The chatter around us grew louder.
An official duel?
My instincts told me that this was a trap.
Jaran, the third-ranked magical swordsman in our class, whose pride rivalled that of a Barbary macaque with a goatee, would never willing apologise to me without reasons.
Just as I was about to refuse his offer, Fredric interjected, "That's impressive. I'd mistaken you for the prideful type, along with some of your peers. Admitting to your mistakes is an admirable trait that all aspiring heroes aspire to."
He stretched his hand and parted Jaran's shoulders gently.
"If you continue to cultivate this character, your reputation will be as boundless as your talent."
He smiled at Jaran.
"What kind of request do you want to make with Ezekiel? I hope that it isn't something that would further provoke conflict between you two."
"No, it isn't anything like that," Jaran shook his head and responded.
