It was early morning: overcast, with no wind. The tribe's great plaza was packed with people and bustling with activity. Nearly every member of the tribe had come to attend this major event, one that would shape the fate of the entire tribe—the ten-year tournament. Perhaps because they had only recently come through a century of war, the tribe's fighting forces had been badly depleted. The Chieftain therefore attached great importance to this tournament. He wanted to select outstanding generals and restore and strengthen the tribe's military power, preparing for the increasingly complicated state of affairs among the Trolls. Chieftain Jabani was no ordinary man. He was wise, farsighted, and ambitious. His ambition was plain to see in his determination to lead his people away from the great Dark Troll community, though his power had once been too limited for him to put his plans into action. Their new settlement had given him hope: it was rich in resources, abundant in produce, and situated at a strategic crossroads, with defensible terrain. There was also the mysterious lake. He had keenly noticed the changes it had brought to the tribe. His people were healthier and stronger, and hardly anyone had fallen ill in recent years. Their once savage, bloodthirsty appearance had gradually changed, especially among the newborns, who were much cuter and prettier. This was an opportunity—his opportunity, and the tribe's chance to rise! Unifying the Trolls was no longer an impossible dream. Now he would train his own Warriors: a new force for the tribe after the Troll Wars. They would obey him completely and be utterly loyal, without the bad habits of the old fighting forces. They would no longer be cruel and bloodthirsty. They would follow orders, maintain discipline, and fight with strength. He would bring a new civilization to his people and lead the tribe to its peak. He recalled the information his nephew Azar had brought him many years ago. That was when the idea of forming a new force had first taken root. He had made no definite commitment at the time; it had merely been a way for a ruler to maintain balance, since Azar's strength had not yet been enough. Today would be the test. If Azar proved capable, he would gladly entrust the army to his nephew.
"My dear tribespeople!" he called from the high platform, his voice ringing with strength as he faced his people. The noisy plaza fell silent at once, and everyone listened to the voice of their great Chieftain.
"Six years have passed since our great migration. We are fortunate to have found a home of our own. It is beautiful and prosperous. We no longer have to live in constant fear for our survival or lose sleep over endless tribal wars. But peace and safety will not stay with us forever. Danger is always lurking nearby, and we must be ready to fight at all times, even if that is not what we want. So today, we call upon a new hero, one who will lead our warriors to crush every enemy that threatens our peaceful, harmonious way of life. And now, I declare the tournament open!"
Cheers thundered through the plaza! Those who had endured the hardships of the migration alongside the Chieftain had hated their old Troll way of life. They believed in his vision of civilization and knew how hard-won their new lives were. They would let no one destroy them. They needed a hero to protect them.
"There haven't been any especially strong fighters in the first few days, but we need to watch carefully and see if anything unusual turns up," the Chieftain said, watching the fights and occasionally speaking quietly with the old man beside him.
"You're right. A lot of strange things have happened since we came here. We need to keep a close eye on them, preserving what is useful and discarding what is not."
"Has Azshara made any progress in understanding Arcane?"
"Yes, Chieftain. Among those children, Azshara has the strongest affinity for this new energy. She has already begun experimenting with ways to use Arcane energy in combat."
"High Sorcerer, do you think anyone else might have discovered Arcane energy and learned to use it?"
"It's hard to say. That's what interests me most about this tournament." After speaking, the old man looked at the Chieftain. They met each other's eyes and smiled in quiet understanding.
On the fourth day, the final matches were held.
"There are a lot of people here. It looks like almost the whole tribe has turned out. Everyone must be looking forward to seeing who becomes the tribe's First Champion," the Chieftain said with a smile. He was clearly delighted.
"Chieftain, shall we begin?"
"Let's begin."
"Let the match begin!" At the High Sorcerer's command, the plaza fell silent. Everyone watched Azar and Zhakun in the ring. At that moment, they were all wondering the same thing: Who would win? Both men were famous Warriors in the tribe. Which one would prove the better fighter? They said Zhakun had once been stronger than Azar. Could Azar beat him now, after all these years? They also said Zhakun had learned a secret technique. Had Azar gained any new abilities? En's mind was full of questions in the crowd, while the two men in the ring began to talk.
"It's been years since we last fought. Never thought we'd meet like this," Zhakun said with a smile.
"You've still got plenty to say after all these years," Azar replied calmly.
"My little brother, there's something I've always wondered about. Ever since you were injured during the migration, you've kept your distance from me. Can you tell me why? We used to be close comrades. When you were badly hurt, I never abandoned you. I carried you back myself." Azar was moved by his words. He couldn't forget what had happened. Zhakun really had rescued him. He couldn't be an ingrate. Even though his body now had a different soul, he should still honor that debt.
Azar took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I'm grateful to you. As for keeping my distance, if I have to explain it, it's because I can't stand the way you act. Is that reason enough?"
"You can't stand me? What kind of reason is that? What is it about me you can't stand?"
"Beat me, and you'll find out. No, I'll tell you even if you lose."
"As you wish, brother."
Azar actually admired Zhakun's skill and liked his personality. If he got the chance, he wanted to win Zhakun over. After all, everyone had a use if they were given a proper makeover, taught to start over, and put to work contributing to society.
Stealth! Azar vanished. Zhakun was startled for only a moment before quickly regaining his composure. Defensive Stance! Unfortunately, he had too little time to create an opening. He really was an elite Warrior; his experience as a combat veteran was no joke. If the enemy didn't move, he didn't move either. What did skill cooldowns matter? As long as Azar didn't get a stomachache, he could stay hidden forever. A test of patience? No need! Feint! Zhakun smiled faintly. "I thought you had some amazing move. You still have to show yourself to attack me." What? A feint? Serpent Ward! He'd put down a turret? Cut it down! He didn't mind exposing himself. Forcing Zhakun to use one of his skills was enough. Zhakun reacted sharply. Thrust! Block—counterattack! Their weapons clanged twice. The furious battle began. They traded blows, testing their skills and reflexes, their strength and stamina. Azar had no fear of any of that. His rage would keep rising as long as he fought, until he was completely spent and his life essence was exhausted. Stamina? Unless the Power of Order inside him ran out, it would keep nourishing his body. It could even draw on the Power of Order from anywhere between heaven and earth to replenish him. Only a fatal wound, or death itself, could stop it. Cleave—Heroic Leap backward! Zhakun was the first to falter. He briefly withdrew from the fight and quickly gulped down a potion. Berserker Potion! Azar remembered its nauseating herbal smell clearly. Azar didn't give him time to react. Charge—Raging Blow! It interrupted Zhakun as he prepared to throw a javelin. Not bad—he'd disengaged to take a potion and was already preparing his next move. Zhakun dodged the attack, but that was fine. Azar countered with Sweeping Strikes! Another feint! His main-hand sword spun around in an instant, then he struck with Gouge! Clang! Had it been blocked? No. Zhakun wasn't strong enough. The blade had pierced him! He spat blood. First blood!
"I didn't expect this, brother. You've gotten stronger. Looks like I'll have to show you what I can really do if I want to win today." Zhakun threw down a Voodoo Doll. Azar stopped his attack, knowing that if he kept going, he'd only hit the straw doll. This kind of witchcraft was a lifesaving measure. Still, forcing Zhakun to use his Voodoo Doll was already a win.
"You've used your Voodoo Doll. What else have you got?" Azar kept moving as he spoke, giving his opponent no time to react. He launched straight into a Heroic Leap! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! At the same time, three javelins shot toward Azar in midair—fast! Clang, clang, clang! Three blocks—he landed—and then, boom! Thunder Clap. Immune!? How could that be? It was Berserk! Not a potion, but a mental skill! It boosted attack speed and power by 50 percent. Dodge? Who knew how long he could keep it up? How could he counter it? A mutual kill? Blade Dance? No need. Stealth? He couldn't disengage in time. Several plans flashed through Azar's mind in an instant, and he rejected them all. His hands kept moving as he blocked a few strikes, his mind racing. What should he do? He had it! He'd try this. His main-hand sword danced—not to wound Zhakun, but to match his speed and hold him off for a while. He swept his left-hand blade downward and gathered his strength. He poured the Power of Order into Quel'Serrar in his left hand. Ready! He waited for an opening. There! Zhakun overcommitted to a strike, leaving a sliver of space on his left. Azar turned and struck with a Cleave. It hit! He wasn't trying to wound him. At that moment, Zhakun felt no pain and didn't bleed. He had no sensation, only the instinct to fight, like a zombie. His attacks would stop only when his opponent was dead. Azar's real aim was to touch him. All he needed was a tiny cut to let the Power of Order enter Zhakun's body. The thought of Order meeting Berserker blood seemed wonderful all on its own! Azar's imagination was limited by his poverty—5555. He thought he'd imagined something spectacular, but reality still gave him a little shock. The instant Azar's sword tip touched Zhakun's body, a muffled explosion sounded at the point of contact. Boom! A chunk of Zhakun's flesh blew apart. That was way too violent. Run! Azar leapt back and used Sprint. He was startled and worried the skill might be so powerful it would hurt him too, so he hurried away. But to everyone else, the scene made Azar look noble and honorable, a man who knew when to stop and embodied the very spirit of fair play.
"High Sorcerer, go take a look." By now, the Chieftain could see that Zhakun had used his ultimate move, and Azar had countered it. Azar had won the match. At the Chieftain's words, the High Sorcerer quickly brought several burly men with him as they rushed toward Zhakun. The men held him down firmly while the High Sorcerer quickly took out a bottle of medicine and poured it down his throat. Super Antidote! This stuff was great. It could even cure Berserk? Did it have to be swallowed or applied externally? If applying it worked, then the next time they fought Trolls, could he just throw this medicine on the enemy as soon as they used their ultimate move and win? While Azar's thoughts wandered, the men had already carried Zhakun away. The Chieftain slowly came to my side, took my left hand, and shouted, "The winner is Azar Tikal! Let us all cheer for our hero!"
"Azar!
Azar!
Azar!
Hero!
Hero!
Hero!"
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