Preparation

     As Henrietta and I followed the brute, a few students trailed from a distance, spreading the news that the first clash of the semester was about to go down.

     “On the very first day?” a girl whispered. “It’s more common around here than you think,” another replied, and just like that, a crowd began to gather behind us.

     The Academy’s gymnasium was a small-scale marble amphitheater. Elevated bleachers encircled the central area, where a mosaic pattern marked the boundaries of the arena.

     “Good luck,” Henrietta said before stepping away to join the crowd.

     From the moment I decided to enroll in this academy, I knew I would have to face challenges like this all on my own. Still, having someone in my corner didn’t feel like a bad idea.

     “Attention, my fellow peers of Iron Lotus Academy!” That ogre’s voice boomed across the stands. “I, Lars Elwood, member of the Student Council, have the pleasure of officializing the first Grimoire Duel of this semester!”

     The entire crowd stirred with excitement, breaking into cheers and applause. As much as I hated being stuck in this sporting event as a contestant, I couldn't really blame them—I’d probably be excited to watch it too.

     “What’s going on here, Lars?” A stern-looking woman had arrived on the scene.

     “A-Ah! Ye Xian-sensei!”

     Sensei? Despite her silver hair, she looked far too young to fit what I imagined a teacher would look like.

     “You do realize that conducting a Grimoire Duel requires permission from a teacher or guardian, right?”

     “O-Of course! I was actually just about to call you, Ye Xian-sensei...” His behavior was identical to that of a spoiled child.

     It seemed that appealing to authority, just as Henrietta had suggested, was going to pull me out of this mess after all—or so I hoped...

     “Whatever. A little action on the first day might inspire the newcomers.”

     And just like that, my last ray of hope went down the drain.

     She walked up to me and asked in a low voice, “What’s your name, freshman?”

     “Chelsea Honeycutt.”

     She didn't bat an eye or look surprised; my family name clearly wasn't enough to make her cancel the duel. “A true rookie. First of your lineage?”

     “Yes.”

     “Have you even received your grimoire yet?”

     “Yes...”

     “What’s the matter?” She picked up on my nervousness.

     “I’m still getting used to it. Would it be a problem if I used this instead?”

     I finally unsheathed the weapon strapped to my waist.

     “An Arcane Blade?”

     Arcane blades are weapons forged with magic to boost their attributes, like durability and sharpness. On top of that, they can store auxiliary spells granted by their magic artisans. Despite the name “arcane blade,” there are no rules regarding their shape. Mine, for instance, has a rather peculiar form...

     “A machete.”

     “Did you come to the Academy planning to become a magic artisan?”

     “No, I really want to be a mage.”

     “An arcane blade might be enough in a duel between freshmen, but your opponent is one of the most promising mages in the academy. Be prepared.”

     Was that a threat or a friendly warning? Her expression was so blank and her tone so indifferent that I couldn't tell if she was trying to put me in my place or showing genuine concern.

     Stepping into the center of the arena, she signaled for Lars and me to take our positions on opposite sides. Clearing her throat, she announced: “My dear students, many of you are about to witness your first grimoire duel, so allow me to explain the rules...”

     Her speech was packed with formal language, but to sum it up: “Two or more students enter the arena, and there can only be one winner,” “Victory goes to whoever knocks out their opponent or forces a surrender,” “There is a fifteen-minute time limit for each match,” and “Unfair moves—such as targeting the eyes or groin, pre-activated enchantments and forbidden ones—are strictly prohibited.” There was also another interesting clause: “If deemed necessary, the instructor may abruptly end the fight to preserve the students' well-being.”

     After wrapping up the formalities, the teacher finally drew her grimoire and chanted: “Let this be child's play. May no wound prove fatal. In this domain blessed by the Gods, let the art of combat begin! ‘Tinkerbell-Playground!’”

     The arena beneath our feet began to glow a faint shade of blue, and walls of bluish ether rose from its perimeter.

     “What is this?” I asked instinctively.

     “Pay attention.” The professor turned back to the audience. “This is how you use a spell. Read the words with your body and soul, allowing the magic to flow from deep within you.” She was genuinely taking the opportunity to start her lesson.

     But it was basic knowledge. Grimoires are catalysts through which magic manifests, and it is by reading the words aloud that spells are invoked.

     She continued, “The magic I just cast ensures this arena doesn't turn into a bloodbath. Some spells are far too dangerous, and we wouldn't want a graveyard built behind the Academy.”

     “So I don't have to worry about injuries sustained during the fight?” That sounded reassuring.

     “Exactly.” Her attention shifted back to me. “But be careful, rookie. Magical attacks and physical blows will still inflict normal pain. Someone who just arrived shouldn't be stepping foot in here so soon.”

     You’re the one who was supposed to get me out of this... Regardless, “It’s not like I can back out now.”

     Ever since I left home carrying the dream of becoming the strongest mage of all time, I knew my greatest opponent wouldn't be standing right in front of my eyes, but right behind them—inside my own head.

     My brain seems to actively sabotage my progress every time I open a grimoire. Words get jumbled up in my mind and letters dance across the pages, turning simple reading into a monumental chore. It’s been like this since I was born. I’ve doubted my own capabilities countless times, but I have complete faith in my capacity to learn. For instance, I can think of the word “knight,” its concept and meaning, but I have no clue how it’s pronounced. Or words like “quiet” and “quite”—to me, they look the same.

     I possess a considerable amount of mana and can control its flow masterfully, but I can't cast basic spells. Every time I try, they fizzle out or come out much weaker than intended. However, complaining isn't going to solve my current problem. All I can do right now is figure out a way to deal with this brute. Well, if my plan works out, my lack of magic won't even be an issue.

     My first duel at Iron Lotus Academy is about to begin.