svetikya Chapter 20 Duel
Chapter 20 Duel
Viserys stood at one end of the clearing, holding his hawthorn wand. Lester stood opposite him, half a head taller and broader than Viserys, but his center of gravity was too low, as if he were facing a beast he had heard of but never seen.
"The rules of the duel," Snape's voice came from the edge of the arena, not loud, but everyone could hear it clearly, "Both sides begin from their designated positions and may not continue attacking after the other has lost the ability to retaliate. The Unforgivable Curse may not be used." His dark eyes lingered on Lester's face for a moment, "Otherwise, it's up to your own skill."
He took two steps back, his black robe blending into the darkness outside the torchlight's circle.
"start."
Lester struck first. With a flick of his wand, a crimson spell shot straight toward Viserys's chest—fast and accurate, a starting move he'd practiced countless times. The first thing he'd learned in his first wizarding duel was: the one who strikes first controls the rhythm.
Viserys did not dodge. He raised his right hand from beside the hilt of the dagger, twisting his wrist so the blade was angled outwards. The spell struck the Valyrian steel, a dark red light exploding on the blade before deflecting into the ground and scorching a small patch of grass.
A low gasp escaped from one of the onlookers. Lester's pupils contracted slightly. He knew Valyrian steel could deflect spells, but witnessing his own opening stance being swatted away like a fly by a blade was quite another matter.
"...What grade is that?" A voice from a lower-grade student drifted over from the left.
"Fifth grade, the one over there is only first grade." The person who answered had an undisguised schadenfreude in their tone.
Lester's jaw tightened. He didn't turn to look at Fali, but he could feel her gaze; from the beginning until now, her eyes hadn't lingered on him for more than a second. And in the instant Viserys deflected the spell, he caught a glimpse of Fali's slightly forward-leaning shoulder out of the corner of his eye; she wasn't even aware that she was leaning forward.
Viserys' wand was already raised, its tip glowing with a golden-red light. Three flaming arrows simultaneously materialized, hovering above his palm and slowly rotating, like darts drawn by a magnet.
With a flick of his wrist, three arrows, trailing flames, streaked through the darkness, flying in a triangular formation toward Lester.
The Ironclad Spell rose up almost simultaneously. A transparent magical barrier unfolded before him, and the fire arrow struck it, exploding into a shower of sparks. The barrier didn't shatter, but the impact caused his foot to slide back half an inch.
Before he could even catch his breath, three more came. The same triangular pattern, the same speed. The third round, the fourth round, the fifth round.
The faces of the students around him were illuminated by the golden-red light, sometimes bright and sometimes dim. Lester heard someone counting.
"...How did he manage that when he's only a first-grader?"
"Haven't you heard? The news from Gringotts."
Merlin.
Every word pierced him like a needle, not because these voices were praising Viserys, but because they didn't care about him at all. A fifth-year student, who had endured five years in Slytherin, his robes and cuffs washed until they were white, only to earn a position delivering things and relaying messages, and now when these people spoke his name, it wasn't even "Lester is blocking the way," but "that fifth-year student."
His judgment began to take shape: Flame Shaping was a high-level spell, requiring a massive amount of mana to cast repeatedly. No normal wizard's mana reserves were sufficient to sustain such a high frequency of attacks. He himself only needed to maintain his Ironclad Charm, consuming far less mana than the attacker. Once Viserys's mana was depleted…
The sixth round hit the barrier, faster than the previous five rounds.
The number of fire arrows increased, from three to four, from four to five, the pace becoming more and more intense, and each impact becoming more severe.
Viserys' hands were in his robe pockets. The Philosopher's Stone pressed against his palms, its deep red pulse gleaming faintly beneath the fabric. It replenished every last bit of magic he expended. He would still tire, but fatigue would not slow his attacks.
Lester realized he'd misjudged the situation. The "mana depletion" he was waiting for wouldn't come, and his own mana was rapidly draining away as he used it as a shield. Worse, he heard laughter around him, and he wasn't sure if his name was among it. The uncertainty was enough.
He must break this cycle and turn things around while there's still a chance.
The moment the eighth volley of fire arrows struck the barrier, he deactivated the Iron Armor Spell.
A dark purple light shone from the tip of the wand. Unlike the previous red spells, this light emitted a deep hum as it gathered at the tip, and the surrounding air seemed to drop a few degrees. Some of the students watching gasped.
"Is that black magic?" someone in the back asked in a low voice.
"No," another voice replied, its tone uncertain, "but it's not exactly a clean spell either."
Farley stood on the other side of the crowd, his lips slightly parted and his brows furrowed.
Lester saw her expression. She was looking at Viserys, her brows furrowed, worried about whether the freshman could withstand the attack. Worried, not shocked or disappointed by his use of such a spell, not even angry. Her entire attention was on the person opposite her, and his dark purple spell was merely a tool used to make her frown.
He waved his wand, and the ball of dark purple energy left the tip of the wand. It wasn't fast, but it left a grayish-white trail in the air.
Viserys didn't intercept with a fire arrow; it wasn't a spell that could be countered, the energy levels were mismatched.
The dagger was held horizontally in front of his chest, blade facing outwards, with his center of gravity lowered.
The dark purple energy collided with the Valyrian steel, spreading across the blade and causing it to vibrate violently. Viserys gritted his teeth, gripping his right wrist with his left hand to stabilize the blade. The dark purple light struggled on the blade for a few seconds before being completely deflected and shooting obliquely into the sky.
His wrist was numb, but he blocked it.
The instant the deflection was complete, Lester burst forth from behind the dissipating afterglow of the spell. He had begun running the moment the dark purple spell was unleashed; this attack wasn't meant to defeat Viserys, but to force him to defend. Two seconds were enough for him to close the distance.
The wand flashed out three pale yellow spells in quick succession. The first grazed Viserys' left shoulder, tearing his robes. The second was blocked by the blade of the dagger. The third struck directly below the dagger, at his wrist.
The dagger slipped from his fingers, the Valyrian steel tumbling out and embedding itself in the mud three steps away.
A gasp went up from the onlookers. Lester didn't stop, unleashing a rapid barrage of spells.
Lester paused to catch his breath. His magic was nearly depleted, and his shoulders trembled, but he had finally obtained what he needed: the dagger was no longer in Viserys's right hand. He straightened up and looked around. The faces of the onlookers showed different expressions in the torchlight. Then his gaze fell on Farley, her fingers tapping lightly on the side seam of her robe, a habit she had when nervous. But she was still looking at Viserys. She was checking if he had fallen; she didn't even notice Lester watching her.
Lester withdrew his gaze, raised his wand again, and the Armor Charm glowed once more, thicker than ever before. He didn't believe Viserys's magic could hold out indefinitely; even if it could, unarmed, he would only have the option of enduring the attack.
Viserys did not pick up the dagger.
He stood up, his right hand empty, his left still clutching his wand. The pain in his right rib and left leg lingered, but his mind was clearer than ever. The dagger slipping from his hand was expected; Lester's fighting style, from the moment he cast the dark purple spell, was a series of fluid movements: force a defensive stance, close the distance, and quickly cast a spell to disarm the dagger. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision; it was a tactic he had planned in advance, given his limited mana.
Viserys had been waiting for this moment when he would lay all his cards on the table. To win, it wasn't about how many spells he could block with his dagger; it was about making him exhaust all his resources in front of everyone, and then showing him what true power was.
He looked up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was time. He called out a name in Higher Valyrian.
A muffled tremor came from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the earth responding to the first strike as the dragon's wings unfolded.
The Iron-bellied Dragon descended from the night sky.
Its pale scales gleamed coldly in the moonlight, and its outstretched wings obscured half the starry sky. Its claws slammed into the mud of the dueling arena, cracking the ground beneath it, the fissures spreading outwards from the point of impact, all the way to the feet of the front-row spectators. A freshman screamed and was pulled back several steps. The crowd receded like a receding tide.
Lester looked up, and the Iron-bellied Dragon looked down at him.
The light of the Ironclad Curse flickered faintly around him; the barrier that had just blocked the flaming arrows appeared like a thin layer of ice under the starry sky obscured by the dragon's wings. A dark purple spell instinctively shot towards the sky, striking the dragon's scales. A barely perceptible dark pattern appeared in the light before it vanished.
Not even a mark was left.
Snape took a step forward. He knew that once the dragonfire was unleashed, Lester's best armor spell would be nothing but a piece of paper. Speaking out to stop it was the only thing he could do.
"Targian, he has already lost. There is no need to use dragonfire."
Viserys turned to Snape. From the moment he uttered the word "dragon," this duel was no longer a matter of victory or defeat for just two men. He had to make everyone see dragonfire, see the Ironclad Charm shatter before it. Fear was one thing; seeing it for oneself was another. He wanted all of Slytherin to remember this night.
He didn't answer Snape; he turned back and raised his right hand. A golden-red light shone from the runes in his palm.
He uttered a word in Higher Valyrian.
"Dracarys (Flames)!"
The Iron-bellied Dragon opened its gaping maw, and pale white dragon flames descended from the sky.
Lester's armor charm shattered like glass the moment it touched the dragonfire. The armor charm that had earned him an O in the entire year's protective charm test crumbled like an eggshell, and the flames engulfed his entire body.