Trinity of Magic

"Ladies an' gentlemen, th' moment ye’ve all been waitin’ fer has finally arrived! Th' annual brewin’ competition is about t’ begin. Only th' worthiest among us can rise t’ th’ challenge an’ stand tall in this legendary contest!"

The announcer's voice thundered through the lively crowd, cutting through the festive atmosphere like a hammer striking an anvil. His booming declaration commanded immediate attention, shaking the very air.

The stocky dwarf spoke into a strange contraption held to his mouth, a device clearly designed to project his voice—but in a most peculiar way. Instead of amplifying his words, the sound didn’t seem to come from the device at all. Instead, it reverberated throughout the hall as if dozens of identical dwarfs were hidden in the walls, repeating his words in flawless unison.

The effect was mesmerizing—and overwhelming. His voice easily drowned out the collective clamor of thousands, leaving no doubt that the event had truly begun.

"As usual," the announcer continued, his tone now much softer, yet still commanding enough to hold the attention of the hushed hall, "I’ll begin by explainin’ th' rules—fer those joinin’ us fer th' first time… an’ fer our guests."

At his words, numerous eyes turned toward the scattered clusters of humans and elves mingled throughout the hall. Some gazes brimmed with genuine curiosity, but others were laced with open disdain. Zeke didn’t need to guess why. The dwarfs likely resented the outsiders who attended the event not for its traditions or camaraderie but to forge connections and advance their own agendas, diluting the spirit of the gathering.

Once again, he felt relieved by his decision to compete rather than merely spectate. Judging by the sharp glares from the larger families, they had nothing but contempt for those who stood on the sidelines. His goal would have been virtually impossible to achieve if he was among them.

"First off, let me make this clear," the announcer declared, his tone firm and uncompromising. "Only those who ain't reached th' level o' Unification may enter th' contest. Th' reason fer this should be obvious t’ all but th' most stubborn fools. Second, it’s forbidden t’ use any kind o' artifacts, trinkets, or other outside means durin' th' competition…"

Many of the older dwarfs barely glanced up, their expressions bored as if they had heard these words dozens—if not hundreds—of times before. In contrast, the younger and less experienced members of the audience leaned forward, their attention fixed on every word.

Zeke was firmly among the latter. He wouldn’t squander the opportunity to learn the competition’s rules inside and out. If he intended to bend or break them later, he needed to understand them better than anyone else. After all, the most successful cheaters were always those who knew the law better than the most diligent enforcer.

However, he soon found himself baffled by the simplicity of the rules. The competition essentially boiled down to just a few guidelines:

“Below Archmage level. No artifacts. No outside help. And no attacking your competitors.”

Surprisingly straightforward for an event of such prestige. They hadn’t even said a single word about the use of Magic, confusing Zeke greatly. Had Varek lied to him or was there something else he was not aware of?

After that brief introduction, the host wasted no time ushering the competitors onto the stage. Around him, dwarves began moving into position, and Zeke quickly followed suit. Thanks to his height, he stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of stocky figures. It was clear that a human competing in this event was a rare sight, as more and more spectators began to take notice of him.

His Sphere of Awareness allowed him to catch their mutterings, even those spoken in hushed tones:

"Is that a human lad?"

"Look at that hair—like his head’s on fire."

"How long d'ye think that beanstalk’s gonna last?"

"Some folk really don’t know whats good for em."

"I bet th' lad collapses after a single sip."

"He looks so young—not even a proper beard. Ye think he’ll be fine?"

Though Zeke wasn’t the only human competing, the others blended in far more seamlessly. Many had the stocky builds and rugged appearances of those who had clearly spent years living among the dwarves. In contrast, Zeke’s flashy crimson hair and fair skin made him stand out like a beacon. It was no surprise that so many eyes were drawn to him—he was an anomaly among both his fellow humans and the dwarves. ṙäƝОΒĘŝ

Zeke didn’t mind the attention—in fact, he welcomed it. He was here to make an impression, and if his height and heritage helped him stand out, so be it. As for the less flattering remarks? He’d let his performance do the talking soon enough.

Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Zeke strode confidently alongside the other competitors into the competition area. The space was a semicircular amphitheater, open on one side to face the larger hall. Unlike traditional stages meant for theatrical performances, this one was designed so every contestant was fully visible to the larger audience, amplifying the pressure and the spectacle.

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The first arrivals took their seats along the amphitheater’s lowest tier, proudly displaying themselves for the cheering crowd. Zeke scanned the competitors, noting several faces from Varek’s earlier rumors. While he didn’t recognize most of them, small floating nameplates hovering beside the more prominent figures caught his attention. Akasha, ever diligent, had already identified many key players. The spirit had been working tirelessly, monitoring conversations and gathering critical intel for Zeke’s plans. Now, that effort was paying off.

There they were—the evening’s main attractions.

Drogar Ironhide and Eldrin Stormshield.

The two rivals had claimed seats in the front row, separated by only a few feet. Despite their proximity, neither acknowledged the other, each seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Around them, a noticeable gap had formed; none of the other competitors dared sit too close, likely wary of getting entangled in their legendary feud. The tension between them was palpable, a storm waiting to break, and Zeke couldn’t help but feel a spark of anticipation.

Zeke smirked. He couldn’t have asked for a better stage. With confident strides, he bypassed the hesitant dwarfs, heading straight for the duo at the center of attention. His approach went largely unnoticed—until he stopped directly between them. Without hesitation, he lowered himself into the narrow space, almost brushing against both of their shoulders as he squeezed in as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Two heads turned in unison. Both young dwarfs stared at him, their expressions a blend of confusion, amusement, and annoyance.

"I think ye've made a mistake, friend," said Drogar, the dwarf to his left. "This ain’t th' place fer ye."

Eldrin, seated to his right, was far less diplomatic. ‘Leave,’ he barked curtly, turning his gaze back to the front as if dismissing him entirely.

But Zeke remained unfazed. If anything, his grin grew wider. Now that he’d claimed the prime spot, there was no chance he was moving. This was the center of attention, where all eyes would naturally drift—and it was exactly where he intended to stay.

“There is no mistake, young Ironhide,” Zeke replied smoothly, ignoring Eldrin’s curt dismissal entirely. “I came here deliberately, fully aware of who you both are.”

Drogar frowned, clearly weighing his response, but Eldrin didn’t give him the chance. “If ye really know, then why’re ye butting in?” he snapped. “This is a fight 'twixt me an' that bastard—not somethin' ye can interfere with.”

Zeke turned to his right for the first time, meeting Eldrin’s glare with a calm, unwavering gaze. “I have no interest in your feud,” he stated firmly. “I came here because I’ve heard the two of you are held in high regard among your people. I wanted to see how the younger generation of dwarfs compares to us humans.”

Eldrin blinked, visibly taken aback by the response. For a moment, he was silent, and Drogar seized the opening. Unlike his rival, his tone was measured, almost cordial. “We are indeed held in some esteem,” he said. “But do ye really have th' qualifications t’ represent yer kind against us? I, fer one, 'ave never 'eard o' a mage with yer... particular characteristics among th' human elite.”

His eyes flicked briefly to Zeke’s striking crimson hair, a subtle hint of skepticism in his gaze.

Zeke turned back to the dwarf on his left, a glint of amusement sparking in his eyes. Drogar was clearly the more cunning of the two. Instead of outright dismissing Zeke’s challenge, he had framed the refusal as conditional. In essence, if Zeke turned out to be a nobody, he wouldn’t be worth their time. But if Zeke was someone of importance, Drogar’s measured response ensured he wouldn’t appear overly dismissive or rude.

It was a surprisingly diplomatic move, especially for a dwarf, prompting Zeke to reevaluate the young scion sitting before him.

“Ezekiel of Tradespire,” Zeke said, his tone calm yet deliberate.

“Ezekiel, ye say...” Drogar repeated, his voice tinged with skepticism. His expression faltered, and it was clear he was quickly losing interest in the human who had so boldly forced his way into their midst.

“Let me try that again,” Zeke continued, unfazed by the growing hostility emanating from his two competitors. “I’m Ezekiel of Tradespire—Disciple of Maximilian von Hohenheim, youngest human Grand Mage in history, and the soon-to-be next Merchant Lord of Tradespire.”

Both dwarfs froze, their expressions betraying a mix of disbelief and shock. Each of those titles carried significant weight across the continent, but hearing all three attributed to a single individual left them momentarily speechless. Zeke’s grin widened as he alternated his gaze between them. “So, Ironhide,” he said, his voice brimming with confidence. “Am I fit to compete against the two of you?”

Drogar remained silent, his head bowed as if deep in thought. Eldrin, however, was far less composed. The irritation he had momentarily suppressed surged back to the surface. “Qualified or not,” Eldrin snapped, his tone sharp, “this here’s a drinkin' contest, not somethin' a human can hope t' excel in. Best ye get lost before ye embarrass yerself.”

Zeke met Eldrin’s glare with a calm, steady gaze. “The elimination round comes first, doesn’t it? If what you’re saying is true, I won’t be around long enough to bother you. Why not wait and see?”

Eldrin snorted, crossing his arms in irritation but refrained from continuing the argument. He seemed content to let the natural order settle things. After all, the idea of a human holding their own against a dwarf in a drinking contest was laughable. Dwarves were built of sterner stuff, their bodies hardened by years of rugged living and an early introduction to strong brews. It wasn’t worth the effort to exchange more words with someone bound to fail.

Drogar, however, maintained a more measured demeanor. Though he likely shared Eldrin’s sentiments, his response was far more diplomatic. “Very well, young Mage,” he said with a nod. “Let’s compete fair an' square. I 'ope ye manage t’ surprise us again.”

With the matter settled, Zeke leaned back in his seat. The curved stone bench was far from comfortable, but he felt a sense of satisfaction with his progress. He had successfully forced his way onto the main stage of the night’s event, and now everything rested on his performance. His preparations were complete; there was no more time for strategizing.

As Varek had said, it was now a straightforward contest: man against man, liver against liver. Fortunately, Zeke had every reason to trust in the strength of his body. Now came the moment of truth—testing his resilience against the legendary iron-bellied constitution of the dwarves.

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