Duel

"Burn, blazing fire element, let the filthy soul find no place to hide from now on..."

In the distance, Donald couldn't make out the content of Carl's incantation. He only saw him slightly open his mouth, muttering to himself, and then between his cupped palms, a growing fireball gradually appeared, red and yellow flames swirling and overlapping within it.

The young man's black eyes seemed to hold nothing but that distant fireball—the first spell he had ever witnessed. At that moment, in his Sea of Consciousness, the crimson Flame Divine Element seemed more vivid and lively than usual.

"Fireball! That's Carl's signature move! His fireball is twice the size of mine!" a student sitting in front of Donald exclaimed.

In stark contrast to the audience's heated excitement, Wesley actually had his arms crossed over his chest, standing perfectly still. Oh no, he was moving—he was whistling! On the much-watched Magic Arena, one side of the duel was fully focused on brewing a spell, while Wesley wore a relaxed expression and whistled. Even when Carl thrust the fireball from his palms toward him, he still looked utterly indifferent.

"Has Wesley been scared stupid?" someone in the crowd asked.

"He was already stupid when he challenged Carl!"

"Move already, stop posing!" Donald watched the fireball grow larger as it flew, unable to help worrying for Wesley.

The fireball kept expanding, just as it was about to reach Wesley... it scattered and broke apart, sprinkling sparks on the ground.

"Carl, I really worry about your intelligence. Firing a tiny fireball from twenty meters away—are you trying to warm me up?"

Laughter erupted from the audience. Those who had been talking earlier finally fell silent.

Carl glared at Wesley. He knew full well that his fireball couldn't hurt the other at such a distance. He had only wanted to scare his opponent first, or perhaps, as a test, make Wesley look foolish. But he hadn't expected that, facing a blazing, fast-approaching fireball, Wesley could stay so calm. It seemed he wasn't as useless as he usually appeared.

Carl slowly stepped forward, stopping after six or seven paces. Now he was only about ten meters from Wesley.

Just as a second fireball began to form slowly between his palms, Wesley started moving. Instead of raising his hands to cast a spell like his opponent, he ran straight toward Carl... his mouth seemed to be muttering something too.

Seeing Wesley's strange behavior, Carl grew flustered. He wanted to release the fireball in his hands as quickly as possible, but because he had pursued power, his Fireball Magic Model was exceptionally complex. Now, halfway through the casting, he simply couldn't stop.

Wesley ran fast, like a gust of wind. He charged straight at Carl, then, just a short distance in front of him, lowered his body slightly, maintaining a forward-rushing posture, and with a motion like an upward sword swing, flung a small Wind Blade with one hand.

It truly was a tiny Wind Blade—viewers farther away couldn't even spot its trace. Its Magic Model was so simple that Wesley could toss it out effortlessly. Who would build such a small Wind Blade model in their Spiritual Power? It had almost no killing power, utterly shabby compared to the blazing fireball in Carl's hands. But now, Carl could only watch helplessly as that pathetic little Wind Blade spun toward him and struck the nearly complete Fireball in his palms.

Wesley still held the pose of swinging out the Wind Blade, even closing his eyes, until the fireball exploded with a roar and the sound of Carl collapsing stiffly to the ground reached him. Only then did he slowly lower his hands and stand straight, shaking his head gently, muttering in a voice only he could hear: "That's just how cool I am!"

As the fireball burst, the crowd erupted in a deafening gasp. But Wesley's self-proclaimed suave pose was met with a wave of boos afterward—clearly, his morbidly narcissistic aesthetic didn't win approval. Still, Donald thought that move was really cool!

Carl wasn't badly hurt. With the referee's help, he even managed to stand up again. It seemed his Fireball's power wasn't as impressive as it looked, and as a Fire-element Magic Apprentice, he had decent fire resistance. But his beautiful golden hair had taken a beating.

"Do you know what fairness means? Fairness means that bullying the weak still gets punished. See, your fireball was big, and my Wind Blade was small, but if you try to mess with me, I'll still make you pay."

Wesley's face turned serious again, a rare sight. "Oh, right, Donald is my friend. If you trouble him again, I'll teach you what fairness means one more time. I don't mind the trouble."

Carl glared fiercely at Wesley, his eyes practically spitting fire—though that had nothing to do with him being a Fire-element Magic Apprentice; it was just a metaphor.

"Friend?" Donald watched Wesley from afar in the crowd. This was his first friend in this world. He was glad to have such a friend, even though he felt today's duel might make things more troublesome.

To avoid trouble, he needed to get stronger fast. That was what he thought.

Late at night, Donald opened the box Mr. Merkel had given him at his desk. Inside were five large bottles of Magic Gold. It seemed Magic Gold wasn't as expensive as he'd imagined, or perhaps the Thousand-Tempered Sword had sold really well.

Donald divided the Five Elements Magic Gold into the crystal bottles Wesley had given him. Looking closely, the bottles had markings—full was thirty-six, exactly the maximum practice amount for his current stage. After portioning them out, he put the large bottles back into the box and stowed it under the bed.

In the days that followed, Donald completed the practice volume of these five bottles every night—that is, thirty-six depictions for each of the Five Elements. He discovered that every six glyphs he drew added one Divine Element, a speed that was truly astonishing.

By the end of November, Donald had ninety Divine Elements for each of the Five Elements, approaching the level of a junior Magic Apprentice. As his Spiritual Power grew, he found his senses becoming sharper, and his mind could focus more easily when thinking through problems.

During this time, Wesley continued his pathetic pursuit of romance in the Library every afternoon. Neither he nor Donald brought up the duel.

As for trouble, Donald's guess was quickly proven right. Though Carl didn't show up again, his lackeys and the students influenced by the rumors they spread began causing all sorts of problems for Donald. The library floor was frequently covered with hard-to-clean filth, dead rats occasionally appeared in his work lunches, and strangers kept bumping into him on the paths.

But none of that mattered. For Donald, the truly important thing now was constructing his first Magic Model.