The Grand Plaza of Overlords Academy was usually a place of transit, a hub where students hurried between floating islands on their way to lectures. Today, however, it was an arena of gossip.
Thousands of students had gathered, forming a massive circle around the central fountain. The air buzzed with excitent and tension.
In the center of the plaza stood Lysander.
He was the picture of nobility. Tall, with flowing blond hair and armor made of crimson dragon scales that shimred in the sunlight. He held a staff topped with a ruby the size of a fist, which pulsed with a visible heat haze.
Lysander wasn’t just standing there. He was broadcasting.
[System Announcent: Public Challenge Issued!]
[Challenger: Lysander (Vice-Head, Arcanist Faction)]
[Target: Alvian (Freshman, Special Entrant)]
[Stakes: Ownership of Departnt of Forbidden Arts & Expulsion.]
"Where is he?" Lysander’s voice was amplified by magic, booming across the plaza. "Where is the coward who hides in a dead man’s lab?"
The crowd whispered.
"He’s calling out Alvian? The guy who supposedly helped in Silverwood?"
"Helped? Please. The report said Rogge did everything. Alvian just carried the luggage."
"But Lysander is Level 38! Alvian is a freshman. This is an execution."
Alvian walked onto the light bridge connecting the Admin Tower to the Plaza. He moved with a leisurely pace, his hands in the pockets of his black robes. He looked like he was taking a morning stroll, not walking to his own funeral.
George ran up behind him, panting.
"Alvian! Stop!" George grabbed his shoulder. "You can’t accept this. Lysander has the backing of the Disciplinary Committee. They’ve rigged the duel rules. It’s a ’No Limits’ match!"
"No Limits?" Alvian stopped, looking at the old professor. "aning lethal force is allowed?"
"Yes!" George cried. "He ans to kill you, Alvian! He wants the key to the vault!"
Alvian’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked... pleased.
"Lethal force allowed," Alvian repeated. "Good. That saves the trouble of holding back."
He shook off George’s hand and stepped onto the Plaza.
The crowd parted instantly. The aura Alvian radiated was subtle, but terrifying. It was the scent of a predator that had recently fed.
Lysander saw him. A sneer twisted the noble’s handso face.
"Finally," Lysander scoffed. "The rat cos out of the hole."
Lysander pointed his staff at Alvian.
"You have sullied the reputation of this Academy, Freshman. Squatting in a Departnt Head’s office, hoarding resources you can’t use. I challenge you, under the Ancient Laws of the Duel."
Lysander spread his arms, playing to the crowd.
"If I win, you surrender the Key to Rogge’s Vault, and you leave this Academy forever."
Alvian stopped ten ters away. He looked at Lysander, scanning him.
[Player: Lysander]
[Level: 38]
[Class: Dragon-Blood Pyromancer]
[Threat Level: Moderate]
"And if I win?" Alvian asked, his voice cutting through the murmurs without needing amplification.
Lysander laughed. "If you win? You won’t. But fine. Na your price."
"Your staff," Alvian said, pointing at the ruby-topped weapon. "And your seat on the Council."
The crowd gasped. The staff was an Epic-grade weapon, the [Heart of the Red Drake]. And the Council seat? That was political suicide for Lysander to gamble.
Lysander’s face turned red. "You arrogant little—"
"Do you accept, or are you just loud?" Alvian interrupted.
Lysander gritted his teeth. His pride wouldn’t let him back down. Not against a freshman. Not in front of the whole school.
"I accept!" Lysander roared. "Prepare to burn, trash!"
[Ding! Duel Accepted.]
[Mode: No Limits.]
[Venue: The Grand Plaza.]
[Countdown: 10...]
A magical barrier erected itself around the plaza, sealing them in.
George watched from outside the barrier, clutching his chest. Seraphina appeared next to him, leaning against a pillar, eating an apple.
"Don’t worry, Professor," Seraphina crunched into the fruit. "The kid knows what he’s doing."
"He’s fighting a Dragon Mage!" George hissed.
"Correction," Seraphina smirked. "The Dragon Mage is fighting a Godslayer."
[3...]
[2...]
[1...]
[FIGHT!]
Lysander didn’t wait. He slamd his staff into the ground.
"[Dragon’s Breath]!"
A massive cone of roaring fire erupted from the staff, engulfing the entire side of the arena where Alvian stood. The heat was intense enough to lt the cobblestones.
The crowd cheered. It was over in one second.
Lysander smirked, watching the flas roar. "Pathetic. Ashes to ashes."
But as the fire raged, a voice echoed from within the inferno. Calm. Bored.
"Is that it?"
The flas swirled, then parted.
Alvian stood there. He hadn’t moved an inch. He hadn’t even drawn his weapon.
A faint, blue aura surrounded him.
[Passive: Frost Heart - Immunity to Fire Damage (Active)]
Alvian brushed a speck of ash off his shoulder.
"My turn."
The silence in the Grand Plaza was deafening. Thousands of students stared, mouths agape, at the impossible sight before them.
Alvian stood amidst the roaring inferno of Lysander’s [Dragon’s Breath], completely unhard. The fire licked at his robes but found no purchase, sliding off an invisible barrier of absolute cold. The cobblestones around his feet were frozen white, a stark contrast to the molten slag of the rest of the arena.
Lysander’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. "Impossible... That spell burns at three thousand degrees! No barrier can withstand that without breaking!"
Alvian took a step forward. The fire parted before him like a red sea bowing to a king.
"Your fire is rely physics," Alvian stated, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Physics has rules. I don’t follow them."
He raised his hand. He didn’t draw the lance yet. He wanted to break Lysander’s spirit first.
"[Frost Descent 2]."
He didn’t cast it as a storm. He cast it as a concentrated sphere in his palm.
"Catch."
He flicked his wrist. The sphere of condensed blizzard shot toward Lysander.
Lysander scoffed. "A snowball? [Fla Wall]!"
A wall of fire erupted in front of the mage.
The sphere hit the wall.
"BOOM!"
It didn’t lt. It detonated. The [Perfected] nature of the skill, combined with Alvian’s massive Energy stat, overwheld the fire instantly. The Fla Wall was extinguished, turned into a cloud of steam that flash-froze into falling ice crystals.
Lysander was blasted backward, his dragon-scale armor groaning.
[-1,800!]
"You...!" Lysander scrambled to his feet, panic setting in. "You are hiding your level! You can’t be a freshman!"
"I am Level 28," Alvian said, walking through the steam. "You are Level 38. By all accounts, you should be winning."
"I AM WINNING!" Lysander scread, his ego fracturing.
He held his staff high. The ruby pulsed violently.
"[Ancient Art: Summon Fire Drake]!"
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