Louis wasted no time once Clive agreed. "Excellent. We leave in three days. That should give you time to settle your affairs here." He stood, motioning to one of his attendants. "Get him outfitted properly. Can't have our newest asset looking like he wandered in from a paint studio."

  They brought him to another room in the Diplomatic Estate with wooden racks lining the walls and a full-length mirror positioned near the window.

  A servant gestured to the assembled garments. "The Grand General requested these be prepared for your review, Master Weston."

  Clive approached the first rack. A traveling coat hung there, with reinforced shoulders and subtle brass clasps. Well-made using quality materials. The kind of thing that would last through harsh weather and rough use. He lifted the sleeve. His [Artist's Eyes] automatically noticed the construction. Double-stitched seams, water-resistant treatment, carefully tailored to allow freedom of movement.

  Traveling Coat of Endurance

  +20 HP

  Resistance to cold.

  Useful.

  He set it down and moved to the next piece, a leather vest with steel studs worked into the shoulders and chest. The craftsmanship was excellent, the leather supple but thick enough to repel a blade. Or at least slow one down.

  Reinforced Leather Vest

  +8 Physical Defense

  +2 Piercing Resistance

  Again, solid work. The kind of armor that would keep you alive in a skirmish without weighing you down on a long march. But compared to Certainty's gifts...

  Clive thought of the Canvas of Reality, which let him pre-paint entire battlefield environments. His patron goddess had given him tools that bent the rules of reality itself.

  These were just... better versions of ordinary things.

  Stat sticks, he thought. Pure numerical improvements without any unique mechanics.

  He worked through the rest of the collection. Sturdy boots (+4 Movement Speed, +2 Terrain Adaptation). A belt with reinforced pouches (+6 Carrying Capacity). Gloves with grip-enhanced palms (+3 Weapon Handling). Even a cloak with some minor enchantment for blending into shadows (+5 Stealth in Low Light).

  All of it were useful yet completely mundane in its magical effects.

  "The Grand General spared no expense," the servant said, mistaking Clive's silence for awe. "These pieces were commissioned from the capital's finest craftsmen."

  "They're very well made," Clive said, which was true. He ran his hand over the traveling coat again. "Please thank the Grand General for his generosity."

  The servant bowed and withdrew, leaving Clive alone with his new gear.

  Clive looked at his reflection in the mirror, trying out his new gear. He looked like a solider now. Would this be his new life?

  The prince came in while Clive was examining the reinforced vest.

  "How do they fit?" Prince Sion asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  "Well enough," Clive said, setting the vest down. "Your craftsmen do excellent work."

  "They do." Sion pushed off the frame and walked further into the room. "But equipment only matters if the person wearing it knows what to do with it."

  Clive felt a challenge in his words. "I get the feeling you're about to make another point."

  "Perceptive." Sion smiled. "I’ve read the reports. And I find myself curious about Pictomancy. Louis may be satisfied with your reflexes over tea, but I prefer a more... comprehensive assessment. The courtyard outside is empty. Spar with me."

  Clive looked at the prince. He had an eager glint in his eyes. Sion wanted this fight. And Clive suspected that ‘no’ wasn’t really an option.

  "What are the terms?" Clive asked.

  "First blood, or until one of us yields. No lethal strikes, but don't hold back too much. I want to see what you can actually do."

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  "Lead the way, Your Highness," Clive said, his voice carefully neutral.

  They descended to the courtyard. A few of Louis's soldiers were already there. Their conversations died as they recognized the prince. One of them passed him a spear.

  Sion moved to one side of the makeshift arena. "Whenever you're ready, Clive. Choose your weapon."

  One of the soldiers approached, offering Clive a choice of weapons. Sword, stave, spear. “Master Weston, if you like to—"

  “No, thank you.” Clive rejected them and pulled out his paintbrush and sketchbook instead.

  Sion stared at his choice of weapon with interest. “Fascinating choice of weapon. So how does this work? Will you bludgeon me with sketches until I surrender from papercuts?”

  “Something like that.” Clive materialized a dagger.

  He analyzed the prince. He was a spear wielder. A mid-range weapon versatile in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing.

  Which meant Clive needed to dominate the extremes. Long range with magic, close range with his dagger. Don't let Sion fight at his preferred distance.

  He dipped his brush into white paint and swept it through the air.

  [Paint: White Fireball III]

  The spell coalesced in front of him. By now, his mana pool had expanded enough that tier three spells no longer left him gasping. He could throw these around freely.

  The fireball streaked toward Sion.

  [Sion used Heavenly Spear]

  The prince's legs coiled, and he launched himself skyward in an explosive movement. His body silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Twenty feet up. Thirty. The fireball passed harmlessly beneath him.

  Clive's [Motion Vision] tried to track the arc, but the sun's glare turned Sion into a dark blur against painful brightness. He squinted, raising his free hand to shield his eyes while drawing his brush through the air for another spell.

  [Paint: White Fireball III]

  The second sphere formed, but aiming was guesswork now. He fired at where his instincts said Sion would be, then immediately started on a third. The fireballs carved white trails through the air, brilliant and useless against a target he couldn't properly see.

  Somewhere above, Sion was descending. Clive's [Artist's Eyes] caught the a shadow on the ground beneath him. It was growing larger with terrifying speed.

  He threw himself sideways.

  Sion landed on the ground, and the courtyard detonated. The earth shattered, exploding outward in a spray of stone fragments and dust. The shockwave caught Clive mid-roll, lifting him off the ground and hurling him across the courtyard. He hit hard, tumbling across the stones until momentum finally abandoned him in a graceless heap.

  His ears rang. His ribs screamed. Through the settling dust cloud, he could make out the impact site. Sion stood at its center with his spear planted.

  The prince walked forward. He offered his hand down to Clive. "I'd say that's first blood, but I think the courtyard took the worst of it. Good attempt, though."

  Clive stared at the offered hand, then at Sion's calm, assessing expression. Something hot and stubborn kindled in his chest. He ignored the hand and pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his ribs protested. Blood trickled from a scrape on his temple.

  "One more time," he said.

  Sion's eyebrows rose. "Clive—"

  "You said you wanted to see what I could do." Clive raised his paintbrush again. "So let's see it."

  Prince Sion smirked. “Very well then. Try to last longer this time.”

  [Sion used Heavenly Spear]

  The prince launched skyward again, his form shrinking against the clouds.

  Clive looked up. Sion was like a fairy, dancing in the sky. It was impossible to get a good aim. Sion was too mobile. Fighting on his terms meant losing.

  So change the terms. If he couldn’t aim, then he shouldn’t need to aim. Years of playing Pokemon had taught him that if something was in the sky, all you needed was a nice strong breeze to knock it down.

  [Paint: Cyan Storm III]

  Wind howled into existence around him, expanding in a sphere that consumed the courtyard. It caught the dust still settling from Sion's last impact and whipped it into a stinging vortex.

  Above, Sion's trajectory was disrupted. The wind caught him broadside, fifty miles per hour of sideways force with nowhere to brace against. His body twisted instinctively, arms failing, trying to fight physics he couldn’t control.

  He managed to angle himself, using his spear like a rudder to partially correct his spin. The prince was adapting. Fast.

  Clive didn't give him the chance to finish.

  His observed Sion's tumbling form. All that polished steel plate over him. Conductive metal, thirty feet up, surrounded by charged air particles from the storm. It was basic physics.

  His brush swept through dioxazine purple in a sharp, decisive stroke.

  [Paint: Dioxazine Purple Lightning III]

  The spell crackled to life above his brush, potential energy in the air searching for the path of least resistance to the ground. The electricity found it instantly. Through every piece of metal Sion wore.

  The bolt struck. For one frozen moment he hung suspended, silhouetted in purple-white brilliance. Then he fell.

  He hit the ground hard enough to crack stone, but rolled with the impact, his trained reflexes taking over even through the lingering muscle spasms. When he came to a stop, he was already pushing himself up on one knee.

  Clive crossed the courtyard. He stopped a few paces away and offered his hand. "Still with us, Your Highness?"

  Sion looked up at him, hair disheveled and a scorch mark traced across his breastplate where the lightning had earthed itself. "Clever," the prince said, testing his grip on his spear. "Using the storm to set up the lightning strike. Two spells working in concert." He stood. "One more round. Now that I know what you're—"

  "Gentlemen."

  The voice cut through the courtyard. Both of them turned.

  Grand General Louis stood at the courtyard entrance, arms crossed. Several of his officers flanked him.

  "While I appreciate enthusiasm," Louis continued, "I'd prefer my newest asset and the crown prince both have all their limbs attached." His gaze swept over the cratered courtyard, the scorch marks, the settling dust. He sighed. "Repairs to the Diplomatic Estate come out of my budget, Your Highness."

  I have sparred with knights, dueled mages, and trained with the kingdom's finest. That day in the courtyard, I learned the difference between fighting a warrior and fighting a mind.

  —Private diaries of Prince Sion