every duel. I am professor Yveris Kaelthorne, your combat magic teacher.”

  She turned to Valen first. “Good casting style, fast and decisive. Effective spell choices. Optimized combat spells instead of those slow and wasteful modern modular spellcasting nonsense. I have two points of critique though. First, your fire spells were much too bright, too flashy. Too much energy wasted into light instead of damage. Second, you were casting stationary. That just begs for a sniper shot. Always keep moving in combat.”

  Valen nodded.

  Then the professor turned to Weyland. “Great movement. Outstanding dodge potential!” She narrowed her eyes. “But if I ever see such unnecessary fancy acrobatics again, I will be cross with you. While airborne, you’re unable to change your trajectory.”

  She stepped back to look at both of them. “All in all, I’m quite pleased. Good start for the semester. Ten points for each of you. I’ll see you tomorrow for your first lesson.” She whirled around and went away.