First Beat My Guards

The scorching sun hung high in the sky, and there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. The calm surface of the lake shimmered with a faint, phosphorescent glow, while a row of shirtless Trolls stood ramrod straight along the shore.

After several years, the power of the Well of Eternity had finally manifested. The group of young Trolls could now stand like humans, no longer hunched or bow-legged. Perhaps it was due to living in such close proximity to the lake, combined with their natural growth, but one could clearly observe subtle differences between them and ordinary Trolls. Indeed, their hands and feet had mutated; they possessed five fingers, just like humans. Their tusks were noticeably shorter and thinner, and their hair appeared finer and smoother, lacking the coarseness of typical Trolls.

They stood there for who knows how long, eyes slightly closed, seemingly absorbing the warmth the lake water bestowed upon them.

Whistle!!! A sharp, piercing whistle shattered the tranquility. "Assemble at the training ground! Watch the duel!" Before the instructor's voice had even faded, the half-grown children sprinted toward the large training field by the hills.

"Who do you think will win today? I'm betting on Maiev. She's been training bitterly ever since she lost last time; I often see her meditating by the lake at night."

"I'm betting on Maiev too. After she lost last time, her expression was completely different—she looked so unwilling to accept it. She's definitely out for revenge today. Falco is going to have a rough time."

"That's not necessarily true. Falco is very diligent, too. He arrives before us for morning lessons every day; no one knows exactly when he gets there."

"Stop guessing, they're here! Wow!! Azar is here too. I've never seen him come before."

"Nonsense, their duels used to be private sparring sessions, but now they've been moved to a regular schedule—once a month. This is the sixth time already. You think it might have caught the attention of the Champion?"

Azar arrived. He walked slowly toward the center of the training ground, nodding and smiling at the children along the way, affectionately calling them by their names. No, they didn't have names, only numbers, but to them, that was enough.

He raised his hand to signal for silence and spoke slowly: "Today is the sixth official duel between Falco and Maiev. I have tacitly permitted their bouts. I have always believed that struggling against the heavens is endless joy, struggling against the earth is endless joy, and struggling against others is even more so. Only through repeated trials that approach real combat can we continuously refine our martial arts and temper our fighting spirit. As for injuries? Let fate decide." After hearing his words, everyone erupted into a heated discussion. It turned out this life wasn't free; one had to fight for it, even at the risk of being crippled or killed.

Azar had no interest in their discussion. The strong need not concern themselves with the opinions of the weak; they only need to obey until their own strength is sufficient.

"I have prepared a prize for today. The winner shall possess it." With that, Azar signaled for Muru to bring over a long object wrapped in linen.

It was a spear he had crafted himself. Azar had drawn inspiration from the Ma-Shuo manufacturing techniques of Earth: first, taking the core of a century-old tree as the spine, then wrapping it in fibers torn from century-old vines, coating it in the oil of a century-old tung tree, and finally soaking it in the water of the Well of Eternity. He repeated this process—wrap a layer, coat a layer, soak for a year—for five years. When struck together, the finished product emitted a metallic, clanging sound; it was exceptionally hard and possessed great resilience. The spearhead was ground from the tooth of a Sabertooth Tiger King, and the butt was made from the claw of a Pangolin. Most importantly, having been soaked in the Well of Eternity and nourished by the Power of Order, it was a bona fide ancient-style enchanted weapon.

Azar had poured his heart and soul into crafting these weapons. He ventured deep into the forest to slay beasts, focused intently on binding the vine fibers, and stared unblinkingly while brushing the tung oil, terrified that a shaky hand would make it uneven. To put it simply, it was a labor of blood and tears; only three were successfully completed. In truth, he knew well that Maiev could not defeat Falco. This weapon was effectively tailor-made for Falco, whose physique and martial style were perfectly suited for polearms. In Azar's memory, there were no famous polearms in World of Warcraft, so he simply made one for Falco. Poor Azar—as the protagonist, he didn't even have a signature weapon of his own. Who could he tell of this bitterness? He was a die-hard fan of Quel'Serrar and Quel'Delar, but they wouldn't appear for thousands of years...

Falco looked at the spear, his eyes bloodshot, drool practically leaking from his mouth. Maiev, on the other hand, appeared calm; she didn't seem to vibe with this weapon. She preferred close-quarters combat, relying on the flexibility and unpredictability of her footwork to strike her opponents, so short daggers were better suited for her. He would find her a good pair of daggers when the opportunity arose.

"Are you both ready?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Ready, Uncle."

That was the spirit!

"Then begin."

Maiev moved forward lightly. Good, her footwork was steady, and her eyes remained fixed on her opponent. Eh? Is this the Shadowstep technique? Falco, conversely, remained as immovable as a mountain. With the long staff in hand, he seemed to possess the world. Hmm, he's building momentum. His presence grew stronger, and Maiev felt it. She knew she couldn't wait any longer. She moved! Sprint—dash, leaning forward, right hand swinging the blade. It was the waist! A basic version of Kidney Shot! Falco didn't move; he flicked his wrist. Parry! With a ding, the weapons collided. Maiev took the opportunity to leap upward. Falco must have added force to that parry. Maiev twisted her left hand in mid-air to reverse her grip on the hilt, utilizing her own gravity to strike downward viciously—Gouge! Holy crap, the movement was fluid, thinking two steps ahead. Falco, as if he knew her next move, showed no panic; it was as if he had intentionally used force to push Maiev into the air. Indeed, Falco planted his feet in a horse stance, the staff pointing diagonally toward the sky. No matter from which direction Maiev attacked, he could parry successfully and even counter-attack. Someone whispered, "Oh no, Maiev is going to lose." In an instant, Maiev's Gouge vanished. She looked as if she were facing death without fear; even if she took a blow, she would carve a bloody wound into him. Ding! Ding! Why two sounds? It turned out Maiev's Gouge had been parried, and Falco had seized the moment she couldn't exert force in mid-air to launch a Sweeping Strikes at her waist. But Maiev was faster than him; the Gouge had been a feint! It looked fierce, but she retreated at the slightest touch. Her right-hand blade flashed with lightning speed, slashing diagonally upward from Falco's waist. Seeing he couldn't move faster than her, Falco couldn't complete his follow-up and performed another right-hand parry. Deflect! With a twist of his waist, he backflipped, and Maiev retreated a yard away. That was only the first exchange. There was no pause; now it was a contest of who could transition between offense and defense faster. Both of them moved almost simultaneously: Sprint—Charge! Ding, ding, ding! Blade and staff clashed. Mortal Strike! Overpower! Overpower! Overpower! Parry, deflect, deflect, deflect. Kick! Dodge! Sweeping Strikes! Evade! Backstab! Rupture! Parry! Parry! Both sides traded blows, fighting with great intensity. Various skills were used with ease, reactions were swift, and they danced between reality and illusion. The longer it went, the more it required sheer willpower; whoever could persist to the end would win. Indeed, Falco moved first. He changed his strategy: Defensive Stance! Maiev danced wildly! One was a gale of wind, the other as solid as a rock. Feint! Oh, Falco fell for it. Eviscerate, Gouge, Garrote—Maiev's combo! Falco took a Gouge to the thigh! Why attack the thigh? Maiev had her own ideas: a wounded thigh would lag his footwork, distorting his basic movements and making high-difficulty maneuvers even harder. It seemed she was prepared for a war of attrition. Her reaction was truly fast. Falco didn't panic! Roar! Demoralizing Shout! Ya! Maiev was stunned. Disarm—Heroic Strike—Thunder Clap—Cleave. The force was not light, and Maiev flew several yards away. Oh? Not over yet? Heroic Leap, Mortal Strike! Seeing that Maiev's head was about to be cracked open, I prepared to intervene; after all, she was my own niece. But Maiev instantly rolled, escaping the blow. Sprint! Azar spoke up, "The outcome is decided. Let's stop here." With that, he tossed the spear to Falco.

Azar had intended to take Maiev away to teach her a few of a Rogue's signature tricks; after all, a Rogue without stealth capabilities had almost no chance of winning against a Warrior. He hadn't expected an interruption.

"Azar! Long time no see."

"Zhakun, what wind blew you here?" A Champion of the Zhakun tribe, and a former comrade-in-arms of Azar.

"It's been years. How come you haven't changed at all? Still so direct."

"Aren't you the same? Still as sleazy as ever. Can't you watch openly?" In truth, Azar had known he was lurking nearby for a while; the Power of Order had greatly enhanced his perception.

"Fine, I admit it. I just wanted to see if you'd made any progress. It's a pity I only saw your guard and Maiev sparring."

"You want to gauge my level to prepare for the Decennial Tournament, don't you?" Azar didn't care for this bird-man. They had been close comrades in the past, but Zhakun insisted on eating the hearts of his enemies after every battle, something Azar could not accept. Now that life had gradually stabilized, Zhakun had developed a new penchant for rape, making Azar even less willing to associate with him. However, he was indeed a formidable fighter; Azar couldn't beat him.

"Want to fight me? Fine. Win against him first." Having said that, Azar turned and walked away with Maiev without looking back.