“You insane?” The burly man stared at Roen, eyes wide like an ox under lightning.

“No choice. I won’t turn into an idiot. I can’t lose the Duel. You won’t trade. So I’ll Duel you.” Roen spread empty hands like bare branches.

Meanwhile, Rexi couldn’t sit still, heart fluttering like a trapped sparrow.

She looked to Lucimia. Lucimia only shrugged, a leaf drifting on calm water, eyes cool.

Because her Storage Ring still held a nest of drinking glasses, stacked like quiet moons.

Her face stayed flat as stone. Roen’s move gave her another candle of intel—during a Duel, you can start a fresh Duel like a spark catching dry twigs.

“Since you challenge us, don’t blame us,” the burly man said, clouds gathering on his brow. “We set the terms of the Duel.”

Roen laughed twice, like pebbles skipping a pond. “You’re wrong. I set the terms. I’m one man against a crowd. By fairness, I pick the rules.”

As he spoke, the longsword sigil on his hand flared like a coal, and [Duel] acknowledged his claim like a drumbeat in fog.

“What?!” The burly man jolted, color draining like rain from canvas, and the others barked at Roen like crows.

“Fine,” the burly man said, voice like iron on stone. “If any one of us wins, you lose.”

“Sure. But I won’t lose.” Roen stood like a stake set against a tide.

Lucimia didn’t rush. She wanted to see how he’d play, netting fish of intel in a dark river.

As Roen said he wouldn’t lose, Lucimia felt Rexi wouldn’t either; she’d planted countermeasures like seeds before rain.

Roen didn’t even think. “The Duel is coin-guessing,” he said, words clipped like a blade.

“Wait!” Rexi cut in, a flare like a whip crack.

“What?”

“What about our Duel?” Rexi’s mood went dark, waves chopping. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not breaking rules.” Roen lifted his hands again, palms clean as snow. “There’s no time limit, and it’s my turn to drink. I can do other things. The rules don’t forbid it. You didn’t say it was unfair. Set rules won’t change midstream.”

“You—” Rexi choked, anger a knot in her throat like thorny vines.

Roen turned from Rexi and addressed the patrons, voice ringing like a coin on wood. “Coin guess is simple. Heads or tails. Call it, win it. Fair?”

“That… works.” They nodded, like reeds agreeing with wind. Luck felt like a blindfolded goddess.

“Good.” Roen slapped a gold coin on the table, a sun on old oak.

“Rule one: we guess one by one,” he said, laying stones in a line.

“Rule two: declare your call before the toss,” he added, like tying a knot tight.

“Rule three: you guess first,” he said, handing them the river’s first crossing.

“Rule four: you do the toss,” he said, giving them the wind and the throw.

“Rule five: no magic,” he finished, a seal like wax cooling.

“Win-lose is simple. I win, you give me your glasses. I lose, I pay each of you fifty silvers.” His smile glinted like frost.

“No problem.”

“Same here.” The patrons thought, then nodded, like lanterns lighting one by one.

“Great. Who’s first?”

“Me.” The burly man stepped up, boots thudding like drums.

Roen tossed him the coin, a sun arc through dim air. “You toss. Call your face first.”

“Heads.” The burly man caught it, then flicked it high, clean as a hawk taking wing.

The coin rose over their heads, spinning like a fallen star. It hung, then plunged like rain.

Lucimia watched Roen with interest, eyes a quiet lake. She wanted to see how he’d win this Duel.

The coin bounced on the tabletop, dancing like a grasshopper, then spun in place, a small whirlpool, and finally steadied like a resting leaf.

As the burly man leaned in to see the face, a low hum rolled in Lucimia’s ear like a hive awakening.

Vmmm—

The whole world froze, a river turned to glass under moonlight.

Roen strode to the table, steps long as a hunting cat’s. He checked the upturned face, then flipped the coin to the other side, soft as a breeze turning a page. He walked back to his mark, shadow calm.

“Heh. Does that count as cheating?” Lucimia crossed her arms, gaze sharp as a pin.

Roen turned at her voice, smiled like a fox. “It does, and it doesn’t. The rules didn’t ban it.”

“And you don’t freeze under the Halt. No wonder that guy went missing. Did you kill him?” Her words fell like light snow.

Lucimia didn’t wait for his answer. She walked to Rexi, tapped her shoulder like a bell, and pulled her out of the stillness.

“Wow, you’re downright sneaky, using cheat tricks like that!” Rexi pointed at Roen, temper flaring like a torch.

“Told you. The rules don’t forbid it.” Roen lifted his hands, calm as winter sky.

Lucimia looked at Roen. “This isn’t your power. Who’s the Time Halt user? Where are they?” Her tone was a winter stream, clear and cold.

“I can’t tell you.” Roen shook his head, a shutter closing.

“No problem.” Lucimia nodded, easy as drifting smoke. She drew a heap of glasses from her Storage Ring, a pile like crystal fruit, and filled each with wine, red as dusk.

That’s why she stored glasses instead of using Devouring; she’d guessed this storm would break across the roof.

“All right. Continue.” Lucimia walked back to the rear and leaned on the wall, a willow at ease.

Roen said nothing, a dark cloud gathering on his face. Even if he won every glass here, it was dust beside Lucimia’s sudden hill of cups.

He thought, then spoke hard, like flint. “You’re playing an off-field Duel.”

“Aren’t you?” Lucimia shot back, words swift as arrows. “Your Time Halt user hides outside, freezing time at the right beat. That’s off-field too.”

“In that case… I’ll keep playing off-field. I’ll have people send in a mountain of wine and cups. How do you answer that? I own a winery. You don’t.” Roen didn’t stand now. He drifted to the bar and took his high stool, voice a storm rumbling over black waves.

Lucimia didn’t care. “If you could do that, you wouldn’t need to tell me,” she said, light as morning fog.

Silence folded over Roen, heavy as wet cloth.

Lucimia went on. “I don’t doubt you have a winery. You could bring cups. The rules don’t forbid that. But you can’t bring wine in. The rules banned it.” Her eyes were clear lanterns.

“Banned?” Rexi blinked, lost in the eddies. She rewound the rules in her head like string, and found no line that said outside wine was barred.

“Who banned it?” Rexi asked, tilting her head like a sparrow.

“I did,” Lucimia said, simple as a plucked note.

“Ah?” Rexi let out Desty’s kind of yelp, bright as a struck bell. She thought a moment, quick as a skipping stone, and saw it.

“Hiss—You mean that rule about what happens when the tavern’s wine runs out?”

“Exactly.” Lucimia’s voice was a needle stitching silk. “I asked what we do when the tavern runs dry. That implies we can only drink tavern wine. If outside wine counted, this points Duel would fall apart.”

“And Roen agreed. So the rule stands like a gate.”

Roen listened, his face turning iron-blue like a stormy sea. He said nothing, lips sealed like a coffin.

He knew he’d lost. He didn’t need to drink to taste the ending, bitter as dregs.