Why Not Come at Me Together?

After Duke introduced himself, everyone wore expressions that said, Are you fucking kidding me? Clearly dressed in armor, yet he insisted he was a mage. Where was his French long stick—pah, his staff? Where were his mage robes? And why was he a Berserker?

Everyone made their living in the Throne of Heroes, so why was his way of doing things so different?

Rider scratched the back of his head. He was a straightforward man, so he asked directly, "Since you're a mage, shouldn't you have descended as a Caster? Why are you a Berserker?"

Duke stroked his long white beard and smiled self-deprecatingly. "It may have something to do with how I fought when I was alive. I liked using cold weapons and often charged into battle like a warrior."

What the hell did he mean, charged into battle like a warrior?

Rider was even more confused. His Master, Waver, was utterly speechless. "Wait, don't tell me you used your staff to fight enemies in close combat?"

Duke shook his head directly. "No. My staff is merely an optional decoration. I'm better at using heavy weapons. The heavier the weapon, the more naturally I wield it."

Everyone broke down. Lancer spoke up, "By your description, you aren't a mage at all. You're a warrior!"

"No, I truly am a mage! My attainments in magic... ah, in this world, it should be called magecraft. In any case, my mastery of magecraft was unmatched in Middle-earth. I was recognized as the strongest mage!" A hint of pride appeared on Duke's face as he spoke.

Saber's beautiful eyes narrowed. "Berserker, is Erik Gandalf your true name? I mean nothing by it, but I've never heard of any Heroic Spirit by that name!"

Saber had voiced everyone's confusion. They stared intently at Duke,