As the scroll shattered, three dazzling fireballs whooshed out, spiraling and crashing everywhere. Amid the villagers’ screams, they struck two pigsties and a water tower. The scroll only contained a low-level fireball spell—its power was limited, but it required no incantation and could be cast quickly.

　　With the water tower collapsing and sows squealing, the magic advisor finally saw that three gloves lay limply in front of him.

　　Someone threw gloves at him? Was someone challenging him to a duel?

　　“I, follower of Achilles, intermediate wind mage, David Beckham, challenge you to a duel—unless you kneel and kiss Achilles’s boots and beg his forgiveness for your insolence!” The first glove was thrown by Beckham. He didn’t really care about the insult to Achilles, but this unlucky mage had brought up the dark elves while insulting Henry Clark, so he deserved the beating he was about to get.

　　“I, follower of Achilles, Bronze-Crowned Knight Todd, challenge you to a duel—unless you lick Achilles’s boots clean!” Lord Todd now deeply regretted that he’d thrown his glove a moment too late, letting that damn necromancer steal the spotlight. As for whether he could beat a fire mage, he didn’t care—so long as Achilles was there to back him up, he wouldn’t suffer any loss!

　　“I, mental mage Achilles, challenge you to a duel—unless you eat my boots!” Henry Clark was the last to throw his glove. He’d seen Little Beckham and Todd throw theirs and joined in on a whim. Everyone present couldn’t help but glance at Henry Clark’s old leather boots.

Chapter 8: A Diligent Performance

　　Little Beckham walked up to Henry Clark, placed a hand on his chest, and said, “My lord, I was the first to throw my glove. Please allow me to be the first to teach this ignorant fool a lesson.”

　　Henry Clark nodded in agreement. “Alright, since he insulted your beloved! You go first, Todd second, and I’ll be third!”

　　The fire mage was nearly fuming with rage. The three people challenging him—one pale pretty boy who didn’t look strong at all, one fat man who was just a lowly warrior, and one yellow-skinned fool pretending to be a master—had all thrown their gloves in his face. And listen to what that yellow-skinned brat said: I insulted his beloved. Damn it, could the pretty boy and the yellow-skinned guy be...

　　Viscount Ivan hadn’t expected things to turn out like this, especially with that pale and handsome Beckham. If he really was an intermediate wind mage, then Achilles, who had such a follower, probably wasn’t an ordinary person either.

　　But how did the fat man Todd become his follower too? What a joke—this fat man was probably the lowest-ranked follower in the continent’s history. Taking such a follower out would make even the most serious Titan giant laugh.

　　Poor old Ivan felt things were getting complicated, but the fire mage didn’t wait for him to speak. Having recklessly thrown out a scroll and caused a scene, he was desperate to save face. He bent down, picked up the three gloves, and cursed, “I accept your challenge, you three ignorant fools!” Then, pointing at Little Beckham with a sinister grin, he said, “You’re first! Let me show you what it means to be an intermediate mage!” As he spoke, he pointed to the badge on his chest—two leaping flames, the official mark of a mage certified by the Magic Guild, an intermediate fire mage.

　　Now old Ivan was helpless. The mage wasn’t his subordinate—he’d been sent by the Empire to assist, and Ivan had no authority over him. Usually, the entire Northwest Sunset Mountains Security Office treated him with great respect. Now that the mage wanted to fight, there was no way to stop him.

　　Todd stepped up to Little Beckham and whispered, “Hit him hard, then I’ll go next...” The fat man’s unspoken meaning: you’d better knock him silly, so I won’t have to work too hard when it’s my turn.

　　Little Beckham flashed a row of neat teeth in a grin. Henry Clark and Todd both brightened at the sight—this smile, from a necromancer symbolizing death and slaughter, was unexpectedly radiant. In Henry Clark’s mind, the voice of the dark elf suddenly rang out: “Damn, that’s handsome! Back in the day, I was totally smitten by that smile!” The dark elf Victoria was his contract beast; when they were close, they could communicate telepathically. Right now, Victoria was hiding in Henry Clark’s shadow.

　　Henry Clark also smiled, his eyes shining. Everyone present, seeing his bright eyes and faint smile, couldn’t help but feel a flutter in their hearts.

　　As a youth, Little Beckham had been recognized as a magical prodigy, advancing to intermediate mage by the age of eighteen. Not long after, he met the dark elf Victoria and then suddenly disappeared. Over the next eight years, Little Beckham turned to studying necromancy. To save the dark elf, he chose the bloodiest and most direct method: slaughter. Coupled with his astonishing magical insight, he finally advanced again to become a grand mage. Among the various magical disciplines, elements differ fundamentally, but once stored in a mage’s body as mana, they can’t be directly distinguished. In other words, as long as Little Beckham didn’t use mana to summon undead powers, no one could know that his main discipline was necromancy.