Machina Arcanis: Two Worlds Collided
Chapter 144. Friederich Eir Regis, The Ivory Guardian

“How is this just?! You coerced a Novitcius mage to fight an upcoming Lunarius!? This is like asking a farmer to fight an Armatus. How prosperous?” Friederich’s voice rang out, silencing every rising soul. The crowd fell into a distant murmur.

His vibrant blue eyes locked onto those silver ones, belonging to none other than Nyrethein Vale, the highest among the mages. Zetius's face twisted at the exaggerated metaphor. For one, he never considered himself a farmer. Sure, he was a debris collector in his past life, but at least it was in space. He quickly tucked his displeasure behind a nonchalant front.

The Celestius of Gemini gasped, bringing her fingers to her mouth. “My! Friederich Eir Regis, the Ivory Guardian, is it?” she asked with a taunting expression, like someone trying to bait you into a bar fight.

Zetius’s eyes lingered on her outfit. He hadn’t noticed until now how revealing it was. Her upper cleavage was exposed, skin glossy and healthy, immaculate even. From a distance, her midnight skin blurred into the deep hues of her attire, making her form almost indistinguishable.

“Wow, she’s kinda cute. And sexy,” Zetius thought, keeping the intrusive comment to himself while shielding his gaze from Aurelia and Cubie.

“My title is the Prime Guardian of Aurelia Sol Solara of Solis Aeternum,” Friederich declared, stepping between Zetius and the Celestius. “It is an honour to be recognised by the highest mage of all, but I must contest your virtue, specifically your morality!” His flowery words were delivered with grace and precision.

“Oh, is that so?” she replied, lifting her chin as if looking down her nose, exuding a mighty air. “Despite your claims and this outrageous analogy...” Her eyes drifted to Zetius. “I must admit, Zetius Zel Celerius is far from your average farmer.” She winked.

Friederich was visibly flabbergasted. He turned to Zetius, then back again, before sighing in resignation.

After a beat, the Prime Guardian composed himself. He raised his hand, deliberately revealing the silver Stellius ring on his index finger. “Then, I request permission to join the battle alongside Zetius.” His voice was calm, one hand resting upon his Arc sheath.

Behind them, Aurelia gasped and blurted, “What are you two thinking?!”

Zetius offered her a reassuring smile, though it clearly didn’t help.

Nyrethein pondered for a moment, then nodded to herself. In the blink of an eye, her double on the centre balcony dissolved into a swirl of dark purple mist and reappeared beside the champion of the day.

With a theatrical touch to her chin, she asked, “What say you, Astrid Ember Lorne? Would you, perchance, accept the terms? Another group match?”

“As long as I get to fight Zetius, nothing else matters,” Astrid replied, her resolve unwavering. More than reclaiming her title of Lunarius, she wanted to take back her pride.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She had never been humiliated like that, fell with a mere backhand, her position as Prime Disciple stolen shamelessly by Zetius.

“I don't want to be the strongest. I want to be… loved.” His words from nearly eight years ago still echoed in her ears, clear as if spoken yesterday. Her face twisted in soul-crushing pain.

Moments later, Astrid bowed low to the Celestius, then rose, shoulders square. She slammed her fists together, a conceited smirk on her face.

“It would be my greatest honour. Warmongering mages should never get to choose their fights. Regardless, my goal remains unchanged.” She turned to Zetius on the audience platform.

“I shall crush my rival against all odds. Destiny and fate mean absolutely nothing!” Her theatrical proclamation reignited the crowd, their once-muted cheers erupting into full-blown excitement.

“Well, then. My boon is now reality,” Nyrethein said in glee, gesturing to Severan to prepare the stage.

Within minutes, four mages cast the Domoklasis spell to reshape the arena into a ruined chamber. The once-beautiful pillars and walls now lay scattered and broken across the battlefield.

Zetius grumbled, arms crossed. “Fitting. Perfect place to settle a grudge.”

A hand rested on his shoulder. Friederich’s expression was solemn, almost apologetic. “Are you ready?” he asked, concerned.

Aurelia squeezed herself between them, visibly upset. “Do you realise you’re up against Astrid and her ten mages?!”

Zetius shrugged, his lips curling into the shape of an overturned teacup.

“Not funny!” Aurelia scolded, then turned to her guardian. “Let me join you!”

“No, Aurelia. This is our fight. You must not interfere,” Friederich said firmly, denying her without hesitation.

Aurelia stood stunned, mouth agape. “You can’t do this to me!”

“It’s alright, Aurelia,” Zetius said, offering a soft smile. He glanced at her, then at the floating construct beside him. “Cubie will cover me. So technically, it’s three against eleven. Hehe.”

“Aurelia, cheer for us! I’ll kick her arse in your place!” Cubie bragged, her blue glow pulsing brightly.

Although still worried, Aurelia believed in them, all three of them.

As the stage was set, Zetius reached out his arm to Friederich, who did the same. Their hands gripped each other’s forearms, writing their pact of companionship.

Their opponents stood ready on the far end of the battlefield, staffs in hand. Astrid led them, one arm behind her back as she casually examined her fingers.

Zetius and Friederich shared a look and smiled.

Then they leapt over the audience rail, gracefully lifting into the air, their arc coats fluttering in the wind.

The crowd roared, their joy echoing in every direction.

Zetius landed beside Friederich on the battlefield.

Nyrethein flicked her finger upward, her pointer aimed squarely at the two boys.

In a shimmer of dull gold, crested helms materialised atop Friederich and Zetius’s heads. They now bore an uncanny resemblance to the gladiators of the ancient Colosseum, warriors summoned from a bygone age.

She winked at Zetius before her body dissolved into a swirling mist of dark purple, vanishing into the shadows as she reappeared effortlessly at her balcony.

Interesting, she didn’t even cast a spell, Zetius noted inwardly.

The host twitched his moustache, then floated upward, raising a thumb to his lips. He blew a loud, deafening horn that echoed across the arena.

“Ready, set, go!” he shouted.

With that, the main event of the day had begun.