"How's your side, Julius?"
Marcellus didn't look over as he spoke. His blade was already opening another High Councilor's throat, the motion smooth enough that he could turn his wrist and let the next beam of light glance harmlessly away from the edge.
The High Council were elite light mages, the finest the church could gather. Under any other sky, that might have been enough.
But they were facing the crown prince and the emperor's bastard son, two of the most gifted light mages the age had produced, and titles and training meant little in the space between breaths.
"Simple enough."
Julius answered without much feeling. Four councilors already lay at his feet; not one had managed to touch him. In sheer magical power he couldn't hope to match Marcellus, and they both knew it.
But when it came to the rhythm of a fight, to reading another mage's intent and turning it against them, there was no comparison.
Julius won by a landslide.
