“You… you’re that sure we can finish the booze?” Doubt curled in Rexi’s chest, with a prickle of fear, like frost on water. Lucimia felt ahead of the moment, and that scared her.
The girl’s voice was steady, a blade set true—not seeming, but certain.
“Mm. We can.”
Rexi wavered, her breath thin as thread. “I don’t think I can finish. What if I get drunk?”
Lucimia cut her a sideways look, fingers pressing Rexi’s arm like a quick seal. “Drink. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, then I’m really drinking. You won’t trick me, right?” Rexi drifted toward the bar like a cautious cat.
“Relax.”
Lucimia picked a spot and sat, calm as still water.
Rexi reached the counter. Only one seat remained, and someone slid aside like a reed in wind to let her in.
She climbed onto the high stool and met Roen’s eyes, two flints striking.
“Ready?”
“Yeah. Let’s begin.”
Roen clenched a fist; his knuckles tapped the bar, a metronome of intent. “Then, the Duel begins.”
The glyphs on the backs of their hands lit like embers, announcing the Duel.
At the same time, the tavern flooded like a tide. Word of a Duel pulled bodies in; everyone crammed close for a show.
In a blink the place was packed. Some hung over the second-floor rail like gulls. Others sat on the stairs like stones. The tavern swelled, hive-busy.
“Who’s winning?”
“Probably the man. The girl looks like she’s never touched booze, and she’s underage. It’s not quite fair, but he said he’d pay, so he slipped the rules.”
“I know that guy—well, not know. I’ve seen him in several taverns. He can drink.”
“Then he’ll win.”
“Yeah.”
While the crowd buzzed, the server hoisted a whole barrel onto the counter and set out several glasses. He poured a fruit wine, then a distilled spirit.
Fruit wine to the left; distilled spirit to the right. Two stars on a tray.
Rexi watched Roen to see which he’d take. Just as Lucimia had said, Roen’s first glass was the spirit.
Roen lifted it a touch, a silent signal like a raised flag, then downed it in one clean fall. He flipped the empty; no drip. He set it down and smiled at Rexi.
“Three points,” he said, calm as iron.
Rexi still hesitated, her pulse flickering. Spirits or not? But Roen moved as foretold, and Lucimia had promised. That felt like a lantern in fog.
Holding her momentum like a banner, she snapped her fingers and told the server, “Pour me five rums first.”
“Uh… what?” The server stalled, a deer in torchlight.
“Hiss—maybe the girl can drink?” The crowd rustled, leaves in wind.
“Not sure. Might be bravado.”
“True.”
Most still bet against Rexi. Roen, though, frowned, a crease like a cut. He glanced toward Lucimia’s chair—and found the black-haired girl gone, vanished like a shadow.
“Make it five, hurry. The rules don’t say no,” Rexi pushed, voice crisp as chalk.
“Right.” The server hurried and poured five.
Roen leaned in fast. “Pour me six. Now.”
“Uh.”
“Move!”
“I’ll grab more glasses.” The server hustled away, steps quick as sparrows.
Roen grew taut, his leg bouncing like a drumstick. His knuckles beat the bar, and a cold premonition slipped in like a draft.
The server returned with only three glasses and an apologetic bow. “Sorry, only three left. Didn’t think we’d run out. Maybe it’s the crowd tonight?”
Roen’s smile fell, replaced by a weight like a stone sinking in a well.
“Uh… do you still want them?” the server asked, careful as a cat near water.
Roen exhaled long, steam from a kettle, and forced one word. “Yes.”
“Got it.” The server filled Roen four glasses of rum, adding to the one he’d already downed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Roen caught Lucimia back at her spot. This time she didn’t sit; arms folded, she leaned on the wall like a dark willow.
Where did she go just now?
Did she… hide all the tavern’s glasses?
Damn. The rules don’t forbid it. She just arrived, and she’s already prying at loopholes. Who is she, to be that sharp?
What now? Call cheating? But proof? With no proof, they’ll rule me lost…
No way out…
Roen’s mood sank, a cloud low over the sea. He turned to Rexi. “Your turn.”
He could only hope she’d get drunk. As for himself? No chance. He was a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t.
Rexi lifted the glass with care. The amber liquor glowed like sunset; the scent rose warm, caramel drifting like smoke. It smelled lovely.
She wavered, trust flickering like a lantern, then chose Lucimia. She grit her teeth and poured the rum in. Not all at once—half a glass first.
Gold rum felt rich, velvet-thick. The aftertaste held a touch of sweet, but the alcohol loomed larger, a wave rushing her head, spinning her a little.
The proof was high, a steep step at the gate for Rexi.
But the dizziness lasted less than a heartbeat. The next beat, it blew away like mist.
“Huh?” Rexi froze, eyes wide, a startled fawn.
A second later, understanding dawned like pale light. Now she knew why Lucimia had told her to drink without fear.
Lucimia had quietly laid Devouring Authority on her like a hidden cloak. Maybe the other side didn’t know Devouring Authority worked this way.
The Duel rules didn’t mention it, and it broke no line.
With that, Rexi settled, her presence sharpening like a drawn blade. She finished the remaining half in one smooth swallow.
“Your turn.” She tipped the empty toward Roen, clear as a bell, then grabbed another pour quick, afraid the booze would dry up.
Roen’s face darkened further, cloudbank thick. He couldn’t tell if Rexi had faked being new. He saw no first-timer’s flinch.
The other patrons chirped on, a flock on a wire.
“She doesn’t look like it’s her first. Maybe she played weak, cried fairness, and made the man pay.”
“Bold move. This rum isn’t meant to be slammed. We usually sip, talk, gnaw some meat. Chugging like that takes spine.”
Leaning on the wall, Lucimia blinked slow, cool as moonlight. Seeing Roen stall, she confirmed one thing.
The Time Stasis Bearer didn’t know Lucimia, and didn’t understand Devouring Authority.
Otherwise he would’ve said it at once: No Authority Power allowed.
Even so, the Duel’s ban only forbids Rexi from using it. It never said Lucimia couldn’t.
