The Duels

Part 1

A swirl of white-hot fury pulsed through Celestica's veins as she pressed her blade to Aurelia's back. The molten glow ran down the sword's length like liquid sunlight. Even in her darkest anguish, Celestica had rarely unleashed such unbridled power. But losing Winston a second time—under these obscene circumstances—had shattered her composure.

Cool ocean air clashed with the scorching aura radiating from her. A single droplet of sweat traced down her temple while her wings rustled in measured tension, each feather gleaming with subtle sparks of mana. Grief and love now fueled every breath.

Aurelia, for her part, merely shifted her weight to the left. Even with a blade pressed against her spine, she maintained an almost theatrical indifference—as if this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience instead of the wrath of an angelic being. Her silver hair, still shining under the brilliant tropical sun that bathed the familiar island, twisted into ephemeral shapes as if it were not entirely solid.

"Mm," Aurelia murmured, glancing over her shoulder with crimson irises that sparkled with mischievous challenge. "As entertaining as you are, my dear Celestica, you have no idea what Winston has truly agreed to."

"I don't want to know!" Celestica roared, her voice crackling with raw anguish as she tightened her grip on the hilt. "I live for him—and him alone. Whatever you forced upon him, I will free him from your grasp!"

Aurelia tilted her head, offering a half-lidded, sultry smile. "Forced? Hardly. Winston wanted a chance to see you again, and I kindly obliged. If that's a crime, consider me guilty."

Celestica's eyes blazed. She drew back her sword, channeling the searing light of the midday sun along its edge. The glowing metal hummed with power.

"I'm done with your riddles," she spat. "Return Winston to me, or I'll—"

"You'll what?" Aurelia interrupted, her voice bored yet tinged with excitement, as if eager to push Celestica further. "Destroy me? Kill him in the process? Perhaps obliterate half of the island?"

Celestica's heart twisted painfully. She knew too well how quickly her powers could spiral out of control. Her very being was wired to channel the empire's colossal mana reserves—and if unchecked, it could wreak havoc across the Avalondian Empire. In a heartbeat, memories of Winston's patient smile and his lessons on controlling her destructive birthright flickered through her mind.

"Enough." Her wings flared wide, each feather edged in white incandescence. With painstaking control—ensuring she stayed within the two-percent threshold—she pivoted sharply and thrust her blade in a diagonal slash aimed to cleave Aurelia in two.

In an instant, Aurelia vanished in a streak of black mist and reappeared ten paces away. Now she stood on a jagged outcropping of rock jutting from the turquoise sea, arms crossed. Her lips curved into an indulgent grin. "Too slow," she teased. "Your heartbreak is making you sloppy."

Celestica exhaled a snarl. Her eyes glowed a scorching gold as the humid air began to condense around her. Raising her free hand, she gathered shimmering motes of sunlight from the sky until a radiant orb—swirling with a mix of solar energy and mana—formed in her palm and grew steadily larger. In one fluid motion, she hurled it.

The orb arced across the air, leaving a searing trail of heat. Aurelia's crimson eyes narrowed warily; she leapt upward, arms spreading as her body dissolved into living shadow. The orb exploded on impact with the rock, releasing a brief but intense flash so bright that the sea around the outcropping parted momentarily with a hissing burst of steam. Waves reared, churning into a mini-whirlpool around the collision point.

When the glare subsided, Aurelia's silhouette floated above the spot where the rock had been. The rock itself was gone—vaporized into drifting shards. Aurelia casually pressed a pale hand to her cheek, feigning annoyance. "Dramatic, but not nearly enough to kill me."

"What are you?" Celestica growled, darting forward in a burst of nearly invisible wingbeats. The tip of her blade sliced through the air, and with each strike, blazing arcs of sunlight flared off the steel, creating an incandescent crossfire. Below, the water frothed and swirling winds whipped up salt spray.

Aurelia parried with shadowy limbs conjured from her hair—each strand twisting into a long, black claw. The slicing brilliance clashed with dark arcs, sizzling on contact. The sky itself seemed to crack with thunder, even though not a cloud marred its blue expanse.

"Such intensity," Aurelia purred, contorting her form to dodge the onslaught. "Winston said you were passionate, but—"

"Shut up!" Celestica roared, pouring her heartbreak into every thrust. Their combat swept from the beach into the island's dense tropical forest, where palm trees and native foliage shuddered under the force of her blasts, many scorching into charred remnants.

Then Aurelia launched a counterattack. She exhaled slowly, her eyes glowing a deeper crimson as dozens of ephemeral clones peeled from her body. Each clone rushed toward Celestica from every angle. In an instant, these illusions morphed into various creatures—some bearing Aurelia's sneering visage, others assuming monstrous shapes half-lupine or demonic, all carved from swirling blackness.

Celestica pivoted midair, her wings beating in a thunderous gust. She channeled the ocean's tide beneath her feet, molding swirling water into a protective ring. Using her mastery over local elements—sunlight and sea—she fashioned a double-layered barrier. The clones crashed against it, splattering droplets of dark ooze like black paint across the water.

"Why the fury?" Aurelia's voice now emanated from every direction, each clone speaking in eerie unison. "I gave the love of your life a spark of eternal life. Now there is a possibility that he can accompany you for all eternity. He did his part; now it's time for you to do yours. Be mine for eternity, and you two shall have your time."

Celestica's lips trembled, and her barrier flickered—nearly faltering—but she steadied it with a sharp, steady breath. She refused to let heartbreak paralyze her; Winston had taught her to endure, no matter how dire her emotional state.

Then Aurelia's true form emerged behind the swirling shield—a wraithlike figure, silent and predatory. One pale arm lashed out, fingertips aglow with a corrupt, black light that radiated decay. At the touch, the edges of Celestica's watery barrier hissed as if corroding.

In a swift turn, Celestica brought her sword up in a wide slash. Steel met Aurelia's necrotic aura as sparks of gold and ebony burst outward. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Aurelia's grin widened as she extended a hand; her ghastly aura began to wrap itself around Celestica's sword.

"Let me show you a glimpse of what I can do," she whispered. "Maybe you will learn that there is no shame in submitting to me."

Celestica's sword quivered, the metal emitting a desperate whining sound. Where Aurelia's smoky aura touched it, the blade's surface dulled and began to crumble like rust. Eyes widening in alarm, Celestica channeled mana into the weapon, forcing the steel to regenerate almost as quickly as it decayed.

"Regenerating your weapon with mana?" Aurelia laughed, pushing her necrotic power harder. "We're at a stalemate, darling. How long can you keep it up?"

Gritting her teeth, Celestica matched her adversary's push. For a precious second, she gauged the mana swirling within her heart—Winston's lessons on controlled power echoing in her mind. Tapping more than two percent of her potential power would shatter the seal that protected the empire's natural mana reservoir, risking untold destruction. Hovering perilously near that threshold, she steadied herself as the wind whistled and the sea churned ominously.

"Focus…" she whispered, parting her lips to chant an ancient incantation once taught by Winston. Radiant sunshine flared around her sword, momentarily eclipsing Aurelia's necrotic aura. Freed from the deadly clash, Celestica soared upward in a graceful arc, her wings beating in rhythm with the island's restless energy. Raising both hands to the sky, she cried out, "Rays of the Zenith!"

Golden runes ignited in the air as an enormous lance of sunlight materialized above Aurelia's head, swirling with ocean mist. Aurelia's eyes narrowed, and a dark aura spread from her back; within seconds, it morphed into a colossal, monstrous shape—a scaled abomination with a scorpion tail and skeletal wings of shadow, as though conjured from primeval nightmares. As the lance descended, the summoned creature roared, black mist surging from its mouth in a wave of defensive gloom.

A thunderous explosion ripped across the beach, eradicating the monstrous form in an instant. Columns of steam shot skyward, forming a swirling storm overhead while the sand—once soft and warm—turned into molten glass, fracturing into jagged lumps that tumbled into the sea. Aurelia emerged from the clearing unscathed, though visibly shaken and panting rapidly.

Celestica panted, her wings trembling as she clutched her now-pitted sword. She had pushed herself to 2.5% of the empire's mana reservoir in that final burst. The impact of her battle reverberated across the Avalondian Empire—massive power outages, hostile weather, and rapid decay of countless magic-crafted items testified to its scale.

Then, for the first time, Aurelia coughed up a mouthful of blackish fluid, her eyes flaring with genuine shock. "Impressive. So, this is the power of a Realm Guardian," she rasped, a reluctant note of admiration coloring her tone. "You're holding back. Had you unleashed your full power, you'd have defeated me. At least, for now."

Celestica's expression wavered between heartbreak and triumph. She alighted on the shore, her knees buckling slightly as she demanded, "Then why keep fighting if you admit I'd win? Just release Winston and we're done."

Aurelia paused to compose herself. "You might defeat me, but you can never kill me. Heck, even I cannot kill myself. That's why I crave companionship—eternity is an awfully long time to bear alone. I see no benefit in pressing the fight. I'll give you some time to think it over. Join the big happy family Winston belongs to now, or… let go of the past."

Her tone softened into an almost affectionate smirk. "The depth of your devotion to Winston—and his to you—truly captivates me. I'm not asking for much; just to share this eternal bond."

Celestica's grip tightened on her sword. "I will free him today."

Aurelia shrugged nonchalantly. "Free him from me? Possibly. But it's not that simple. Winston paid a high cost for that fleeting reunion. If you care for him, perhaps do not disrupt the arrangement. Or do—either way, it will be entertaining to watch."

Celestica's heart twisted anew as a dreadful thought took shape. What kind of magical bond had Winston formed with Aurelia? If it could restore the dead, it must be no ordinary magic. And if Aurelia were slain, what would become of Winston? Was his very existence now tied to hers? Despair swelled as she realized she no longer knew what to do.

Shadows coalesced around Aurelia's feet, swirling upward until they formed a smoky cocoon. She arched an elegant brow at Celestica. "Keep that love burning, and I will come again. I'm offering you a deal that most would gladly beg for."

In an instant, Aurelia was gone—leaving only the heavy hush of the ocean wind. Celestica slumped to her knees, her wings drooping. Beneath her, the sand had melted into glimmering patches of glass from the fierce heat. She clenched her trembling fists.

Even though she'd nearly forced Aurelia to retreat, the victory felt hollow. Winston remained out of reach—a ghost ensnared in Aurelia's enigmatic clutches. Grief clawed at her throat, urging her to scream or weep, yet she knew Winston would never want that. Summoning the last vestiges of her dignity, Celestica slowly rose. The battered topography of the island—its familiar, palm-fringed shores now scarred by her unleashed fury—spoke volumes of the battle's cost.

Wiping tears from her cheeks, she gazed steadily at the blazing midday sun, determination hardening within her.

Part 2

A tense, short silence hovered over Philip's main study, broken only by the crackle of reactivated mana-lamps. The sudden mana outage earlier had plunged the corridors into an eerie gloom—just as Lydia was recovering from the duke's furious call. Unbeknownst to Philip, the entire empire had endured a wave of magical disturbances, but that was the least of his worries.

Philip paced behind his desk, his mind running in circles. The windows rattled with fading winds, and his heart still pounded from the earlier call. The duke had informed him that Laura's fiancé—apparently a baron's son—had issued a formal duel challenge against him.

A faint chime signaled the magical tabs reconnecting to the Collective Space. Albert, hovering near the study's hearth, tapped his handheld device as a swirl of glowing runes appeared. "Sir," he said, eyes skimming the display, "we're back online. The coverage of your… er… fiasco with Laura is flooding in again."

Philip rubbed his temples. "Fantastic." He glared at the stack of half-printed newspapers scattered across his desk. During the blackout, he'd had time to read them—and they painted him in a far harsher light: a perverted aristocrat rather than a passionate pacifist.

Lydia, seated primly in an armchair, flipped through a tab. "At least among the rich and powerful—the ones accessing the Collective Space—many comments still revolve around your alleged pacifist stance. They find your nonviolent approach very interesting, even admirable."

Albert cleared his throat. "But the majority of people rely on printed newspapers, not these fancy magical devices. Those coverages are… less flattering." He lifted a grimy broadsheet featuring an unflattering photo of Philip sprawled atop Laura, her skirt hiked dangerously high. The headline screamed of moral indecency, overshadowing any notion of heroism.

A flush stained Philip's cheeks. "I never asked for that portrayal. It was a split-second rescue from an assassin's bullet!"

Lydia exhaled, sympathy warring with exasperation. "Yet from the vantage of half the population, it looks like you pinned a baron's future daughter-in-law in a scandalous pose. It's humiliating for the baronial house—especially given your current physique."

Philip was incredulous. "Are you saying that if I were still as dashing as before, they'd have focused more on the heroic aspect and less on the compromising details?"

"Precisely," Lydia replied. "If you were still the handsome captain with a flawless jawline, it might be easier to convince the masses that you were simply being heroic, with no dishonor attached."

Philip let out a humorless laugh, shocked once more by the world's shallowness. He sank into the chair behind his desk, every nerve throbbing. A duel? He'd barely survived an assassination fiasco, and now a legitimate aristocratic challenge threatened him. "This… is insane. They want me to exchange bullets or swords over a misunderstanding?"

"So this is where we are," he muttered, sarcasm failing to mask his despair. "I am being challenged to a fight to the death by the fiancé of someone I risked my life saving… just because I'm out of shape."

Lydia reached out and pressed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. They must feel truly humiliated. Most noblemen would be upset to see their fiancée pinned under another man—especially caught on camera. You know… it's a men thing."

"Right… a men thing…" Philip mumbled. "I need some time to absorb this."

After exchanging glances, Albert and Lydia bowed slightly and left the room.

Just as Philip was reflecting alone, a flamboyantly dressed figure appeared—the System—sporting an absurdly tight fencing uniform that showcased every possible curve. The sleek white material clung to shapely hips and a generous bosom, hardly modest for protective gear. At her side hung a slender rapier, while a small pistol gleamed at her belt.

"Hellooo, dear Host," she cooed, brandishing the rapier in a theatrical flourish. "Heard you're in desperate need of some duel training."

Philip's jaw dropped.

Unfazed, the System pointed her sword tip at his chest. "You've got a duel, yes? Let's see if your squishy self can handle firearms or fencing. I'm here to help."

Clearing his throat, his face burning at the sight of her scandalously tight uniform, Philip stammered, "C-can you wear something… less distracting?"

A smug grin slid across her lips. "Distractions build mental fortitude. In a real duel, any random detail might break your focus. Better you get used to it now."

A faint snort escaped Philip as the System sauntered closer, wiggling her hips with every step in her fencing boots. "But lessons aren't free, dear Host. I operate on equivalent exchange—a certain comedic, universal law, remember?"

"Equivalent exchange? Is that a real system rule or just your personal whim?" Philip asked.

She winked. "A bit of both, but mostly a rule. So please prepare some chocolate—one imported bar for each hour of training."

Philip's brow shot up. "Chocolate?"

The System pouted. "Hey, a girl's gotta snack. I love sweet things."

"Isn't that extortion?" Philip said.

The System clicked her tongue. "No, no. I'm providing a critical service—ensuring my lovely Host can shoot straight when that son of a baron tries to put a bullet in you. This is a fair exchange. I must stay fair, you know. Too much nonsense might disrupt the universe."

Too stunned to refuse, Philip stuttered, "F-fine. I'll get you chocolate. Just… can you show me how to hold the pistol correctly without shooting myself in the foot?"

"That's the spirit," the System smirked.

After unlocking his personal service pistol, they headed out to a private courtyard for a quick demonstration. The System, happily strutting in her too-tight fencing suit, explained the basics of turning, aiming, and controlling one's breathing. All the while, Philip tried not to stare at the bulging curves seemingly on display by design.

"Focus, Host," the System teased. "If you can't handle me, how will you handle a real duel?"

He muttered an embarrassed thanks, glancing sideways and silently praying he'd pick up the skill quickly enough. With each mention of the duel, his chest tightened as the realization set in—he had mere days to learn how to survive this lethal aristocratic custom.

Finally, after an afternoon of practice shooting—exhausted in both body and mind—Philip trudged through dimly lit halls and up the grand staircase to his room, a large suite harking back to the estate's more glorious days. The four-poster bed, draped in velvet curtains, beckoned like an oasis of comfort. A battered trunk in the corner held old uniforms from his cavalry days, mocking him with memories of a more athletic past.

Deciding on a quick wash to clear his head, he entered the adjoining washroom with its antique fixtures and faintly glowing mana-lamps. Running water washed away sweat and even the System's mocking jabs. Chocolate for fencing lessons… how absurd.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, his hair still damp, he stepped into the softly lit bedroom—then froze mid-stride.

Natalia stood near the foot of his bed, her eyes brimming with concern. She wore a thin, delicate, somewhat sheer nightgown—like something Lydia might have lent her at the last minute. Her presence here, alone with him in these late hours, felt strangely out of place.

He gripped the towel, cheeks flushing. "N-Natalia? You're—why are you in my room at this hour?"