(All dialogues in bold, this is a conversation in a different language)
That day, we finished our lesson with a series of duels. Three in a row.
Usually, Krieger would start by helping me practice spell chains and combinations, offering advice as we learned new techniques. Only at the end of the training session would we have one or two duels. Of course, there were days when we'd have more than five duels back-to-back, but that didn't happen more than once a week. Today, however, the teacher decided to limit himself to just three.
Three final duels… Was this some kind of exam? If so, I had to give it my all. Over this time, the teacher had practically drilled me on every official part of the dueling codex. I knew every detail, every line of the classical dueling codex by heart. Admittedly, certain points sometimes varied between different authors, but the standard was considered to be the codex created by the best duelist of his time, Hans von Lichtenauer, back in the distant 16th century. One of the greatest German duelists of the wizarding world had gathered all the so-called "old codes of honor" and created an official document simply called The Duelist's Codex. It's the guideline for dueling guilds and is recognized by almost all Ministries of Magic. Sure, other masters in their time had created their own rules, but they were mostly just repetitions.
The long and short of it is this: The Duelist's Codex is a set of rules, ceremonies, and moral-legal norms that govern both personal and official duels in the wizarding world. It evolved historically - absorbing the manners of both magical and non-magical duels from roughly the 12th to the 18th century - and was eventually formalized in the regulations of the guilds. The document is recognized in most countries as a unified set of standards. The Codex categorizes duels by their purpose, limits the use of lethal and forbidden magic, and describes the procedure for starting, conducting, and concluding a match.
Why am I telling you all this? I always had to observe the full greeting ceremony in the first duel. I'm grumbling for the sake of propriety, but I'll let you in on a secret: I actually like this kind of formality. Sometimes, I enjoy wallowing in all this official pomp.
The first duel was the cleanest. I was fresh, full of energy, and eager to fight. Before the match, I had deliberately scattered everything I could find around the hall - including crumpled sheets of paper. The secret is that the less you need to change the density, type, or state of matter, the less power the general Transfiguration formula requires. In any case, the crumpled sheets were more than enough to turn into a handful of pebbles right at the start of the duel.
I had also practiced my spell chains. And although he either blocked or dodged most of the charms I used, different spells flew at different speeds; some couldn't be redirected, while others broke through a basic Protego. This kept my opponent constantly on the defensive.
The trick was that while my wand was sending out various Silencio, repelling, and knocking-back spells, Incarcerous, and other minor jinxes, my other hand was using wandless magic to levitate the scattered and transfigured items, and at the right moment, I'd send them flying at him with all my magical might. If I had just thrown them by hand, it would have been much weaker. This way, the speed of each projectile was enough to break something on impact.
I even took a risk and tried to redirect his Flipendo. The spell shot off to the side and hit the wall. Krieger gave a short nod of approval.
Of course, he had enough experience to stay one step ahead. His movements were precise, every spell fast and powerful. But this time, he was clearly giving me room to maneuver, observing how I combined magic with wandless object throwing. When my shield finally shattered under a series of his spells, I still managed to hurl two stones at him, forcing him to put up a defense.
When the duel ended, I was lying there, stunned and unable to move… I hate the Petrificus Totalus! The trouble is, removing that curse is extremely difficult. You'd think a general counter-spell, even a simple one, would be enough. But to cast Finite Incantatem without a wand, without hand movements, without an incantation… that's a nearly impossible task.
That's why there's another method for removing such curses. You need to mentally concentrate on the desire to move, as if the energy inside you is bursting to get out. Even better - not just imagine it, but actually try to do it. The problem is, not every wizard can manipulate their own magic so directly, so most wizards manage without it, relying on their subconscious. The subconscious, in turn, spurred by the body's natural rejection of foreign magic, speeds up the process. No, the full-body bind isn't broken immediately, but its duration is shortened.
For instance, if the petrification lasts fifteen minutes, this seemingly fantastical method can cut that time by two-thirds. In my case, I had already learned to control my own magic somewhat, and during my training with Mr. Krieger, I had gained experience. So, within a minute, two at most, I could purge the foreign magic from my body and free myself from that vile spell that turns a wizard into a helpless statue.
But what if the Petrificus Totalus was modified, infused with more power? Oh, then it would take much longer. That's why I came up with a good way to train this skill, but I'll talk about that later.
Gasping for breath but smiling, I shook off the remnants of the nasty curse and its bindings. For the first time all summer, I felt not like a student, but like a genuine opponent.
"You've started to think," Krieger said, lowering his wand. "That's the main thing. Anyone can learn spells. But a style - your own style - is something few possess. You're starting to develop one."
I just nodded. The first of the three duels was over, and I was still full of energy. But two more, much harder ones, lay ahead.
The second duel began almost as soon as I had caught my breath. This time, Krieger wasn't holding back. If in the previous match he had let me show off a bit in the beginning, this time I didn't even have time to prepare. His wand moved faster than I could build my chains, and spells came one after another: Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, Diffindo - everything, testing the speed of my reactions and my wandwork.
I had to summon objects with magic on the fly and send them hurling at my opponent. All of this took extra time, and this round, I couldn't perform as well.
I tried to fight back. I put up shield after shield, and they cracked like glass. Sometimes, instead of a shield, I'd just dodge to the side and, in response, throw something from the floor at him: an iron rod, an old plank, a quill I'd transfigured into a sharp blade.
I tried a new maneuver. The hall was illuminated by a flash from Lumos Maxima, and I lunged to the side, hurling a stone slab at him - I don't know what miracle of magic allowed me to lift it with a wave of my hand. Krieger smirked and deflected it all with a single swipe. In that moment, I remembered once again that I was like a mouse facing a cat.
"You're thinking too much about defense," he noted between spells. "Attack, even if you're sure you'll lose. I won't hurt you here, but you need to learn to attack."
As if I wasn't trying! But I clenched my teeth and pressed forward, deflecting his Flipendo and immediately responding with an Incendio, hidden behind the ordinary shower of sparks from a Vermillius charm. Then, an iron rod - formerly a simple feather - flew at the teacher from the side. And while he was defending against the piece of iron and the spells, I had already formed Verdimillious, commonly known as the "thousand green sparks." Like a hundred ordinary Vermillius spells, a green, buzzing energy discharge covered me, moving threateningly, though slowly, towards my opponent, and I used this to close the distance. I wanted to try close-quarters combat at least once.
That was a stupid idea. The thousand-spark discharge only broke through one layer of a triple Protego, and then all hell broke loose. Though in that moment, I had already sent three consecutive Knockback Jinxes flying his way, finishing with a Stunning Spell. But I had forgotten… forgotten who had taught me to redirect spells and how difficult it is to defend at such close range.
I managed to redirect the first Knockback Jinx upward on autopilot. The second one flew past - I was able to twist out of the way. The third one met my Protego, and the shield held, but it couldn't withstand the Cutting Charm he threw immediately after.
The shield dissipated all the energy, but in that same instant, I was hit by spells he hadn't even bothered to aim - just threw directly at me. I didn't have time to cast a new Protego, didn't even have time to turn my body to let the nearest spell fly past.
I suppose, in that moment, I managed to push beyond my limits: an instant - and the first of the spells touched the tip of my wand, charged with magic. Then, with a short flick that felt harder than lifting a twenty-kilo weight, I managed to redirect the spell. I was even lucky with the angle of my wand: some subtype of repelling charm knocked its "kin" aside. The last spell in the sequence was already a meter away from me.
The adrenaline in my blood sped up my reactions so much that I even noticed a drop of sweat that had been trickling down my chin finally fall to the ground. Bending my arms in a way that was almost dangerously traumatic, I almost managed to catch the spell on the tip of my wand. But only when that clump of magic, much broader than a classic beam spell, almost touched me… only then did I realize it wasn't a repelling spell like Flipendo. It was the treacherous Expelliarmus. One of the few beam spells an ordinary duelist can never redirect in their life. The spell was literally created to counter clever practitioners like me.
The Disarming Charm - a defensive spell that forces the object an opponent is holding to fly aside, and if it hits the body, it acts as a fairly strong repelling force.
I saw it as if in slow motion: the magical vortex at the tip of my wand gave way under the spell's pressure, and with tremendous force, the wand was wrenched, trying to tear itself from my grasp. My hand, gripping the wand tightly and deeply in an unnatural position, couldn't hold: the bone twisted more than usual, and with a sickening crunch, the wand was finally torn free, painfully striking my ribs before clattering to the floor. As I frantically replayed the sound of the crunch in my head, bracing for the worst, I suddenly noticed my opponent had vanished. A moment later, I felt the hard tip of a foreign wand pressed against the back of my head.
"For two months… you've done more than I expected. You managed to surprise me. And your hand isn't broken - you're lucky."
Did it hurt? Of course. When the adrenaline and shock wore off, I felt the full extent of the pain. And this was without even breaking my wrist - just a dislocation, along with some strained ligaments…
The teacher, being a proper wizard who understands the importance of one's health, knew the necessary spells and right there, on the spot, popped everything back into place, using a couple of charms to accelerate the healing. Now I could at least use my hand, though it still hurt. Without the basics of magical medicine, the hand would have taken two weeks to heal; but like this, I'd forget about the injury in a couple of days. For now, there was just a dull ache that turned sharp if I twisted my wrist.
So much for the Disarming Charm. Of course, after the teacher patched me up, I was ready to continue with my left hand and finish the final duel, but the old duelist decided to stop, offering genuine praise:
"You held your own admirably against a far more skilled opponent. Right now, you could defeat an ordinary wizard many years your senior."
"I don't want to compare myself to mediocre wizards who are no different from Muggles without their wands."
"Profound words," the German duelist snorted. "But I'm not sure you fully understand their meaning."
"What if I do?"
I didn't get a clear answer from my dueling teacher. Just:
"Gut. Sehr gut." - His voice was even, emotionless, as if concluding an exam. "You've progressed faster than I anticipated. For your age, it's rare."
I gave a shallow bow, still barely catching my breath, and replied:
"Thank you, Herr Krieger. That means a lot to me."
He nodded:
"You've learned not only to defend yourself. You counter-attack. You use the environment, you can fight without a wand, and you can defend yourself in a hopeless situation. But you don't yet control the battlefield."
"At first, I was afraid to take risks," I admitted. "Especially with spell redirection. I kept thinking: if I make a mistake, it'll hit me."
Krieger narrowed his eyes slightly:
"Yes. Fear is normal. But discipline turns fear into a shield. You must accept the risk. Without risk, there is no victory."
He took a step closer, his voice becoming harder:
"A duel is not a performance art. It's war in miniature. One mistake, and you're crippled, or perhaps dead. Therefore, every gesture must be precise. Every word - measured. And you must always keep your opponent in sight."
I nodded:
"You're right. I made a mistake and lost sight of you in the middle of the duel."
A short pause hung in the air.
"Herr Krieger… I would like to learn from you again next summer."
For a moment, something soft flickered in his eyes, but he shook his head:
"Nein," he said firmly. "Next year I am preparing for the European Championship. After that - the World Championship. I will not have time for students, and I have earned enough money."
"Then I will hope for your victory," I said sincerely. "I understand what a rare opportunity it has been to learn from a world dueling champion."
Krieger gave a short, dry chuckle, but there was warmth in his voice:
"A smart boy. Du hast Talent. Aber Talent ist nur Anfang." (You have talent. But talent is only the beginning.)
He put a hand on my shoulder:
"Perhaps… after the victory, when I have achieved my goal, I will take on students."
I met his gaze and nodded:
"I will remember that."
He removed his hand and spoke again, as if giving an order:
"Remember three things. First - the body, it is the key to everything. No matter how, your body must be strong and resilient. Second is initiative. Press the attack, don't just stand. And third - Kontrolle. Control over yourself, over your wand, over the battlefield. Wenn du das verstehst - you will not just be a wizard, but a Kämpfer (a fighter)."
"Yes, Lehrmeister Krieger," I said firmly.
We bowed to each other. In that moment, there was no "teacher" and "student" between us - only respect. I hope he wins; over these two months, he often spoke about it. For some reason, I have a feeling that if he doesn't take first place in one of these championships, he will despair. I hope I'm wrong.
When I returned to my room after the final training session with Krieger, my body ached with a dull, throbbing pain in the muscles, and my mind felt strangely empty. It was as if an entire chapter had closed - and from now on, I had to write the next one myself. It occurred to me that these two months had flown by faster than I had expected.
Krieger had made me repeat combinations over and over until my movements were precise down to the smallest detail. In the duels, I felt the thrill of victory and defeat for the first time. The opportunity not just to defend, but to attack, to dictate the pace. To build a whole series of tricks for a small victory. It was literally a test of my skill and proof of my abilities.
I needed to sum it up. I hadn't limited myself to ordinary spells. Over the summer, I had woven Transfiguration into my duels, wandless magic - my favorite telekinesis and more. And most importantly, I had learned spell redirection; now it was just a matter of practice.
Rowland Krieger… he had knocked the habit of "playing wizard" out of me and forced me to think like a fighter. His words about a duel being "war in miniature" stuck with me deeper than any spell. Sometimes I left the training hall with scrapes and burns, but I returned home with the feeling that I was growing stronger. This time, I returned with a dislocation and strained ligaments, but I was still satisfied.
Summer was over. I felt like a different person. More focused, more confident; now, no school duel would even make me nervous, because I had fought a true mastodon of the dueling world. I suppose I've already decided which school club I'll be joining. And I still have to bring the new first-years under my influence, keep the old ones close, fend off the older students, and not give in to the likes of Amanda.