The award ceremony lasted much longer than I had expected.

  After the end of the duel, there was a half-hour break during which the referees and the dean debated certain details of the tournament with great intensity. Some argued that the rules had been violated because of the unusually high number of unconventional spells that had been used. Others countered that the regulations did not explicitly forbid any form of magic—except necromancy.

  I watched the group of seven men gesticulating wildly, unrolling scrolls before them as they searched for legal precedents from past tournaments, including those held at other academies. Since they could find no situation similar to the present one, they decided to deliberate based solely on the facts of the day.

  An elderly referee began to speak in a deep, raspy voice.

  “The Sam–Elesya team used at least five unconventional spells, including one of an agricultural nature,” the old man began his argument. “You all saw how they flooded the arena. While these spells, taken individually, may not technically violate the rules, in substance their repeated use could be regarded as a breach of Article 34, paragraph 7, letter (d) of the Codex Certaminis, with reference to Article 102 of the Royal Academic Charter, which states that the use of magic within the arena must be proportional to the nature and purpose of the competition and must not cause permanent damage to the infrastructure.”

  Another referee—apparently in his forties—was quick to contradict him, waving his hands for emphasis:

  “My esteemed colleague, you would be correct if Sam and Elesya had acted unprovoked. But in this case, you must also take into account the principle of equality of arms, Article 11, paragraph 5, which establishes that any mage has the right, when attacked, to respond with a spell proportional in force to that used by the opponent. Let us not forget that Thanida’s team also employed an unconventional method—namely, a fire demon. In such circumstances, Sam and Elesya were justified in using an equally powerful, even if unorthodox, technique to counter an extraordinary threat.”

  “Nonsense!” retorted the first referee. “Spells are proportional only insofar as they are taught within the Academy. As you well know, we do not teach our students how to flood arenas. Those are methods borrowed from agricultural mages. Therefore, the principle of equality of arms cannot be invoked here.”

  “That would be a discriminatory interpretation,” replied the younger referee, refusing to yield. “The rules do not state that only techniques taught at our Academy may be used. Any method taught in a recognized school of magic—even an agricultural one—is considered legitimate. I know there’s a tendency to look down on agricultural mages, but in truth, forbidding agricultural magic in such contests would constitute an act of discrimination contrary to Article 2 of the Royal Academic Charter. As you know, that article prohibits any form of discrimination among mages based on profession, training level, or the nature of the techniques used, provided they are legal.”

  It was becoming harder and harder for me to follow the referees’ debate. The heat and exhaustion were finally catching up with me, and I could barely stand. I longed to leave and rest, but I had to wait for their verdict. From time to time, my gaze wandered to the money bag containing the twenty-five thousand sesterces—all in gold coins. In my mind’s eye, I was already picturing myself counting them one by one on the desk in my room. That thought alone kept me going.

  Another round of heated discussion erupted at the referees’ table. At last, both Elesya and I were summoned to present our defense. I was too tired to argue, but Elesya spoke up without hesitation:

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  “It would be advisable to avoid creating an exceptional precedent involving the invalidation of the results and the withholding of the prize,” she began, smiling slightly. “Such a decision would not only cause distrust and invite alternative interpretations among the students but would also significantly discourage participation in future tournaments. Furthermore,” she continued smoothly, “since magical competitions are extremely popular and contribute to the development of young mages, even the parents of future students might begin to consider other academies when reviewing the list of the best institutions for their children.”

  It seemed Elesya had touched a few sensitive nerves, for several referees began coughing awkwardly. Her subtle reference to the Academy’s public reputation had clearly made them uneasy.

  In the end, after the debates concluded, the dean decided to validate the result—but added that the regulations would need to be updated urgently. There were, he said, far too many loopholes that could be exploited by unscrupulous and overly creative students.

  Together with Elesya, I stepped onto a sort of podium, waiting for the awards to be handed out. We were forced to endure ten full minutes of ceremony while three different anthems were performed in succession: that of the kingdom, that of the Academy, and the student anthem.

  At last, the dean took the floor.

  “The team composed of Sam and Elesya is hereby declared this year’s winner. Though unconventional, their methods of combat have prevailed against experienced mages such as their opponents. Here are your certificates of honor,” he said, handing us two rolled parchments.

  Beside the podium, a bag of coins was brought forward and untied. In the sunlight, the gleam of gold could be clearly seen.

  “The two are entitled to a prize of twenty-five thousand sesterces, to be paid immediately in gold coins. And now,” the dean continued, “let us proceed to the penalties. To begin with, five hundred sesterces will be deducted, since Sam failed to display the Academy emblem visibly on his uniform during the match against another academy’s team.”

  Astonished, I glanced down at my uniform. The dean was right—the place where the emblem had been was now covered with a gray patch, concealing the tear in the fabric. I was still wearing the old uniform issued to me by the Academy, one that had once belonged to a deceased student. Having worn it daily throughout the school year, the fabric had grown ever more tattered, and I’d been forced to keep mending it.

  The tournament secretary swiftly drew five gold coins from the bag and placed them on the small table beside us. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the money—I knew how hard it was to earn—but I took comfort in the thought of what remained. I would still have enough to pay my tuition for two years and finally buy a new uniform.

  “The second penalty of five hundred sesterces,” the dean went on, “is for reducing visibility in the arena—an infraction that occurred during the competition.”

  Goodbye, new uniform!

  Yes, I remembered now—I had already been warned by a referee for that violation when I’d raised the arena’s sand into the air. Now, every coin I had won would barely cover my tuition for the next two years. Not a single sestertius would remain for my personal expenses.

  “And now,” the dean announced, “comes the third penalty—and the greatest of them all. By choosing to cast a spell that flooded the arena, Sam caused massive damage to the university’s infrastructure. For the draining of the water, the cleaning of the basement, and the necessary repairs, a fine of ten thousand sesterces is hereby imposed!”

  The hand holding my diploma began to tremble until the parchment slipped from my fingers. My eyes filled with tears as I watched the gold coins being drawn from the bag one by one and placed on the table. With each coin removed, I felt as if I were receiving a blow far worse than anything Thanida had dealt me in the arena. Slowly but surely, the money bag shrank—until only half of it remained.

  At last, the operation was over. The dean handed me the thinned-out bag. I didn’t even have the strength to take it, but gestured for Elesya to hold it for me.

  “Now,” said the dean, “the final announcement. Because of Sam’s actions, many students withdrew from the competition, and public interest has declined dramatically. Our revenues from entry fees, sponsorships, wagers, and ticket sales have fallen to a historic low. I am therefore forced to take a drastic measure: I hereby forbid Sam from ever again participating in any magical dueling tournaments organized by Wyrmlithus Academy! The ban is permanent!”