Chapter 5: The Duel
The courtyard behind Fairy Tail's guildhall buzzed with energy.
Dozens of members leaned on fences, sat on crates, or hovered mid-air using levitation magic—all drawn by the rare event of a sanctioned one-on-one duel between two of the guild's most talked-about youths.
Victor stood in the shade, hands in his pockets. His black eyes were unreadable. Calm. Unimpressed.
Across from him, Damon paced like a caged lion.
At 14, Damon was taller, built like a sprinter, with wild red hair and an ever-burning smirk. He cracked his knuckles, fire dancing along his fingertips.
"Hope you're ready," he called. "This isn't going to be one of your quiet mind games."
Victor didn't answer.
Fire Lance Maker Magic
Damon's magic, while not standard elemental fire, was something rarer.
Fire Lance Maker Magic.
A subtype of Maker Magic, it allowed Damon to construct long, flaming spears from ambient etherano and launch them with force, speed, and heat.
Unlike traditional Maker Magic—known for its creativity and versatility—Lance Maker was all offense. Powerful, but rigid. Beautiful to watch. Terrible to get hit by.
And perfect for showing off.
He summoned one now with a dramatic flourish. A fiery spear burst to life in his palm.
Gasps echoed through the courtyard.
Victor's Internal Plan
Victor watched, mind calculating in silence.
If Damon gets the first move, I'll have to respond physically. Too risky. Too obvious.
He flexed his hand slightly. Etherano pooled along his fingertips. His illusions didn't require grand gestures—just intention, focus, and timing.
"Zakera," he whispered.
A wave of distortion rippled from his body—subtle, elegant. To the guild, it looked like nothing had happened.
But inside Damon's mind, the courtyard shifted. The air tilted. Victor's position altered—just slightly.
Damon threw his first lance.
It missed by inches.
The crowd gasped again.
Victor didn't move.
Duel Psychology
Damon's face twitched. His aim had been perfect. He summoned a second lance, slower this time. He adjusted. Focused.
Victor sidestepped easily.
Not with speed. With rhythm.
"He's fast," someone whispered.
"No," another corrected. "He's just… reading the attacks."
Victor let the second spear pass close to his ribs. The heat warmed his shirt. Nothing more.
He raised a hand—not to cast, but to suggest.
Damon hesitated.
And that was enough.
The Final Move
Victor activated a deeper thread of Belior Zakera—not just an illusion, but a short-term reality filter.
Damon blinked and saw Victor falter, stumble, collapse.
He grinned.
He rushed forward, fire coiling around his arms now.
The crowd leaned in.
Then Victor vanished.
And in his place—
"HEY!" a deep voice barked.
CRACK.
Damon flew backward, crashing into a barrel with a thud.
He looked up, dazed, nose bleeding.
Standing above him was a mid-ranked guild veteran—a broad-shouldered earth mage known for his temper.
"You hit me, you little punk," the man growled.
Damon blinked. "What…? I was aiming at—"
His eyes scanned the courtyard.
Victor was standing twenty feet away, untouched, emotionless.
"Illusion," someone whispered.
"He made Damon think he won."
"That's... terrifying."
Reputation Cemented
The duel was over.
Victor had thrown no real attacks.
Had moved barely at all.
But he'd left an impression on everyone watching.
Not strong. Not flashy.
Just dangerous.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
You have earned 10 Random Gacha Draws.
Criteria: Displayed overwhelming superiority over plot-significant opponent without exposing core abilities.
Bonus: Spectator misdirection, tactical manipulation, psychological dominance.
Victor exhaled once, slowly.
"Well played," Belial whispered.
Victor didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
End of Chapter 5