The circle was silent.
Not even the wind dared cross the dueling ground as Ash and Caius faced each other, two figures standing in the heart of the Academy's oldest tradition—bloodless duels that were never quite bloodless.
Mana trembled in the air, thick and heavy, as Caius's spell swelled into form. The serpent he conjured now was not the flame-born mockery of earlier skirmishes. This one was ancient, refined, its body a chain of emerald fire, scales patterned with glowing runes that writhed like living veins. Its very presence carried weight—an echo of House Serpentis's heritage.
The crowd pressed closer, instinctively hushed. What they witnessed was no student's practice. This was legacy.
Caius's wand hovered steady, his green eyes glinting with cold purpose. "Kneel now, Ash of nowhere," he said softly, but the venom in his voice carried. "Or I will see you broken before all."
Ash stood, hands empty, chest rising and falling with even breaths. The Strategos Codex hummed through him, its voice threading into his pulse, neither loud nor urgent, but constant, deliberate.
This serpent is his vanguard, his symbol of dominion. Do not clash head-on. To do so is to accept his narrative. Break formation. Rewrite the field.
The serpent struck.
Its body cut through the air with a hiss, fangs dripping emerald flame. The crowd gasped as it lunged for Ash's throat, speed blinding.
Ash pivoted. Sand kicked beneath his boots. Mana laced his steps, guiding him just outside the serpent's snapping jaws. His hand shot up, fingers scribing a line through the air, and a barrier flared—thin, translucent, angled not to block but to redirect.
The serpent slammed against it, its momentum skidding off course, its body whipping into the sand and throwing up a spray of grit.
The crowd erupted. Cheers, shouts, curses. Garrick's booming voice cut above them all: "That's it, lad! Make him choke on his own fangs!"
Caius's expression tightened, his mask of aristocratic calm cracking ever so slightly. "Parasitic tricks," he hissed. His wand cut another arc. Mana surged. The serpent recoiled, its body splitting—one became two, coiling and circling Ash from either side.
Ash's heartbeat thundered.
Two flanks, the Codex whispered. A pincer. Cavalry in concert. See not serpents, but horsemen closing in. The answer lies in terrain.
Ash slammed his palm into the ground. Mana coursed into the sand, reshaping it in jagged lines, forcing ridges to rise unevenly. One serpent faltered, its coil disrupted. Ash seized the opening, his other hand tracing a sigil, releasing a shard of compressed mana like a spear. It ripped through the serpent's head, shattering it into a scatter of flame.
The crowd roared.
But the second serpent was upon him. Its jaws closed—
Ash rolled, the heat searing his back, the air alive with fire. He sprang to his feet, sweat stinging his eyes, but his stance never wavered.
Caius lowered his wand slightly, lips curving. "Not entirely incompetent. But you're mistaking delay for victory."
Ash's voice came steady, even as his chest heaved. "And you mistake legacy for inevitability."
The crowd hissed, some laughing, some gasping at the insolence.
Caius's eyes narrowed. His wand rose. This time the spell was slower, heavier, runes spilling from the gem's tip like dripping venom. The ground shuddered as the serpent reformed—larger, denser, scales layered like armor.
The Strategos Codex's voice sharpened. Be wary. This is no longer cavalry—it is a siege engine. Attrition will crush you if you meet it on equal ground.
Ash inhaled, centering himself. His own mana gathered, threads pulling taut within him. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
And then he saw it.
The circle was no longer sand, no longer the Academy. In his mind's eye, the serpent loomed as a siege tower crawling toward his army's line, belching fire. Soldiers scrambled. Archers loosed arrows. The battlefield stretched wide, banners whipping in a phantom wind.
Do not fight the tower head-on, the Codex whispered. Collapse its foundations. Undermine. Shift terrain. Break balance.
Ash's eyes snapped open. His hands blurred, tracing sigils not of direct power but of erosion. The sand beneath the serpent softened, hollowed, a pit forming beneath its coiling body.
Caius's eyes widened as his conjured beast lurched, sinking, its body writhing against unstable ground.
Ash struck. Mana surged from his palm, a wedge of compressed force slamming into the serpent's lowered head. Its body convulsed, cracking apart, fragments of emerald fire scattering across the sand.
The crowd exploded, voices a storm. Garrick's laugh boomed like thunder: "Hah! That's the lad I know! Tear down his pretty toys!"
Caius's jaw clenched. His wand quivered as he lifted it again, veins standing sharp along his hand. Sweat darkened the collar of his pristine robes, though his eyes still burned with haughty pride.
"You think…" His voice was steady, but under it coiled fury. "…that bloodlines can be overturned by gutter-born wit? Then let me show you the truth of Serpentis blood!"
Mana burst from him, wild and oppressive, shaking the air itself. The ground shivered. The serpent reformed once more, but now its shape grew monstrous. Not one, not two, but a hydra—three serpent heads snapping, their bodies twined, emerald fire pouring from their maws.
The circle trembled beneath its weight. Students at the edge stumbled back, fear flashing across even noble faces.
Ash's breath came sharp. His body ached, mana reserves burning, sweat dripping into his eyes. Yet the Codex's voice never wavered.
The hydra is chaos. Multiplicity. Many heads, one body. A general who strikes at heads is doomed. Strike at the body. Sever the unity.
Ash steadied himself.
The battlefield in his mind shifted. No longer serpents, but three cavalry regiments charging at once, their banners streaming. He saw their lines, their formation, their shared supply. He saw the artery that bound them together.
And he knew where to cut.
His hands moved, faster now, threads of mana weaving into a lattice. Sand lifted, whirling, coalescing into jagged spikes angled inward. He funneled the hydra, forcing its writhing heads to converge, its massive body to compress.
The hydra shrieked, fire spraying wildly, scattering sparks across the circle. Ash darted forward, eyes blazing with grim focus. He thrust his hand, driving a lance of mana straight into the core where the three bodies met.
The hydra convulsed. One head shattered, then another, emerald fire exploding outward. The last snapped, jaws nearly closing on Ash—
But Garrick's voice tore across the crowd: "NOW, LAD! STRIKE TRUE!"
Ash twisted, forcing every remaining thread of mana into a final thrust. The lance pierced the hydra's core.
The beast erupted, fire cascading skyward, the shockwave rattling the circle. Students screamed, shielding their faces. The sand scorched black.
Ash stood, chest heaving, sweat-drenched, his arms trembling with exhaustion. But he still stood.
Across from him, Caius staggered, his wand lowered, disbelief flickering across his aristocratic mask. For the first time, his composure truly cracked.
The circle was silent again, save for the hiss of dying embers.
The duel was not over. But the first clash had been decided.