Sir, Times Have Changed

Brilliant, dazzling bolts of lightning burst from the duplicate's hands like a mad dragon, hurtling toward the mage trapped inside the cage formed by the Wall of Force.

Ryan held an exquisite card between his fingers. Watching the duplicate's teasing gaze and the faint, amused smile at the corner of his mouth, Ryan's heart returned to its undisturbed calm.

Given his meager strength, Ryan really didn't want to use his planeswalker abilities unless absolutely necessary.

But in such a desperate situation, if he still held back and refused to use his planeswalker cards, Ryan figured he'd be eliminated for sure.

For Ryan, this trial was the closest he'd come yet to the blue planet of his previous life. It felt as though one more step would let the kite floating in the sky reconnect with its severed string.

The legacy of a legendary Arcanist of extraordinary, unfathomable power was enough to drive any ambitious mage on the continent of Faerûn wild with desire. Without this fortuitous encounter, Ryan reckoned he wouldn't even have made it through the door.

There had to be something Ryan yearned for among the legacy of this suspected transmigrator and senior master.

It was a heaven-sent opportunity. To Ryan, it was like a traveler crossing mountains and passes, stumbling upon a caravan bound for home in a vast snowy wilderness; like a wanderer adrift at the ends of the earth, happening upon a letter from home.

Ryan wasn't willing to give up just like that. If he missed this chance, who knew whether he would ever find another clue about his previous life?

Hoping for good luck and another such fortuitous encounter on the vast continent of Faerûn was as unlikely as waiting for a ship in the desert.

As for the possibility of exposing his planeswalker abilities, Ryan considered it carefully. Beneath the Mythal and in these underground ruins deep in the mountains, no one could witness his planeswalker powers.

Spark's superior nature had also let Ryan completely escape Divination's lock. From then on, he vanished into the mists of fate, beyond even the gods' ability to locate through divination.

After a moment's deliberation, Ryan reached a conclusion: Fuck it, let's do this. Time to draw!

As a planeswalker apprentice, Ryan's Spark could currently sustain only six cards in his hand, and he could draw only three cards from his deck each day to add to it.

And because he lacked Land Cards, all he had was the twelve points of white mana provided by [Westfall] and the five points of green mana provided by [Maribo Forest], for a total of just seventeen points of mana.

Though the raw mana provided by Spark meant Ryan didn't need to supply extra mana to sustain his existence (Spark had sustained Ryan's ten points of mana when it awakened; if his power increased further, he would need to provide extra mana himself to maintain his immortality), the mana from just two Land Cards was still far too scarce.

So, being clever and choosing quality over quantity, Ryan had prepared only six planeswalker cards in hand: one weapon card and five spell cards. That way, he could draw the card he wanted and use it immediately whenever necessary.

Ryan's hand was currently as follows:

[Weapon Card—Ryan's Signature Staff: 3 white mana, 1 + other mana]

[Spell Card—Lesser Fireball: 3 mana of any color]

[Spell Card—Dimension Door: 5 mana of any color]

[Spell Card—Fly: 3 mana of any color]

[Spell Card—Dispel Magic: 3 mana of any color]

[Spell Card—Hold Person: 3 mana of any color]

Hold Person to control his opponent, Dispel Magic to break spells, Lesser Fireball for a tactical sweep, Dimension Door for a strategic retreat, Fly for making a getaway—Ryan had weighed each choice carefully, and best of all, every spell could be cast instantly at the mage's will.

As the Dimension Door spell card in his hand crumbled into flecks of starlight, the mage vanished amid the dazzling, eye-searing lightning.

A nimble figure appeared outside the barrier, ten feet from the duplicate. The blond youth strode forward, gripping an adamantine staff, and swung his weapon at the duplicate's head. The staff whistled through the air, its roar like a piercing lament.

Though the apparition sensed the deadly threat from behind, its expression remained utterly impassive. In the blink of an eye, it completed its casting gesture, and a cloud of silvery-white mist enveloped the duplicate. The whistling staff passed through the mist, stirring a swirling haze that quickly dispersed.

The duplicate appeared directly outside the barrier. The apparition's austere face remained impassive, its gaze deep and gloomy, like a specter from an eternal frigid hell staring at the mage inside the barrier.

Phew. Ryan let out a long breath of relief. It was ridiculous that the duplicate had managed to dodge such an unexpected sneak attack with Misty Step, but at least they'd swapped places, so it wasn't a bad trade.

Ryan had now successfully entered the Globe of Invulnerability, and the duplicate had been forced outside. The tide of battle had turned!

Ryan could already see victory's dawn. So what if his opponent was a level-12 mage? With his Spell Slots limited, the duplicate had used up nearly all his high-level spells. Now he could only rely on a few first- and second-level spells. The outcome was settled.

But Ryan had no Spell Slots left either. He could only attack with spell cards. Still, after thinking it over, he ultimately gave up on the tempting idea, just in case.

Everything one did left a trace.

The best way to hide something was to make it not exist. The best way to avoid exposure was to make fewer appearances. At least before his claws had grown sharp, Lion shouldn't be so ostentatious.

The duplicate stood on the platform thirty feet from Ryan. A stream of numbers flashed across those ice-cold eyes. Even the Tower Spirit had been caught off guard by Ryan's cheating. It pushed its calculations to the limit, incorporating the new variables into its model and running it again.

But then something happened that shocked and surprised Ryan once more.

"Mage, you're very good. It's time for round two."

The duplicate suddenly spoke, its cool, mechanical voice betraying a hint of mischief.

The apparition extended its long, bony fingers and snapped elegantly and unhurriedly.

The mage was astonished to discover that the Weave had been completely shut out of the Virtual Martial Arena. Every magical effect and barrier on the platform vanished, and even the elemental particles dispersed from the air.

In other words, spellcasting was forbidden here.

The mage furrowed his brow, his voice full of doubt and confusion. "Who are you? The Tower Spirit's replica couldn't possibly have such a vivid personality. Who exactly are you?"

This battle was full of things that didn't add up. The blond youth had long been suspicious of this so-called duplicate.

A mechanical mind bestowed by the Tower Spirit couldn't possibly be so vivid. The taunts and teasing gestures that occasionally appeared during the fight clearly showed that someone else was controlling the apparition. Even its small movements revealed the presence behind it: an intelligent being capable of joy and sorrow.

The discovery made the blond youth's heart sink like a stone into an icy lake. What the hell am I fighting?

The duplicate drew a crimson, ancient longsword from behind its back. Its face—identical to Ryan's—broke into a playful, delighted grin. The innocent, unblemished smile was like that of a child who'd finally gotten the toy he'd been longing for. He said with a laugh:

"Beat me, and I'll tell you.

"The Tower of Babel analyzed your martial arts foundation from your build, muscle distribution, and habits of movement. That's why I added this battle at the last minute.

"This spirit body's physical abilities are half yours. I haven't stretched my legs in a few hundred years, so I wonder if I've gotten rusty."

The duplicate talked to itself, a wild, arrogant grin spreading across its face.

Gently wiping the crimson blade in its hand, the duplicate raised the sword and pointed it at Ryan, who was frowning. Its calm tone could barely conceal its defiant arrogance.

"This sword is named Han Guang. A famous cold-forged blade, sharp enough to cut hair blown against it. Its blade is three chi and three cun long, and it weighs six jin and four liang."

Ryan's pupils quivered violently. Inside, a hundred little question marks seemed to be singing and dancing, calling out to children.

What was with this ancient wuxia-style dialogue?

What the hell was going on?

Could someone tell him whether he'd transmigrated again?

But seeing the burning, expectant gaze of the old freak across from him, who had just revealed that he was hundreds of years old (Ryan grumbled silently to himself), Ryan sighed, raised his staff, and recited his line listlessly:

"Nameless Staff, made of adamantine, four chi and two cun long, weighing twenty jin and eight liang."

"Good! Today, you and I shall settle both life and death, and decide who is the better fighter."

The duplicate was completely immersed in character now. Beneath its feigned impassivity, excitement and joy were hard to hide.

On the moon-white platform, two handsome blond youths faced each other from thirty feet apart. The fierce battle spirit in their eyes struck sparks in the air.

Ryan grinned and suddenly charged across the platform. The duplicate charged toward him without a moment's hesitation.

The two swift, leopard-like figures darted and weaved, rapidly closing the distance. Just as they were about to collide, Ryan abruptly stopped and a huge hand cannon gleaming with a metallic chill appeared in his hands.

Ryan aimed it at the duplicate and pulled the trigger. A tremendous report and flashes of fire rang out across the empty platform.

The duplicate's pupils contracted. In the split second before the shot, it shifted aside, but it still couldn't escape the spray of the ammunition. It only had time to let out a heartfelt cry:

"FUCK!!!"