There was something inherently suspicious about being summoned to the dueling grounds at dawn with no explanation.
Sylas stood at the edge of the marble arena, arms crossed, cloak fluttering slightly in the crisp morning breeze. A circle of bored-looking students milled around the perimeter, some munching on early pastries like this was their entertainment for the day.
It probably was.
"I thought this was optional," he muttered.
"No one forces a Vermund," a voice drawled beside him. "But skipping mandatory academy duels is considered a silent admission of cowardice."
Sylas turned his head to find Tristan Dorne—silver-haired, smug, and freshly pressed. One of those "prodigy nobles" who looked like they were born to judge people.
"Is it also considered a silent admission if I sleep in and pretend this didn't happen?" Sylas asked flatly.
Tristan's smirk didn't falter. "Not when your opponent is already here."
Sylas followed his gaze.
And oh, wonderful. It was Helena Leclair.
Of all people.
Helena was flame—figuratively and literally. Hot-headed, red-haired, and known for setting three classrooms on fire during her first year. She was an elementalist who specialized in combustion magic, which sounded like a massive liability in any building with flammable furniture.
She was already stretching, like a professional athlete preparing to body a kid in dodgeball.
"Why am I on her hit list?" Sylas whispered to himself.
System Notification:
[DAILY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE DUEL]
[Optional: Do it without being hospitalized.]
"Gee. Thanks."
Helena stomped over, her wand already glowing with pre-ignition sigils. "You insulted my familiar last week," she said by way of greeting.
"…Your familiar is a frog with asthma. I was concerned."
"He has respiratory flair," she snapped. "And you said he looked like a soggy napkin!"
Sylas blinked. "Okay, that one wasn't me. Probably."
Helena raised her wand.
Sylas raised his hands. "Hold on! What happened to settling things like civilized adults? You know—through petty gossip and legal threats?"
She ignited her palm.
He turned to the nearest staff member—an older professor flipping through a scroll, clearly checked out.
"No adult supervision?" Sylas asked. "No anti-explosion wards? No pre-duel counseling?"
The professor shrugged. "Keep it under five fireballs."
"Great," Sylas muttered. "Real medieval HR you've got here."
Helena took her stance.
Sylas sighed. "Fine. If I die, I'm haunting your frog."
The duel began.
Helena started with a classic fireburst—straightforward, powerful, and utterly predictable. Sylas threw himself to the side like a man dodging rent collectors. His robes caught a little singe, but he was otherwise intact.
This was the third duel this week. Apparently, the original Sylas had been busy collecting enemies like Pokémon.
He needed a way out. Fast.
Plan A: Pretend to faint. Risky. Might get hit while lying down.
Plan B: Declare a religious exemption. Sadly, this world had no HR gods.
Plan C: Bluff.
Sylas straightened his back and dropped his voice into something vaguely ancient and ominous.
"You dare summon flame... against the Left-Handed Serpent of the Ebon Fold?" he boomed.
Helena blinked.
Some of the students shifted uncomfortably.
Sylas kept going. "Do you not see the sigils that bind my wrist? The shackles forged by the Moonless Order?"
He raised his arm. No sigils, of course. Just mild eczema.
Helena hesitated.
Sylas took a step forward, eyes wide with fake madness. "Ignite me, and awaken that which sleeps within! Shall I recite the words, Helena? Shall I?"
"I… uh…" Helena took a half-step back. "Is this some Vermund curse?"
Bingo.
"DO YOU WISH TO SEE HIM AGAIN?" he shrieked, pointing at nothing in particular.
A group of first-years screamed.
Even the professor looked up. "Alright, that's enough. Duel suspended."
Sylas dropped the act instantly. "Phew. That was close."
Helena just stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What are you?"
"An improviser," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Let's never do this again."
As the crowd dispersed, murmurs followed him:
"Did you see his eyes change?"
"That wasn't a real spell, was it?"
"Is he possessed? Like, in a cool way?"
The rumor mill was officially running.
Which was both good and bad.
Good: People would think twice before messing with him.
Bad: Vivienne was probably hearing about this right now.
And she did not like unknown variables.
Sylas walked back toward the dorms, exhausted from surviving yet another situation he absolutely did not consent to.
The system dinged softly in his ear:
[REWARD: You have successfully avoided critical damage.]
[Reputation increased: "Mysterious Threat" (+10%)]
Then another window popped up:
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: Attend the Headmaster's Lecture on Forbidden Magic. Starts Tomorrow.]
He groaned.
"What now?"
But deep down, a part of him knew—
This was only getting worse.
Vivienne watched from the tower window, expression unreadable.
"He's improvising," she murmured.
Behind her, a shadow moved.
"Should we inform the Headmaster?"
Vivienne shook her head slowly. "Not yet. Let's see what Sylas Vermund does next."