As the spear rain down upon him, Albrecht smirked.
So this is why Hauptmann Hardalt said that if Halwen had joined Silberschade, I wouldn’t be holding the Division 3 seat.
He smiled. But I’m not about to step aside for some old, white-cloaked scientist.
He planted one foot back and whispered,
"Heavenly Movement: Barnards Stern."(Barnard’s star)
Albrecht dashed in, closing the distance between him and Halwen in a blink, like the fastest star in the universe.
He was suspended midair. It was as if time itself paused, allowing him to cast his next spell. Then he roared:
"Heavenly Movement: Barnards Stern – Wilder Rei?zahn." (Barnard’s Star – Wild Fang)
For a heartbeat, he vanished.
Then, chaos unfolded.
Slashes erupted from every angle. It was as if the very air had turned hostile, collapsing in a storm of cuts and silver trails. Halwen barely had time to reinforce his skin with enhancement before the first impact struck.
There was no rhythm. Only a violent tempo that overwhelmed perception itself.
The ground split in jagged patterns, lines seared into the marble floor by the razor-edged momentum of the star. Arcs of shimmering light carved into the space around him, each slash trailing a silver-indigo wake like a comet spiraling off course.
Albrecht flickered in and out of vision, appearing only long enough to deliver another strike. His path looped and twisted, slicing through the battlefield like a wild celestial beast—untamed, unpredictable, majestic in its violence.
Every step he took distorted the mana around him, creating afterimages and shockwaves. Each clone-like flicker danced behind the real him, slashing an instant too late, adding to the confusion. The air cracked under the weight of raw velocity. Particles of dust hovered, unable to settle.
It was a berserker’s ballet. Barnard’s Star gone rogue, tearing its own orbit into the world.
And in the center of it all, Albrecht moved like a force of nature, faster than thought, faster than fear.
Halwen’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, genuine surprise flashing across his face.
He couldn’t withstand this kind of aggression much longer.
His reinforced skin, began to crack under the barrage. If he allowed this level of aggression to continue unchecked, he would lose. Immediately.
So he slammed his foot into the ground once more.
"Mutter Erdes Umarmung." (Mother Earth's Embrace)
From the softened earth, stone shifted. A solid gray box surged upward. Dense. Precise. Unyielding. It formed around him in an instant, encasing him in a box of masterfully conjured material.
A shield. A sanctuary.
And just in time. Albrecht’s silver-indigo trail tore towards him again. His rampage wild and unrelenting. Carving chaos through everything that wasn’t sealed in stone.
From inside the box, Halwen shouted:
"Terra's Rendering Claw!"
Jagged stones shaped like a claw of daemon erupted in every direction. Wild and unrelenting, it tears the ground on which they jutted from, causing mayhem along its path
Seeing the eruption, Albrecht halted mid-assault. His slashes faded.
He wasn’t taking chances.
"Heavenly Movement: Polaris-Ruf." (Polaris’s call)
His body snapped back. Recalled to his original position. Just beyond the reach of the stone claws.
But the assault didn’t stop.
The forest still surged toward him.
Albrecht raised one of his hands and said
"Regulus’ Strafender Stern." (Regulus's Punishing Star)
Regulus, the brightest star in the Leo constellation, it ignited above the darkened sky, burning with regal clarity.
Then it fell, like a falling star with intent.
Each one struck with divine precision, smashing into the advancing claws and shattering them before they could reach him.
From the side, Vierna watched with awe.
She had always believed magic was beautiful. But this was breathtaking. An art form in motion.
She only wished Alb would train her to that level someday.
Her hand didn’t stop moving. She wrote everything she could, though it wasn’t much with how fast the battle was. Most of her writing were scribbles and abbreviations—things only she would understand later, if she even remembered them at all.
Lina glanced over and saw her friend turning into a machine, eyes flicking between the duel and her parchment.
"Vierna..."
"Ssst, Lina—I need to concentrate. I have so many questions I want to ask them directly, and I’m afraid I’ll forget them."
Lina held back a sigh.
She didn’t want to invoke the wrath of a magic nerd mid-transcription.
So instead, she turned back to the duel. Quietly watching as another celestial spell lit up the battlefield.
She had never imagined Halwen or Albrecht were this powerful.
Hearing stories was one thing.
Seeing it, feeling it shake the air was entirely different.
After the onslaught of jagged stone claws and the fall of punishing stars, Halwen stepped out from the stone box.
For a moment, the duel field fell into eerie silence. Dust hung in the air like breath that refused to exhale.
And yet, neither of them looked winded. Their stances were unbroken, their gazes locked.
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In their eyes, something unspoken passed between them. But it was clear that their gazes held respect for each other.
The kind of respect that only existed when both understood: the other was not holding back. Because the duel demanded nothing less than their best.
Halwen and Albrecht stood at the edge of the field, their eyes locked on the wreckage before them.
What had once been a pristine dueling ground, meticulously arranged and carved from white marble, was now a churned, broken expanse. The surface had softened unnaturally, as if the earth itself had lost its will to remain solid. It wasn’t mud. It wasn’t stone. It was something in between. Like water held in shape by stubborn memory.
Slash marks split the terrain, deep and erratic. Jagged stones jutted like broken teeth from the ground. Runes that once lined the perimeter lay dim, flickering or shattered altogether. The marble tiles, once proud and polished, had been fractured into islands of gleaming white amidst the ruin.
It didn’t look like a battlefield but like a wound started to fester.
Without warning, Halwen touched the ground.
"Erdene Umschreibung: Absolute Kontrolle” (Earthen Rewrite: Absolute Control)
The softened ground shifted as if gripped directly by Halwen’s will. Albrecht’s eyes widened as he realized what the spell meant. He rushed toward Halwen again.
Halwen stomped, and the shockwave was enough to halt Albrecht’s advance.
"Nerthus’ Abgetrennter Arm" (Nerthus Severed Arm)
The ground responded. Something began to rise. Drawn from deeper, purer veins of mineral. Shards fused into lines, then into angles. A shaft took shape, as if the earth itself know how to forge a deadly weapon.
Not giving him the chance to complete whatever he was about to do, Albrecht raised his dagger and pointed it at Halwen.
"Heavenly Movement: Betelgeuse."
From Albrecht’s dagger, a beam of compressed starlight tore through the air like the soul of a dying star, weaponized into pure force.
Seeing the energy surge toward him, Halwen didn’t speak. Instead, five gates erupted from the ground, rising in perfect formation. Colossal. Stone-colored. Brutalist in design.
“What? How can he cast something that big without saying the spell’s name?” Lina blurted out.
“It appears Herr Halwen is a pure geomancer,” the maid replied calmly.
“Pure geomancer?” Vierna tilted her head.
“Yes. An elemental specialist focused solely on earth magic. That last spell, Absolute Control confirms it. It allows him to shape terrain directly with his will, as if the entire field were an extension of his body. For him, spells like that are basic.”
“Wow,” Lina breathed.
“But it does come with drawbacks,” the maid added. “A pure elementalist sacrifices access to all other elements. Herr Halwen is completely locked out of fire, wind, water, and so on. That’s why he complements his magic with Eidrecht spells—to make up for earth’s lack of offensive burst.”
“But what about those Eidrecht spells?” Vierna asked
“Higher-tier Eidrecht spells don’t rely on affinity; they are pure mana. Lower-tier ones, however, depend on your element.”
Their conversation faded as all eyes turned back to the towering gates.
There were no bright colors or gilded crests upon the gates, only solemn carvings etched deep into the stone—spirals of roots, runes of soil and mountain, and the stern faces of forgotten guardians. They stood like monuments to the earth itself, heavy and unyielding. Everyone knew: these gates were a testament to pure earth-magic mastery, and it would take immense firepower to break through them.
Betelgeuse struck.
The first gate took the full force of the blast. It shattered instantly, exploding into a storm of fractured stone.
The second absorbed the remaining shock, but still broke apart under pressure, collapsing in uneven chunks.
The third held for a breath before its frame gave out entirely, disintegrating down to its base.
The fourth resisted longer, but eventually crumbled under the weight of strain, its structure collapsing inward like sand pressed too tightly.
The fifth remained standing. Its surface was intact, but the force was enough to blow its doors wide open, the heavy slabs groaning as they swung free on their hinges.
But it had bought the time he needed.
The spell was complete.
Dust billowed.
Standing at the edge of the gate, Halwen stood, now wielding a weapon. Towering. Symmetrical. Forged from mineral-rich earth, its edge gleamed with compressed weight, hardened by intent to conquer its foe.
It looked like a Halberd, but the design was off.
The blade was massive, far larger than any standard polearm. Its head resembled a battle axe grafted onto a halberd shaft, broad, brutal, and built for devastation.
And in Halwen’s hands, it felt like more than just a weapon.
It was as if he had severed the arm of a god and now wielded it as his weapon.
Then the ground surged.
Without warning, the earth moved again, it rose. A wave of clay, soil and stone, massive and fluid, cresting like a tsunami. Earth itself, bent to his will.
Halwen rode it like a surfer, balanced atop the crest with terrifying ease.
Seeing the colossal threat racing toward him, Albrecht laughed, wild, delighted.
“Hahaha! Herr Halwen, this is the most fun I’ve had! Even Saint Ramon wasn’t this much of a challenge. We must do this again!”
Atop the rising wave, Halwen’s voice boomed back:
“Only if you survive this. Then sure—I’ll consider it.”
So, Albrecht dropped one hand to the ground.
“Heavenly Movement: Nótts Avatar” (Avatar of Nótt)
His body shimmered, cloaked in the deep hues of the cosmos—black tinged with violet and midnight blue, as if the night sky itself had draped over him. Faint starlight pulsed beneath his skin, constellations blooming and fading across his limbs in slow celestial rhythm.
His hair turned darker, almost ethereal, strands drifting as if weightless in the void. His eyes gleamed with cold white light, like twin stars watching from an eternal distance. Even the air around him changed, dimming as if day itself had retreated.
He no longer looked like a man. He looked like the night given form, a divine silhouette shaped by shadow, speed, and impossible grace.
He launched upward, fast and blinding, like a comet carved from night.
Halwen responded in kind.
From the body of the tsunami, he conjured weapons, stone claws, jagged lances, guillotines of sharpened shale. They erupted around him, firing like siege engines.
But each spell that struck Albrecht’s form disintegrated on contact, swallowed by the endless night he had become.
Then
BOOM!
Halwen’s halberd met Albrecht’s dagger in a violent clash, the shockwave tearing through the air like a cannon blast. The ground trembled beneath them.
They locked in place—neither weapon gave way. But both men angled their clash downward, forcing the momentum to follow. So when they fell, they didn’t rebound or separate; they stayed locked, driving each other straight into the ground.
The ground shuddered. A dust storm exploded outward from the impact.
Vierna and Lina shielded their eyes, turning away instinctively. When the dust settled, the scene revealed itself.
The maid leaned forward, eyes wide with shock.
“I never thought Herr Halwen practiced Arkenfaust to this degree. That’s… absurd. No, that’s terrifying.”
“Arkenfaust?” Vierna echoed.
“Melee combat magic,” the maid clarified, still watching intently. “I always assumed he was a pure caster, given how he manipulates earth and fires spells from range.”
Lina stared in silence.
“…Uncle.” Her voice was quiet. She was starting to realize how little she truly knew about him.
On the field, the melee raged on.
Halwen swung his halberd in brutal arcs, one-handed. He gripped the shaft near its end, wielding the massive weapon as if it were part of him—fluid, deliberate, overwhelming.
“Miss Maid, I am confused,” Vierna said, watching the motions closely. “He’s holding the halberd by the end of the shaft. Isn’t that… heavy? Does Herr Halwen use Earth magic to control it?”
“You are correct, Miss Vierna,” the maid said, voice calm. “That grip is unorthodox.”
Lina leaned forward. “If Uncle can control it with Earth magic, then why even get close? Wouldn’t it be safer to fight from range?”
“Exactly, Miss Lina. But I’m afraid I don’t know the reason. You’ll have to ask Herr Halwen directly.”
Vierna was already scribbling notes, yet another entry in the growing list of things Halwen needed to explain later.
On the field, Albrecht advanced through the sweeps, conjuring another black dagger in a shimmered flicker. Twin blades spun in his hands, parrying Halwen’s brutal arcs with razor precision. The tempo surged clash, grind, rebound war drums echoing across the scarred field of duel.
It went on for a while, both fighter refused to give each other an opening, even when they recoiled from a parry, they quickly followed up the attacks. No blinking this time. Then, a sudden break.
Halwen’s halberd was knocked loose. One of Albrecht’s daggers flew free.
Both weapons spun across the field.
Albrecht didn’t hesitate.
With one blade still in hand, he surged forward—dagger aimed at Halwen’s throat.
But Halwen was not without a plan.
His free hand had already risen, palm glowing with charged energy, aimed directly at Albrecht’s chest.
They froze.
Albrecht’s dagger hovered at Halwen’s neck while Halwen’s spell pulsed, ready to fire.
“Casting Eidrecht in your head while fighting hand-to-hand?” Albrecht said, his breath ragged as the glow of Nótt’s Avatar dimmed. “You truly are something else, Herr Halwen.”
“Likewise,” Halwen replied calmly despite the sweat pouring down his face. “Your bladework is exceptional. I never thought I’d need a backup plan while using Nerthus. It reminds me when I dueled mage Pier.”
"So, a draw?" Albrecht offered.
"A draw indeed."
Halwen’s spell flickered, then dimmed, fading into his palm. Albrecht lowered his dagger and stepped back.
Then, without a word, both men bowed to each other.
This was the Reich.
Age meant nothing. Only strength held weight.
And in this moment, both saw the other for what they truly were.
Reichtounge spell, or normal spell, or boring magic without shouting the name?
