Metz was very nearly taken aback when the Wolf agreed, but there you go, guess some people did bother with honour. Suited him just fine anyway, his shoddy pistol and knife were no match for the weapons Daniel could apparently summon out of thin air. He took a few steps back and leftward, slowly circling around the fountain that had been behind him, weapons outstretched. 

"Sure, sure."

“Three, two, one.” He chucked his weapons nonchalantly into the fountain, listening to them clatter down on dry stonework. Good riddance, the things wouldn’t be doing him any favours against the elemental anyway. They had served him better than they would in battle by hopefully forcing Daniel to discard his own tools. Of course, he could always be tricking Metz. But he had come a long way for this fight. Was he going to cheapen his potential victory by defeating Metz while he was disadvantaged? 

Had this been a fight to the death for real stakes Metz would have done just the same to Daniel in a fucking heartbeat. But that was neither here nor there. They were just two people trying to discern who was the best, or something like that. Honestly, Metz was pretty sure he was just clinging to any excuse to be powerful again, to waste his precious supply of mana in such a fight was foolish at best but addiction was a powerful motivator, and the Manaless mage was in every sense an addict. Addicted to mana, addicted to power, there were worse things to crave, but not many.

“Alright then, I’m sure you remember what happens next.” Metz quipped, sweeping a blue vial off his belt and flipping off the lid. “Bottoms up!”