Duel

If one were to discuss the essence of spellcasting, there would be far too many theories and speculations. Yet as magic developed, mages gradually reached a common conclusion: it was the imitation of things found in nature.

It was difficult to imagine that this was the mages' conclusion, but their explanation was simple. Magic could create nearly anything humans could imagine. Mana biscuits, bread, or turning it into meat might be more difficult, but magic could stimulate livestock growth and make them grow more meat. From that perspective, it was true enough.

Magic was an almost omnipotent thing. As long as one turned it into the right key, one could easily open any door one desired. By that logic, as long as one mastered the most profound arcane arts, not only immortality but even godhood would be possible. At the very least, the mages of today were confident in the future.

Except for Lister. He knew very well what would happen in the future. Although this world had clearly undergone some unknown changes, with enormous alterations to its terrain and people, Storm City, Lordaeron, and Quel'Thalas still existed. Heavens, everyone knew Arthas would lead the Scourge in sweeping across the world. He was a being who would become a demigod; calling him the God of Death would not be an exaggeration.

Dalaran's prosperity would be trampled time and again by the Dragonmaw Clan's red dragons and the Scourge's iron hooves, before Archimonde, the Burning Legion's second-in-command, crushed it in one grip and reduced it completely to ruins. The mages' grand dreams would utterly shatter there, and they would retreat to Northrend to shut themselves away.

Lister slowly read through the book. What surprised him, yet made perfect sense, was that he recognized every word but could not understand what any of it meant. Things like channels for transmitting magic and methods of connecting magic to one's pupils were completely beyond him, yet such technical terms filled the entire book. He had no choice but to abandon his unrealistic notion. Had he known, he would have chosen the more practical gold coins instead.

He took a sip of sweet-and-sour apple tea and began focusing on the chicken legs before him. They were covered in spices, their golden-brown skin wrapping tender yellow meat. It would be a waste to leave them untouched.

But peaceful life clearly could not last. A commotion broke out in the crowd as two people grappled with each other. One of them was Nobo.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Ambella's piercing cry brought the laughter and cheer brought by the clowns to an abrupt halt. "What are you doing?!"

It could hardly be called a grapple. Nobo was like a stubborn rabbit held in his opponent's grasp. No matter how he twisted, he could not escape the eagle's restraints. A tall warrior in black armor held him in one hand, then casually shoved him to the ground face-first. Nobo howled and tried to fight back, but his disadvantage in height got him kicked in the stomach, sending him flying.

"He's only a child!" a noblewoman cried out. "Joel! Let him go!"

"Unless he brings me that child who killed a dreadwolf alone, I'll hang him here for a day." Joel's handsome face looked thoroughly twisted. With a cruel smile, he tied Nobo up with a rope and hung both his hands from a flagpole, suspending him in an extremely humiliating posture. He gently stroked Nobo's head. "Now, tell me. Who is this child who's stronger than me?"

"Lister! Lister!" Nobo cried helplessly. Joel smiled at the surrounding crowd as he waited, waiting for the little brat who had made Nobo humiliate him in public.

Just moments ago, Nobo had publicly claimed that even eight-year-old Joel could not defeat a dreadwolf, while one of his companions had killed one alone last night. Joel agreed with the first half, but Nobo had boasted during the second half—that meant his companion was stronger than Joel.

An eight-year-old child was stronger than him? Joel had to act. He had to find this person and use his actions to slap that little hater's face hard!

"Looks like he's a coward. He won't come save you." No sooner had Joel spoken than a half-grown child pushed through the crowd, his gaze utterly calm. "I'm here."

"Sir Joel!" Ambella hurried over, looking at Joel pleadingly. "Nobo was just talking nonsense. He's only a child. As for Lister, it was just a coincidence. He is no match for you at all."

"Whether he's my match is something strength will decide, little girl." Joel easily pushed Ambella aside and strode toward Lister, his tall body advancing like a mountain. "You're Lister?"

"Yes." Lister neither bowed nor acted arrogantly. "That would be me."

"He's a half-elf," said a burly man in pristine white priestly robes. "How can he be living among humans?"

"Sir Uther, among elves, refusing to marry and have children is considered deeply shameful, especially with us humans. Once you reach Dalaran, you'll understand. Our sense of superiority when looking at monkeys is nothing compared to theirs when they look at us." A mage elegantly sipped his red wine. "You should think more carefully about how to preach in Dalaran. Mages find it difficult to accept rigid constraints."

"Very well." Joel looked at Lister. "So you're willing to accept my challenge? Hmm, little fellow?"

Lister studied him carefully. "How much?"

"Huh?" Joel spread his hands in disbelief, his long golden eyebrows knitting together. "What did you say?"

"I will not fight a meaningless battle. Tell me, how much are you willing to pay?" Lister's voice was gentle yet firm, and that utterly enraged Joel. He yanked the purse from his waist and slammed it onto the ground. "Is this enough?! One thousand gold coins! Enough to buy your dog's life!"

Such atrocious behavior naturally drew disapproving looks from those around him. Two knights stepped forward to persuade him, telling him there was no need to argue with a child like this and that he should mind his image. Uther also took the initiative to approach Joel.

"I am Uther." The devout and respectful believer treated the other man with impeccable etiquette. "I am a priest who believes in the Holy Light. The Holy Light has three great virtues: respect, tenacity, and compassion. As adults, we should not be so harsh toward children. Sir Knight, I hope you will take back your previous words. This land has no need for innocent blood."

But Joel, consumed by fury, ignored everyone's attempts to stop him. He looked at Lister. "If you defeat me, I'll let your friend go."

"I have no sword, nor do I have armor." Lister looked at him without the slightest fear.

Joel gritted his teeth and wrinkled his nose as he began removing his armor. "Very well, very well. I won't wear armor either. As for a sword, go find yourself a shortsword."