Trinity of Magic

“Look who’s finally back among th’ livin’,” Eldrin’s voice called from the side. “Didn’t think ye’d bounce back so quick after going that pale.”

Drogar nodded in agreement. “Aye, good t’ see ye pulled through. That Stonefist brew ain’t fer th’ faint o’ heart. Ye’re more resilient than I’d expect fer a human.”

Zeke smiled at the compliment, but the reaction it provoked was unexpected. Drogar flinched back, his eyes widening. Zeke stared at him, puzzled, and even Drogar seemed unsure why he’d reacted that way.

“Didn’t notice it before,” Drogar said, his tone somewhere between humor and unease, “but yer smile’s got a wicked edge t’ it—like ye’re thinkin’ o’ takin’ a bite outta me.” The words were meant as a joke, but the faint tremor in the Dwarf’s voice revealed his lingering discomfort.

Zeke instinctively closed his mouth, hiding his incisors. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to the subtle sharpness of his newly transformed teeth. But he suspected there was more to it than just the physical changes. Though he couldn’t sense it himself, he was almost certain a hint of his draconic aura was leaking out—his amulet no longer able to suppress it entirely.

Something else to address—soon.

“Never tried dwarf before,” Zeke quipped, injecting a playful tone into his voice. “But you don’t look too appetizing—too much muscle, not enough fat.”

“Damned right!” Drogar shot back, flexing his massive arms with a grin. His usual confidence returned, and the momentary fear seemed to evaporate.

”Contestants, brace yerselves fer th’ next round,” the announcer’s voice boomed, cutting through the scene. ”Next up is th’ Alewin family wi’ their new Coldfist brew!”

The announcement diverted the dwarves’ attention, sparing Zeke from any further scrutiny.

Before long, another vial was brought out. This one was a striking blue, its contents swirling with an ominous, almost hypnotic pattern. The moment Zeke uncorked it, an unnatural chill seeped into his body, ignoring the barrier of his clothing entirely.

The contestants were allotted another hour, marked by the turning of the massive sand timer.

Zeke eyed the vial cautiously. After his earlier experiences with dwarven brews, he wasn’t about to dive in recklessly. He took a small sip first, testing its effects. Almost immediately, a lazy, mischievous grin spread across his face.

Under the disbelieving stares of Drogar and Eldrin, Zeke tilted his head back and downed the rest of the vial in a single gulp.

The two dwarves stared at him as if they expected his head to explode at any moment. Instead, Zeke smacked his lips in satisfaction and let out a contented burp.

“Not bad,” Zeke remarked with a smirk. “This stuff’s got a pleasantly mild taste.”

The dwarves’ eyes widened in disbelief, nearly bulging from their sockets. They were stunned by the effortless composure with which Zeke had mastered the second challenge. After his struggles in the first round, they must have unconsciously begun to underestimate him. That was a perception Zeke couldn’t allow to linger. He wasn’t just here to participate; he was here to leave a lasting impression. And judging by the murmurs around their section, plenty of spectators were taking notice.

This was the perfect moment to stage his comeback.

Zeke had a good idea of what the Coldfist brew was intended to do—it likely enhanced one’s resistance to cold. But who was Zeke? Having once sipped on the diluted venom of a Progenitor beast, there was little he could gain from whatever formula the Alewin family had concocted. By comparison, their brew, while well-crafted, felt like a refreshing drink rather than a challenge. It was mild—almost pleasant—next to the grueling poisons he had used to temper his body in the past.

Honestly, Zeke wasn’t even trying to put on a brave face—the brew genuinely tasted good. It was exactly what he expected from the Alewin family. Their creations weren’t just alchemical tonics designed to strengthen the body; they were also crafted for leisure, a testament to the dwarves’ talent for combining function with enjoyment. For once, Zeke found himself in a rare position to simply savor the experience.

With a cheeky grin, he turned and winked at Varek Alewin in the crowd. The brewmaster, who had been watching him with eager anticipation ever since his family’s product had been presented, now wore a peculiar expression. Seeing Zeke completely unaffected, Varek seemed oddly... disappointed.

Seizing the opportunity to show off even more, Zeke turned to one of the attendants. “Any chance I could get another serving?” he asked casually.

The dwarf stared at him in disbelief, unsure if Zeke was joking. But when he saw the sincerity in Zeke’s expression, he hesitated before relaying the request to his superiors. After a brief discussion, another vial was brought out.

Zeke didn’t even pause. He tipped the vial back and drank it down as if it were nothing more than water, savoring the cooling sensation as it slid down his throat. However, moments later, the effect faded once more, leaving him wanting more. He turned his gaze back to the attendant with an unmistakable look of expectation.

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The poor dwarf shifted uncomfortably under Zeke’s greedy stare before reluctantly heading back to consult his superiors again. This time, however, Zeke’s request was denied. The Alewin family had caught on—they weren’t about to offer him more free drinks only to watch their prized brew rendered ineffective and their reputation further diminished.

Zeke didn’t mind the refusal. He had already accomplished what he set out to do. By now, even the most inattentive spectator was well aware of his presence. In this round, Zeke had undoubtedly been the most eye-catching participant, outshining even the two dwarven scions seated on either side of him.

It was enough.

For the remainder of the hour, Zeke leaned back and relaxed, occasionally tossing out snarky remarks at Eldrin and Drogar, who were still visibly shivering from the brew’s lingering effects. The atmosphere grew lighter as Zeke’s playful barbs elicited a few chuckles, even from the dwarves. Before he knew it, the hour had flown by, and the contestants were called to regroup.

To Zeke’s surprise, this round had proven far more grueling for the dwarves than the first. The number of participants had dwindled to around thirty—a sharp drop from the nearly eighty who had advanced earlier. It seemed the Coldfist brew had claimed its share of challengers, separating the truly resilient from the rest.

Despite his performance somewhat overshadowing the results, the Alewin family had undeniably proven their skill in this round.

“Listen up, ye hardy bastards! It’s time fer th’ next round!” the announcer’s voice boomed across the hall. “Next up is th’ Hopsgrin family wi’ their Infernofist brew!”

Zeke watched with a mix of curiosity and caution as the attendants presented the new concoction. The liquid inside the vial glowed with an intense, fiery red, flickering like a miniature flame trapped in glass. Its appearance, combined with its name, made its effects easy to guess. This was likely the counterpart to the Coldfist brew, designed to enhance resistance to heat instead of cold.

Uncorking the vial, Zeke was immediately hit by a wave of intense warmth. The sensation was akin to standing too close to a roaring forge, its heat radiating through his entire body. The dwarves, however, seemed unbothered—some even appeared to relish the fiery sensation, their expressions shifting to ones of appreciation and satisfaction.

Just as Zeke was about to test the brew, a deep, resonating voice echoed inside his mind.

“Don’t hesitate,” the Dragon urged.

Zeke paused mid motion. “Are you sure?”

The voice sounded almost mocking as it responded. “What kind of Dragon fears fire, whelp? Go on.”

Trusting Khai’Zar’s words, Zeke decided to replicate his previous action, slamming the brew back like a glass of hot milk on a cold winter day. His bold move once again drew the attention of the crowd.

Many had been watching with eager anticipation, clearly hoping for him to repeat his impressive performance. But now that he had gone through with it, most seemed genuinely surprised by his daring display. They hadn’t expected him to actually follow through.

Zeke felt the liquid slide down his throat, leaving behind a faint heat, similar to the burn of a particularly spicy dish. As it reached his stomach, the warmth quickly spread throughout his entire body, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. The heat was all-encompassing, yet instead of feeling overwhelmed by it, Zeke found it surprisingly pleasant.

Though his mind logically understood that the sensation should be uncomfortable, he couldn’t help but enjoy it. It was like pulling his favorite cozy blanket over himself and settling into a warm bed—a feeling of comfort and relaxation.

Zeke was baffled. He was certain that his body had never reacted to heat this way. This had to be one of the changes from his recent evolution.

Without realizing it, he smiled in contentment. The attendant, who had been watching him cautiously, sighed, already resigned to his fate. Zeke didn’t make him wait long. After savoring the warmth for a moment, he eagerly asked for another dose.

The Hopsgrin family immediately refused Zeke’s request, clearly wary of a repeat performance from the previous round.

This time, Zeke was genuinely disappointed. Unlike in the last round, he actually stood to benefit from this brew, since his heat resistance wasn’t as developed. Yet, there was nothing he could do but blame his past self for showing off too much.

With nothing else to do, Zeke settled in for another long wait, boredom creeping in. But his attention was soon caught by the first contestant dropping out. The dwarf had clearly overestimated himself, taking a large gulp of the brew, possibly hoping to mimic Zeke. However, the result wasn’t pretty—he began to sweat and groan in pain.

Zeke watched as the unfortunate dwarf collapsed from his seat. It wasn’t uncommon to see contestants fall, but his attention wasn’t focused on the fallen dwarf. His gaze was fixed on the vial that had tumbled to the floor beside him. After a moment’s thought, Zeke decided to take a small risk.

With a quick activation of his Magic, Zeke surrounded the vial with a thin layer of Spatial Mana, teleporting it into the sleeve of his robe. His body tensed as he waited for someone to call him out on the act. But despite the long pause, no one said anything.

Zeke let out a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn’t exactly expected to go unnoticed, but it was clear that those powerful enough to detect his actions didn’t care. After all, it was unlikely the already-opened vials would be of any use. In fact, thinking about it that way, Zeke figured he might even be doing the organizers a favor.

At least, that was how he chose to think about it.

For the rest of the hour, Zeke kept an eye out for any contestants dropping out. By the end, he had managed to collect six vials—more than enough to improve his Fire resistance.

A smile tugged at his lips as he considered it. This competition had turned out to be surprisingly beneficial, even without factoring in his main goal. He definitely hadn’t lost anything by coming here.

“…An’ here we have it, th’ contestants who’ve made it t’ th’ final. Give ’em a round o’ applause, everyone!”

Zeke was momentarily startled by the announcer’s voice. He had somehow forgotten they were already in the final round. Looking around, he saw only sixteen of the original one hundred still standing. Drogar and Eldrin were among them, but they looked far worse for wear. Compared to Zeke’s relaxed state, the two dwarfs seemed downright bedraggled.

“All o’ these sixteen are already quite impressive, truly th’ pride o’ our dwarfen kind...” his gaze went to Zeke, and he awkwardly added, ”An’ human kind, I s’pose.” However, his voice regained its spirit in the next moment. “However, as always, there can be only one champion. In this final round, th’ contestants’ll keep drinkin’ till only one o’ ‘em can still stand. Are ye all prepared fer this final showdown?”

The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer as the attendants emerged once more, carrying the final brew. Even Varek had called this one a wildcard, and Zeke believed him. Just looking at the swirling purple concoction sent a shiver down his spine. Whatever the Maltforge family had created, it was clear that this would be unlike anything from the previous rounds.