Wizard: Starting from the Skill Tree

Andre stood half a step behind him, noticing Duke’s naturally unfriendly gaze, but with Audric present, he said nothing.

Duke stood still, without speaking.

Audric turned around, his pale golden vertical pupils staring at Duke, with no anger, no hostility, only a deeper emotion.

Like a beast cornered, reassessing its prey.

"Duke." His voice was steady, without fluctuation.

"Audric." Duke’s tone was equally calm.

The two stared at each other for a few moments, the bushes beside the path occasionally chirping with insects, while distant corridors occasionally had students passing by, but upon seeing Audric, they would detour widely, fearing trouble.

The news of Audric losing to Duke in the mausoleum had already spread, and Duke had become an increasingly mysterious figure in the eyes of everyone.

No one knew how this young wizard from Black Sail defeated Audric, who possessed the Golden Dragon bloodline.

Many were curious about Duke, but he was so low-key, if not in the library, he was holed up in his dormitory.

During this time, many sent invitations, but Duke always declined, citing healing his injuries, unwilling to get entangled in those complicated interpersonal and factional relationships.

The Blood Gold Clan was just one of the many great forces on the Wizard Plane, naturally having opposition.

And Duke, who defeated Audric, naturally became a target for recruitment, as Duke’s presence was itself a disgrace to both Audric and the Blood Gold Clan.

But Duke did not rashly accept those seemingly tempting invitations, knowing that joining a major force like the Blood Gold Clan appeared to provide a great backing, but actually carried infinite risks.

The power struggles in such forces were the most dangerous and brutal, with one always at risk of becoming a pawn in the upper-level’s games.

Duke already had the opportunity to join the Six-Ring Tower, and there was no need to choose these complicated factions.

"You won," Audric said first, "the third level of the test, you won."

His lips curled slightly, but the smile bore no warmth, filled with coldness.

"However, you should be clear, that fight wasn’t one-on-one. Vera, Adrian, and that armored one..."

Duke said nothing.

"I don’t deny your strength," Audric continued, "To withstand my strike among the Level 2 Mages of the Wizard Plane, only a handful could do it. But it wasn’t a fair duel."

He took a step forward, with a certain light burning in his pale golden vertical pupils.

"My noble bloodline doesn’t permit me to lose to someone like you, nor lose in an unfair battle. The reputation of the Blood Gold Clan, the dignity of the Golden Dragon bloodline, I must reclaim personally!"

"Sky Arena," Audric said each word distinctly, "You and I, one-on-one. No others, no traps, no interference. Just the two of us."

Duke was silent for a moment, looking into Audric’s eyes that burned with fighting spirit, then spoke a single word.

"No."

Audric’s pupils constricted slightly, then flared with anger: "What did you say!?"

Duke smiled: "I don’t have time to play your games of dignity. I’m very busy, thank you."

After speaking, he walked around Audric, leaving Audric standing there with a livid expression.

This duel held no benefits for Duke, and regardless of win or loss, it wouldn’t be in his favor.

Having defeated Audric once, Duke was confident in winning again, but if he won again, it might provoke a harsher retaliation from the Blood Gold Clan.

As for intentionally losing... why should he lose when he’s won fair and square, which is why he said he didn’t have time to play such games with Audric.

Audric stared intensely at Duke’s departing figure, a different glint in his eyes.

After a moment of silence, he turned and left without a word, with Andre following closely.

...

Six-Ring Tower, top floor.

There were no stairs, no teleportation arrays, no way for mortals to reach this space.

Only the power of rules could touch this place, and only those with profound understanding of spatial rules could gaze upon it.

Albert sat on a simple stone chair.

He appeared very old.

Not the decay of decrepitude, but the ancientness of having weathered countless ages, distilled to its essence.

All hair white, with white locks reaching to the waist, beard down to the chest, every strand woven like silver.

His visage was lean, skin lined finely, but his eyes showed no signs of age.

They were eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of planes, understood the essence of rules.

Not sharp, not deep, not intimidating, just peacefully present, like a windless lake, reflecting the whole world.

Albert wore a gray-white robe, without any decoration, without any pattern, not even a button, just a plain cloth belt at his waist.

If he were sitting by the street, no one would give him a second glance.

But he held a book.

The book wasn’t large, about the size of two adult palms joined together, its cover made from a material Duke had never seen before.

It was a substance between entity and energy, flowing with a dark golden light.

The cover bore no text, only concentric patterns spreading outward, like ripples, like rings of a tree, like some eternal revolving rule.

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