Killian walked up to Rowan, dusting off his clothes.

  “Well, that was fun,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his face, glancing at the spear in Rowan’s hands. “Sure as hell didn’t expect you to keep that many active spells up at the same time, I’ll tell you that,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, you know… have that back now?”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow, looking over the finely crafted weapon.

  Should I just give it back? he thought to himself, testing the weight.

  Considering the upcoming goblin raid, it was probably the right thing to do. But then again, Killian had been kind of an asshole from the moment they met, and Rowan had no squabbles about being a sore winner.

  “It is a nice spear,” he said, running a hand along its worn shaft. “Finely crafted, well kept.”

  Killian’s eye twitched. “Yeah, it is.”

  “You know, I might be persuaded to give it back. For the right price, of course,” Rowan tapped his chin. “A thousand gold should do it.”

  “You’re fucking with me, right?” Killian said, his voice disbelieving. “You can’t just steal my weapon during a duel!” his eyes moved to where the Guildmistress sat, watching the interaction with a disinterested expression.

  Killian looked like he was hoping for some help, but Quinea casually waved him off, returning to her conversation with Tremil.

  Gritting his teeth, Killian glanced where his team sat. “Misk!” he shouted. “Get over here, you little shit!”

  The wiry-looking adventurer quickly made his way towards them, fidgeting the whole way. “Yes, boss?” he asked, risking a quick glance at Rowan, hastily looking away.

  “Just shut up and give me the gold,” Killian said, taking two gold pouches and throwing them at Rowan. “There, can I have my spear back now?”

  Rowan shrugged, storing the gold and returning the weapon. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Killian sighed. “Yeah, sure,” he slung the spear over his back. “No hard feelings?” he asked, offering a hand.

  Rowan thought about it for a moment before shaking it. “Sure, no hard feelings,” he nodded. “But if you want a word of advice, try to be less of an asshole. It’ll make your life easier, trust me.”

  Killian snorted. “Duly noted.”

  And with that, both him and Misk walked away, neither of them looking all that happy.

  Quinea stood up, clapping loudly to grab everyone's attention. “Alright, this duel is over,” she said casually, standing up and gesturing for the Silver-ranks. “You lot, follow me.”

  The adventurers in the stands took that as their cue to start moving back to the Hall. The atmosphere was rowdy, and Rowan was sure it would be a long night for many of them.

  Silvia was the first to reach him, and she clapped him on the back, hard. “Ha!” she beamed. “Never doubted you for a second.”

  The rest of the Grove wasn’t far behind. What followed was a smattering of ‘congratulations’ and ‘I told you so’s’, and Omi even pulled out a large pouch filled with gold.

  “Good odds,” he shrugged at Rowan’s unspoken question, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

  “At least we know who’s buying,” Annie said, clapping Omi on the back.

  Rowan snorted a laugh. “And here I thought you were cheering because I won.”

  “That definitely added to it,” Omi nodded, securing the pouch to his belt. “But I don’t think we’ll be getting those drinks quite yet,” he said, pointing toward the group of approaching Silver-ranks, Quinea and Tremil at the front.

  There were more than a dozen deadly looking men and women walking towards them, all of them outfitted in quality looking gear, giving off an air of confidence.

  Rowan scanned a few, finding himself pleasantly surprised.

  There were three people on the cusp of Gold. And while that didn’t tell him much seeing as it could take years to advance depending on how long they were at that rank, it was nice to finally meet the strongest adventurers in Litwick.

  The first was a lithe-looking rogue. She wore leather armor dyed in a pattern of muted greens and browns, the kind of colors that would hide her in the Wilds. Two dangerous-looking daggers were strapped to her thighs, and she moved with deliberate steps.

  Beside her walked an archer, a dark cloak wrapped around his tall frame. There was a finely crafted bow resting across his back, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the light of the yard. His movements were slow, like someone who spent most of his time waiting for the perfect moment to act.

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  The third figure carried herself with quiet authority, clad in steel plate, a sword at her side and a shield across her back. She stood as solid as a fortress, and Rowan couldn’t help but be reminded of Nemir.

  But those three weren’t the only people here. They weren’t even the strongest people in the room.

  That honor went to either the Gold-rank that gestured for them to follow, or the robed figure standing next to her.

  She was guiding them away from the crowd, towards a gate that led to a closed off section of the yard.

  Tremil caught his eye. He said something to the Guildmistress and she nodded, gesturing vaguely in their direction.

  “Seems like you’re about to have an interesting conversation,” Nemir said, pointing out the approaching Yellow-Core mage.

  Rowan nodded, his excitement mingling with nervousness.

  Tremil was the highest-ranked mage in the city, and one of few Yellow-Cores in the region. Talking to him was something Rowan had wanted to do for a while, but he’d never quite had the chance, or a reason to do it.

  Kai hopped off Zoe’s shoulder, landing on Rowan’s and pecking at his hair.

  “Hey, stop that,” he muttered, pushing his beak away. “I’m trying to look presentable.”

  Annie snorted. “A bit late for that.”

  “We’ll save you a seat,” Nemir said, herding the team after Quinea and the rest of the adventurers, giving Rowan some privacy.

  Nemir looked at Tremil and the two other mages approaching, scanning them.

  Those are probably his apprentices, Rowan thought, taking in the two boys, seemingly twins who looked a few years younger than him.

  Having twenty levels from their Core meant they were halfway to Yellow. But it would be more correct to say halfway to being able to attempt it. Creating a tier-two affinity wasn’t a simple process. It required preparation and study, not something most attempted haphazardly.

  Tremil stepped forward, an amicable smile on his face as he extended a hand. “That was a marvelous showing,” he said, shaking Rowan’s hand. “To hold that many active casts together? And to do it during a fight as well?” he shook his head, admiration clear in his tone. “Spectacular.”

  Rowan tried not to let his ego swell too much, but he couldn’t deny that having someone acknowledge what he’d done felt good.

  “Thank you,” he said with a genuine smile. “It was many hours of work.”

  Tremil nodded, looking at Rowan with a thoughtful expression. “Yes, you are older than most,” he said slowly. “But no matter. You have shown your talent, and it seems you have it in spades,” he gestured at the twins. “These are my apprentices. Huon and Tion Greenstride.”

  When they said nothing, Tremil frowned. “Boys, you are being impolite. Greet the man.”

  The one on the left snorted. “We have ten levels on him. He should be the one greeting us.”

  Tremil smacked the boy upside the head, “And how many [Burning Whip]’s can you hold at a time?” he asked. “Have you even managed three?” Tremil shook his head. “Levels mean nothing. This man has mastered his affinity to a degree you two haven’t. So you will say hello, or I will have you meditating for the next week.”

  Now that’s a punishment if I’ve ever heard one, Rowan thought, trying to suppress a smile.

  “A single sharpened stick is better than two dull daggers, remember that,” Tremil added, crossing his arms.

  The boy winced, taking the chastisement.

  The one that didn’t get smacked stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. “Hello, my name is Tion Greenstride, Novice mage under Master Tremil. Please forgive my brother. He speaks more than he should and more than we’d like. He meant no offense.”

  Huon glared at his brother, but smartly decided to stay quiet. After a moment he sighed, nodding his head towards Rowan. “Pleasure to meet you,” he muttered. “I’m Huon Greenstride. Same thing my brother said.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward. “Jamis.”

  Huon frowned. “Just Jamis?”

  “Yup,” he nodded. “Just Jamis.”

  Rowan understood what the boy was asking, but he had no intention of answering that particular question.

  Huon—rightfully so—thought Rowan belonged to a noble House. Skilled mages rarely appeared without access to resources and tutoring. Something that nobles had in spades. And it wasn’t that much of a reach to assume Rowan belonged to one House or another.

  The truth wasn’t something most people would even believe. Him being the last member of a Great House, a Duke, and the heir to Eiseylth hopefully wasn’t in the realm of possibilities.

  But Rowan understood why the boy was skeptical of him.

  His age would raise questions anywhere he went. At least until his advancement caught up to his skills.

  Progressing a Core to the peak of Orange wasn’t a difficult endeavor. The only thing it required was time and effort. And the only reason a mage wouldn’t manage it would be if he was lazy.

  I can’t exactly mention I’ve only been at it for a few months. That’s a can of worms I’d rather keep sealed.

  It looked like Huon wanted to ask more, but Tremil interjected. “Don’t pry into other people’s wells,” he said, wagging a finger at his apprentice. “It’s rude, and could get your brain boiled.”

  Then he turned his attention back towards Rowan, his brows furrowed in thought. “I couldn’t help but notice your Wind magic was quite rudimentary compared to your flames,” he said, reaching into his robe and pulling out a card. “I take it you’ve been apprised of what’s coming?” he asked, looking at Rowan with a knowing expression.

  “I have,” he said, pulling out an identical card. “The Guildmistress already told me to go and see you. I was planning on reaching out after this duel.”

  Tremil smiled. “Good. I would offer you some advice when it comes to mastering Wind, if you wish to hear it. It is a wily affinity, one much different than the Fire you seem so used to.”

  Rowan nodded. “I’ll gladly take you up on that offer. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve advanced, and I haven’t managed to devote nearly as much time as I would have liked to mastering it.”

  Tremil was an Ice mage, which was a tier two affinity created by combining Wind and Water. If there was anyone in the city capable of showing Rowan a few tricks, it would be him.

  “Wind is capable of powerful magic,” Tremil said, an eager glint in his eyes.”I would be more than willing to impart some knowledge before we set out on this endeavor. When you find the time, feel free to visit me.”

  Rowan would probably spend a few days working on his magic by himself before doing that. Currently, he only had a single Whisper-level Wind spell mastered, and he didn’t want to waste a lesson on something he’d be able to learn by himself.

  They talked for a few more minutes, and while Huon obviously wasn’t thrilled, his brother seemed nice enough.

  The boys were the youngest sons of House Greenstride, a minor family hailing from the north of the Verdant Plains. They were in Litwick studying under mage Tremil as a favor for their father, Baron Remil, a Mythril-ranked warrior and former teammate of the mage advisor.

  “Well, we should probably join the others,” Rowan said as the conversation died down, gesturing toward where the rest of the Silver-ranks had gone. “The Guildmistress doesn't seem like the type of woman you keep waiting.”

  Tremil laughed. “Quite right.”

  They left the yard and entered a long hallway, the low murmur of adventurers reaching their ears.

  If Rowan was right, Quinea was about to reveal what her plans were for the upcoming goblin raid, and he could only hope his performance had been enough to impress her.