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A tall, red-haired man reluctantly followed a quick-paced, black-haired youth. Knowing it was probably useless, but hoping for the best, Levelin Linding spoke to the source of his current headache.
"Young master, if you wish to practice your spells, I don't think my help is necessary. Or… did you want to show me a new one?"
"Tutor," Inflis Lucifuge replied, turning his head with a polite smile, "you are well aware of my desire to have a sparring match with you, to enrich my life with new experiences."
Levelin inwardly groaned. Inflis was one of the most talented demons he had ever taught, but he was also the one the entire guard of the Great House of Lucifuge feared.
They called him the "little monster" for his insane obsession with training and sparring.
The boy's intensity had only lessened slightly when he had taken up alchemy.
Levelin admired his student's dedication, but that didn't mean he wanted to waste his time and nerves in a "sparring match" that could potentially damage his own reputation.
The story of how the young Lucifuge had managed to "steal" the famous guard captain's sword was still a popular piece of gossip among the servants.
"You see, young master," Levelin tried, "I am more of a scholar by nature, not a warrior. My skills in actual combat are quite modest. I prefer dusty old books and a quill in my hand to a sharp blade. Let's just practice your spellcasting, as we usually do. If you truly need a battle mage to spar with, I would suggest the commander of the third guard squad. He is renowned for his destructive spells…"
"I have already sparred with that esteemed demon," Inflis interrupted smoothly. "But, as I recall, a certain Levelin 'Flame Blade' Linding displayed such impressive valor on the battlefields of the Great War that my father himself considered petitioning the Lord to grant him a noble title."
The mage winced, a pleading look on his face. "That was a long time ago… And could you please not use that nickname? It's… embarrassing."
"And why is that? Did you not earn that name for your signature spell, the one you used to kill an enemy commander at the very start of a battle? The name 'Flame Blade' perfectly captures your fierce spirit and strikes terror into the hearts of your enemies…"
Levelin desperately wanted to go back in time and strangle the person who had come up with that ridiculous nickname.
He struggled to keep a calm expression as the boy went on and on about the poetic beauty of the name.
The most painful part was that he was being completely serious.
Finally, unable to take it anymore, the mage cut him off. The boy's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, sending a shiver down Levelin's spine. For a child, he had an unnervingly intense gaze.
"Young master," Levelin said, trying a different tactic, "are you sure you want to trade your favor, the one you earned for helping your father's alchemists, for a sparring match with me? Surely, there are more valuable things you could ask for…"
"I am bored," Inflis stated simply. "Father has forbidden me from leaving the estate after the recent assassination attempt, and I need new opponents to hone my skills. As for the favor, I am only interested in three things: new knowledge, new ingredients, and new opponents."
"I have acquired all the knowledge I can for now, and the rest is beyond my reach even with the favor. The ingredients are already being supplied to me. That leaves opponents. A training match against one of the rare demons who prefers human magic to our own will be a unique experience."
"Then I have no choice," Levelin sighed. "I cannot ignore the wishes of the head of the House of Lucifuge."
He surveyed the training ground, which was specially designed for high-level magic.
He touched the tip of his staff to the sandy ground. It was an ornate wooden staff, as tall as he was, with a multifaceted azure crystal at its tip.
It had often been a source of amusement for his colleagues, who considered such things to be crutches for weak human mages. No one laughed at it now.
Ten meters away, the black-haired boy held out his hand. With a flash of crimson aura, a spear appeared in it. The weapon was the color of dark, venous blood, with a wide, straight tip. It radiated a palpable demonic energy.
"Young master," the mage asked, his interest piqued, "where did you acquire such a fascinating weapon?"
"If you want something done right, do it yourself," Inflis replied.
"Not many would agree with you, otherwise we would have legions of blacksmiths instead of warriors. And what have you named your creation?"
"The Dancing Shadow of the Devil of Doom."
"Ahem… a very… formidable name," Levelin said, immediately regretting his question.
"It is meant to be. And what is the name of your staff?"
The red-haired demon hesitated, looking at his Staff of Excellence, which he had named in his long-lost youth. "It doesn't matter. Shall we begin?"
"We shall."
The boy immediately dove to the side as stone spikes erupted from a magic circle that had appeared beneath his feet. Levelin channeled more power into his staff, expanding its range and feeding more data into his spell calculations.
As the young Lucifuge dodged the relentless spikes, he launched a volley of sharp ice shards at the mage.
Levelin, having already calculated their trajectory, summoned a gust of wind that sent them scattering harmlessly across the training ground.
He then unleashed a mid-level fire spell, a "scorching ball of fire."
The wind magic, still active, caught the fireball and sent it hurtling in a wide arc toward the young demon, who was now trapped between a forest of stone spikes that had sprung up all around him.
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