So you can exploit a bug like that? Like wedging a stick in fate’s gears.

No wonder Roen said something slipped. His mask cracked like thin ice, and he owned up to being a helper to a Time Stasis Bearer.

This had to be the play they meant to run all along, like setting a snare before dawn, forcing Lucimia to hand over the right to dictate the rules.

They tried to cut in line, launching a Duel before the two girls learned the hidden clauses, hoping to seize some lever and tilt the board their way.

But Rexi, all wildfire and untamed wind, crashed in early. None of them expected her to spit out, “She’s mine.”

Lucimia didn’t expect it either. A pebble dropped in her chest, and ripples ran downstream: could one Duel’s content touch the next?

Rexi caught up a beat later. Heat surged first, then her jaw clenched like a trap. “You! You—”

Lucimia reached out, palm light as falling ash, and patted her shoulder. Calm first, then words. “Watch how he plays it. Don’t worry. If we lose, I’ll find a way.”

“Fine…” Rexi nodded, like a drum reluctantly stilling.

Roen smiled and exhaled deep, a sigh like smoke curling to the rafters. “What a pity. The target changed. Still, that works. Let me test you instead.”

“First, the win condition. If I win, you owe me one request. If I lose, I won’t get in your way.”

“That’s not right. That’s not fair at all. If you lose, it’s like nothing happened,” Rexi shot back, hackles up like a cat in rain.

“Heh. All right. Looks like cheap tricks won’t work on you.” Roen didn’t bristle; his smile stayed, smooth as still water.

“You—” Rexi’s anger flared hotter, like being weighed and found light.

Roen shook his head, helpless as a man in soft snow. “Fine, let’s change it. If I lose, I’ll become a drooling fool.”

This time, Rexi found no thorn to catch.

Roen went on. “Now the Duel’s content. Simple as a hammer. Drinking. First one drunk loses.”

“Drinking…?”

“That simple?”

The tavern sank into theater mode. Candlelight winked like fireflies, and the crowd watched with bright, idle eyes; Duels were a spice they sprinkled on dull days.

“Drinking? Hah, just drinking…”

“Not fair.”

Rexi leaned forward, eager as a hound at the slip, but Lucimia spoke before she could bite down.

Roen, Rexi, and the drinkers all turned toward her like sunflowers to light.

Lucimia waited, listening for the rules to bite. Nothing in the air cracked. That meant her interruption didn’t violate the Duel. Even outsiders could nudge the content like wind nudges a sail.

But a nudge wasn’t a grip. You could suggest, not author.

“What’s unfair?” Roen asked with a smile that gleamed like a honed blade.

Rexi glanced at the black‑haired girl, puzzled clouds in her eyes.

“She’s underage, and it’s her first drink. She can’t outdrink you. That breaks fairness.”

Lucimia fell silent, ears pricked for thunder. The room stayed calm. Her words hadn’t tripped any wire.

But it was a lie, a baited hook. As royalty, Rexi surely had sipped before. Lucimia was testing the Duel: could it read a participant’s secrets?

It couldn’t. That meant secrets stayed buried unless your opponent already knew them. If Roen challenged Lucimia to a drinking Duel and didn’t know she held the Devouring Authority, and if the rules didn’t restrict Authority Power, then she could use it freely, like a river running under ice.

She remembered clearly: when she and Auril Dueled, the very first rule was a ban on using Authority Power.

Which meant… cheating was on the table.

Roen’s smile said he’d guessed her angle. “How’s that unfair? Tell you what. I’ll pay for all the drinks. No limit, all on me. That evens it out.”

As his words settled, the long‑sword sigil on the backs of their hands flickered like a star behind thin cloud. The Duel accepted the proposal. It deemed the field fair.

Like that?

Lucimia’s brows lifted. Two things that didn’t touch could still balance a scale. This man had mapped the hidden paths of the Duel like a hunter mapping trails.

She held her tongue.

He clapped, a quick crack of knuckles, and carried on. “Content set. Now for the rules.”

“Rule one: you drain a cup in one go before moving to the next.”

“Rule two: you drink face‑to‑face, and your opponent must see the bottom shine.”

“Rule three: you drink only after the other finishes, unless they can’t drink anymore.”

“Just three rules. Simple as rain. Any objections?”

“Yes.” Lucimia again, her voice calm as a drawn line.

“Oh? Problems again? With rules this simple?” His smile stayed, but a chill crept into his tone like frost at dawn.

“Don’t take it wrong. I’m not nitpicking.” Lucimia let out a slow breath, steam in winter air. “I’m thinking—if you two drink the tavern dry and neither is drunk, who wins?”

“Hm…” Roen’s gaze deepened, a stone sinking through clear water. After a pause he nodded. “Unlikely, but you’re right. We should patch it.”

He turned and snapped his fingers at the counter. “One Rom wine and one golden rum.”

“Uh, right away.” The server nodded. Glass slid across wood with a soft hiss.

One drink shone crimson, like sunset poured into crystal. The other glowed deep gold, like trapped sunlight.

Roen walked to the bar. The crowd opened for him like reeds parting on a river. He sat the high stool and lifted the red. “This is a fruit wine brewed from Rom fruit. Alcohol runs eleven to fourteen percent.”

He set it down and raised the golden. “This is a distilled spirit. Alcohol runs thirty‑seven to fifty percent.”

He placed it back, crossed one leg over the other, and let his foot swing like a pendulum. “We’ll keep score while we drink. Fruit wine adds one point. Distilled adds three. This is a humble tavern; just these two. If we drain them and no one’s drunk, we go by points. How’s that?”

“Agreed.” Lucimia thought a heartbeat, then nodded. “Before we start, I need a moment to plan with her. Don’t forget—she’s underage. This is to keep things fair.”

“Sure.” Roen couldn’t very well refuse; he spread his hands like a man stepping back from the board.

Lucimia took Rexi’s arm and drew her close, like sheltering a candle from wind. “Have you drunk before?”

“Not in any memory…”

Lucimia frowned, a crease like a blade’s edge. “Then why were you acting fearless?”

“Well… you can’t lose the momentum!” Rexi scratched her head, sheepish as a fox caught mid‑prowl.

“…Fine.” Lucimia sighed, resolve hard as iron. “You only drink the distilled. Don’t touch the fruit wine.”

“Eh? Really? Why?” Rexi tapped her temple. “I thought I’d start with fruit wine to warm up, then switch to the hard stuff.”

“No. Go straight to distilled. He will too. The distilled stock is limited. The rules only say you must finish one cup before the next. So grab two or three to your side first.”

“Wait, wait, wait, Lucimia.” Rexi hurried to cut in, like tugging a sleeve before a cliff.

“What is it?”

“You’re… that sure we can drink the place dry?”