The sun blazed overhead, and not a breath of wind stirred the air. A faint shimmer rippled across the still lake, while a row of bare-chested Trolls stood ramrod straight along the shore.
After several years, the power of the Well of Eternity had finally begun to show. The Troll children could now stand upright like humans instead of hunching over with bent legs. Perhaps because they lived so close to the lake, or perhaps because their bodies were still growing, they were visibly different from ordinary Trolls. Their hands and feet had changed, each with five fingers and toes, just like humans. Their protruding tusks were noticeably shorter and finer, and their hair was softer and silkier than the coarse hair of ordinary Trolls.
They stood there, eyes half-closed, as though feeling the warmth the lake gave them. No one knew how long they had been standing like that.
A sharp whistle shattered the silence. "Assemble at the training ground and watch the sparring match!" Before the instructor had even finished speaking, the half-grown children were already racing toward the large training ground beside the hill.
"Who do you think will win today? I'm betting on Maiev. She's been training hard ever since she lost last time. I often see her meditating by the lake at night."
"I'm betting on Maiev too. After her last loss, she looked completely different—like she just couldn't accept it. She'll definitely get her revenge today. Lord Falco's in for a rough time."
"Not necessarily. Lord Falco works hard too. He gets to morning practice before us every day. No one knows what time he arrives."
"Quit guessing—they're here! Wow! Lord Azar's here too. I've never seen him come before."
"Obviously. Their previous matches were just private sparring sessions, but now they're holding them regularly—once a month. This is the sixth one. Don't you think it might have caught Lord Azar's attention?"
Azar had arrived. He walked slowly toward the center of the training ground, smiling and nodding to the children along the way. He greeted them by name. No, they had no names, only numbers, but to them, that was enough.
He raised a hand for silence and spoke slowly. "Today is the sixth official match between Falco and Maiev. I've given my approval to their matches. I've always believed that there's joy in struggling against Heaven, joy in struggling against the earth, and even greater joy in struggling against one another. Only through matches that come close to real combat can we keep improving our techniques and tempering our will to fight. As for injuries? That's up to fate." His words sparked a lively discussion among the crowd. So their lives here weren't free after all. They had to fight for themselves, even if it left them crippled—or dead.
Azar paid no mind to their discussion. The strong had no need to care about the opinions of the weak. The weak could only obey until they grew strong enough.
"Today, I've prepared a prize. The winner will take it." Azar gestured for Muru to bring over a long object wrapped in linen.
It was a spear he had made himself. Azar had borrowed the crafting techniques used for Ma-Shuo back on Earth. First, he took the heartwood of a hundred-year-old tree for the core. Then he stripped a hundred-year-old vine into fibers and wrapped a layer around it. Next, he coated it in oil from a hundred-year-old tung tree before soaking it in water from the Well of Eternity. After a year, he took it out and repeated the process: wrap a layer, apply oil, soak for a year. It took five years. When he tapped the finished spear against another, it rang like metal. It was extraordinarily hard and incredibly resilient. The spearhead had been ground from the fang of a slain Sabertooth Tiger King, and the butt was made from the claw of a pangolin. Most importantly, it had been soaked in water from the Well of Eternity and nourished by the Power of Order. It was practically an ancient enchanted weapon.
Azar had poured his heart into making these weapons. He had ventured deep into the forest to hunt beasts, meticulously wrapped the vine fibers, and carefully brushed on the tung oil, terrified that a trembling hand might make the coating uneven. There was too much blood, sweat, and tears to go into it all. In the end, he had managed to make only three. He knew perfectly well that Maiev couldn't beat Falco. In truth, he had made the weapon for Falco; his build and fighting style suited a polearm perfectly. In his memory of World of Warcraft, there weren't many famous polearms, so he had decided to make one for Falco. Poor Azar. He was the protagonist, yet he didn't even have a signature weapon of his own. Who could he tell about that? He was a die-hard fan of Quel'Serrar and Quel'Delar, but they wouldn't appear for thousands of years...
Falco stared at the spear, practically drooling, his eyes bloodshot. Maiev, by contrast, seemed utterly calm. The weapon did nothing for her. She preferred close-quarters combat, relying on her nimble, unpredictable footwork to attack her opponents, so a short dagger suited her better. He'd find her a good pair of daggers when he got the chance.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I'm ready, Uncle."
That was the spirit!
"Then let's begin."
Maiev moved lightly forward. Good—her steps were steady, and her eyes never left her opponent. Hm? Was that the setup for Shadowstep? Falco, on the other hand, stood as firm as a mountain, long staff in hand, as if he owned the world. Hm, he was building momentum. His presence grew stronger by the second, and Maiev could feel it. She decided she couldn't wait any longer. She moved! Sprint—Charge! She ducked and swung her blade with her right hand. The waist! An early version of Kidney Shot! Falco didn't move. His wrist flicked, and he blocked! Clang! Their weapons collided. Maiev used the momentum to leap upward. Falco had definitely put force into that block. In midair, Maiev turned the knife in her left hand and gripped it in reverse. Using her own weight, she drove it viciously downward—Gouge! Damn, what a fluid series of movements! She was already thinking two steps ahead. Falco seemed to know what she would do next and showed no sign of panic. It was as though he had deliberately used force to send Maiev flying. Sure enough, Falco planted his feet and angled his long staff toward the sky. No matter which direction Maiev attacked from, he could block her and counterattack. Someone gasped, "Oh no, Maiev's going down." In an instant, Maiev's Gouge vanished. She seemed ready to face death head-on: even if she took a staff strike, she'd still leave him with a bloody wound. Clang! Clang! Why were there two clangs? Maiev's Gouge had been blocked, and Falco had seized the chance to sweep at her waist, hoping to catch her while she was airborne and unable to push off. But Maiev was faster. The Gouge had been a feint! It had looked vicious, but she had pulled back at the slightest contact. Her long blade flashed from her right hand, cutting diagonally upward from Falco's waist. Seeing that he couldn't match her speed and couldn't follow up, Falco blocked to the right again. Deflected! He twisted his waist and flipped backward, while Maiev was knocked a yard away. And that was only their first exchange. Neither paused; now it came down to who could switch between offense and defense faster. They moved almost simultaneously: Sprint—Charge! Clang, clang, clang! Blade met staff. Mortal Strike! Overpower! Overpower! Overpower! Block, deflect, deflect, deflect. Kick! Dodge! Sweeping Strikes! Evade! Backstab! Rupture! Parry! Parry! They exchanged blows, thoroughly enjoying themselves, each skill coming naturally. Their reactions were swift, every move a feint or a real attack, with one hidden inside the other. The longer it went on, the more it came down to sheer endurance. Whoever held out to the end would win. Sure enough, Falco made the first move. He changed tactics: Defensive Stance! Maiev danced in a flurry. One was like a sudden storm; the other, as solid as a rock. Feint! Oh, Falco had taken the bait. Eviscerate, Gouge, Garrote—Maiev launched a combo! Falco took a Gouge to the thigh! Why attack the thigh? Maiev had her own reasoning: an injured thigh would slow his steps and throw off his basic movements, making high-difficulty maneuvers even harder. It seemed she was ready for a drawn-out fight too. What a quick thinker. Falco didn't lose his composure! Roar! Demoralizing Shout! Ah! Maiev was stunned. Disarm—Heroic Strike—Thunder Clap—Cleave! The blows were powerful, sending Maiev flying several yards. What? He wasn't done yet. Heroic Leap, then Mortal Strike! Maiev's head was about to be smashed open. I was about to step in and save her—she was my own niece, after all—but Maiev instantly rolled over and escaped disaster. Sprint! Azar seized the moment to speak. "The winner's decided. That's enough." After saying that, he tossed the spear to Falco.
Azar had meant to take Maiev aside and teach her a few of the Rogue's signature tricks. After all, a Rogue without stealth had almost no chance against a Warrior. He hadn't expected an unexpected guest to show up.
"Azar! Long time no see."
"Zhakun, what brings you here?" Zhakun was a warrior of the tribe and Azar's former comrade-in-arms.
"It's been years. How come you haven't changed at all? You're still so direct."
"And you're still just as sneaky. Can't you watch openly?" Azar had known for a long time that Zhakun was lurking nearby, keeping an eye on them. The Power of Order had greatly heightened his senses.
"All right, I admit it. I just wanted to see if you'd improved. Too bad I only got to watch your guard spar with Maiev."
"You want to see how strong I am, to prepare for the tournament in ten years, right?" Azar wasn't fond of this guy. They had once been close comrades, but after every battle, Zhakun ate the hearts of his enemies. Azar couldn't accept that. Now that their lives were becoming more settled, Zhakun had also developed a taste for rape, and Azar wanted even less to associate with him. Still, Zhakun was a formidable fighter. Azar couldn't beat him.
"You want to fight me? Fine. Beat him first." With that, Azar walked away without looking back, taking Maiev with him.
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