That evening, Kaelith found him sitting on the rooftop of the west dorm, legs dangling over the edge. She moved like ink across glass—quiet, flowing, beautifully dangerous.
"The rumors are amusing," she said, plopping beside him with a grin. "But the way Riven walks around? As if he's already carved his name into your grave."
Cael didn't respond.
Kaelith tilted her head. "Say the word, darling. I'll slip in tonight. Quick slice. Quiet bleed. No one will suspect."
He turned to her then, shadows stretching under his eyes. "If I hide behind knives and shadows…" His voice was low, firm. "I'll never grow stronger."
She narrowed her gaze. "You could die."
"Then let him try."
Silence.
A cold breeze swept across the rooftop.
Kaelith studied him for a moment longer—then gave a slow, approving smile.
"Fine. But if he touches your pretty face, I'll kill him afterward. Consider it romance."
Cael didn't sleep that night.
He sat cross-legged in the dim light of his room, poring through the archive logs of previous academy duels, especially those involving Riven Darrox.
Arrogant. Overconfident. Reliant on brute mana force.
Classic noble duelist.
But one thing stood out: Riven always opened big. Mana-heavy starters meant to scare the opponent into defense or submission. If that failed, he got reckless. Sloppy.
Perfect.
Cael scribbled down patterns, reviewed spell-casting tempos, noted Riven's wrist movements.
The next morning, instead of resting, he sought out Instructor Gahrel—a retired battle mage with a reputation for unorthodox warfare.
"Teach me how to bait a caster into burning out."
The grizzled instructor raised an eyebrow. "You? The prim noble with gloves too clean?"
"I won't be clean for long."
They trained for hours in the shadow of the arena walls. Gahrel showed him how to manipulate mana currents, disguise trap spells, and most importantly—how to break rhythm.
By sunset, Cael had prepared a trap that relied not on strength… but on patience and manipulation. A weave of suppressing runes hidden beneath his dueling boots, and a delayed mana echo spell—a mimic that fed Riven's own casting back into itself.
All he had to do… was let Riven destroy himself.
The Duel Begins
The arena was loud. Too loud.
Students filled the stands, buzzing with rumors. Academy instructors stood at the edge, watching like hawks. Even Headmaster Velric had taken a seat—cold-eyed and distant.
Riven Darrox stood center stage, smirking like a lion moments before a feast. His red dueling robe shimmered with enchantments. A small circle of his family's retainers stood nearby, already discussing the aftermath.
"I see they let the academy's dog out of its cage," Riven sneered across the distance. "Hoping it still remembers how to bark."
Cael walked to the arena circle in silence, gloves tight, expression unreadable.
More laughter from the crowd. Whispers: He's going to get flattened. "Why did he even accept? Riven's going to break him."
But Cael said nothing.
"Let them believe it.I don't need power to win. Just leverage."
The duel instructor signaled the start.
Riven didn't hesitate. Flames erupted around his arms as he cast Ignis Tempesta—a raw firestorm, all fury and no finesse.
The heat surged forward in a roar.
Cael didn't move.
He let the blast strike where he stood.
And the crowd gasped—because instead of being flung backward, Cael vanished into smoke.
Illusion layer 1: trigger complete.
Riven blinked, confused.
Then his own flames suddenly twisted, reversing direction—sucked into a glowing glyph beneath his feet.
His eyes widened. "What—!?"
Cael reappeared behind him, calm, untouched.
He spoke, just loud enough for only Riven to hear.
"You fight like a noble."
The words hissed from Cael's lips like a curse, and then the trap rune beneath Riven flared—sickly blue lines pulsing as the mana echo snapped tight.
The firestorm Riven had conjured was too saturated, too unstable. Cael had baited it perfectly, and now—
BOOM.
The blast ripped through the arena floor like a collapsed lung, fire twisting back into its caster. Riven screamed as the backlash caught him in the chest, hurling him backward.
Gasps echoed from the stands. Dust and smoke surged.
But Cael wasn't standing tall.
He staggered forward, coughing hard, his coat scorched and arm trembling. His mana field had cracked during the shockwave—his illusion had held for one moment too long, and the edge of Riven's secondary spell had pierced through, lashing across Cael's side like a burning whip.
Blood ran down his ribs.
Riven, on the other hand, lay motionless near the edge of the dueling circle, robes singed, one arm twisted unnaturally. He groaned but did not rise.
A long silence followed—then the duel judge stepped forward, voice echoing:
"Victory: Cael Ardyn."
Cheers erupted. Others just stared. Even the instructors whispered.
Cael didn't smile. He barely heard it. He stood upright only by force of will. His breath was ragged, fingers twitching as he fought to keep his legs beneath him.
Outside the arena, Kaelith waited, arms folded, gaze sharp.
When Cael emerged—limping, one shoulder slouched, brow soaked with sweat—she rushed forward.
"You idiot."
She cupped his face with both hands, heedless of the soot and blood. "That… wasn't the system, was it?"
Cael's eyes met hers. Pale, tired. And yet—steady.
"No," he said. "Just me."
Then he exhaled. "That matters more than they know."
Kaelith's lips curved into a grin, half-feral. "You made me proud darling."
He let her cling to him as they left the crowd behind, the whispers already spreading—how the 'system-born' had won without the system.
That night, as Cael lay in bed—bruised but still alive—the room remained silent… until a familiar chime echoed in his skull.
[System Status: 72-Hour Cooldown Initiated.]
[Rewrites Currently Locked.]
[Emotional Calibration in Progress.]
A pause. A flicker of something less cold.
[But perhaps… you needed this.]
Cael didn't respond. He stared at the ceiling, remembering the duel—not the fire, not the pain, but the moment just before the explosion.
The moment he knew he'd outwitted Riven without altering a single thread of fate.
He smiled. Just slightly.
Then closed his eyes.