The team's modest hotel overlooked Chengdu’s CBD, its well-lit laneways a mishmash of dynastic and modern architecture. Unlike Shanghai, a young city rich with colonial facades, Chengdu had existed as a tamed Frontier since the Spring and Autumn epoch, earning the moniker of “The Country of Heaven”. Most famously, it was the seat of Liu Bei’s capital during the infamous Three Kingdoms period, a civil war that reduced China’s population from 56 Million in 150 AD to a mere 16 Million a century later, rapidly expanding the dominion of Demi-humans, spurred by a decimated Han Dynasty.

Regretfully, it wasn’t possible for the students to participate in two local specialities: the first of which was hotpot by the river, and the second being a chance to consult the esoteric Xióngmāo-Ren, a group of benign demi-humans sages, for advice on spiritual cultivation.

Pandas who were people? Pandering to Pandarens? Gwen could hardly keep her hands from itching. She had seen pandas in her old world, but picturing attired, talking pandas proved too preposterous. If she could meet one called Po, who could perform panda style, who also spoke like Jack Black, she would lose her mind.

“Perhaps on the way back?” Richard patted her shoulder while she forlornly gazed at the giant bamboos covering the southern inclines of Tiantai Shan. “It’s not like the Pandaren are going anywhere.”

"Is there such a thing as peacock-people living around here?"

"What kind of question is that?" Jiro, who had also wanted to see the Pandaren, chuckled bemusedly. Richard had told him that sometimes, Gwen spoke gibberish. This was known as 'Gwenism'.

The next day, following a final checkup of their gear, the Fudan group returned to the ISTC for their long-range Teleportation. Their waypoint would be the Kunming Frontier, routing through Pu’er, famous for its tea, then finally to Yangon.

With all preparations complete, the group stepped onto the glowing dais.

“Hold on to Eunae,” Walken advised. “I dare say Yangon's still using colonial algorithms.”

Eunae paled as Anita steadied her by the shoulder.

“Yangon — Mia,” Gwen implored the general air. “Here we come!”

As the excessive motes of Conjuration burned off, the students were left marvelling at the marbled interior of what appeared to be a Romanesque municipal building consisting of a dozen columns surrounding a central dais where the ISTC’s scripts covered the surrounding white stone.

Flanking the contestants on either side were attendants in maroon wearing silk brocade longyi, a sarong covering the lower body, paired with dark western shirts, while their faces with their caramel complexion, were white with markings made from _thanaka._ Among that number were also several young monks with saffron shawls draped over one shoulder, regarding the contestants with great curiosity. One of the young monks immediately ran forward with a bucket, meeting Eunae and Rene midway.

As Gwen’s eyes took in the sight of a brand new country, the third of which she would visit after her trans-dimensional displacement, her eyes fell upon her much anticipated local confidant, flanked by her brother.

There, in the middle of the two dozen or so Burmans was Mayuree in bright orange and lime, looking a treat like a citrus-pandan pudding, wearing a tube dress in brocaded silk that covered her from chin to ankle.

Gwen almost burst out in laughter at the outlandish outfit, so different from Mayuree’s usual fair in Shanghai, though she nonetheless lunged forward to embrace her friend, pressing the girl against her bosom.

“Mia! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Gwen! Me too.” Mayuree’s body relaxed as their arms enveloped one another. “It's been forever.”

“Wow, look at you.” They separated after a few seconds, with Gwen taking another look at her friend’s made up face. “You look different, somehow.”

Juxtaposed against her most recent memory, Mayuree seemed older. There was a wanness to her friend’s once carefree mien, a tightness around the lip and the eyes.

“We've got trouble back home,” Mayuree wryly smiled, averting her eyes. “But it’s a beautiful place as well. I can’t wait to show you everything.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Gwen gave her another hug before turning to her companions. "As for your troubles, that's what I am here for."

Behind her, an inch away, stood a Kitty fuming with impatience and agitation.

“Ah-” Gwen made an ‘O’ with her lips. “Sorry, go ahead.”

"Marong!" She turned to her next target.

"Gwen," Marong stood stoic as a sentinel. "Welcome to our home."

While Kitty and Mayuree caught up, Gwen introduced the rest of the team to their Diviner.

“She looks nice.” Anita grinned. “Small and cute.”

"Woa, a Smoke Mage!" Jiro whistled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Marong."

"Likewise." Marong shook the hands of the assembly. "Is your healer going to be okay?"

Eunae appeared already wasted.

"Restoration!" The group's cleric resigned herself to shameful self-medication. "I am sorry..."

"That's alright Eunnie." Gwen patted her head. "You'll get used to it."

“Will we have time to get to know Mayuree?” Rene's attention wandered between their Diviner and the elegant decor covering the room before enquiring their advisor. Thanks to a Restoration from Eunnae, she was back on her feet.

“Of course, you’ll have a week to get used to the place, its people and culture," Walken affirmed the pallid Fire Mage's enquiry. "See the sights, get to know the locals, and most importantly, get used to the weather.”

“Great, thank you, sir.” Rene then turned to her companion. “Jiro, what do you make of that?”

“Ho.” Jiro was already looking out the window at the verdant city outside. “I think a few of us are about to enter hell.”

“The Jiantong team arrived earlier,” Marong informed Gwen and their companions as they exited the ISTC compound.

The air outside felt as though the team had passed between a portal separating the Plane of Water and the Material Realm. The humidity inside the glyph-cooled room had been at best twenty per cent, but now it was well into the eighties, instantly smothering the bare-limbed girls with a snail sheen of sweat.

“Better than I imagined.” Rene caught the air with her hands. The moisture was almost tangible. “Jiro?”

“Wet,” Jiro remarked, circulating elemental fire through his mana conduits. “I should burn off a little moisture before it gets clammy.”

“H-How is this possible?” Gwen moaned, caught between the dilemma of stripping off her long-sleeved shirt protecting her from the sun and wearing waterlogged linen. “Mia, how are you not feeling this?”

“I was born here,” Mayuree snickered at the sight of the team encountering the monsoonal weather for the first time.

“Weren’t you born in Shanghai?” Gwen watched a beat of sweat visibly forming on the back of her hand.

“I mean I belong here,” Mayuree corrected herself hurriedly. “Aren't you from Australia. Isn’t it hot there?”

“The heat there is dry!” Gwen decided a sunburn was better than whatever the hell she was experiencing now, and so stripped out of her skivvy, exposing the sports-top underneath. “Is Magus Maymaruya with us? I don’t think I can handle this. It’s only been two minutes!”

“Gwen, come under the shade,” Richard offered his cousin a moment of respite under a watery umbrella made by Lea. “I'll take care of the moisture if you stay close. The heat is going to take some getting used to.”

“Maymaruya’s looking after things in Shanghai,” Marong regretfully informed his sister's companions. “Come on; our destination is just up ahead.”

The boulevard that led from the ISTC interchange had signs beyond Gwen’s Ioun Stone’s ability to translate, with only the character of "ရန်ကုန်မြို့" being transcribed as “Yangon City”, while the rest remained undecipherable thanks to the rarity of Old Mon scriptural glyphs.

According to Mayuree, the district through which they walked is Dagon, forming the centre of Yangon city, and their destination was the centre of all activity in Yangoon - the Shwedagon Pagoda.

What they were passing now was what had been translated by Marong as “Goddess' Park,” a nature reserve built for the conservation of local avian populations as well as a riverside wind-buffer for the temple complex just behind it. Rather than taking mechanised transport, the walk allowed the students to accustom themselves to the sights of the inner city, as well as orientate their bearings.

In her old world, Gwen had visited Burma during her Contiki wanderlust days, though in the late naughties, the paranoid Military Junta had made exploration nigh-impossible for the aspiring self-guided tourist. Even so, she had seen the glory of the Shwedagon Pagoda first hand, marvelling at its golden dorms during sunset, smiling at saffron monks puffing on hand-rolled cigarettes grinning back at her outlandish, immodest attire.

In the Yangon of her present, the city was an amalgamation of British, Chinese, Indian and local influences, creating a strangely chimeric city that Gwen could only compare to the Milu.

All around them, across the park and behind them, once august sandstone buildings were overgrown with moss, ferns and mildew, many of which lay uninhabited, robbed of its succour of administrative officials and hard-working busboys running messages for their brocade-vested masters.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“The welcoming ceremony will take place here—” Mayuree proudly opened her arms as they cleared the tree line, following the contour of Theingottara Park, finally arriving at the north gate of Shwedagon Pagoda. “While the reception tonight will be at the Secretariat Building downtown at Kyauktada.”

Gwen wanted to talk some more, but Mayuree stopped the troop of gawking Chinese tourists with a wave of her hand.

“Everyone, I am going to share my Message Glyph with you. Once we enter the Shwedagon sanctum, there should be as little talking as possible, so please use Silent Message if you must converse with someone. We don’t have a Divination Tower here, so I’ll act as the foci for your devices.”

Gwen and a few of the others already possessed Mayuree’s Glyph, as for the others, it only took them few moments to ping their devices against the Diviner’s bracelet, transforming her into a localised signal tower of sorts.

When they raised their heads again, the group had cleared the guarded crossing leading toward Shwedagon Pagoda's north gate and was now beholden by its awe-inspiring visage. There, standing on either side of the entrance, towering above the students some ten odd meters, were two enormous statues of terrestrial dragons, their heads the likeness of a lion’s maw in a reptilian skull, with golden manes belonging to that of lions and marble flesh for their gargantuan bodies. Within the dark sockets of their eyes, what could only be Creature Cores burned a brilliant coral even in the daylight, suffusing the statues with life, warning worshippers and intruders alike that should they misbehave, the Chinthe guardians of the pagoda would assist in their reincarnation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen from Fudan,” Mayuree’s voice resounded within their heads once the connections were complete. She turned toward them with her brother and their array of servants fanned on either side, then made a polite curtsey, kneeling by twisting her body to one side. “Welcome to my humble country. Welcome to Myăma."

Lead by their Captain, the rest of the team bowed.

"No shoes," Marong informed them after the formalised exchange.

"No socks either," Magister Walken advised, evidently an experienced traveller. "Keep them in your Storage Rings, and keep audible chatter to a minimum."

With lowered heads and a humbler posture, the group moved between the two guardians, bound by supernatural forces that had shielded the pagoda against all offenders.

Once inside, they became surrounded by throngs of saffron-clad monks lining either side, making way for the travellers from afar. When Gwen smiled at the monks, they grinned back as they had done in the past, revealing betel nut stained teeth stained by years of religious tea drinking.

The maroon-gold interior continued for several hundred meters, florid with inscriptions and murals in sandstone inlaid with pearl and ivory, dotted here and there with precious jewels and Creature Cores. In the distance, as though the group were nearing enlightenment, the marble-plated courtyard awaited.

When Gwen questioned Mayuree as to the story contained within the sculptural relief, her Diviner directed her Message to a young monk who had accompanied alongside the team.

In the next moment, his voice filled their minds.

“To answer your question, Lady Song— the murals, they mark the travails of Gautama Buddha as told in the _Pāli_ canon. Through its erudition, our people observe the Way of the Elder, by reciting the _Tipitaka_ via hymn, learning the _Dhamma_ , remembering the taming of the land by he who journeyed from the west unto our holy land. It is here that Gautama met with the Kings of the Mon and the Pyu, the wisest and earliest men of Myăma. If you look to your right—”

The students caught a glimpse of what had to be a dragon, or a dragon-like being, kneeling on its forepaws toward a man with a golden halo surrounding his head.

“— you shall see the taming of the Naga Goddesses as Lord Buddha's disciples. After Lord Gautama taught them, they aided the Kings of Mon and Pyu to make peace with the _Min Mahagiri_ , the land gods.”

Gwen’s eyes followed the mural, finding another image in which eight mighty Nagas, each with the face of beautiful women and the body of draconic-creatures, were pulling apart what appeared to be a western-looking dragon.

“That doesn’t seem like a very peaceful negotiation,” she remarked.

“Ah—, the _Asura_ reneged on their promise,” the monk continued, not missing a beat, his voice flowing like a gentle stream. “It was greedy for the treasures which the Kings of Mon and Pyu had prepared in praise of Gautama Buddha’s visitation. You see, the _Min Mahagiri_ was immortal and could not be slain, so each of Gautama’s Naga allies took a piece of the land god within them to ensure that it would be stricken from the Eightfold Path, denied from the circle of reincarnation.”

“Goodness,” Gwen struck out her tongue. Now she knew how to deal with the Yinglong. All they had to do was get eight Towers to curb stomp the thing - then each city could imprison a chunk of the Yinglong with mystical magic. So long as their converted 5th-century magic held out, the subjugation should be no sweat at all. It was little wonder the CCP was so thrilled at Ayxin's interest in Jun.

“Honoured guests, we are almost at the exit—” the young monk hummed melodically. “The path on which we now enter is the Pilgrim’s Path, once you exit the Chinthe’s maw, please follow the dragon’s spine in a clockwise direction. You will be gifted wildflowers and prayer flags, as you proceed, please dispense them into the offering alcoves.”

In the next minute, the students burst into the light.

By design, their eyes took time to adjust to the vivid brightness, slowly perceiving the single most dazzling construct they had ever seen.

Above them, a golden wonder of celestial brilliance, the Shwedagon Zedi Daw glowed, a conical masterpiece piercing the heavens. Its arches and bellies and bells polished to a mirror sheen by pious artisans, refracting the light in such a way that their entire vicinity appeared cast in permanent benediction.

“Please step to the right.”

Gwen and the others distinctly felt as though they had walked into the realm of a waking dream.

Stupas, hundreds of intricately wrought stupas, dotted every inch of Singuttara Hill, each held a little bodhisattva within, some with many arms, others with multiple heads. A few held weapons, while many sat atop magical creatures.

Dragons and Nagas… Gwen mouthed to herself as they passed these spectacles of gold, ivory and other unnamable precious metals. Almost everything here had to do with subjugating, taming, and in a tantric manner of speaking, "mingling" with draconic-beings.

Feeling the ice-cold marble underfoot dispel all heat, they arrived at the first spectacle.

“First, is the house of Lord _Kakusandha,_ the Buddha of the present Kalpa. Please offer your charity with generosity and an open heart…” the young monk sang, moving on without so much as a glance at the visitors. “But do not tarry, come. There is a long way to go.”

It took Gwen several seconds to realise that the pool below the buddha’s lily overflowed with mana crystals of all colours. Caught by the reverence of the place and its sanctifying aura, she allowed a fistful of HDMs, almost twenty shards in total, to add to the pool.

With great dismay, her teammates followed suit.

“Gwen,” Richard tapped her shoulder as they made for the second statue. “A little too generous. Lulan was biting her lip so hard she had to receive a Healing Word from Eunae.”

“Oh?” Gwen flashed the others an apologetic smile before continuing.

“So generous, Gwennie,” Mayuree voice came through from the front. “But you could afford to be generous.”

“I don’t see you or Marong dropping crystals,” Gwen chided her friend.

“Ha.” Mayuree skipped ahead.

"All proceeds go to expanding the complex," Marong explained patiently, his voice possessing a rare reverence. "You'll soon see where it all goes."

Another quadrant later, the party arrived at their second stop.

“Here we have the house of Lord _Koṇāgamana,”_ the monk continued. “As before, please let your charity speak for itself.”

This time, Gwen allowed five HDMs to drop, letting her companions breathe.

After the southern Buddha, they came to the third Buddha, Kassapa, then finally, they were back where they began, at the perpendicular of which lay the Buddha of origin, Lord Gautama.

Unlike the other statues with bodies of gold, Gautama’s androgynous form consisted of white jade so rich in appearance that it was without a single speck or blemish. Upon its crown, adorning the space above its head, was a band of silvery metal Gwen recognised as mithril.

“Pure Mithril!” It was Eunae who blurted out the imperial term for the precious metal. “Wow!”

“Just how rich is your country?” Gwen marvelled at the size of the intricately wrought crown. She had heard of the rare mithril variant from her Opa when he was casting Magical Items. If mithril was the rarest variant of silver, prized by humans and Demi-humans alike, then Pure Mithril was as sterling mithril to common silver, used to inscribe strategic arrays like Interstate Teleportation arrays, capable of capacitating almost unlimited volumes of mana.

“We’re a wealthy country,” Mayuree exhaled. “Yet we’re poor, thanks to the Tyrant.”

The others nodded sagely. Gwen had already informed them of the problems facing Mayuree’s country. Curiously, Gwen was reminded of Maymyint's gift of a Storage Ring. What had Mia's sister meant when she said to open it when the time was ripe?

Another round of clinking crystals followed, then finally, Fudan’s troop arrived in front of the golden stupa.

Dropping to his knees, the young monk, as well as the rest of their entourage, dipped their heads against the pavement, leaving the guests to stand awkwardly.

“Don’t mind it,” Marong informed his sister's companions. “Prayers given from those without faith have less weight than that of a feather.”

"I never took you for the religious kind." Gwen cocked her head, noting that Marong had remained stationary while his sister offered a prayer.

"But doesn't this place just fill you with joy?" Mayuree gazed at the golden stupa, picking herself from the floor.

"I suppose it does," Gwen acknowledged her friend's worshipful gaze. With so much gold, her knees felt weak.

After the saffron-robed monks straightened out their burgundy attires, they once again assumed their places beside the guests.

“We are about to enter the great stupa, where you will receive benediction from the reliquary. Here entombed are eight strands of Gautama’s hair, worshipped by the descends of the Mon and the Pyu, each the weight of a mountain.”

Their monk guide then formed the team into two lines.

In pairs, they entered the temple.

And what a temple it was!

Jade, gold, mithril, platinum and innumerable volumes of other precious jewels adorned every conceivable surface. From the floor to the wall to the ceiling, every inch of the place was carved and papered over with gold leaf, polished and maintained by some unknown ancient enchantment so that the light from a single candle was enough to illuminate the hall in its entirety. Considering the state of the mirrored floors, every step felt like defilement, filling the contestants with shame and self-loathing.

Was all the treasure of the world contained here in this place? Gwen couldn’t help but feel a tingle in her capitalist soul, beckoning the colonial blood of her Opa’s Indo-Dutch ancestors. Just how many tons of gold was here? Just how many jewels, how many Creature Cores, how many ingots of mithril had gone into a place such as this?

If she was a dragon - how could she resist?
How could a creature born from avaricious appetite endure even for a moment, the idea that he or she wasn’t the master and possessor of what is probably the single most extensive curation of precious metals in South-East Asia?

Inside, the stupa split into four quadrants, each held up by two pillars of sculpted jade, forming an octagramic mandala consisting of strange Glyphs and tantric patterns that did not exist in modern Spellcraft. Coiled upon each of these pillars were sculptural forms of Naga guardians, the eight divine beings which Gautama took as disciples, each morphically half-cobra, half human, some male, some female, and some possessing features of both genders.

Once the spectacle of the temple's interior wore off, the students finally noted that they were not the only ones who had arrived.

To their right adjacent quadrant were their old rivals from Jiantong, with their Captain standing like a Taoshi while the rest of the team sat in kneeling meditation.

Toward their left adjacent quadrant stood a group of young men in prim navy uniforms, followed by two demure women trailing at the group’s end. Compared to Fudan’s rag-tag of casually dressed Mages, these young men and women from Seoul carried themselves impeccably, without a single strand of hair out of place. Their uniforms, a two-tone charcoal-navy blazer and silver-brocade tie, spoke of a nation that valued perfection in all things, from flawless complexions to trousers without a single wrinkle.

Finally, just out of view, the Fudan Mages caught sight of an assemblage of oddly dressed young men and women in ceremonial outfits. Leading the group was a girl in what Gwen could arguably discern as a Miko’s outfit, with its white haori and red hakama, wearing a thin golden crown. Behind the leading Miko were men wearing the ivory linen of the Shugenja, indicating that they were esoteric followers of Onmyōdō, the Path of Yin and Yang. Having heard and seen these attires during culture tours in her old world, she could only imagine what kind of real-world magic these practitioners could bring to bear against Fudan.

“ALL-ARE-ARRIVED!” the young monk who had accompanied them cried out.

_GONG!_
 _GONG!_
 _GONG!_

Three strikes heralded the beginning of the ceremony of benediction.

Upon an elevated dais open for all to see, young monks opened the shawls of an elaborate palanquin, revealing the figure of an ageless, androgynous seated figure in the lotus stance with a golden shawl draped across one shoulder. Below, an enormous lotus-flower bore the visage aloft, its pink-white petals glistening as though dripping with freshly collated dew.

Gwen’s eyes widened, her Almudj’s Essence thrummed with pleasure, humming in resonance with whatever force that now emanated from within the palanquin.

It's a statue! It took her a moment to realise this was a life-like carving in jade so rich it had the consistency of porcelain flesh.

As one, the Monks began their chant, reciting the tale of Gautama’s instruction of the Naga and his taming of Min Mahagiri, the great Lord of the Mountain.

_GONG!_

A fourth gong rang out; then from the stupa’s centre, a gentle light befell those held within its interior, infusing them with its blessing, banishing all fatigue, all disease, and for the moment, all desire.


Shuttle buses outside the great stupa took the contestants to their next port of call - the old colonial administration - now ironically once again the headquarters of the government-in-exile, a building stoically named the Secretariat.

The exit from Shwedagon Zedi Daw proved just as mystical as the Rite of Unfettered Body. Each of the contestants took up a candle as they exited the stupa, forming a long line of warm light that lit the exterior of Singuttara Hill, bathing the entirety of Dagon and the northern half of the city with its magnified, quasi-magical splendour.

“Even now, the light from the stupa and the glare from its guardian beasts keeps the Magical Creatures away,” Mayuree informed the team with a tone of reverence. “It’s the only reason Yangon has never fallen to Demi-humans.”

Which would make sense, Gwen supposed. Had the Mongolian Centaur tribes taken Yangon in the 13th century, as the Mongol Empire of her world had, it was highly unlikely so much gold and precious ornaments would have remained. When finally the group exited the stupa, Gwen enquired about the dome’s aurora.

“If you mean the bud,” Mayuree replied to Gwen’s continued enquiry, then indicated to the crown of the stupa with an expression of immense pride. “Five thousand, four hundred and forty-eight diamonds of varying shapes and sizes, inlaid through mithril Glyph-work bisecting two thousand three hundred and seventeen rubies stud the tip. At the zenith of the stupa lies the heart of an ancient Naga, gifted to the Mon and Pyu kings of old, it’s the source of the stupa’s protective power.”

“Sounds almost like a Shielding Station, only with gold and jewels,” Gwen recalled the giant Creature Core she had seen in Australia.

“It IS similar,” Richard was the one who butted in. “The mandalas used by modern Spellcraft have their origins in Hindi and Tibetan scriptural magic.”

_“I find it curious,”_ it was Magister Walken who spoke next, his mana-threaded voice just audible between the two cousins. _“That Myăma has revealed itself to possess both a Shielding Station by another name, as well as an ISTC array? Gwen, walk with me.”_

“Eric?” Gwen blinked at her instructor once she fell out of step with Mayuree, who joined the others ahead, spinning yarns about the city and its many buildings.

“I have decided to take your friend’s account of this country with a grain of salt,” Walken advised. “Not that I am trying to come between the two of you, but if I were the ruler of a Frontier with this much resource, I would not be advertising my wealth either. In fact, something to offset unwanted foreign investments, like a rogue dragon, would be ideal.”

“But…”

“I know— you’ve told me already,” Walken dismissed her protest. “You believe what you want, but where I stand, someone or some ‘thing’ has allowed all of this to happen. That ISTC array looks like it's recently refurbished. I am unsure if your Professor Birch got that far with his lessons, but embedded within Imperial Metric standards for IST Circles are geo-dynamic Divination arrays used to pinpoint Translocation. Ergo, there must exist a private Divination array somewhere inside the city, tethered to the Chinese network and the outside world. All, alas, isn’t what it seems, including your friend. You must be careful; understand?”

“I think so,” Gwen answered quietly, mulling over Walken’s suspicions.

“It would be nice if that other cousin of yours, the Russian, were here,” Walken snorted, leaving Gwen to ruminate. “I have a feeling that before long, we’ll begging for a good Mind Mage.”

Though the contestants had left behind the vaulted dome of the pagoda, they nonetheless felt suffused by the blessing invoked by the reliquary commemorating the fabled progenitor of the Eightfold Path, an existence on par with men like Confucius, author of the Path of Rú, or his Western counterparts like Christ, said to be the shepherd of humanity.

It was with a great sense of Zen, therefore, that the students arrived at the Secretariat, also known as The Ministers’ Building, located in the colonial heart of Yangon’s downtown. Spread across six acres of the most prosperous real estate in the city, the old colonial building had fallen into momentary ruin when British Mageocracy left former Burma. In the last two decades, the interim government, having lost its northern capital, now laboured away in its old halls, blushing at the irony of having to return to a place of national shame to keep the daily affairs of the city in operation.

Within the compound’s quad was the central courtyard, a wondrous English garden that had survived multiple purges, revolutions, a rebellion and an assassination. It was here that a duelling arena had been constructed, together with viewing platforms for the dignitaries, a section for the outdoor ball, and an undercover canopy under which servants swarmed with zesty canapés and phalanges of liquor sitting in vats of ice.

After changing into more suitable clothing for the evening in their guest rooms, the contestants entered the building’s centre. There, they met with fanfare blasting from a live orchestra - the very first time Gwen had seen such a thing since arriving in this world: a whole pit of violas and trombones and saxophones and viol and piccolos, alongside traditional Burmese instruments which she could not identify. As they entered through the overhanging tent, taller than any canvas Gwen had ever seen, her eyes swept over truckloads of tropical fruit of every colour and description, lichees the size of oranges, oranges the size of grapefruits, mangoes the size of melons and pomegranates the size of Texan pumpkins.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A gentle light suffused the centre of the boisterous proceedings. Filing in quadrant by quadrant, the teams reached the front of the circular assembly.

A troop of Mages slowly rose above the crowd, borne aloft on platforms conjured through levitation.

“Welcome! Students, advisors, and guests, to the reception for the first regional round of the 2004 IIUC. Tonight, in beautiful Yangon, thanks to the sponsorship and invitation issued by the House of M of Myăma, we are gathered here for a grand purpose.”

The man who spoke looked about in his sixties, possessing a European accent that Gwen placed in middle Europe, likely the Germanic regions.

“I am Chief Proctor and Magister, Lutz von Schlabrendorff, and I, together with Assistant Proctor Magister Evelyn Hass and our team, will be overseeing your actions in the field. For our presence here tonight, I would like to thank Miss Maymyint of the House of M, Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of Myăma and its Frontier provinces, and the Brussels-based IIUC Organisational Committee.”

Having heard the Matriarch’s name for the first time, Gwen had half a mind to fire off a Message to Walken, but her instructor was standing several paces behind the Chief Proctor together with the advisors from the other teams.

“I know you’re all eager to get to the food and drinks, and even more so to get to the duelling field, so I’ll keep this short.” Magister von Schlabrendorff drew a few laughs from the crowd. “The International Inter-University Competition has its roots in a union of European Universities desiring a means to facilitate cultural exchange, establish academic rankings, as well as engender friendship and camaraderie among the future leaders and Tower Mages. Here and now, each of you represents the apex of what your cities and renowned academic institutions have to offer!”

He waited for the applause to recede.

“I understand your spirit of competition— that you’re here to WIN. But winning isn’t everything. Though this old man’s words sound like sophistry, let me remind you that victory— total victory, is a rare and precious thing in the real world. Against our Demi-human neighbours both hostile and friendly, we succeed in degrees, often so pyrrhic and minute that one wonders if the cost was worth it after all. Nonetheless, such is the real world, and the solution to humanity’s great dilemma is one that requires great power, great wisdom, and great foresight.”

“The competition heralds a singular victor, but even in defeat, there is much to gain. You are in a beautiful country with creatures dangerous and people friendly. I have even been informed that up north, a Tyrant of the Draconis sub-type haunts the mineral-rich mountains! Through adventure and danger, make friends! Enjoy yourself! You are at the beginning of your lives. Remember, not even Sir Jonathan Cornwell, recipient of the Victoria Cross at the age of sixteen, Knight, and Magister at age twenty-four made it to the final round of the 1996 IIUC. So, enjoy the evening! Your quests shall be given, one week from now!”

Suddenly, as if pigmented particles freed into a gentle swirl of air, colour filled the sky and the scent of supper enveloped the crowd. A flurry of Maids dashed the teams’ formations, caramel in colour and nubile in their tropical sarongs, carrying glistening hors-d’oeuvre: from glazed cutlets to rainbow salads to burlesque splays of pork and pheasant baked until golden. Another troop of waiters followed, dark-skinned and back straight, supplying flutes of silvery gins and cordials, splicing concoctions from a colonial epoch long gone.

With Mayuree hanging from one arm and Richard and Lulan standing guard not too far away close to the buffet table, Gwen piled her plate and stuffed herself with the exotic fair, all the while thinking of Walken’s warning, sparing subtle glances at the kitten-like Mayuree meowing about the splendours of Yangon.

As the music moved from trumpet to ambience, the moist air came alive with chatter and laughter, innuendo and introductions. Guests who Gwen assumed to be local powerbrokers wandered in groups. Bodies young and old mingled and entwined, the men seeking out the women, surrounding the confident girls as the Dancing Lights painted their faces in garish hues.

Though a dozen dignitaries had made themselves known to Gwen, Mayuree’s presence seemed to act as a ward, leaving her a measure of privacy. She had abused the opportunity to work through a giant crab claw when a petite foursome from Kyoto U approached, led by a fifth. The leading girl was the Miko with the golden crown, though now she was dressed in pastel casuals consisting of a long skirt and a frilly top.

“Song-sama, Mayuree-sama, good evening, my name is Yuki Kamo, Captain of the Kyoto team and second in line to the Kamo Clan, 39th generation from Kamo no Yasunori-sama. These are my teammates and members of our Clan, Masahiro Kimura, Hiroki Hiroyama, Yamato Kamo and my Vice Captain, Ichiro Otsuki. I wanted to make your acquaintance earlier, but you were indisposed.”

Gwen realised that Kyoto’s Captain was referring to the fact that she’d been politely eating for the last hour, stopping only to comment on the food.

“G’evening.” Gwen quickly stowed her unfinished crab-leg before running a cleaning cantrip over her hand. “I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team. Over there is my Captain, Tei Bai, and those are my companions, Lulan Li and Richard Huang, though they’re indisposed.”

“Hello.” Mayuree bowed her head.

The group exchanged bows, handshakes and nods.

“We are honoured to meet you, Miss Song. Please excuse my rudeness. Is it true that you are in service to a Kirin Kami-sama?”

_“Say, yes,”_ Walken’s voice, delivered via a Silent Message, whispered by her ear. The old man was holed up across the room, speaking with the other advisors, who were undoubtedly keeping an eye on their students as well.

Gwen knew from extensive reading of Murakami and Yoshimoto, as well as her dozen or so viewings of Lost in Translation, a miscellany understanding of Japanese culture. Combined with her Mage world research, she understood that “Kami” denoted an anthropological ‘God’ framed from shamanistic spiritualism, Shinto Buddhism, dynastic Taoism and Fusui naturalism, formulating a faith system based on the Amatsukami and the ya-o-yorozu no kami, the eight million-fold spirits that reside in all things.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

As such, it came as no surprise that a theocrat would find intense interest in a heavenly being.

“I am, Kamo-san,” Gwen replied with what she could recall of her Japanese honorifics from her Hokkaido vacation. “Would you like to see Ariel... kun?”

“Please!” The group bowed in tandem because politeness would get a person anywhere.

“Ariel, come out!” She gestured toward an empty patch of air, wary of the lights, the tent and the palm trees.

A jolt of Essence was enough to maximise its presence, and without disappointment, Ariel manifested in its celestial glory.

“EEE! EE!”

Stag’s horn, fishes’ scale, lion’s mane, horses’ hoof and swishing tail instantly drew every eye from across the room.

“Okami-sama!”

The Captain of Kyoto U’s expression grew instantly reverent. Possessed by a fair complexion, crystal clear eyes and pink, cherry blossom bud lips, the young Miko appeared far younger than her real age, more so in her casual wear.

All but one of the group bowed deeply, this time from the waist. It would appear their respect for Ariel was magnitudes beyond their perception of Gwen herself.

“May we interact with your Familiar, Song-sama?”

“Please, just Gwen is fine.” Gwen squirmed. Not even paying seven hundred USD per night at Suizantei had someone called her anything other than customer-sama.

“Ariel!” Mayuree cooed. “Gwen, may I?”

“Sure.” Gwen watched her companion skip away.

“EEE!!” Ariel snuggled against its companion, kissing Mayuree on the lips, drawing envious gasps from the crowd.

That’s Mia alright, Gwen’s nerves calmed somewhat. There was no way Ariel would mistake someone else for Mayuree, not when the desperate Diviner was the one who gave Ariel its first Creature Core.

“Gwen-san, I would also like to be blessed by Ariel-sama!”

While the Shintoists excitedly crowded around the manifested Kami, Gwen’s eye met with Kyoto U’s Vice-Captain, who had stayed behind to speak.

Where their female Captain had the bearing of someone used to deference, the young man with the name Ichiro Otsuki had the bearing of someone used to being obeyed, standing almost a meter-ninety and beanpole thin, the shugenja’s face had a gauntness to it that made him appear a decade older.

“Oro? Kirin-sama’s scales are patterned like the Fumishi deer-kami.”
“The horns are the same as the stag-kami in Itsukushima though.”
“Ariel-sama is licking my fingers! Kami-sama is blessing me!”

A crash of jovial sounds only Ariel could elicit added to the happy atmosphere of the reception.

“Song-san, I am told you are also in possession of another Kami, a thing of Asura,” the young man began, sidling closer.

“No Caliban until the duel,” Walken’s advice once again rang in her ear. Bloody hell Eric, Gwen halted herself from making a face. Was this harassment? It felt like harassment. The old man may as well be breathing down her neck.

“I am.” Gwen nodded, then quickly recalled the man’s name. “Otsuki-san.”

“May I see your other Kami? Gwen-san?”

“You shall, Otsuki-san,” Gwen fired off an amiable enough grin. “In good time.”

“I would be very grateful.”

“Trust me, Caliban isn’t good for a gathering filled with NoMs...”

Meanwhile, others had joined the Kirin quadrant of the party. A few of the students from Jiantong gave Gwen curt nods before joining the Japanese foursome. They were then joined by two prim young women in miniskirts and blazers, the iconography of their uniform possessing a Roman laurel wreath, a blazing wand and a quilt-pen over a backdrop of scrolls, indicating they were from Seoul U.

That an Asian university had a Romanised logo reminded Gwen of Walken’s earlier instruction.

According to her advisor, after the North fell to the Undead unleashed by its crazed leadership, Seoul and its surrounding cities completely embraced the Western way of doing things, going so far as to embrace Christianity in lieu of its indigenous Mu-shamanism.

Modern Seoul was thus a city with more in common with London or New York, serving as a centre of economic and magical development for the region. Unique to their geography, the Koreans enjoyed some of the most experienced combat Mages in Asia. Where China had sent its Mages to grind out the Beijing-Liaoning Front, Seoul’s proximity to the Kaesŏng-Yeoncheon Front meant it was permanently one catastrophic failure away from annihilation by the Undead horde a strategic spell’s distance away. In the decades since the nation’s American and British Mageocracy allies pushed back the tide of Undead, the peninsula has only not fallen, but prospered, becoming one of the largest manufacturers of wands, staves, and magical implements in the world.

“Which makes their magic the same as ours, only they’ve got proper military training.”

But perhaps most famously, Korean disdain for the atrocities of the Sino War and the crimes committed against the nation by the communists and the Imperial Japanese Mages had only grown, exacerbated by territorial disputes and trade routes.

When her eyes drifted from the girls, she caught two more approaching bodies.

“Song-Hubae!”
Gwen’s conversation was interrupted by a call out from across the room by one of the young men.

Ichiro continued to speak, ignoring the duo from Seoul U, though a second “Song-Hubae!” cut him off mid-sentence, leaving no doubt as to their explicit purpose.

With an expression that could chill drinks, Ichiro Otsuki stepped aside to make room.

“Hello.” Gwen tipped her chin just a mite, displeased with the men’s intrusiveness. “Gwen Song, Vice-Captain, Fudan.”

Her lack of deference seemed to rub off on the men the wrong way, as their body language instantly took on a tightness that wasn’t there when they had interrupted her and Ichiro’s conversation.

“Lee Sung,” the first young man introduced himself, likewise spartan on manners. “Captain.”

Another Magma Mage! Gwen’s brow twitched. And one far more practised than Rene. Whether because of the Mage’s absurd Affinity or style, she could sense the heat radiating from his torso. Much to her surprise, when Sung came closer, she couldn’t help but notice the man was exceedingly impressive as well, not in the stoic seriousness of Tei, but in a manner that was raw and imposing, like if Dai was descended from Mao himself.

“Lee Si-won,” the other young man introduced himself. “Vice-Captain.”

_“Ask if they’re from ‘that’ Lee family.”_ Walken’s voice came through. _“If they are, ask them for a duel.”_

“You’re both from the Lee Clan?” Gwen pretended to mull over the name for a second. “From the Yooksung Chae—”

“…”

“…”

Sung’s impeccable jawline bulged.

Oh shit, Gwen bit her tongue in turn. While the Chaebol, the ten families accounting for fifty per cent of Korea’s GDP referred to themselves as such, they loathed it when outsiders used the word, regarding it as a sort of ironic insult. In her old world, when Samsung’s indicted president went to prison, the phrase Chaebol had been dragged through the Korean media as a scapegoat for the nation’s economic woes; its etymology of “wealth” and “locked gate”, inferring avarice and greed. In this world, she could only imagine what reputations the Chaebol must hold.

“— the Yooksung Group?” she finished awkwardly.

Curiously, she knew more about the Yooksung Conglomerate than the Clan behind it. When working on Nantong’s accounts, she had noted that a behemoth-tier Korean entity akin to Samsung existed across the South China Sea, accounting for almost seven per cent of Nantong’s precious mineral and Crystal exports, and twelve per cent of its Spellcraft and Imbued Material imports. That a single company possessed as much inventory flow as the top two Japanese import-exporters, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and Tokugawa Mana-Solutions, was enough to burn the name into her mind.

“I see you are acquainted with our humble family business, Song Hubae.” The Magma Mage came closer, radiating displeasure. When the man was inches away, Gwen realised he was likely twenty or twenty-one, the maximum age for the IIUC. In Seoul, males had their Mandatory Military service between the age of seventeen and nineteen.

“Perhaps Song-Hubae doesn’t think we’re worthy of her attention,” Seoul U’s Vice-Captain snorted derisively. “She’s a prodigy, after all.”

The younger companion to Seoul U’s Captain was likely a sibling, from the man’s pallid complexion and bloodless lips, she sensed he was probably an Ice Mage. From the surface, the man was at least as attuned to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice as Kitty. Unlike his taller counterpart, the man was a head shorter, barely taller than Gwen without her booties.

“Are the two of you done?” Her previous companion, Ichiro, butted in before Lee and Lee could continue.

“Does it look like we’re done?” Sung fired back, cocking his head bullishly. “Go and play with your priestesses, Jap. We have business with the owner of the Kirin Spirit.”

“Ku,” Ichiro scoffed. “You think a servant of an Okami would lower herself to traffic with bumpkins such as yourselves? Need I remind you that only four decades ago, Seoul U was called Keijō Imperial University. Maybe you should offer a proper Seonbae-nim to your betters.”

“Oh, look, Sung Hyung, the jjokbari thinks he’s funny. I wonder how he fares in the arena. They never learn until beaten back.”

“I’d think I would fare better than you, Lee-kun,” Ichiro sniggered nastily. “If you have the time, I’ll squeeze that Seonbae-nim out of you yet.”

“Don’t give up your treatment, jjokbari.” Sung’s temperament flared. “Don’t think we don’t know who you are — you’re the Kotodama User Seonsaeng-nim warned us about. But if we know your tricks, then you’ve lost already. To think they would allow a Mind Mage into the IIUC, how laughable.”

“Ha, you speak as if you know the weight and meaning behind your words, yet we both know that your reliance on Western Spellcraft has made you weak and common. Why would I be here if even a simpleton like you can ward against my kotodama?”

“See, that’s precisely the thinking that can get a fool killed in a competition like the IIUC…”

Gwen, meanwhile, realised the cocks were happy enough tossing one another that they no were longer in need of a hen to ruffle. Taking a step backwards with meticulous care, she slipped away from the group, double-checking to ensure her cocktail dress was in order, then went to check on her Captain.

“Thank you for sharing Kami’s benediction with us, Song-san,” Yuki caught up with Gwen after she was a safe distance away. “As a fellow servant of Kami-sama, we would like a chance to cooperate if our interests should be mutually beneficial.”

“Of course, Kamo-san.” Gwen found herself bowing as well, accepting her new role as Ariel’s servant. Yuki punctuated each of her statements with a cute nod of the head, making it impossible to dislike the girl. “We’ll speak again later.”

When Gwen sauntered through the grass toward her Senior Bai, her companion caught her with a glance and quickly approached.

“Gwen, we got trouble.” Tei pulled her close by looping an arm around her elbow. “I think the Emei Sect’s goading Lulan for a duel, and then there’s a cousin of some sort harassing Eunae as well—”

Just as Gwen was about to suggest that they should let their teammates resolve individual encounters to gain experience, her confidence was betrayed.

“Upstart whore! If you want to play the crafty chang-yeo, you’ll regret it.”

A Seoul U contestant, one Gwen had yet to meet, broke out in an explosive clamour while mid-way engaged with Eunae. Before Gwen could even make heads or tails of what was happening, the usually timid Eunae reached across between them, then slapped the young man across the face with an audible _Pa!_

The rest of the audience immediately cleared a ring of space around the scarlet-faced duo. As if on cue, a strangled violin croaked its last caw, spreading the contagion of silence.

“Gwen,” Walken’s wary voice came across as a worried whisper. “Temper…”

“You hit me!” The young man was in disbelief. “This nyeon hit me!”
Eunae appeared to be in shock as well, staring at her hand as though it was suddenly alienated from her body.

“Eunae.” Gwen started in Eunae’s direction.

“S-Seonbae-nim-” Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish’s.

_Pa!_

A resounding slap echoed across the room.

Eunae staggered backwards, disorientated by the blow until she ran into a table laden with fruit and desserts. Tripping over her own feet, she was on the verge of making a spectacle of Fudan when Richard’s Undine appeared suddenly behind her, catching the girl in her arms.

A split-second later, Lulan appeared beside the healer, having expertly Misty Stepped beside the wide-eyed girl, joined by Rene, Anita and Jiro, who had bull rushed through the crowd, lacking the finesse possessed by the Sword Mage.

A dash of blood trickled down the corner of Eunae’s mouth. The slap had cut her lip.

Were this any other time, Gwen would have enjoyed the fruit of her team building labour, but for now, all she could do was drift toward the red-faced young man with a terrible expression on her face.

_“Gwen, this is a good opportunity-”_ Walken’s voice was the last thing she heard as she tapped the young man on the back.

“What do you want?” It took the young man a second to realise it was Gwen Song, the Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team; a visage that had been circulated to all his team members, that he now faced.

“You have two seconds to apologise to Eunae.” Gwen’s voice drifted as though in a trance. “Go on, chop chop.”

“Are you crazy?” the young man scoffed, his face twisting with equal parts disbelief and disdain. “Hey— Sung Seonbae-nim! Is this nyeon slow in the head?”

“One.”

“You-”

PA!

Gwen’s blow was quick, too quick for the naked eye to follow. Empowered by her Almudj’s Essence, her irises blazed viridian as her palm struck the offender’s jaw, snapping his head back so far that for a second, the newly recovered Eunae screamed, thinking that Gwen had decapitated her victim.

Thankfully, Mages were a hardy lot, and it only took a single pirouette of the lad’s body for his head to catch up.

It was only then that Newton’s laws caught up to speed. Gwen’s victim was lifted off his feet and sent half-flying, half staggering backwards into the very table Eunae had almost encountered. Unfortunately for the displaced member of Seoul U’s team, Fudan’s Mages had no wish to cushion the fellow before his face connected with the table, his body cannoning onto the fruit and juices, turning the man into a harlequin coleslaw.

As if on cue, the Yooksung duo appeared to inspect the scene with frigid miens.

“Gwen, I am sorry—” Eunae began, on the verge of tears. “Sung Seonbae-nim—”

“That’s my cousin.” Captain Lee pointed a thumb at the groaning young man buried in fruit, ratifying their existence as the Yooksung trio. “He’s a LEE... You’re a Lee. So what’s the meaning of this? Eunae Hubae, does Uncle Jae have a death wish?”

“Sung Seonbae-nim, I am so sorry— I- I wasn’t thinking— Gwen Seonbae-nim’s not herself— she has a high Affinity, and she is a Lightning user and—”

“I asked you.” Sung’s eyes were two clinking beads of coal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Eunae?”

Globs of panicked moisture finally escaped Eunae’s eyes.

Gwen pulled Eunae behind her, cutting the girl’s plea before she could finish her blubbering.

“It’s not like I didn’t give your dickhead a chance to apologise.”

With another deft move of her hand, she brushed off Walken’s mosquito voice buzzing at her ear, a plan formulating in her mind even as the words left her mouth.

One... Two... Three... perfect.
She could do it. With Eunae’s help, it was possible.

“Let’s make this easy. YOU and YOU and this prick, assuming he can get back up. We'll take it in the arena. We settle this as Mages, leaving our families out. Are you game, _Sung Seonbae?_ ”


“The three of us?” Sung Lee’s surprise was enough to misplace his building anger. “Against you?”

“Against me— and Eunae.” Gwen reached behind her and took her Cleric by the hand. “If you’re not sure, I’ll let you add one more member.”

“Gwen!” Eunae squeezed Gwen’s hand back, her dainty little palms sweating buckets. “I can’t!”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Gwen assured her healer, her tenderness matched only by her surety. How like her old self Eunae now behaved, not daring to breathe or Achoo when the stakes were up. “Remember our training. Just keep me topped up.”

“But my _appa…”_

Gwen turned her delicate profile toward the Lees.

“Tell me, Lee & Lee.” she no longer felt the desire to play their game of honorific bingo. “Will you punish Eunae’s family if I beat you black and blue and break you in front of ten million spectators?”

Her audacity was such that both of the Lees appeared lost for words.

“Proctor von Schlabrendorff!” her voice rang out, magnified by Clarion Call so that it echoed across the courtyard. “I require a pressing consultation!”

While they waited for the proctor to arrive, the impromptu fruit salad of the Lee Clan had been recovered by one of his female team members.

“Idiot! What took you so long?!” the young man spat at the woman. “Take care of this now!”

“At once, Seonbae-nim.” The girl obediently picked a piece of orange from the man’s vest. “Cleansing! Prestidigitation!”

A splash of water cleaned the young man’s face and torso as he fumed, glaring dangerously at Gwen, and Eunae, after which a blast of air dried him out. Evidently, the last Lee was an Air Evoker.

“Out of the way!” He pushed the girl away with impatience, then tried to stand, only to find himself once again on the floor, still concussed from Gwen’s humiliating blow. “Ssi-bal-nyeon! You’ll regret this. I am going to kill you.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Gwen rolled her eyes expertly at the Korean variation of cunt. She then turned toward the crowd, spotting the horse-faced Illusionist from Jiantong. “Senior Ying! I am going to do you a favour.”

“Ho? What’s this?” Ying Xiang made himself known by stepping forward. He had enjoyed the bitch-slap very much.

“Throw your Vice-Captain in. I’ll take care of them as a package deal. If you recall, he also wanted to have a go.”

Ying Xiang cocked his head toward Kurou, his Vice-Captain.

Then to the Illusionist's abject horror, the Jiantong Captain pointed a rudely erect finger toward him so that the entire assembly could see.

“Shidi, we all heard what you said to Miss Song in Chengdu. So let’s not waste this opportunity. Join the Seoul-party and take her out of the competition, I am counting on you.”

The Kurou's face instantly grew scarlet.

“Xiang shixiong, what are you saying?” the Illusionist spluttered. “A Wutang Kenshi cannot gang up on a girl with the bangzi.”

“No, you should join us,” the Korean Ice Mage, Lee Si-won, answered Kurou in Ying’s stead. “We’ll be sure to take care of you.”

“ALRIGHT. Cool your Sigils!”

The greying visage of Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff made his appearance.

“Sir!” The students bowed, saluted, stood to attention and curtsied.

“What’s the matter here?” The Magister had seen it all, but it was his job to ensure that the young bucks left the competition in one piece. “I haven’t even given out the quest, and you’re already on each other’s throats. I understand the weather here’s hot, but the duelling segment of the evening isn’t for another hour.”

“Esteemed Sir,” Gwen cut in before either of the Lees could speak. “The Korean team has just threatened one of the members of my team, declaring that they will seek retribution against her family in Seoul should she aid me in any fair capacity.”

“That’s a lie!” Lee Si-won snapped, suddenly discerning Gwen’s game. “Magister, we said no such thing, this girl is a bag of scorpions.”

“Miss Song, your response?” The Magister knew her by name and appearance.

“The truth speaks louder than lies.” Gwen shook her head. She then marched into the centre of the circle which had opened up to accommodate the feud. Opening her slender white arms, she faced the crowd, allowed a controlled trickle of Essence to flow outside her body, then addressed her audience like a ringmaster. “Who among you dares to stand up for the downtrodden? Speak up for the oppressed? If you are true Mages, righteous Kenshi, make your voice heard!”

“As a neutral party.” Ying Xiang took a step forward, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “She asked them for a duel, asking if they would punish Miss Lee’s father. Mister Lee’s response was to leer rudely.”

“This is true!” Richard stepped forward. “I too witnessed a most audacious expression of arrogance. Even in silence, the dishonourable cur was threatening the family of my shivering teammate! Just look at her!”

“I saw what I saw.” Ichiro smirked at the Lees, happy to get a knife in.

Eunae looked as though she could faint.

“Magister!” Gwen turned back toward the Chief Proctor. “Is this what the IIUC has become? A game of nepotism and coercion? For shame!”

“Fudan, tone down your melodrama.” Magister von Schlabrendorff gave her an officious warning. “You are decades too young to goad me, Fräulein.”

“But sir.” Gwen dipped her head attractively, wringing her hands. “How may I teach these young men a lesson of respect and humility if they threaten my healer? I am but a humble peasant in Shanghai, what if they menace my dear old grandparents next?”

The audience blinked. Gwen Song, a dual-element sorceress with a Kirin, a peasant? If so, what were they? Cabbage?

The Magister sighed.

“Mister Lee,” the Chief Proctor began. “Can I have your word that nothing will come of this, whatever the result?”

“Sir!” Si-won’s expression grew dark. “The girl—”

“You may retort or retaliate in any capacity befitting a Path of Spellcraft.” Schlabrendorff furrowed his brows, evidently growing impatient. “Speak through craft, Mister Lee, not through politics, and certainly not through me! I know something of your nation, and I know the power your families wield. Do not take my old age for senility! If I should find out that actions have been taken against the family of that young lady over there, during or after the competition, I will strip Seoul U of its title even if you are crowned the victor! Do you comprehend the gravitas of your offence? That is a THREAT.”

“But—”

“Si-won! Shut up!” Sung’s voice came across as a bark, silencing his spluttering brother. “The Magister is correct. We have fallen into Gwen Hubae’s trap. Let us speak through skill and craft. All else, to take the Magister’s words: is sophistry.”

“The two of us?” Si-won fumed.

“I would much prefer the three of you, plus that pervert over there.” Gwen pointed to Kurou. “He tried to cop a feel when I shook his hand, then started bawling that he would maim me when I caught him out.”

“I did not!” Kurou howled, his face flashing shades of white and red. “You lying biaozi!”

Ying struggled for his next breath.

“There it is.” Gwen shrugged casually. “So, you young gents game for a sixsome?”

The Lees’ regarded one another.

“We will accept, but without the help of the deviant.” Now that a fight was imminent, Sung’s face lost its ire. Instead, a strange calm returned to his voice. With violence imminent, the young man was now in his element. “You and Eunae will duel me, Si-won and Jung-min. First to Shield-Break, Oxford style.”

Gwen had since learned from Senior Bai that in international duels, there were two norms. Oxford style implied that contestants entered the duelling arena without pre-buffs or conjured creatures. Conversely, the Harvard format, pioneered by the Americans, meant one began combat with a pre-allotment of buffs on either side, accompanied by having Familiars summoned and raring to go.

“I am not a pervert!” Kurou spat. “You, Lee Bangzi! I challenge you to a duel!”

“Agreed.” Gwen nodded curtly, ignoring the sexual-deviant. “Magister, will you preside? I am afraid I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Your confidence astounds me.” The Chief Proctor raised both brows. “But you have also piqued my curiosity. Very well, Miss Song. I shall personally adjudicate for this match.”

The Magister then turned to all of them. “I must also remind you that as Yangon is lacking a Tower, your short and medium-range Contingency Teleportation Rings will have limited operability. Likewise, should your ER Contingency Rings return you to Seoul or Shanghai, you will be disqualified from the IIUC.”

Without so much as a wrinkle of the brow, the Captain of Seoul U removed a ring from his finger.

“I would imagine you’d have this much conviction at least, Gwen-ssi.”

Gwen likewise invoked an incantation, knowable only to the attuned owner, then removed Gunther’s Contingency ring. Just as a precaution, she patted her Ghosting Amulet.

“To the death, then?” She smirked at her fellow competitors.

“To Shield-Break!” Magister von Schlabrendorff spluttered, growling at the girl. “You hotheads are really stuffing my snout! Get to it! I’ve still got dinner to finish.”

The crowd parted, forming an open lane to the duelling arena, at the ends of which four advisors awaited.

“Kurou, stop acting the eyesore and get back here!” Ying barked at his devastated cousin. “Congratulations, even without Uncle Cao holding your hand, you survived.”

The Jiantong Vice-Captain looked as though he could have duelled his Captain then and there, but another member of the team pulled him back into the crowd.

“Gwen!” Ying Xiang formed a martial greeting with his hand and fist as the sorceress passed Jiantong’s assembly. “May you have fair winds on your journey forth.”

Gwen nodded, then returned to comforting Eunae, who clutched her arm with such vigour as to deform her supple flesh.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Gwen,” Eunae keened. “That’s my cousin; he’s the son of Uncle Lee!”

Gwen pulled the girl up so tightly that their faces had an inch between them.

“Eunnie, when that other bloke called you a crafty cunt, you stood up for yourself. GOOD JOB. That’s how it is in this world. You can’t keep retreating, because that’s an invitation for brutes like them to goose-step all over your face. They might not be bad people deep down, but living a privileged life has gone to their heads. It’s a disease, Eunnie, and you and I are the cure.”

Eunae understood the logic, but decades of ingrained fear and loathing couldn’t be removed simply because of spectacular words. Concurrently, Gwen’s speech was audible enough that many of the audience members bore complex expressions, caught between mockery for the Seoul team and the hypocrisy of their privileged existences.

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“You’ll see, Eunnie,” Gwen assured her companion, thinking of Gunther, acknowledging that only with action could the naive be taught wisdom. “Clear your head. We’re going with Formation C.”

At the end of the human corridor, her team awaited, each offering a word of advice.

“Be careful.” Lulan and Richard had full confidence in their Vice-Captain.

“Kick their ass!” Anita made a face at what she perceived to be impeccably-dressed corncobs. “How dare that bastard touch Eunae, I could have strangled him myself!”

“Gwen, good luck!” The others patted her and Eunae on the back.

“Don’t overextend yourself,” Tei remarked worriedly. “This isn’t the final match.”

“She’ll be right, mate,” Gwen smirked. “We’ll share a bottle of Mao-tai after. I have got a feeling I’ll be thirsty indeed.”

Maymyint withdrew her mental tendrils from her sister’s addled head as to focus on the new drama stirred by her unpredictable saviour.

From the fact that Gwen Song was willing to strike a Lee from Yooksung Conglomerate for a second-rate healer from an inferior branch of the clan, her confidence only grew. Marong was right; the Lightning Sorceress was a creature of great passion and deep sentiment, a born leader in a time of crisis, but also unsuitable for hard-hearted ruling, especially when men possessed the appetites of beasts.

Still, to combat three of the Lees: two siblings from the main House and a cousin, aided by nought but a healer? That would be a sight to see! If such a Mage could exist, maybe Mayuree’s vision may not be so far off from the truth.

“My lord,” she opened a silent channel. “They are about to begin.”

_“Silit,”_ came the reply, its voice filling every nook and cranny of her skull. “ _Majak ve dout saurivic._ ”

In the next moment, Maymyint’s world grew dim as a transcendent force suffused her body, shoving aside her feeble, humanoid consciousness with the carelessness of a stampede of Aurochs crushing the tender grass underfoot. Even as her anima shuddered with unspeakable agony, Maymyint cared not for the abuse. Her body brimmed with borrowed divinity, and there was no greater ecstasy.

“To Shield Break.” Magister von Schlabrendorff reiterated bleakly while the crowd below bellowed in wonder at the sight of a sorceress and her diminutive healer standing on one side while three men, each possessing the bearing of seasoned Combat Mages, spread out on the opposing field.

Below the Force Barriers set up for the occasion, a crew of lumen-recorders took up their spaces around the arena, ready to transmute the spectacle for future viewing.

Far above, the Magister’s tier 7 Divination magic, The Eye of Providence, enveloped the entirety of the Secretariat within his command, relaying its sights and visions into a secondary enchantment, Eidetic Memory, likewise tied to his fellow proctors.

Below, the dark-haired contestants readied themselves.

When Lutz von Schlabrendorff cycled into the Asian Pacific Region, he had known it would be a thankless task. The reason for the complication of an already complicated network of competitive academic institutions was hostile history: such as the fact that China ratified the UN mutual defence treaty to challenge Japanese holdings in 1945, Japan after deserting its Sino ambitions in 1953, and Korea after immense opposition from the Japanese in 1991. For five decades, from micro-conflicts to macro-regional disputes, hatred stemming from the Sino War had been maintained to keep a burgeoning population gratified.

To think that an hour ago, he had given a speech on the urgency of camaraderie, companionship and cooperation, and before dessert, the youngsters were already at each other’s throats.

Chief Proctor Lutz von Schlabrendorff wasn’t happy at all.

“You may begin in Three—”

“Two—”

“One—”

A spark of mana erupted mid-field.

“Commence!”

Even knowing his protégée’s plan, Walken’s heart simmered at his throat.

In the opening seconds of the duel, a Shield of Faith, combined with a Spirit Guardian conjured from Eunae’s Familiar, readied itself to intercept the first wave of Seoul U’s assault while Gwen began her invocation.

His ward had chosen her targets expertly despite their incomplete intelligence, as all three Lee Clan Evokers' first instinct was to burn down the upstart, thereby preserving their reputations.

Sung Lee unleashed a twin-headed, persistent Flame Hydra, a powerful eruption of Magma which continued to track and attack his targets, setting up his subsequent assaults.

Si-Won, the Ice Mage, instantly and expertly evoked a Missile Swarm, forming a prehensile cloud of icy daggers, hundreds of them, that would relentlessly pummel their target.

Jung-min, the youngest and the team’s controller, burst open the space surrounding Gwen with a Sonic Thrust, forcing her to move away from Eunae.

Together, the Lees employed one instantaneous disruptor, one mid-range, mid-strength AoE, and a heavy-handed finisher, demonstrating the Clan’s expertise and experience.

If the girl were a lesser Mage, her only choice would be to Teleport away, setting her assailants up for a second discharge. Should the Lees’ further coordinate their attacks, she would tire out, at which point she would teleport outside of the duelling area and admit her loss, or take the hit and hope she survived.

But Walken felt an aching exaltation as Caliban emerged in its stag form, exploding from thin-air as though a cascade of dark ink had poured into the arena, filling the confined space with the gut-churning miasma unique to the Void.

Oily and covered in a film of dripping Void-matter, the creature caught the brunt of the sonic blast without so much as a wrinkle on its faceless mien, even as a chunk of its torso blew out with a violent _Chonk!_

"SHAAAAA!"

Tilting forward on its stiletto legs, Caliban flew into a deadbolt, catching a portion of the Missile Swarm, losing the better half of its faceless mien.
Relentless, it hammered on, striking sparks on the shielded floor, skittering toward the three astonished Mages without breaking its stride.

Mid-way, it encountered the magma hydra; it’s multi-pointed stag horns erupted into sixteen prehensile tendrils, each a slithering length of lamprey penetrating the body of the twin-headed ophidian. When furthermore Sung’s magnificent two-stage spell exploded across Caliban’s body, ripping out chunks of flesh and gouging holes the size of Gwen’s torso, it leaned forward—

And re-birthed into a skittering spider-demon half the size, fully healed, Hasted and twice as angry.

“Si-Won!” the leading Lee called out, himself erecting a Magma Arc, an offence-defence spell that shielded his team while also exploding outward in a terrific arc of flaming lava.

“Glacial Geyser!” A burst of ice, instantaneously forming underneath Caliban and with a minimal margin of error, caught the spiderling in the rear, preventing it from coming closer.

“Hurricane Blast!” The third Lee remained on Gwen, attempting to banish the Void Sorceress to open up Eunae for a thorough thrashing.

As a chilling draft of cyclonic air descended upon the female duo, Walken tasted a sharp tartness of nervous bile. He found himself clenching his fists when Luyi, leaping in between the Evocation manifest and the girls, made a barely audible ‘Eep!’ before the Air Mage’s superior firepower dashed the Guardian Spirit to smithereens. In the next split-second, the remaining impact descended, catching Eunae’s Shield of Faith, painting the semi-dome a stark white as its mana compressed and the barrier strained.

Walken found himself clenching his teeth.

_Four seconds!_ His mind screamed. _Just four more seconds!_

On the far side, Caliban escaped once again, this time slipping from the icy prison as an enormous centipede, its carapace slick and obsidian. Unfazed, Sung Lee retaliated with a Magma Breath, stopping Caliban in its tracks, sheering away a dozen legs with a chunk of lava-encrusted shale. Beside him, matching his brother spell by spell, a Creeping Ice ripped through Caliban’s torso, snapping its lower body clean off.

With a wiggle, Caliban fell to the floor and lay still.
The crowd gasped for air, not yet recovered from the horrid sight of the sable-coated nightmare invading their shuddering souls.

_NOW!_ Walken had to stop himself lest he gave away Gwen’s game.

Quietly and without warning, at the precise moment in which Caliban met a grisly, temporary end, Ariel materialised above the Lees, crackling with emerald lightning, its horns charged with Almudj’s punishing fury.

_“CHAIN LIGHTING!”_ Walken found himself mouthing the words.

“Barbanginy!” Gwen’s voice reverberated from within the duelling arena.

The Magister’s mind burst into brilliant happiness as the Lightning Bolt connected first with Sung Lee, striking the man’s hastily erected Shield.
Then, as if on cue, it zig-zagged across the field to strike Si-Won, who was forced to put up an Ice Barrier.

Before the lightning could plough through the Ice Mage’s protection and trigger his Shield, it travelled onwards toward Jung-min, blowing past his protection in a single strike.

“Shield-Bre—!” the command from Magister Schlabrendorff exploded across the assembly, but Gwen’s Chain Lightning wasn’t yet finished.

It shot upwards and struck her Kirin in full.

Walken’s lips curled, his heart galloped, his blood kindled; he finally understood why Kilroy took so much joy in showing off his Apprentices.

From Ariel, a new bolt descended.

“Ha-ha!” Walken wondered if he looked like a maniac about now, but he couldn’t give two shits. Gwen’s Chain Lightning was a skill he had taught. It was uniquely his, and now it was going to be seen around the world, magnified a million times in every institution across Asia, Europe and the Americas.

The second bolt was weaker, but Gwen’s Essence-infused Barbanginy was tens of magnitudes stronger than mortal lightning.

_Crack!_

A split second later, the bolt struck Sung Lee, splitting his Magma encrusted Shield in twain, revealing a disbelieving face.

_Crack!_

Si-Won’s Ice Shield was insufficient to withstand the returning bolt. With a singular sound of shattering ice, a split arc from the viridian surge licked the Ice Mage, blasting him off his feet with a clattering of teeth.

“—eak!” Magister von Schlabrendorff hadn’t even finished his first announcement.

_Crack!_

The bolt persisted, seeking out the final member of Lee’s team for another round of electro-vivification.

_Oh, Gods!_ Walken felt his heart skip. She better not be thinking of killing a Lee. If there was one group that took a blood debt with absolute gravity, it was the profoundly tribal Korean Chaebols. Gwen could kiss her peace goodbye if the boy were to be summarily executed in the middle of a duel before the IIUC had even begun. Any hope that a second Shield could be erected was non-existent; between the sundering of his first and the return of the bolt, no more than a second had passed. Even an Abjurer would need a breather before refreshing a buffer.

“Sung Hyung!” Jung-Min’s voice called out as the bolt struck, lighting the man like a candle.

While the crowd watched with open mouths at the first casualty of the IIUC, the bolt returned to Ariel.

From which a third cycle engendered.

“Shield Break! Shield BREAK!” the Magister howled. “GWEN SONG! STOP THIS DUEL AT ONCE!”

With a glance from its Master, Ariel fizzled the circulating Chain Lightning, reminding the assembly that Gwen retained complete control.

Together with Walken, the assembly’s eyes first caught the illustrious form of the prowling Kirin swishing its tail. Then of the smouldering trio, of which only Seoul U’s Captain, Sung Lee, remained ruffled but otherwise unmolested.

“Shaaa!”

Caliban, once again reborn, slithered from the mangled corpse of its former self, back to its regular size and original shape, ready for probing.

“Shaa! Shaa!” It hissed at the Seoul U’s Captain, who looked around dazed, as though he had entered a strange new metaphysical world, one in which a girl from Fudan had cracked his Shield, then turned his gaze to Gwen.

Finally, Walken’s swelling eyes landed on his student.

Eunae huffed, a hand placed against Gwen’s back, Luyi feebly lingering by the Cleric’s side.

As for the architect of the spectacle that now befell the lords and ladies of Myăma, she stood quivering, drenched from head to toe in perspiration, her complexion was the colour of lily buds, pale with shades of bruised blue.

Slowly, with great care, she withdrew her arms, locked in place for quick-casting, then packed her white legs so that she appeared dignified. With chest heaving and eyes wild, she reached over with a hand to take her healer by the shoulder, then planted a kiss on Eunae’s forehead.

Walken’s heart soared and soared until it strained as though a viol played to the highest pitch. At this moment, in his eyes, there was no greater sense of pride. She was his muse.

“Eunae,” she uttered audibly.

Walken found himself walking down the advisor’s dais toward the exit of the duelling platform, at which point his ward’s sweet voice dispelled the charm that had enthralled her beholden audience.

The girl was a natural.

“Muster up another jolt, Eunae—” Gwen managed. “Go heal your cousins.”

Sung Lee wanted to hurl a Dragon Breath when Eunae, the cousin he had half a mind to remove from the Clan’s roster permanently, offered to heal her kin.

But when she approached, eyes wide with fear, he found that he could not speak.

Earlier, when Jung-min had called for his help, he couldn’t do a thing, so what right did he have to deny his junior’s mercy?

“Sung Seonbae-nim…” Eunae’s gentle bosoms rose and fell as she lowered her head.

Slowly, he reached out and touched her head, feeling her soft hair between his fingers.

“Eunae,” he croaked finally, finding a measure of strength returning to his jaws. “Tell Gwen-ssi, that we’ll do our best in the competition, and that I won’t underestimate her again.”

“Yes, Seonbae-nim.” Eunnae bowed deeply.
“And…”
“Seonbae-nim?”

Sung Lee swallowed, finding his throat swollen when the words reached his mouth.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go now. Heal Jung-min.”

Gwen was glad the applause went on for so long because she was firmly stuck in place until her Essence restored her Void-ravaged body.

When was the last time she felt this? She wondered. Her joints were sore, her vitality exhausted, her head swam, and her vision hovered.

The abuse of Caliban’s shapeshifting ability to instantly restore its form was a strategy she had actualised after a great deal of experimentation with Walken, aided by Magus Kumiko. It was something that could only be used in the presence of a Cleric, and now she had traded the secret away to catalyse their strategy, which was to put the fear of Gwen into Kyoto, Seoul and Jiantong.

“Tss...”

Gwen sucked in a breath of cold air. A raging headache, another aftermath of overtaxing one’s vitality, was now pounding her brain into mochi.

When finally Eunae returned from healing her cousins, thus ensuring that there was no possible way they could target her family without shaming the clan, some semblance of movement returned to her limbs.

Glancing above, she caught the Chief Proctor regarding her with a complicated expression before nodding amiably.

“Victory! Fudan!”

Then, aided by her Cleric, she made for the exit.

When she almost faltered at the platform, it wasn’t Richard who caught her slipping body, nor Lulan nor the others, not even Lea or Captain Bai.

To her and her companions’ amazement, it was Walken, his taut face pink as a pippin, who barged through her friends, crashed through the crowd, then caught her with his wiry hands.

“Eric?” She found herself held by the old man's arms.

“You almost burst my heart, Gwen.” Walken crushed her against his chest, so hard that she could feel the ribs beneath his tunic. “Well done!”

Far from the duelling platform, Maymyint discretely wiped a blood-tinged tear from her eyes with a maroon handkerchief.

The appeasement of her master made Maymyint happier than even that old codger, Eric Walken, who even now was coddling his ward.

“I will have her delivered to Kachin right away, my Lord,” she promised.

“ _Tepoha sanipkur_ , let them play their mortal games,” the voice echoed within her mind, switching to human speech to reduce the burden on her feverish brain. In the next moment, her lord’s slow chuckling grew into a bone-thrumming roar of merriment. “Make the arrangements. If and when the bastard meets my darling niece, I want them both frothing and seething.”