The Durnholde Orcs Gladiator Arena, the Gurubashi Arena in Stranglethorn Vale, and the Dire Maul Ogre Arena are collectively known as the three great gladiatorial arenas of Azeroth.
It's not uncommon for Orcs to become gladiators, but only in Durnholde are the gladiators predominantly Orcs. Due to the influence of the Peace Dove, only Lieutenant Blackmoore dares to openly train Orcs.
It was a sunny day, and the stands in the Arena were packed with people.
The weather was perfect for gladiatorial combat; the strong liquor ignited the faces of the spectators, and from Blackmoore's simple awnings, one could see the private boxes belonging to the Seven Kingdoms families.
Although Lordaeron views Lieutenant Blackmoore as Butcher, Lordaeron's exclusive royal box is the largest, twice the size of the Stormwind City box across the street.
Blackmoore knew that King Terenas had visited more than once to cheer on his favorite gladiators.
However, magic shrouded this area, as if enveloped in a layer of mist, keeping it unknown to outsiders.
It's hard to imagine that Lordaeron, in the midst of a severe famine, would be able to spend large sums of gold on bets.
After Blackmoore took his seat, the enthusiastic voices of the people reached his ears, and Medivh's butler, Moroes, sat beside him.
"Just one last confirmation," Blackmoore said seriously. "Ashkandi, is he really strong enough? Today is his special day; I've arranged ten consecutive gladiatorial challenges for him."
Moroes smiled and said, "What's the limit for others, for Ashkandi, hmph, it's just a warm-up."
Blackmoore frowned deeply, pondered for a long time, and said, "If his strength is terrifying, I hope he can make it look difficult. For example, if Medivh personally steps into the ring, he can certainly win easily, but it will definitely not be exciting. A one-sided crushing victory will not interest the audience."
"You need a great performance?" Moroes smiled with satisfaction. "I can see you've put a lot of effort into it. I'll arrange it right away."
Moroes went down to give some instructions, returned quickly, and nodded to Blackmoore.
Gladiators are usually unruly, and it's rare to find one who is reasonable. Blackmoore is looking forward to this spectacular performance.
A commotion arose in the stands, but it quickly subsided. Blackmoore knew that a member of the royal family from Seven Kingdoms had arrived and entered his private box.
"Who is it?" Blackmoore asked.
The female Adjutant glanced down and said, "King Gilneas."
Blackmoore laughed and cursed, "That cunning old bastard, he's cursed me countless times as an ungrateful villain, yet he's more enthusiastic about gladiatorial combat than anyone else."
Following this, members of the royal families of the Seven Kingdoms arrived one after another, and even in the usually empty Alterac box, several pairs of eyes were fixed on the Arena.
What's remarkable is that King Terenas and King Varian personally attended, and to avoid attracting attention, they used magic to teleport directly to their private boxes.
Blackmoore glanced at Moroes, who smiled faintly and said, "This is all at Medivh's request."
With King Terenas, Varian, and Greymane all present, it was impossible for Ashkandi not to cause a sensation.
Suddenly, gasps erupted from the audience; a woman's scream mingled with a man's gasp, drawing everyone's attention.
Blackmoore looked toward the entrance to the stands and saw a group of exquisitely dressed guards lined up in neat rows. Under the ornate parasols, a handsome young man with brilliant blond hair walked into the stands with a confident smile, and his long ears told everyone that he was an Elf.
"Prince Kael'thas." Blackmoore took a deep breath.
From the perspective of the High Elves of Silvermoon City, the fighting was a savage and bloody massacre, something they would avoid at all costs. Who would have thought that Prince Kael'thas would come to visit in such a grand manner?
Without a doubt, it must have been Medivh's request.
"I didn't prepare a seat for him," Blackmoore said with a wry smile, and could only order the guards to clear out a space specifically for Kael'thas and his party.
The gladiatorial combat officially began, initially as a warm-up match.
The two young Orcs who appeared were newcomers to the gladiator competition. The battle was not particularly intense, and after only a few rounds, one of the Orcs had his right arm severed.
Then came the formal gladiatorial combat. An iron cage rose in the center of the arena, and the breathing of the people gradually became heavy and labored.
The Goblin host shouted at the top of his lungs:
"A spectacular cage duel, no one can escape, only Bloodlust slaughter. Retreat means death. Rejoice! Let us welcome the cruel king of killers, the terrifying gladiator who once killed one hundred and thirty Orcs, the Invincible Dark Lord, the Tauren gladiator Homan Ironhoof."
A robust, black-haired Tauren stepped into the iron cage, wielding a giant, blood-red scythe. The scythe, made entirely of metal, was exceptionally heavy; Tauren were among the few races capable of wielding such a heavy weapon.
Homan Ironhoof, shirtless, raised his scythe and cheered to the audience, having once had a glorious record of defeating five Orcs.
Blackmoore smiled slightly and said, "Homan Ironhoof is the political enemy of the Tauren Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof. A few days ago, Cairne Bloodhoof sent me a large sum of gold coins and told me that he must die. I must remind you that he is extremely powerful. Even Cairne Bloodhoof was no match for him when he was young."
Moroes said casually, "All bark and no bite; not worth considering."
"Now, please welcome today's challenger, Ashkandi, the Wilderness Hunters of Darkshire."
The Goblin host choked, unsure how to continue. Then, two figures, one large and one small, appeared at the other entrance of the iron cage.
"Why are there two?" Blackmoore was confused.
Moroes said with difficulty, "Ashkandi insists on bringing his brothers along."
Blackmoore muttered, "Why didn't you say so sooner? It would have greatly diminished the excitement."
The Goblin host reacted quickly, adding, "Ashkandi, and his slaves, the gladiatorial combat begins! Rejoice, for who will be the ultimate victor!"
Ashkandi remained calm, unsheathed the red greatsword from his back and handed it to Aiguleiya, then walked empty-handed towards the Tauren Homan Ironhoof.
"What am I seeing?" the Goblin host shrieked. "Having given up on confronting the terrifying Dark Lord bare-handed?"
Homan Ironhoof hooves slammed into the ground, roaring deeply. The cage was cramped, barely enough to maneuver, making it ideal for heavy weapons like scythes.
Ashkandi, oblivious to the danger, stepped forward. Homan Ironhoof a mocking smile, swung his scythe and lunged at Ashkandi.
The blood-red scythe was like a surging wave, but Ashkandi remained calm, simply dodging. Each time, the scythe just barely passed him, like a stubborn lone boat in Gale, always standing firm.
The cheers from the audience were deafening. Homan Ironhoof seemed to have an absolute advantage, but he knew that all his moves had been seen through by his opponent.
As his strength was greatly depleted, Homan Ironhoof's breathing became increasingly heavy, and his metal scythe grew heavier and heavier.
Seeing this, Ashkandi stepped forward, and the distance between the two quickly closed.
This is a dangerous distance. Although the heavy scythe is not suitable for close combat, the Tauren are not only skilled with weapons.
Sure enough, Homan Ironhoof threw away his scythe, his eyes turned bloodshot, his hair stood on end, and he let out a deafening roar as he lunged at Ashkandi.
"Interesting, even Tauren can go berserk," Moroes chuckled. "That'll make his death more dignified."