Away from the scorpion, in the center of the arena, Darius and Whitmore begin exchanging sword strikes. Both are very good, much better than me. However, there’s a clear difference in technique, though Darius’s is nothing to scoff at. Where the redhead puts youth and enthusiasm, the count responds with a firmer guard, cleaner strikes, and greater economy and precision of movement.

  Steel clashes, its sound filling the amphitheater along with the spectators’ shouts. Now that I’m looking...

  There’s a hooded figure in the east zone who doesn’t say anything, doesn’t cheer for anyone either. He just watches the duel. Despite not seeing his face and him not moving, I have my suspicions. Could it be Ronan? He needs a way to get back to the academy faster than a carriage and, if he comes to see the duel, he has the perfect excuse to ask Vincent to let him use the portal when we do.

  Though it could also be one of his minions... Or one of my new vassals. Or who knows.

  I shake my head and focus back on the duel. Doesn’t seem like I’ve missed much. They’re still fighting and I’d say they’re tied. The truth is that Whitmore’s injured leg makes things easier for Darius, who launches attacks knowing his rival can’t put too much weight on it.

  Minutes pass. Both keep trying to break through the rival’s guard. So far, neither has received a cut capable of penetrating their armor. However, little by little, the redhead is gaining ground.

  Good!

  And Whitmore can’t cast his stun again. Darius wouldn’t let him. Plus I have no doubt that, if he managed it, the scorpion would intervene. I’ve seen Darius use fire magic in the dungeons with quick casting, little more than a word. He’s not using it here. He wants to beat his rival simply with the sword.

  I can’t deny he’s enjoying it because, despite how long they’ve been fighting, the smile doesn’t leave his face.

  Then, he manages to unbalance his rival.

  Around me, the crowd tenses. Whitmore’s injured leg finally fails him from accumulated fatigue and he falls to his knees. Good for Darius!

  The count doesn’t lose his grip on the sword, but it does end up, along with his hand, resting against the ground.

  Darius takes advantage to feint a strike at the neck, where he stops his sword without touching him.

  “Surrender,” he demands.

  For all response, the count throws sand in his eyes with his other hand while turning toward the side where Darius’s sword isn’t and, weapon in hand, gets to his feet and goes for him.

  The crowd roars. They know Whitmore and they’re looking for blood. Karina holds her breath, frightened, and Vincent pales, while the hooded figure still doesn’t move.

  Darius, despite being temporarily blinded, seems to know where the blow is coming from and raises his sword, stopping it at the last moment.

  From the force of steel clashing against steel, Whitmore was going for the kill.

  Sword against sword, the edges slide. The count, more skilled, seems to be looking to cut his rival’s forearm. With a grunt, Darius throws him a kick, pushing his rival back and thus separating the swords.

  Both pant, both stare at each other.

  I can’t see their eyes at this distance. I imagine my friend’s must be red from the sand.

  I do notice his smile is even more visceral.

  Then they engage in an exchange as fierce as it is brief. Some quick strikes. A feint. A misstep.

  Darius deflects Whitmore’s sword and, taking advantage of the opening, launches a clean cut that sends it flying through the air. Before he can react, the tip of Darius’s blade is, this time yes, resting against his throat.

  Silence.

  Whitmore breathes with difficulty, eyes fixed on the steel. I don’t take mine off his hands.

  “I surrender,” he finally says, voice tense.

  Darius doesn’t respond immediately. He lowers his sword slowly and takes a step back. The scorpion emits a low, satisfied sound.

  The crowd erupts in voices and ovations. Karina has stood up and is practically jumping while shouting his name. I feel Vincent grab and squeeze my hand.

  The arena master strikes the stone under his feet with his staff. No one shuts up. They’re too exalted by the fight they witnessed.

  “The winner is Darius Veylore, defender of the honor and innocence of Ronan Velbrun. The loser must pay the winner 40 gold coins for his offenses.”

  The ovations and shouts keep ringing out. The count withdraws from the arena, helped by his footmen. A healer hurries to the horse, trying to stabilize it. I imagine that with high-level healing magic, they can not only save its life but heal it completely.

  As for Darius, he’s with both arms raised high. One of his hands grips the sword. To me, he’s the living image of a victorious gladiator from Roman movies. I turn to say something to Karina and see the girl is no longer by my side.

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  With the noise I hadn’t noticed she’d left. Where could she be?

  Then, I see her jump into the arena and run toward Darius. He, still grinning from ear to ear, sees her coming. She doesn’t stop. She jumps on him, hugs him, and plants a kiss right on his lips. People start roaring even louder.

  I hear someone, behind me, shout:

  “You better ask the Duke of Morven for her hand if you don’t want to find yourself in another duel, Veylore.”

  Others laugh.

  A circular wall of flames rises around the couple, so high that even I, elevated as I am, can no longer see them.

  When the flames die down, minutes later, Karina is beside Darius. He has an even happier and goofier smile. They’re side by side, looking toward the arena master.

  I take a quick glance toward the hooded figure. He’s gone now.

  Okay, I can’t help it.

  Was that you, the hooded figure watching the duel, Ronan?

  No, my lady.

  I frown. Then who was it? Because his figure seemed familiar to me.

  So you didn’t come?

  Of course I did, my lady. I wanted to see how the scorpion performed. I am down below, mixed with the common folk of the city. I did not need to pay a noble entrance fee and, besides, I am closer to the arena.

  Oh, I look toward the people standing instead of sitting, but there’s so much crowding I can’t make him out.

  Your plan is still to return to the academy with me?

  Yes, my lady. It will be faster than doing it by carriage. In fact, I would like to meet up with you and Darius now.

  Because, in principle, I’m going to stay one more night at the palace and tomorrow I’ll return. Vincent is going to accompany me, so I can use the portal. Including Ronan—who supposedly traveled on his own to watch the duel—will be perfectly normal.

  Head down to the arena then.

  In fact, the duel is over, the master abandons his post, and several spectators, whether commoners or nobles, jump into the arena to congratulate Darius.

  Vincent looks at me and asks with a nod of his head. I nod and we do the same. When we arrive, Ronan is already beside Darius, chatting with him. Well, actually the weight of the conversation is carried by the redhead, who excitedly recounts what it was like to experience the fight from the inside and how well Death Stinger did.

  The braver people have approached the scorpion. Seeing its glassy eyes, as well as a certain unnaturalness emanating from its posture, they realize it’s undead.

  “Very well done, Darius,” Vincent congratulates him. “You were right. You countered the Whitmore house’s stun spell very well. Plus you fought with honor and without magic, despite your rival using magic, having a higher level of sword mastery, and playing dirty. It’s been a long time since I witnessed a duel like this.”

  “Well, maybe the correct word is had, because I feel like I understand the sword better, plus I’m stronger. I think my mastery level went up.”

  “That’s great!” I tell him.

  Poor guy, he’ll have to wait to touch a stone slab to know for sure, like everyone else. Except me, of course.

  Once people have satisfied their desire to congratulate and even pat Darius on the back, the five of us leave the arena. The idea is to have a drink at a nearby tavern. However, as we’re heading out, a kind of transparent swallow, made of wind, stops before me. It doesn’t even flap to stay motionless. It simply stops, opens its beak and what comes out is a male voice. I don’t recognize it, but I end up deducing it’s the messenger from the city near my parents’ county mansion.

  “Bianca, it’s your father. Don’t come home. There’s an epidemic. People are getting sick and dying. Stay with your fiancé until it all passes. We’ll let you know.”

  What?

  No way. If my family and the people of my county are sick, I have light magic. I can help. Besides, what is this? Because an epidemic, just like that out of nowhere, could even be a curse.

  If I start thinking about people who wish me harm, I have the mysterious assassins from a neighboring kingdom, the crown prince, Sol and Damien.

  The latter, without a doubt, knows I’m the future demon king, because he’s seen the seed of darkness emerging from my cloak. I know he can’t say it or he’d condemn himself and his church. But I also know he possibly considers me guilty of his father’s death and may have decided to take revenge this way.

  “Bianca, I’m here for whatever you need,” Vincent is telling me, while approaching and looking at me, worried.

  “They only have one healer with low affinity there, apart from several folk healers. I have to go.”

  “Go where? To get infected and die?” Karina asks while placing a hand on my arm. “I get it. If my family were sick I’d want to go too, but you must listen to your father. For them it’s important that you, who are far away, stay safe. Maybe you can send the royal healer?” She turns to Vincent.

  “I’ll talk to my parents. I don’t think they’ll have any problem. And the teleporter will get him as close as possible to the county.”

  “Great, I’ll go with him.”

  “Are you crazy?” Karina pulls my arm to get my attention.

  “Don’t worry, I have a high constitution stat.”

  She lets go of me, resigned. She sees she’s not going to make me see reason. She doesn’t know I have light magic.

  “I’ll come with you,” Vincent tells me.

  “Not a chance. And I doubt your parents would let you.”

  The poor guy grimaces in pain, which tells me my assumption is correct.

  “If you want, wait for me at the academy with Ronan.”

  “My lady...” Ronan begins to protest.

  I look at him very seriously, while telling him mentally.

  You have work to do in the goblin village.

  But my lady, if it’s a curse I could be useful to you.

  If I need help, I’ll ask for it.

  “Uh, as if you’d dare contradict her when she looks at you like that…” Karina mutters.

  Vincent is watching both of us. Ronan nods.

  “Alright,” Vincent tells me, “we’ll wait for you at the academy. But how are you going to get there?”

  “Traveling by portal to the Morven duchy.”

  Because my family’s county is within Karina’s parents’ duchy. My father is vassal to hers. The dukes are among the few nobles in the kingdom who can afford to have a teleportation portal in their castle.

  Yes, no mansion. It’s a castle, like those from medieval Europe.

  “It’s an emergency and you’re a member of the royal family. I’ll come with you so they give you clearance,” Vincent assures me.

  “Thanks.”

  In a case like this, I don’t care if they charge me for the trip. I have money from the dungeons. But if Vincent pulls strings for me, even better.

  “In any case, it’ll take you two days to get there on horseback.”

  “Not if Ronan lends me a skeleton mount.”

  “I don’t get it,” Karina says.

  “Being undead, they do not get tired and can maintain a gallop indefinitely. It’s brutal,” Darius clarifies for her.

  The guy, you can tell, is fighting not to smile again. Both winning the duel and Karina’s kiss and now thinking about his scorpion must have him very happy. But the bad news from my county wiped it off his face the moment the bird transmitted its message to us.

  I rest a hand on his arm.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to do everything I can so no one dies.”

  Vincent looks at me somewhat worried and seems like he wants to say something, but finally stays silent.

  Better.

  I don’t want to hear that it’s already too late.

  If it’s a curse, I’ll ask Ronan for help. If it’s a disease, I’ll use both my light magic and my basic hygiene and medicine knowledge from Earth.