Chapter 50 – The Duel of the Arcanes
The wind rushed between the twisted branches of the Forest of Britania. The night was dense, and in the distance, nearly six kilometers away, the walls of Britania still shimmered under the glow of torches. It was there, far from prying eyes and ears, that Merlin had chosen to confront the masked man.
An emerald circle opened beneath his feet, and in a breath, the forest dissolved into mist. When they reappeared, the two silhouettes stood on a rocky cliff, beaten by the icy winds of the Azure Mountains.
Agnor stepped forward, snow crunching under his boots, and broke the silence.
— "You brought me here on purpose? You think you can beat me alone? Don't make me laugh."
— "I don't want Arthur to hear you. You might scream very loudly during your agony," Merlin replied, his gaze severe.
— "For someone a breath away from death, you seem far too confident…" Agnor retorted, his voice muffled by the mask.
— "I could say the same about you," the mage murmured, raising his staff slightly. "You must be one of those who attacked Britania. I need to question you away from Arthur; I wouldn't want to drag him into this. I'll deal with you myself."
A chilling laugh echoed.
— "Fascinating… the Supreme Enchanter, seeking to protect his King."
— "Arthur is still young, and there are countless things he should never learn."
An oppressive silence fell, then the Supreme Enchanter lifted his hands.
Ten green circles appeared at once, spiraling around him. Then ten more. Then ten again. In the span of seconds, fifty magical circles pulsed in the air, each carved with shifting runes, each vibrating with a different law of the world.
Agnor's eyes widened behind his mask.
— "Fifty incantations simultaneously… That's… inhuman."
— "I once hated when people used that word for me. But as I grew, I realized I've spent more than 500 years of my life studying and mastering countless magics. Now, I think the word inhuman suits me perfectly," Merlin declared, his voice resonating like sacred thunder.
With a single gesture, he unleashed a symphony of incantations:
"Arc Flamma: flames become tempests!"
"Ventorum: unchained hurricanes!"
"Aqua Anima: abyssal tides!"
"Terrae Motus: fractured continents!"
"Lux Orbis: rain of light!"
"Tenebrae Nexus Magia: claws of shadow!"
"Fulmen Ultima: a thousand bolts!"
"Vox Aeterna: hymn of worlds!"
Each circle released a different force: flames, torrents of water, azure lightning, columns of stone, blades of wind, beams of light, beasts of shadow, and explosions of thunder. The very sky seemed to collapse under the weight of the incantations.
Yet Agnor did not retreat. The temperature plummeted. He stomped the ground and everything froze at once. The mountain, the air, the moisture, even the flames: all were locked by a wave of total frost.
— "Enchantments… isn't that right, my dear Merlin? But my ice stops them!!! Come on, surprise me, Supreme Enchanter. Show me why they call you the Virtuoso of Magic…" And then Agnor struck!!!
Merlin's fifty spells were swallowed into a crystal prison harder than diamond, each element halted as if painted in time.
Merlin frowned.
— "Impossible…"
Agnor spread his arms. Behind him, a colossus of ice rose from the ground, towering like a mountain, wielding a frozen axe capable of shattering a kingdom with a single blow.
— "You won't escape me, Merlin!!!!"
The colossus brought down its axe. The mountain trembled, the cliff collapsed, and a chasm opened, swallowing entire forests.
Merlin closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his pupils blazed with incandescent green.
Sixty circles appeared this time, adding to the first, now cracked by frost. The air vibrated, saturated with runes and elemental flows.
— "You think a little breeze will stop me? Don't make me laugh."
He unleashed a rain of enchantments capable of changing the nature of one thing into another: the Enchantment of Alchemists.
The frozen flames turned into dragons of light.
The water turned into lances of crystal fire.
The fractured earth rose as magma golems.
The trapped wind morphed into storms of cutting claws.
The halted darkness opened into gaping portals, letting forth nameless creatures: hundreds poured out.
Every circle sang a spell, every rune vibrated like a choir of apocalypse. The mountain itself became a battlefield of the cosmos.
Yet Agnor resisted. His icy hands sculpted weapons from nothing: swords of frost, eagles, lances, knights, chains stretching across the horizon, crystal shields strong enough to withstand magma. For each transformation of Merlin, Agnor answered with an even purer, harsher frost.
The sky glowed an unnatural green, the ground shook as if the earth itself would burst, and Britania, miles away, faintly felt the tremor.
Merlin raised his staff, all his circles connecting into a single matrix.
— "Vox Ultima: Symphony of the Arcanes!"
A torrent of green magic surged, covering the horizon, transforming the mountain into a theater of light, where flames became rivers, winds became lightning, and ice shattered only to be reborn.
Still, Agnor did not yield. He glided across his own frozen terrain with surreal grace, dodging attacks like a phantom. His arm rose, and with a single gesture he froze the very air, forging a wall of ice so dense even fire could not pierce it.
The entire sky burned with Merlin's circles. Fifty green runes roared like a thousand war drums, while Agnor, relentless, raised fortresses of ice. The two forces clashed, engulfing the mountain in cataclysm.
Then, as their eyes met between two assaults, Agnor spoke. His voice, cold and deep, split the storm like a blade:
— "I remember you, Merlin. The world believes you were born an enchanter. But I know your true face."
Merlin frowned, never ceasing to sustain his circles.
— "You know nothing. So shut up and die."
Agnor chuckled. A mist of frost slipped from his mask.
— "I know everything. Over five hundred years ago, in a Forgotten Kingdom, Zéphyr… lived a small clan, a poor village. Enchanters, all born with an innate gift, a direct bond with spirits and magic."
His words rang like sacred scripture, and even the frozen winds seemed to stop to listen.
— "The first king of Zéphyr, now long gone, feared them. He knew that if this people united and grew, they could overthrow his realm. So he did what all weak kings do: he turned their greatness into chains."
Merlin's eyes flickered for a moment, as if a shadow of the past passed over them.
Agnor pressed on, merciless:
— "They were enslaved. One hundred thousand souls—men, women, children. All branded, all shackled. Runic chains, carved with anti-magic, stealing their years, their essence, their dreams. They became mere tools, forced to build citadels and die in wars for a king who despised them."
The ground trembled at his words. Merlin's circles shone brighter, but he remained silent.
— "But the tyrant was cruel, and greedy for spectacle. He proclaimed: 'Let them fight each other, like starving dogs. Let them kill one another for the mirage of freedom.'"
The ice around Agnor cracked as if to punctuate his tale.
— "And so began the slaughter. A senseless royal battle. One hundred thousand slaves, children included… condemned to fight to the death. And the king promised the survivor would be free."
A bitter laugh escaped Agnor.
— "And they fought like animals. Oh yes, they fought savagely. For your people, Merlin, were as cruel as they were gifted. To survive, they devoured their own blood, betrayed their brothers, massacred their friends."
He paused, his icy eyes locking on Merlin.
— "But among them… was a child. Twelve years old, no more. Hands stained with blood, eyes void like an abyss. A single child who alone eliminated one hundred thousand fighters. He did not fight for freedom. He did not fight for an ideal. He fought… because he was born to kill."
Agnor's voice trembled with frozen intensity:
— "That child, Merlin… was you."
The Enchanter's staff quivered, his circles crackled like furious lightning. But he did not deny it.
— "And that wasn't all. After the tournament, after your victory, you did not accept the crown of the freed slave. No… you destroyed the kingdom of Zéphyr, alone. You obliterated an empire, reducing a king's armies to ash. You, a child."
The words tolled like funeral bells through the mountain.
— "At twelve years old, you already wielded a magic no one had ever seen. Not elemental, not creation. No… enchantment. You could transform any law, rewrite any element, shape reality as your toy."
Agnor clenched his fist, and a frozen fissure split the mountain.
— "That is who you are, Merlin. Not an enchanter… a monster born of blood and war. The last survivor of a massacred people, and the butcher of one hundred thousand lives."
A leaden silence fell. Even the magical storm seemed suspended.
At last Merlin spoke, his voice grave, weighted with an unfathomable burden:
— "Then if you know my past… you should understand that facing me alone means signing your death warrant, shouldn't you, Agnor?"
And with a single motion, he activated his fifty circles at once.
With a snap of his fingers, a colossal dragon of ice surged behind him. Its scales shimmered like diamonds, and its freezing breath shattered the rocks into frozen shards.
Agnor's eyes flared with fury: Merlin had unmasked him… yet he still stood in the midst of cataclysm, raising his lone circle, his aura shaking the air.
— "Merlin… I swear you will not survive this battle."
His cracked mask revealed a glimpse of a glacial gaze. Slowly, he raised his hand, and a single frosty circle appeared… but its power made the air quake.
— "That you know who I am matters little. You will not leave here alive."
The fight, even more terrible, had only just begun.
To be continued…