Victory! A Small Display of Skill

The morning was overcast and windless. The tribal plaza was a sea of people, bustling with unprecedented excitement. Nearly every clansman had gathered to participate in the event that would determine the tribe's destiny: the Decennial Grand Tournament. Perhaps because the tribe had just emerged from a century of war, its fighting force appeared somewhat withered. Consequently, the Chieftain placed great importance on this tournament, aiming to select outstanding generals to restore and bolster the tribe's combat strength in preparation for the increasingly complex Troll landscape. Chieftain Jabani was no ordinary man; he was wise, sagacious, and ambitious. His ambition was evident in his resolute decision to lead his people away from the greater Dark Troll population, though his previous lack of power had hindered his ability to act. The new settlement gave him hope—it was rich in resources, abundant in produce, and possessed a strategic, accessible, and defensible location. There was also the mysterious lake; he keenly sensed the changes it brought to the tribe. The clansmen were healthier and stronger, illness had become rare in recent years, and their once savage, bloodthirsty appearances were gradually softening, especially among the newborns, who were becoming more adorable and beautiful. This was an opportunity—his opportunity, and the opportunity for the tribe to rise! Unifying the Trolls was no longer a pipe dream. Now, he needed to cultivate his own warriors, a new force born after the Troll wars that would be absolutely loyal and obedient to him, free from the vices of the old combat units—no longer cruel or bloodthirsty, but disciplined, orderly, and formidable. He wanted to bring a new civilization to his people and lead the tribe to its peak. He recalled the information his nephew, Azar, had brought him years ago. From that moment, the idea of forming a new force had sprouted, though he hadn't explicitly stated it at the time—that was merely a balancing act of a superior, as Azar's power had not yet been sufficient. Today was the day to test him; if Azar proved capable, he would be more than happy to entrust the army to his nephew.

"My dear clansmen!" He stood upon the high platform, his voice resonant and full of vigor. As he faced his people, the noisy environment instantly fell silent, everyone listening to the voice of their great Chieftain.

"It has been six years since the Great Migration. We are fortunate to have found our home. It is beautiful and bountiful; we no longer need to live in constant fear for our survival or lose sleep over endless tribal wars. However, peace and tranquility will not accompany us forever. Danger lurks beside us, and we must be ready to fight at all times, even if it is not our intention. Therefore, today, we call for a new hero who will lead our warriors to crush any enemy that threatens our stable and harmonious life. Now, I declare the tournament, begin!"

Ooooooh! The entire venue erupted in cheers! The clansmen who had followed the Chieftain through the hardships of the migration were those who deeply loathed the old Troll life. They embraced the Chieftain's vision of civilization and knew that all of this was hard-won; they would not allow anyone to destroy it, so they needed a hero to protect them.

"The first few days lack strong combatants, but we must observe carefully to see if we can discover anything novel." The Chieftain watched the battles in the arena, occasionally whispering to the old man beside him.

"You are right. Since arriving here, many miraculous things have indeed occurred. We must keep a close eye on them, taking the essence and discarding the dross."

"Has Azashara made any progress in her understanding of the Arcane?"

"Yes, Chieftain. Among the children, Azashara has the strongest affinity for the new energy and has already begun experimenting with combat forms using Arcane energy."

"High Sorcerer, do you think someone else might have discovered the Arcane energy and harnessed it for their own use?"

"That is hard to say. That is also what interests me most about this tournament." After the old man finished speaking, he looked at the Chieftain. Their eyes met, and they shared a knowing, subtle smile.

The fourth day, the finals.

"So many people. It seems the entire tribe has arrived. It looks like everyone is looking forward to the birth of the tribe's First Champion." The Chieftain wore a smile, his inner joy evident.

"Chieftain, shall we begin?"

"Begin."

"The match begins!" Following the High Sorcerer's command, the arena fell silent, everyone watching Azar and Zhakun in the center. At this moment, they were all pondering the same question: "Who will win?" Both were famous warriors within the tribe. Who would prove more skilled? It was rumored that Zhakun had previously been stronger than Azar, but could Azar overcome him after these past few years? It was also said that Zhakun had practiced a secret technique; did Azar have any new abilities? En, standing below the stage, was lost in thought, while the two on the stage began to chat.

"It's been years since we sparred. I didn't expect it to be here." Zhakun smiled.

"So many years, and you still talk just as much nonsense," Azar said calmly.

"My little brother, I've actually always wondered—ever since you were injured on the migration, you've been distancing yourself from me. Can you tell me why? After all, we were close comrades in the past. You were so severely wounded, yet I didn't abandon you; I carried you back." Upon hearing this, Azar was moved. Yes, he could not forget the previous memories; it was indeed Zhakun who had saved him. He could not be an ungrateful wretch. Even though his body had a new master, he should inherit this debt of gratitude.

Azar took a deep breath and said slowly, "I am grateful to you in my heart. As for the distancing you speak of, if I must explain, it is because I cannot stand your behavior. Is that reason enough?"

"Cannot stand me? What kind of reason is that? What exactly about me can't you stand?"

"Defeat me, and you will know. No, even if you win, I will tell you."

"As you wish, my brother."

In truth, Azar admired Zhakun's ability and liked his personality. If given the chance, he wanted to recruit him. After all, "reform well, start anew, and contribute to society"—everyone had their uses.

Stealth! Azar vanished. Zhakun was stunned for a brief moment before quickly regaining his composure. Defensive Stance! Unfortunately, the window was too short to create an opening. He was truly an elite warrior; his combat experience was rock solid. If the enemy doesn't move, I won't move. What is a skill cooldown? As long as Azar isn't suffering from a stomach ache, he can stay invisible forever. A battle of patience? Unnecessary! Feint! Zhakun smiled slightly. "I thought it was some powerful move. You still have to reveal yourself to attack me." What? A feint? Serpent Ward! Setting up a turret? Cut it down! He wasn't afraid to reveal himself to force out one of his skills. Zhakun's reaction was sharp. Thrust! Parry—Raging Blow! Two clangs of impact. The frantic battle began. It was a contest of skills and reflexes, a contest of strength and stamina. Azar feared none of this. Rage was endless once the battle began, lasting until he was drained dry. Stamina? Unless the Power of Order within his body was exhausted, she would continue to nourish Azar's body. She would even connect to the Power of Order from the heavens and earth to replenish him, unless Azar's wounds were beyond healing or he was killed outright. Sweeping Strikes—Heroic Leap backward. Zhakun was the first to falter; he temporarily disengaged from the fray and quickly popped a potion! Berserker Potion! Azar clearly remembered that disgusting herbal stench. Without waiting for a reaction, Azar used Charge—Raging Blow, interrupting his spear-throwing preparation. Impressive, disengaging to pop a potion and still preparing the next move. It was dodged, but that didn't matter. Sweeping Strikes! Another feint! His main hand rotated instantly, his forehand used Gouge! Ding! Blocked? No, his strength wasn't enough; it pierced through! Oof! First blood!

"I didn't expect it, my brother. You've grown stronger. It seems I won't be able to win today without using my true strength." Zhakun threw a Voodoo Doll. Azar did not continue his attack, knowing that further strikes would only hit the straw effigy; this sorcery was a life-saving measure. However, forcing out his Voodoo Doll was a win in itself.

"You've used your Voodoo Doll, what else do you have?" Azar said, his body never stopping. He didn't intend to give his opponent any time to react, directly using Heroic Leap! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Simultaneously, three throwing spears flew toward Azar in mid-air. Fast! Ding! Ding! Ding! Three parries—landed—Thunder Clap! Immune!? How? It was Berserker! This wasn't a potion; it was a mental skill! Attack speed and attack power increased by 50%. Evasion? Who knew how long it would last? How to break it? A mutual destruction? A frantic Blade Dance? Unnecessary. Stealth? No time to disengage. In an instant, several plans flashed through his mind, all rejected by Azar. His hand speed didn't falter as he blocked a few moves, his brain racing. What to do? Got it, try this! Main hand Blade Dance! Yes, Blade Dance, not to injure him, but to match speed with speed and block for a moment. His left hand swung downward, gathering momentum! The Power of Order infused into the left-hand Quel'Serrar! Ready! Looking for an opening! It was here. Taking advantage of Zhakun overextending, a gap appeared on the left! Azar countered with a Sweeping Strikes! It connected! It wasn't to wound him; at this moment, Zhakun felt no pain or bleeding. He had no sensation, only the instinct to fight, like a zombie. His attacks would only stop if his opponent died. Azar's goal was to touch his body; as long as he opened a tiny wound, he could let his Power of Order enter Zhakun's body! Order meeting Berserker blood—just thinking about it felt wonderful! Poverty limited Azar's imagination; he thought his fantasy was beautiful, but reality gave him a small shock. The moment Azar's sword tip touched Zhakun's body, a muffled explosion erupted at the point of contact! Bang! It blew apart the flesh in that area of Zhakun. Too violent, run! Backflip—Sprint. Azar was startled, worried the skill was too powerful and might injure himself, so he quickly ran away. However, to the onlookers, this appeared as Azar's high moral character—noble, fair, and possessing a spirit of sportsmanship.

"High Sorcerer, go take a look." By now, the Chieftain could see that Zhakun had unleashed his ultimate move, and Azar had countered it. Azar had won this match. Upon hearing this, the High Sorcerer quickly took several strong men and rushed toward Zhakun. The men grabbed Zhakun firmly, and the High Sorcerer quickly produced a potion and forced it down his throat. Super Antidote! This was good stuff; it could even cure the Berserker state? Was it for internal or external use? If external use worked, then in future battles against Trolls, when the enemy used their ultimate, I could just sprinkle this potion and it would be GG? While Azar was lost in his wild thoughts, Zhakun had already been carried away by the men. The Chieftain walked slowly to my side, took my left hand, and shouted loudly: "The winner is, Azar Tikal! Let us cheer for our hero!"

"Azar! Azar! Azar! Hero! Hero! Hero!"