Trinity of Magic

The announcer raised his hand, and the hall fell silent. The tension in the amphitheater was palpable as hundreds of competitors sat at the ready. A single gong echoed through the chamber, signaling the start of the elimination round. Zeke immediately picked up on an odd sensation—the Mana in his surroundings shifted unnaturally. It wasn’t that his power was being suppressed, but rather that the ambient Mana seemed to vanish, as if drawn into an unseen void. The feeling was unnerving, like trying to breathe in a room where all the air had been sucked out.

He flexed his fingers subtly, testing his Core. It responded as usual, but there was almost no reaction from the environment. Akasha, his ever-watchful companion, whispered in his mind.

[Notice]

The Mana in the environment has been sealed. Our internal reserves remain intact, but external sources have been rendered inaccessible. I will reduce my activities to a minimum in order to maintain function as long as possible.

In an instant, all of Akasha’s projections vanished, robbing Zeke of that subtle advantage. He also noticed that the Spirit was tightly holding on to all the remaining Mana in his core, like a frugal housewife managing a tight budget.

Zeke suppressed a frown, keeping his face carefully neutral. The absence of ambient Mana wasn’t crippling, but it was unsettling, making him feel like he had lost a part of himself. It also clarified why Magic hadn’t been explicitly banned in the competition rules—there was simply no Mana available to work with.

Even so, Zeke’s curiosity was piqued. How had the dwarves achieved this? Depleting Mana from such a vast area was no trivial feat. At least, he couldn’t think of a method capable of producing such an effect, but the potential applications were staggering. If this could be weaponized, it would reduce even the most formidable Mages to ordinary humans.

“Drink up!” the announcer bellowed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Servants scurried into the arena, each carrying trays loaded with oversized mugs of foaming ale. The scent was rich and potent, wafting through the air like a challenge. Zeke took his first mug and studied it carefully. The liquid was an amber hue, its surface alive with bubbles. Whatever this concoction was, it practically radiated potency.

Around him, the other competitors had already begun, each downing their first mug with practiced ease. Drogar raised his mug in a mock toast to Eldrin before slamming it back, draining it in a single gulp. Eldrin followed suit, refusing to be outdone. The crowd roared their approval.

Zeke took a more measured approach. He raised the mug to his lips, letting the first sip roll over his tongue. The taste was surprisingly complex, a mixture of malt and spice with an undertone of bitterness that lingered. But the real surprise came moments later, as a wave of heat coursed through his body. The ale carried a magical potency, a subtle enchantment designed to test both body and mind.

Zeke drained the rest of the mug in one smooth motion, placing it back on the table with a satisfying clink. The heat intensified, spreading through his limbs and settling in his head like a warm haze. Yet compared to the poison and toxins he’d trained his body to resist, it was nothing more than a mild buzz.

One by one, mugs were refilled, and the competition pressed on. Soon, the first signs of strain began to show among the weaker competitors. A dwarf three seats to Zeke’s left hiccupped loudly before slumping over, his face flushed and his eyes unfocused. He was quickly escorted out by attendants. Another human staggered to his feet, only to collapse moments later, spilling his drink in the process. The crowd’s laughter was merciless.

As the rounds progressed, the number of competitors dwindled. Zeke kept pace, methodically emptying mug after mug while monitoring his condition. The enchanted ale’s effects built gradually, the heat evolving into a slow, deliberate fog that sought to dull his senses. But his body, reinforced by years of Blood Magic refinement and Draconic Essence, processed the substance with startling efficiency.

The haze barely managed to take hold before his internal equilibrium restored itself. Compared to the stocky dwarves around him, many of whom were beginning to sway in their seats, Zeke remained remarkably steady.

By the time the competition reached its tenth round, the initial pool of over a thousand had been whittled down to less than half.

Zeke surveyed the remaining competitors. Drogar and Eldrin were still going strong, though signs of wear were beginning to show. Drogar’s cheeks were ruddy, and his laughter had grown louder and more frequent. Eldrin’s movements were slightly less precise, a subtle sway betraying his mounting intoxication. Despite their legendary reputations, they weren’t immune to the ale’s effects. ꞦᴀΝőＢÊṨ

Zeke, however, was an exception. Despite matching the others drink for drink, he felt only a faint buzz—a testament to his unique physiology. The sheer volume of blood in his body alone granted him an alcohol tolerance at least ten times greater than that of an average human. The only visible change was a faint flush on his cheeks, so subtle it was barely noticeable.

His unwavering composure did not escape attention. Both Drogar and Eldrin cast sidelong glances in his direction, their eyes narrowing as they silently reevaluated their human competitor.

“Ye’re holdin’ up better than I expected,” Eldrin admitted, his tone grudgingly respectful. “But don’t get cocky. The real test hasn’t even begun.”

Drogar nodded, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “Aye, this elimination round’s just fer weedin’ out th' lightweights. What comes next’ll make this look like a tea party.”

Zeke leaned forward slightly, his crimson hair catching the light as he met their gazes. “Is that so?” he replied, his tone calm but laced with confidence. “Then I look forward to seeing what the two of you are truly capable of.”

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Drogar chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s got spirit, I’ll give him that. But spirit alone won’t carry ye through th' next rounds.”

Eldrin raised his mug in mock salute, his grin sharpening. “Enjoy yer little advantage while it lasts, human. This is just th' start.”

Zeke smirked as he accepted the next mug from the attendant, exuding an air of calm confidence. Without hesitation, he continued to drink, one mug after another, maintaining his silence. Only when the warmth began to creep across his face did he feel the faintest tug of strain at the corners of his composure.

Then came the sound.

GOOOONNNNNGGGGG!

The deep chime reverberated through the amphitheater, drawing everyone’s attention. Zeke glanced around, assessing the scene. The field had thinned considerably since the start of the competition—nearly 90% of the contestants were either disqualified or unable to continue. By now, in the twenty-third round, the elimination phase had come to an end.

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers as the final hundred competitors remained seated, their mugs drained and their expressions ranging from defiance to barely concealed exhaustion. Zeke, still seated between Drogar and Eldrin, leaned back slightly, his crimson hair catching the flickering light of the braziers overhead. Despite the constant waves of enchanted ale, his composure remained intact, marked only by a faint flush on his cheeks.

Meanwhile, the intoxicated dwarves who had succumbed to the ale’s effects were being carefully escorted out. Some stumbled along with bleary-eyed grins, reveling in the festive atmosphere despite their loss. Others groaned or muttered curses under their breath, their pride clearly stung.

As Zeke continued to watch the ongoing exodus of defeated competitors, he suddenly noticed a change in the air.

A faint hum began to ripple through the air, like the first trickle of water breaching a dam. The Mana that had been absent throughout the elimination round was returning, saturating the arena in an ever-growing flood. Zeke flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar feeling of his Core as it reconnected with the ambient Mana once more.

The sudden return of Mana was disconcerting. First, it highlighted how uncomfortable he had felt in its absence—a discomfort he hadn’t fully realized until now. It was a stark reminder of the dependency he had developed over the years. The very thought that he had lived most of his life without this constant companion now seemed almost inconceivable.

But beyond that, Zeke was puzzled by the timing. Why allow Mana to flow freely again? The competition had only just started. What purpose could it serve to reintroduce such a potent force at this stage of the competition?

Before he could delve further into his thoughts, the announcer stepped forward, his booming voice cutting through the din. “Congratulations to our final hundred! Ye’ve proven yerselves in the first trial, but the journey’s far from over!” His words were met with a chorus of cheers and raised mugs from the audience.

The announcer raised a hand to silence them. “For those still in the race, ye’ll be pleased t’ know ye’re allowed to clear th' effects o' th' ale from yer systems by any means you have. Take this chance to recover, for th' next rounds’ll test ye in ways ye cannae imagine!”

The announcement sent a ripple of murmurs through the competitors. Zeke arched an eyebrow, his curiosity deepening. He hadn’t expected such an allowance. If the dwarves intended to push them to their limits, why offer this reprieve? It seemed almost counterintuitive.

Regardless, Zeke wasn’t about to question the opportunity. Drawing on his Blood Magic, he directed his focus inward. He quickly identified the enchanted ale circulating through his veins, its presence like a faint warmth diffusing through his body. With practiced precision, he activated the cleansing properties of his magic. His blood moved with a deliberate rhythm, isolating and binding the remnants of alcohol. Moments later, he expelled the substance through the pores of his skin, encased in a thin, glistening membrane of blood that evaporated before it hit the ground.

The display didn’t go unnoticed.

Drogar let out a low whistle, his bushy eyebrows arching as he leaned back in his seat. “Impressive work,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Though I must admit, ye’ve a flair for th' dramatic.”

Eldrin, sitting on Zeke’s other side, snorted. “Aye, I’ll give ‘em that. But there’s easier ways t’ do it, y’know.” He reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a small, glass vial filled with a shimmering, golden liquid.

Zeke's gaze lingered on the vial, taking in the intricate etchings adorning its surface. Clearly, this was no ordinary item—it radiated a faint magical signature, its enchantments resonating with the natural properties of purification. Judging by its aura, it was almost certainly a detoxification potion of exceptional quality.

He gave a small nod, acknowledging its craftsmanship. “Convenient,” he remarked, his tone calm and unaffected. There was no trace of admiration in his voice. Zeke had always preferred to rely on his own abilities whenever possible. It was the same principle that had led him to forgo the use of weapons in combat altogether.

As Drogar and Eldrin each downed their respective detox brews, Zeke took the opportunity to address the question that had been nagging at him. “I noticed the Mana returning to the arena,” he began, his tone carefully neutral. “Does that mean Magic will be allowed in the next rounds?”

The two dwarves exchanged knowing smirks, their expressions practically radiating mischief. Drogar chuckled, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. “Allowed? Lad, ye can use all th' magic ye want,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “In fact, ye’ll be needin’ it.”

Eldrin leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Zeke’s. “But don’t think fer a second that yer Blood Magic’ll make it easier on ye,” he added, his tone carrying a hint of warning. “If anythin’, it’ll make things harder. Ye’ll see soon enough.”

Zeke frowned slightly, his mind racing to piece together the implications. If magic was permitted, it stood to reason that the upcoming trials would demand its use. But what sort of challenges would require such a shift in approach? Also, how could the challenge remain fair if the competitors all had different affinities? It seemed utterly counterintuitive.

The questions gnawed at him, but he knew better than to press for answers. Drogar and Eldrin seemed content to let him stew in his curiosity, their expressions a mix of amusement and anticipation. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that the elimination round had been nothing more than a prelude.

As the last of the intoxicated competitors were escorted from the arena, the remaining hundred leaned forward in their seats, the air thick with anticipation. The Mana in the chamber continued to swell, its presence now a steady, thrumming pulse that resonated through the space.

Zeke seized the opportunity, channeling Mana throughout his body. The infusion sharpened his focus to a razor's edge and filled his muscles with vitality. He felt like a finely honed blade, poised and ready for whatever came next.

This was it—he was as prepared as he could possibly be.

Drogar clapped him on the shoulder, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Get ready, lad,” he said, his tone equal parts encouragement and challenge. “Ye’ve made it this far, but th' real fun’s just about t’ start.”

Eldrin nodded, his expression more measured but no less confident. “Hope ye’ve got more tricks up yer sleeve. Ye’ll need ’em.”

Zeke locked eyes with them, his crimson gaze radiating quiet determination. The elimination round had been a straightforward test of endurance, barely enough to trouble his enhanced physique. Yet, it was clear the real challenges lay ahead. Judging by the unwavering confidence radiating from the two dwarfs beside him, his Blood affinity alone wouldn’t be enough to guarantee success in what was to come.

A smirk slowly spread across Zeke’s face. If they had meant to intimidate him with their words, the dwarfs had utterly failed. If anything, their ominous warnings had the opposite effect. It had been far too long since he’d faced a genuine challenge, and Zeke found himself eager to test the limits of his abilities.

Just then, the announcer’s booming voice echoed through the hall, resonating with the gathered crowd:

“First up, we’ve got th’ Barrelthane’s newly crafted Stonefist brew! Good luck t’ all th’ competitors!”

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