The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

Thousands of spectators had gathered at the Green Valley arena to witness the triennial brewing competition. The competing alchemists had gathered from all over Sigil kingdom to secure a contract with the 3 big institutions of the kingdom that paid generously for potions. It was also a chance to get spotted by scouts looking to hire for their businesses and guilds.

This year, people were shocked to see a young boy among the participants. Barely 13 years old by the look of him. How he had the fortune to receive the ticket instead of his older family members, who were no doubt more experienced, made them glare at him in envy. More so the ones who had tried and failed at buying a spot in the competition. 200 tickets, 200 alchemists. 100 tickets were reserved for the big wigs and the other 100 had been sold openly to the public. Syryn had no idea how lucky he was.

Amongst the audience stood two tall teenage boys, both strikingly good looking and unmistakable in their auras. They were garbed in matching grand black uniforms that were embroidered with silver threads. It distinguished them as belonging to the elite Winter Fortress Academy. The crowd around them paid attention to their identities and gave no small amount of respect to the duo. Whispers around them were already spreading the word, Rowan and Vincent were here.

"Rowan, I heard Lillith is doing the honours this year. Is that why we're here?" Vincent asked his blonde companion. Out of the two, Rowan was taller only by a cm. Vincent made up for it with his unruly mass of hair that no gel so far could tame. Vincent's gold eyes observed a kid much younger than them amongst the crowd of adult alchemists.

"She is? That's news to me. I'm here to find a suitable replacement for Tia." Rowan replied after a beat.

Vincent frowned at Rowan's words. "Is Tia retiring?"

"Going on a journey. She was very specific that I find a replacement soon."

Rowan hated most potions. He had no idea why but the generic formulae never suited his taste buds. Some alchemists spun their own versions of the existing potions and sometimes they were palatable to Rowan. However, he had come to find that Tia's potions were the least repulsive to him. It wasn't just the recipe that lent to a potion's taste. An individual Alchemist's magic, knowledge and timing were all essential to creating a potion that worked as it should, had no side effects and most importantly, tasted good.

As an anti mage, Rowan heavily relied on potions for his well being. He needed to find a suitable replacement as soon as possible. But from his experience tasting potions across the city, Rowan did not have high hopes for another Tia.

"That boy has guts." Vincent idly commented.

Rowan's cerulean eyes barely stopped on the young boy before moving on to the other participants.

"Salem is here too. His potions taste like death."

Rowan grimaced at seeing the person whose potion had nearly made him throw up. Salem was one of the youngest master alchemists. Adept at reverse engineering new potions, his knowledge of ingredients surpassed any of those in his generation. Suffice to say, his brews were potent in their purity. Salem had the best chances of winning the competition and It didn't bode well for Rowan.

"There's Lillith. She's looking at you." Vincent, the wingman, pointed it out not so subtly.

"I'm trying to appear inconspicuous, Vincent. Stop drawing attention to us." Rowan communicated without turning in the direction that Vincent indicated. As much as Rowan despised it, his gleaming head of gorgeous gold hair was like a beacon to anyone looking for him in a crowd.

Syryn glanced around at the grown-ups who were looking at him askance. They were all thinking the same thing.

"Oh look at the little boy. Does he think this is a playground? Your father should have used the ticket's fee to buy some common sense." One of them had the guts to say it out loud after all.

"The first round is easy enough. I hope you get through."

"Are you some sort of a genius? Or are your parents stupid?" A balding man with meaty lips was next to Syryn in the line. His ego was bruised from having to compete with a literal child. "What are they thinking by letting in children here?"

"Hush, it's not our place to say such things. Focus on getting past the first hurdle." Another person added.

They were all each handed a rectangular wooden box. The instructions given by the announcer indicated at a sheet of paper inside the box which had to be pierced in the right circles. The questions were different for each participant and so cheating was out of the question. Under the paper lay a spelled grid that matched the correct answers. Piercing just one wrong circle would lead to the box harmlessly self-destructing. The random nature of distribution assured the participants of fairness in the competition.

This was a quick elimination round that would directly get rid of 150 participants. It was also the most boring round. While the others began answering their questions, Syryn was having a mini-crisis. His hand hovered over the paper without moving for a long time. Many spectators who were curious about him were watching with undisguised glee.

"Does Syryn not know the answer?" Lucien tugged at Magnus' sleeve.

"I'm sure he does kid, give him time." Magnus worriedly replied.

Vincent had also noticed Syryn's dilemma. "He hasn't answered a single question."

Rowan's reply to that was silence. He was having his own crisis watching Salem hand his box over having already completed the trial. If Salem won the contract for Winter Fortress, Rowan would be poisoned to death.

Syryn hadn't studied basic plant theory. It wasn't important given that he was already practising and absorbing the knowledge practically. But right now, he wished he had. The first question was easy but the answers were all technically incorrect.

When you pluck off a ripe crystal fig from its branch, what is the colour of the sap that comes out of it?

A.White B.Off white C.Greyish white D.Yellow

It was actually a porcelain white that turned yellow after exactly 2 seconds of exposure to the air. What were the kids being taught?? what was Syryn to do??

"Participants, please hurry. Only 8 of you remain."

People were staring at Syryn who was frowning at his paper with the intensity of the sun. Old meaty lips slapped his thighs in laughter. It felt good to watch the boy realise that he was out of his depth among true alchemists.

So porcelain white was closest to white, right? Because white was neutral and the rest were different shades of white which meant that it had to be white. How many shades of white were there anyway? Or was this a trick question and the correct answer was actually yellow? Who set this paper? Could he raise his hand in the air so Syryn could pulverise him into meat paste?

"10, 9.." The countdown began. The entirety of the arena, including the other participants and the judges, were all staring at Syryn who still hadn't made a move yet.

During the last 3 seconds, the boy's hand moved like lightning and punched in 12 holes. Bated breaths awaited the sight of self-destruction but it never happened. Syryn smoothly shut the lid of the box and handed it over to the mage who was impatiently waiting for him.

This time, Rowan's gaze lingered on Syryn. He was surprised that the kid had actually cleared the first trial and that too in such an unorthodox way.

"Not bad. Why the hell was he waiting so long for?" Vincent grumbled.

"Congratulations to the 46 competitors who cleared the first trial. The ones who did not make it, please remove yourselves from the grounds."

Salem and Syryn, the youngest competitors, set their sights on each other.