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As the stone stele descended, the space at the center of the arena began to warp and twist. A ripple of distortion spread across the dueling grounds, and in the blink of an eye the battlefield transformed, revealing the chosen setting. This time, it was the Ancient Magical Library.
Towering bookshelves shot up from the ground, stretching skyward as if they had always stood there. Ancient tomes drifted into the air, suspended in silence, their covers bound with age, their spines cracked with the weight of centuries. The musty scent of old parchment seemed to fill the air, thick and oppressive, as though the very atmosphere were heavy with knowledge and secrets long forgotten.
Orris's eyes lit up with a sudden gleam.
This battlefield clearly favored him.
Even as the duel began, he moved without hesitation. With a sharp step backward, he opened the distance, retreating smoothly while the tip of his wand tapped lightly. At once, a thick, leather-bound volume soared out of the air and landed before him, its weightless pages flapping open with a whhhsshhk, fluttering like the wings of a thousand birds.
He lowered his voice to a near whisper, chanting under his breath. At his call, the brittle, yellowing pages began to peel free from the binding, drifting one after another into the air. Yet before they could fall, his magic seized them, and under the force of Transfiguration they twisted, reshaping into dozens of gleaming blades.
Cold light danced along their edges as they caught the library's dim glow, and with a sharp hiss they whirled into motion, shrieking through the air as they hurtled toward Krum like a storm of razors.
Across from him, Krum's wand had already traced a circle in the air. A spark ignited where there had been nothing, and in the next breath, a surge of flame roared into existence.
"Incendio!"
The fire erupted outward in a surging wave, a wall of heat that swept across the space like a living beast unleashed. In an instant, the paper blades caught the flames and burned to ash, crumbling into blackened motes that vanished into the heat.
But Orris had expected this. His lips curled upward into a thin, knowing smile, the kind that revealed more confidence than surprise.
"Stupefy!"
From within the very torrent of fire burst a dazzling bolt of scarlet light. It tore through the blaze at breakneck speed, so fast that the spectators in the stands gasped aloud, their cries of astonishment rising one after another in a ripple of voices.
Yet Krum's reflexes were faster still. With nothing more than a swift twist of his body, he slipped past the streaking spell, the red light grazing by without so much as brushing his robes.
And his counterattack came almost instantly. He barely muttered a word, merely swung his wand down in a slashing arc, the movement precise and brutal as if wielding a sword. From its tip burst a silver flash, the Severing Charm unleashed with terrifying force.
Orris did not possess such agility. His body lacked the trained sharpness of Krum's movements. He had no choice but to meet the spell head-on.
With a hurried incantation, he raised the Shield Charm. A half-transparent barrier formed before him, but the impact of the silver charm sent tremors rippling across its surface, shattering it with a deafening crack. The force rattled through him, driving him backward several paces before he could regain his footing.
Krum did not relent. The echo of the Severing Charm had barely faded before the scarlet glow of a Disarming Charm came streaking after, swift and merciless, pressing the assault without giving so much as a breath of space.
But Orris, too, had regained his composure. With a decisive sweep of his wand, the towering bookshelves around them groaned and shuddered as though dragged by invisible chains, sliding into place between the two duelists. The beam of red light struck hard against the barrier of oak and leather, its brilliance scattering against the weight of knowledge stacked high.
At the same time, Orris's movements did not pause for even a breath. His wand danced again and again, sweeping through the air as he pulled more shelves into position, layering them one after another between himself and Krum like a barricade of wood and parchment. Then, with a sudden flick of his wand to the side, he turned his spell toward a heavy mahogany desk.
The desk twisted and warped under the force of Transfiguration. In the blink of an eye, its solid frame elongated and reshaped, legs stretching into powerful limbs, polished surface rippling into fur. Where once had been furniture now stood a massive wolf of silver-grey, its shoulders broad, its form radiating raw ferocity. The beast tilted its head back and loosed a piercing howl that echoed through the library, its ivory fangs flashing cold and sharp beneath the dim shaft of sunlight filtering from above.
A wave of startled cries erupted from the stands. This was no simple trick any ordinary student could pull off. The sheer control required to summon a beast of such presence drew astonishment and admiration alike.
But Krum's offense was already surging forward like a storm breaking its banks. In that instant, the full might of his Seeker's physical prowess revealed itself. His strength, honed from years of Quidditch, was terrifying when unleashed here.
He charged straight at the barricade of shelves, bellowing incantations with each strike. "Gouging Spell!" The charm blasted forward again and again, pounding into the wood. Shelves splintered and collapsed in showers of debris, boards exploding apart, books spilling into the air in a flurry of pages.
Within only seconds, the wall of knowledge crumbled under his relentless blows. His athletic figure burst through the wreckage, surging directly toward Orris with the speed and certainty of a predator closing in on its prey.
Orris, however, was not about to sit still and surrender. The silver-grey wolf lunged with a snarl, its body a blur of muscle and claws as it leapt straight for Krum. Meanwhile, Alk himself did not cease his casting, firing spells from different angles in a desperate attempt to overwhelm.
But Krum had already cast upon himself a charm that accelerates his speed. His movements were unnaturally quick, his body darting from side to side with startling grace. At times he slipped past attacks with nothing but a swift sidestep, at others he tucked into a low roll across the ground, each action sharp and fluid, leaving no wasted motion. In the blink of an eye, he had evaded or countered every spell that Orris flung his way.
When the wolf finally hurled itself through the air in a feral pounce, Krum did not flinch. He lifted his wand with perfect timing and roared, "Diffindo!"
The Severing Charm blazed, striking the beast squarely in the chest. The radiant burst of spellfire slammed into it, and in a heartbeat the Transfiguration unraveled. The wolf convulsed, body collapsing inward as it reverted, until all that remained was the shattered wreckage of the mahogany desk exploding outward in a spray of broken fragments.
"Incarcerous!"
Orris's voice rang out again, ropes of magic darting through the air like snakes snapping forward to bind. They seized the fleeting opening, streaking toward Krum's limbs.
But Krum never broke stride. He pressed forward, and in the same breath his wand carved downward. "Bombarda!"
BOOOOM—!
The roar shook the entire library, deafening and fierce. Three towering shelves detonated in an instant, their wooden frames disintegrating into dust. Thousands of pages burst into the air like a snowstorm, a blizzard of white paper filling the space, while the ropes Orris had conjured were obliterated and vanished without trace.
From the cloud of dust and drifting parchment, Krum emerged like a force of nature. His silhouette cut through the chaos at a relentless pace, and even before his form came fully into view, his wand was already unleashing spell after spell.
Driven onto the back foot, Orris stumbled backward in a desperate rush, barely managing to throw up a Shield Charm in time. The translucent barrier shimmered faintly before him, but the beams of light hammered down with unrelenting force, each strike crashing against it like waves breaking upon a fragile wall. Under such pressure, the shield began to quiver and bend, its surface trembling as thin cracks of light spread outward.
Another burst of scarlet rays followed, each heavier than the last. The impact shattered the barrier outright with a sharp crack that split through the arena.
Orris staggered as the force hit him full on, and before he could recover, a Disarming Charm slammed into his chest. His grip faltered instantly, and the wand was torn from his hand, spinning helplessly into the air before clattering to the ground.
The outcome was decided.
For a heartbeat, the entire venue fell silent. Then the quiet broke apart in an eruption of thunderous applause, the sound crashing over the arena like rolling storm clouds.
Krum lowered his wand, his expression unreadable, and gave the crowd the briefest of nods.
Orris, meanwhile, rubbed his wrist with a small wince, then gave a rueful smile. "It seems… what I lack most is still real combat experience."
"Your magic is strong," Krum replied, speaking with rare frankness, "and your timing was precise. If this had been a team duel, you'd have been a troublesome opponent to face."
Orris chuckled softly at the unexpected praise. He accepted his wand as Krum passed it back to him, and with a quiet nod, conceded defeat.
Up in the stands, Karakoff's face broke into an openly triumphant grin. He turned immediately toward Dumbledore and Madame Maxime, his voice booming with satisfaction. "Well, well! My boys are in fine form, wouldn't you say?"
As he spoke, he tilted his chin proudly in Krum's direction, practically preening at the victory.
Madame Maxime, seated with poise and dignity, inclined her head slightly. "Your students are indeed impressive, Headmaster Karakoff. Their strength leaves one with no small impression… But, let us not forget, the competition is not yet over."
Her gaze softened then, drifting toward her own two students waiting below, her eyes carrying a gentle encouragement meant to steady their nerves.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, did not look to Krum, nor to Karakoff. Instead, his calm blue eyes lingered on Orris, still standing in the center of the arena, his expression kind and steady. A faint, warm smile curved his lips. "Every student who steps into the arena is worthy of admiration."
"You would say that, wouldn't you!" Karakoff cut in sharply, his voice dripping with mockery. The smile on his face twisted into something thin and cutting. "After all, Hogwarts has only one student left. If that one loses as well, it means your school is finished… completely eliminated."
But Dumbledore did not rise to the bait. He turned his head slowly, his gaze shifting to Karakoff. His smile never faltered, calm and unshaken, as if not a single barb had pierced his composure.
"Igor," he said gently, "a duel can turn in an instant. To leap to conclusions so quickly is not the mark of wisdom. Besides…" He paused, letting his words hang with deliberate weight, before his eyes moved with quiet meaning toward Durmstrang's Professor Baffelus. "Compared with Hogwarts, it is Durmstrang that stands in greater need of a victory at this moment."
For the first time, Karakoff's smug expression faltered. His face stiffened, his pride struck as though Dumbledore had pressed a finger against a hidden sore spot.
He gave a low snort, then leaned back hard into his seat, folding his arms across his chest. Though he said no more directly, his eyes remained fixed on the Hogwarts side, sharp and hostile, and under his breath he muttered with thinly veiled spite, "Just wait, Albus. You'll see soon enough… very soon."
The rhythm of the tournament quickened after that.
A seventh-year boy from Durmstrang strode onto the stage with a heavy, purposeful gait. His frame was broad and powerful, his presence commanding even before he raised his wand.
Across from him stood a sixth-year student from Beauxbatons. The boy's movements betrayed his nerves: shoulders drawn tight, fingers flexing on the wand as if to keep it steady, eyes darting toward the crowd before settling back uneasily on the duel ahead.
The battle itself unfolded with hardly any suspense. The Durmstrang student's attacks were ruthless, each spell carrying weight and force, his angles clever and relentless. Every strike pressed forward with suffocating intensity, as though he had no intention of giving his opponent the space to breathe, let alone counterattack.
The Beauxbatons boy fought to hold his ground, summoning Shield Charms again and again, their translucent arcs flickering under the strain. But each defense was peeled away, broken down by the unyielding assault. Within three minutes, he was driven back entirely. A precisely cast "Sandstorm" struck him head-on, sweeping his defenses aside and sending him stumbling in defeat.
"The gap is just too wide," Kestrel muttered, shaking her head. She leaned closer to Sargeras and dropped ger voice, though her eyes still lingered on the Durmstrang student stepping down from the stage. "It's like every one of them has crawled straight out of a dueling pit. Hardened veterans, all of them."
"Mmm." Sargeras' tone was steady, almost detached, his gaze fixed squarely ahead. "It's in their school's bones. Durmstrang breeds its students that way. Every strike they throw carries a certain vicious edge."
Kestrel's curiosity was instantly hooked. She tilted her head, giving Sargeras a sidelong look. "I heard back when you were at Durmstrang, you were the strongest one there. Top of the class too, right?"
"That's not the same thing." At last Sargeras turned his head, meeting Kestrel's eyes. His face was unreadable, his voice calm as still water. "It's like you. Graduating with perfect scores in every subject, your name shining like gold on the records."
"Uh… wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Kestrel blinked in confusion, unable to keep pace with the sudden turn in the conversation.
"It means that no matter how dazzling a report card looks," Sargeras said evenly, his tone without the slightest rise or fall, "it won't save you from being beaten bloody in the dueling ring."
Kestrel's expression collapsed in an instant, deflating like a balloon pricked with a needle. "So… what you're saying is, even if you had great grades, when it came to dueling… well, you weren't actually that good?"
"No." A faint curve tugged at the corner of Sargeras' mouth, a trace of amusement flickering through. His answer was delivered with absolute certainty. "What I'm saying is that even if I'd scored a 'Troll' in every subject, it still wouldn't have stopped me from holding the title of top duelist."
"What? You mean to say you really did get Trolls in every class?"
"Not at all," he replied casually, as if brushing away the idea. "When I was in school, I always had perfect marks across the board."
Kestrel's jaw slackened. For a moment she looked utterly lost, as though Sargeras' words had tied her thoughts into a knot.
"So what you're really saying is…"
"Exam grades and dueling skill," Sargeras said succinctly, cutting her off, "are two entirely different things."
Kestrel opened her mouth, ready to argue, but as the words hovered on her tongue, the thought of her own situation crept in. She closed her mouth again, swallowing back the retort. In the end, all that escaped her was a faint, dispirited sigh.
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[Chapter End's]
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