“So we’re going to be fighting a whole tribe? By ourselves?” Omi asked for the fifth time today.

  Annie rolled her eyes. “If you don’t count the few hundred adventurers that are going to be joining us, then yes. All on our lonesome.”

  Kai trilled, excitedly flapping his wings.

  “Yeah, yeah, stop showing off,” Rowan snorted, scratching his beak. He tilted his head up, somehow managing to look smug.

  His familiar was now, once again, a higher level than him—and he wasn’t about to let Rowan forget it. The unending abyss Kai called his stomach had finally digested his feast at the Plateau, advancing him to Iron IV. He was progressing rapidly, and another outing like that could push him to the edge of Silver

  They continued their walk to the Guild Hall, all of them outfitted in their new gear.

  Even Rowan had pulled out the Minor Staff of Wind he’d gotten from the shaman, the gnarled wood tapping against the cobbled streets with each step.

  Nemir’s armor had already lost its shine, tested against spars with each of them. His sword hung over his back, and he looked like a force to be reckoned with—a wall of muscle and steel.

  The sun hung low in the sky, draping the city in shadows. With the shops closing, lanterns were already being lit, illuminating the streets in an inviting glow.

  The rogue casually slipped in and out of them, his black leather armor making him almost invisible. Silvia, on the other hand, was copying Kai, her back straight and her head held high, the Bow of Kindling slung over her shoulders.

  It was at moments like this that Rowan appreciated the city he’d arrived at.

  Litwick was a small settlement, with barely ten thousand citizens within its walls. It was an unimportant city in the Verdant Vale, a region the Kingdom of Vandral scarcely governed. It didn’t even have a Lord, but a Mayor, meaning that if trouble did come, help wasn’t likely to arrive.

  They were on their own, and the goblin tribe was definitely trouble.

  There were hundreds of hobgoblins, all of them monsters with Auras, opposing a city that only had a few dozen Silver-ranks. They were outnumbered—and that wasn’t even counting the regular goblins.

  Litwick had at least a thousand adventurers, with more than half of those being in Iron or above. But a tribe was called that for a reason.

  If all of them managed to arrive, there could be tens of thousands of them roaming the region in a few short months. Goblins weren’t especially dangerous on their own, but in such overwhelming numbers, even the weakest monster became a threat.

  That was why the Guildmistress was pushing for them to attack.

  It was an infestation, and they needed to cut it out before it took root.

  Rowan took a deep breath, activating [Iron Will] to settle his thoughts.

  That’s still a week away, and thinking about it isn’t what I should be doing right now. I’m fighting Killian in an hour. I need to focus on that.

  Just like that, his mind shifted, the looming threat pushed back.

  Rowan couldn’t help but marvel at how useful the skill was—it was helping him in every aspect of his life, from casting to sleeping.

  After I learn a few Wind spells, maybe pushing for Bronze III is the way to go.

  Muscle Strengthening was apparently a vastly more enjoyable experience than Skin Toughening. Instead of being beaten for hours on end, all he’d have to do was lift weights—a lot of them, in ever increasing numbers—still, not all that bad a time.

  But that wouldn’t happen till after the battle, since the week he had would be spent mastering his new affinity.

  Rowan had a list of Wind spells he wanted to get too, and seven days wasn’t a whole lot of time.

  He’d started learning [Feather Fall] yesterday, but it was a slow process. Much slower than Rowan first expected. [Gust] had come to him naturally, but that was just a Whisper-level spell, and mastering a Murmur was a definite jump in complexity.

  Just learning the circuit had taken him a few hours, and checking to see if he’d actually memorized it another few on top of that.

  Mastering the four he’d picked out probably wasn’t going to be possible, but Rowan was determined to nail at least three.

  He had a way to quickly replenish his mana. The combination of drinking mana potions and using [Iron Will] to speed up the process meant he could cast a tremendous amount, much more than other mages.

  It was still slower than a vent, but Rowan didn’t have those for Wind mana, so he had to settle for waiting the half hour it took to replenish his mana pool.

  Still, Rowan thought he could manage it.

  Magic had come easily to him, as it did to every member of his family.

  There was a connection that was hard to put into words. Like a song only they could hear. Rowan had never understood what his brothers and sisters were talking about when they described it, but after Awakening, it was impossible to ignore.

  Mastering his second affinity would require time and effort, but Rowan would master it. The only question was when.

  And it wouldn’t stop there.

  His father and mother had been Archmages, on the cusp of taking that final step towards total mastery. Not just of a single affinity, but the magical arts as a whole.

  But before he could think any further, there was a certain Silver-rank he needed to beat.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  They entered the seemingly empty Hall, but the murmur of activity coming from the yard was impossible to ignore.

  Rowan frowned, walking up to the wide open doors. His eyes widened at what he saw, and he turned to look at Annie. “Why are there so many people?”

  The yard was filled to the brim, the stands full of excited looking adventurers, some of which Rowan knew, and more that he didn’t.

  There was a group of more than a dozen adventurers sitting next to Quinea, casually chatting amongst themselves. Scanning them, Rowan quickly realized what was going on.

  Those are Litwick’s Silver-ranks. Well, some of them at least, he thought. The Guildmistress is probably using the duel to gather them, a smile tugged at his lips. If I had to guess, she didn’t really feel like spending a day chasing them all down and repeating the same conversation.

  Annie arched an eyebrow. “What? Did you expect the fight to happen behind closed doors?” she pushed him into the yard. “It’s a duel between a mage and one of the stronger adventurers in the city. Of course there’s going to be a crowd.”

  A cheer went up as Rowan entered, all the people he’d spent the night plying with drink and food seemingly on his side. He waved, but his focus was on the Silver-ranks next to Quinea.

  Besides a few quick glances, none of them reacted to his entrance.

  His opponent stood in the middle of the yard, his spear thrust into the hard earth point first, leaning against it. Misk was standing next to him, whispering something into the Silver-rank’s ear, but Killian didn’t seem all that interested.

  He waved him off, looking at Rowan with a relaxed smile. “Finally!” he called out. “Had me worried you wouldn’t show.”

  Nemir clasped his shoulder, leaning in to whisper. “Don’t lose.”

  The rest of the team echoed the sentiment, and with that, they moved to the side of the yard, leaving only Rowan and Killian in the center.

  Wasn’t planning on it, he thought, walking up to his opponent.

  His team’s new gear certainly didn’t go unnoticed, with more than a few curious glances thrown their way.

  “Fancy,” Killian nodded appreciatively, pulling out his spear and resting it against his shoulder.

  They eyed each other for a moment before he spoke again. “You can still back out,” he said casually, a confident smirk on his face. “We both know five-hundred gold isn’t going to hurt you all that much, and if your Soul is still injured from advancing, straining it isn’t a smart thing to do—especially with the expedition coming up.”

  “Awfully considerate of you,” Rowan replied. “But I think I’ll be fine.”

  Killian’s gaze flickered to the ring on Rowan’s finger, a knowing look passing over his face. “So, you’re not trying to hide it anymore?” he asked, gesturing toward where the Crimson Grove stood. “That’s bold.”

  “No point,” Rowan shrugged. “You already know about it, and your underlings do too. It isn’t much of a secret anymore. I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before word gets around, so I might as well get ahead of it.”

  “Yeah, that was my mistake,” Killian sighed. “Had a bit too much to drink, and my tongue got away from me. Should have kept that little tidbit to myself.”

  Rowan looked at him with surprise, feeling slightly confused with the direction this conversation was heading in. As much as he didn’t like the man standing opposite him, it wasn’t like he loathed him either—after all, Killian’s only real offense was extorting them for gold. And before this whole situation escalated, it wasn’t even a lot of it.

  Still, Rowan would be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled about taking some gold from the greedy Silver-rank. A thousand was a nice, round number, and Killian would certainly feel it.

  “What, nabbing it wasn’t the plan?” he asked, crossing his arms.

  Killian snorted. “I’m not an idiot. Stealing a ring from a mage with unknown origins is a good way to lose your head. And I rather like mine where it is.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow. “Gold doesn’t factor into that equation?”

  “Please,” Killian rolled his eyes. “Gold is different. If I thought you didn’t have it, I wouldn’t have pressed for it. But you did kind of force my hand,” he gestured at the assembled adventurers, all waiting for their duel to begin. “That stunt you pulled in the Hall made it so I couldn’t just walk away without taking a hit to my reputation. Then that idiot got his ass handed to him, and here we are.”

  Rowan chuckled. “So what, this is just an unfortunate misunderstanding?”

  “Sure, you could call it that,” Killian shrugged. “But you really should think about withdrawing,” he couldn’t resist but add. “Think of it like paying five hundred gold for a Soul-soothing potion. And if you ask me, that’s a bargain.”

  Rowan looked at him for a moment before a short laugh bubbled up.

  It might be [Iron Will], but I’m starting to feel less excited about embarrassing him.

  After Misk and his group tried to ambush them, Rowan made sure that the story got around. Killian had been out of the city when that happened, so he had no way of turning the narrative around, and this was what it led to.

  Rowan was strangely fine with that.

  Settling a dispute with a fight wasn’t his favorite practice, but right now, it didn’t seem all that bad.

  I kind of want to fight him for real, Rowan’s brows furrowed. Winning with a surprise attack sounds so… dull.

  Coming to a decision, Rowan cast a [Firebolt].

  An orb of flame appeared in the palm of his hand, shining with a fierce red glow.

  It had taken him less than a second to manifest the spell. Almost reflexive.

  His mana flowed freely through his channels, like a river after a drought. The injury he’d suffered on the Plateau was entirely healed, and Rowan had never felt stronger.

  He let it dissipate.

  After his advancement, his mana pool had grown tremendously. With the level he'd gotten from working on his body certainly helping.

  A single [Firebolt] wasn’t enough to make a large dent, with the potion he’d drunk earlier and [Iron Will] already working on refilling what it had cost.

  Meditating had made that a straining activity, but with his new skill, Rowan made use of his resilient soul.

  Killian’s eyes widened, a look of genuine surprise flashing across his face. “What?” he muttered, glancing back up at him. “But… how? It’s been less than ten days since you advanced?”

  Rowan cracked a finger. “Who knows.”

  The Vault was still a secret, but the fact he had access to a storage ring wasn’t. He hadn’t exactly been pretending to not have gold, so he may as well play into it. Not to mention it would also hopefully draw attention away from the recovery itself.

  Killian hadn’t lied when he said that five hundred gold was a bargain for a Soul soothing potion. In Litwick, the only one who probably had them was the mage advisor, and he likely wasn’t selling.

  Killian was having trouble shaking off his surprise, a hesitant expression flashing across his face.

  Rowan’s smile widened.

  “What? Where’d your excitement go?” he clapped him on the shoulder. “Should be a good fight, huh?”

  Killian winced, but a confident smirk quickly replaced it. However, Rowan could still see the undercurrent of unease hiding beneath. It was one thing to fight an injured mage, and another thing entirely to fight one at full strength.

  That’s the look of a man who just realized he might be a thousand gold poorer soon.

  “Well, alright then,” Killian finally said, taking a step back.

  Quinea stood up, loudly clapping her hands. “Do you want something to drink?” she shouted, her voice booming across the yard. “Maybe a hearty stew?”

  “Fight already!” an adventurer called out, quickly followed by another.

  Rowan nodded to his opponent and made his way to the other side of the yard, ready to show what a real mage was capable of. Not just to Killian, but to the robed man standing next to Quinea. First impressions were important, and impressing the mage advisor of Litwick seemed like the smart thing to do.

  The expedition would be large, and Rowan wanted him and his team to have their pick of assignments. The best way he could think of to make that happen was to show off, so when the time came to pick who they would be fighting, they had a say in the matter.

  Rowan looked at his opponent.

  They were a good enough distance away from each other, but he was fighting a high Silver-rank with an Aura of Haste. He would be fast, and Rowan needed to make the first few casts count.

  Quinea stood up, raising her hand into the air. “Begin!”

  Killian moved, and Rowan started casting.