After the man announced the rules, silence pooled like still water, as if he were giving the two girls time to think.

Lucimia listened to the four rules, and a spark of interest rose like fireflies.

Everything—arguments, grudges, conflicts—could be solved by a Duel, a blade that cuts any knot?

Could someone eye another’s shop and seize it by Duel? Could a killer duel his way out of blame?

The challenged couldn’t refuse; strength smelled sweet here, like blood to wolves.

It sounded like a lawless border, a heaven for the wicked.

But—

Lucimia swept a look around; chaos didn’t bloom here like weeds.

Smiles hung like lanterns on faces; a couple held a child’s hand, laughter like bells.

Elders sat on chairs, stroking beards like soft moss, watching kids tumble like sparrows.

Overall, the scene felt less wild than imagined, warm and woven like a hearth.

Those easy smiles meant the place wasn’t a storm.

Curiosity pricked like a thorn. Could a killing be pardoned by Duel, or carried out by Duel?

She asked; Auril nodded, the answer cold as frost.

He added, steady as iron: a guard squad exists, skilled in many Duel forms; if someone sins, they challenge and punish.

Then he continued, voice firm like stone: since you wish to enter, you must play by local rules; win, you enter; lose, you leave.

Rexi thought for two beats, heartbeat tapping like a drum.

According to the rules, if you propose the Duel, we can’t refuse; as the challenged, we set the content, right?

Not so.

Rexi froze, confusion popping like bubbles. What the heck—didn’t you say that yourself? Rigging?

Auril didn’t meet it head-on; his voice walked back like winter wind. I repeat: these are the local rules. If you wish, you may challenge me to a Duel.

Fine then—who’s scared—let’s—

Concern pricked like a needle. Lucimia caught Rexi’s sleeve. Wait.

What?

He said these are the local rules.

Right, local rules. So?

Lucimia cleared her throat, thoughts lining up like reeds. Rule one lets the people settle disputes by Duel. Auril isn’t the people—he’s a Dark Deity.

Rexi blinked, realization opening like dawn. You mean he can ignore the rules?

He can ignore parts. These rules are woven by his Authority Power. They aren’t the same as his own Authority mechanism.

My guess: when he proposes a Duel, the challenged can’t set the content; if he’s challenged, he can refuse.

That’s so cheap, like loaded dice. Not fair.

True. But by the very nature of a Duel, he must obey the outcome. That’s the core of the word.

Auril stood quiet as a shadow, then agreed, voice clear as steel. Correct. Since I propose the Duel, I give you the right to refuse, while I define the content and what counts as victory or defeat.

He paused, a blade held mid-air. Your choice?

Rexi glanced at Lucimia, seeking anchor like a bird seeking a branch. Lucimia, what do you think?

Thought settled in Lucimia’s chest like a stone in a river. Try it.

We’ll step in sooner or later; this place runs on Duels like gears.

With Auril posted here, his domain is a net; the moment we step in, Time Halt snaps like ice.

To enter, we must pass his Duel; if we lose, we’ll find another path.

After a breath, she nodded, decision firm as cord. I think it works. Will you join?

Sure. Unfair, but fun, like tossing dice in a storm.

Lucimia nodded, eyes dropping to the sigil on the ground, lines curling like white vines. We accept.

She drew back the shadow shroud on her sword, black smoke folding like silk.

Understood. The Duel takes effect.

The ground sigil flared, bright as a white sun; Auril’s voice moved on like a cold river. The Duel’s content—Guessing.

Guessing? Guess what?

Auril didn’t answer. His words kept flowing like snow.

Rules of the Duel—

Rule one: for fairness, scales level, neither of you may use Authority Power.

Rule two: each gets one guess. If the first guesses wrong, they fail; the second still may guess, and success is victory; the first remains a failure.

Rule three: if the first guesses right, the second also counts as victory, two sparks from one flint.

Rule four: winners may enter this place; losers are barred, gate shut like iron.

Rule five: every participant has a chance to win, the path forked for all.

Confirm again whether you participate. After agreement, I’ll state the subject of the guess.

Rexi bristled, unfairness rising like heat. Hold on—what about you? Why only us guess? You don’t guess?

Yes.

That one word felt shameless, thick as hide to Lucimia.

Rexi stalled, mind blanking like a white page.

Lucimia didn’t rush. The content felt less like a Duel, more like a game; a game can still be a Duel, like a different blade.

In her old world, medieval Duels were simple—one-on-one steel, a clean clash. This was different.

Here, a Duel could be anything, like water taking any shape.

Rexi nudged, wanting to haggle like a market trader. Do we still agree?

Lucimia understood and shook her head, quiet as a falling leaf. Confirm.

Auril received it. The sigil brightened, white fire swelling like moonrise. A magic light orb rose from the floor, a lantern lifting in slow breath.

It twisted and shifted, and a line of letters formed like silver threads. Lucimia leaned in, shock pricking like cold rain.

Auril’s voice sounded again, tolling like a bell. Then the Duel begins. The subject of the guess: What is the relationship between the Time Stasis Bearer and the king of the Lowegar Kingdom, the Duel Deity Auril?