The ceremonial hall of Solz Magic Studies Academy.
The banquet hosted by the Academy was in full swing.
Besides the students, there were noble and wealthy parents hoping to meet Annan. But the girls clustered around him kept them at bay—until Annan remembered the curfew and sent Olmedo and the others home.
Faster and Leila's fishing contest had to be postponed too.
It took Annan more effort to escape them than it had taken to win the match. He reached the long table and grabbed a pastry. Nearby, someone was talking about him:
"King of the North? Hah... Quite a title. Probably some Noble from a backwater who crowned himself. Though I suppose he's earned it... Siltovis Academy nearly beat Solz Academy to death, and then he did the same to Siltovis Academy."
Annan let the comment slide on account of the compliment. Pastry in hand, he approached Dean Breichim. The dean was speaking with a middle-aged Noble; he said a few more words, then beckoned Annan over.
Annan stuffed the pastry into his mouth. "Dean, who are we facing next, and when does the match start?"
"Eager, are you?" Dean Breichim had not stopped smiling since their return from the Gladiator Arena.
"I'm a lord. My territory is to me what a staff is to a mage."
"Rest for another two days. The people from the Ceremonial Affairs Department should bring news soon." Dean Breichim handed Annan a glass of red wine. "Now, what can the Academy give the King of the North for bringing it such honor?"
"Territory. Gold Narls would do too."
It was an answer worthy of Illymoyas, not an ivory tower.
"Our champion doesn't ask for much, it seems."
Dean Breichim glanced toward the entrance. More guests had arrived.
The newcomers did not enliven the