A duel was a complex equation, a balance of variables: magical power, spell repertoire, casting proficiency, combat sense, and the quality of one's wand.
In raw power, Sean and Cecil were surprisingly well-matched. Though Cecil was older, Sean's secondary Magic Power Awakening had closed the gap. Their wands, both perfectly suited to their wielders, were also a neutral factor.
But in the other three categories, Cecil was devastatingly superior. He had a larger arsenal of spells and wove them together with a fluid, practiced ease that Sean couldn't hope to match. His combat instincts were sharper, his movements more efficient. The moment they'd begun, Sean was on the defensive, completely outclassed in a pure magical exchange. He knew, with cold certainty, that he could not win this way.
If it were just a duel, losing would be no great shame. A rising second-year losing to one of the strongest fifth-years at Beauxbatons was hardly a disgrace. But a loss meant no reward. No new talent extracted from the system. And that made defeat unacceptable.
His breathing deepened. The calculus of the duel shifted in his mind. If magic alone was a losing equation, he would change the variables.
Catching a fractional pause in Cecil's assault, Sean's legs exploded with power. He burst from his corner, no longer a stationary target but a blur of motion. He used his immense strength to fuel his speed, circling the bewildered Cecil, his own spells now coming from unpredictable angles as he systematically closed the distance.
"Cecil, be careful! He's getting close to you!"
The shout came from one of Cecil's friends. The boy immediately clamped his mouth shut, realizing his error, but the warning had been given.
Across the room, Aldrich's posture hadn't changed, but his hand had drifted down, his fingers brushing the handle of his wand. Jensen, standing beside him, saw the movement and froze. He had no doubt that if the boy had shouted another word, a Silencing Charm would have been the least of his worries.
Cecil, to his credit, was not too proud to heed the warning. He immediately began backpedaling, widening the distance between them. He knew from Schiller what happened when Sean got close. His own size and strength were considerable, but he had no desire to test them against a boy who could shatter a crystal wall with his bare fists.
Sean didn't fault him for it. It was the smart move. But the gap between them had already shrunk considerably.
"Incendio!"
A ferocious jet of fire erupted from Sean's wand, not as a controlled stream but as a billowing, opaque cloud that roared toward Cecil, obscuring everything behind it.
At the same instant, Sean did something unthinkable for a dueling wizard: he tucked his wand into the back of his belt. Under the cover of the flames, he reached into his robes and pulled out the simple leather pouch Aldrich had procured for him.
His dueling instincts screaming, Cecil swiftly cast a spell to dissipate the fire cloud. The moment the flames vanished, he saw Sean charging—and the bag in his hand. He didn't know what was in it—harmful potions, cursed artifacts—but he knew he could not let Sean get any closer.
"Stupefy!"
A bolt of crimson light shot from Cecil's wand, streaking toward Sean's chest.
Just as the spell was about to connect, something silvery and massive erupted from the mouth of Sean's bag. The Stunning Spell slammed into it with a deafening CLANG, exploding in a shower of harmless red sparks.
Cecil stared, his jaw slack. Blocking Sean's path was a brutally functional tower shield, a slab of metal so large it almost completely concealed Sean's body. The silver-white surface was rough, crisscrossed with the marks of hasty spellwork, but faint, glowing Ancient Runes were etched across its face. His Stunning Spell had barely left a scorch mark.
A shield? In a wizard's duel? The thought was so absurd it barely registered.
His first reaction was instinctual. He aimed a Transfiguration spell at the shield, but the curse slid off its surface, repelled by the runes.
"What did you think the Ancient Runes were for?" Sean's voice was muffled from behind the metal wall.
As he spoke, he shifted the massive shield to his left hand. His right hand plunged back into the bag and emerged with something even more monstrous.
It was a heavy chain flail. The chain was as thick as a man's arm, and the spiked head was the size of a Bludger. It was a weapon designed not for dueling, but for shattering skulls and splattering brains.
CLANG... CRACK!
The iron ball dropped to the floor, gouging a small crater in the stone. Sean hefted the weapon, the chain groaning under the strain. Even with his Giant Strength, he could feel its immense weight.
"Come on," Sean grunted, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Let's begin round two."
Cecil swallowed hard, an involuntary tremor running through him. He took a half-step back, his voice a strangled whisper. "What... what in Merlin's name are you? Are you a Troll?"
Sean's mouth twitched. How was he supposed to answer that? Yes, you've guessed it. I'm just a Troll in human skin. With his strength and his defenses, was he wrong?
He ignored the question. Channeling all his power, he raised the tower shield like a battering ram, swung the spiked flail in a whistling arc, and charged.
To Cecil, the world narrowed to the terrifying figure before him. Sean wasn't a student anymore. He was a siege engine, a fully armed barbarian thundering across the floor. He raised his wand, his training taking over, and unleashed a desperate, continuous torrent of spells. Half of them Sean dodged with surprising agility; the other half hammered against the tower shield, peppering its surface with dents and scorch marks, but they did nothing to slow his relentless advance.
In seconds, Sean had closed the distance. The chain flail swung down, a blur of iron and spikes, aimed directly at Cecil Hild.
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