Why Fear

Guardian Arena.

One of the most iconic structures in the City of Warriors, it was circular and carved from a single enormous boulder. The spectator stands surrounded the arena's center and rose outward in tier upon tier, enough to accommodate hundreds of thousands of spectators.

The arena was generally used for exchanges—a place where warriors crossed blades without mercy, spoke through martial skill, and decided who was superior.

On certain special days, the Night Watchers who were not fighting wars held competitions to vent their excess energy and select the strongest champions.

The arena was now missing the clear ring of clashing blades and the thunderous shouts of the crowd because the Night Watchers had marched out to war, leaving it ancient and solemn.

Banners hung around the arena, dark red as their base. Dark-red banners were suspended all around the arena, with each champion's name embroidered in gold thread and the opponents they had defeated listed below.

The banners fluttered in the wind, silently telling of the champions' glory.

More than a dozen Night Watchers who had returned from the front lines were resting in the outer stands. Their white power armor was still stained with unwashed blood, and visible exhaustion radiated from their bodies.

No one disturbed them. The weary warriors leaned back-to-back, resting with their eyes closed as they prepared for the next expedition.

At the center, several guards left behind had taken over their duties and were watching several specially made iron cages containing dozens of Greenskins.

Many people had gathered around the cages: scholars dressed in long robes, warrior apprentices undergoing training who had yet to become Night Watchers, and ordinary citizens who had come to watch the spectacle.

Inside the cages, the heavily muscled, red-eyed Orks bared their fangs and growled continuously, trying to intimidate the humans watching them.

To fight the Orks more effectively, the Night Watchers had deliberately captured Orks from the front lines and sent them to the rear for War Academy researchers to study Ork culture in depth.

They also served as living whetstones for warrior apprentices to hone their skills on.

"Although I really hate aliens, the academy people say Orks are like fungi. Their flesh probably tastes about the same as mushrooms. Whether stewed into soup or grilled, they definitely won't taste bad!"

A boy squeezed out from the crowd. He was about 1.2 meters tall, not even half the height of a Night Watcher warrior. Unafraid of the Orks, he held onto the cage bars and stared brightly at the imprisoned Orks.

The guards all turned to look at the one who had made such wild claims.

He was a young boy. Setting aside his shocking words, his voice was as crisp as shattered jade and as clear as ringing metal, naturally carrying an irresistible charm that made people easily feel fondness for its owner.

The boy was handsome too. His large eyes were clear black and white, his nose was straight and high, and his still-childish face was fair with a rosy glow. Compared to others his age, he had less immaturity and more heroism and nobility. It was easy to foresee that when he grew up, he would become a dashing and formidable young man.

"Oh~ ho ho ho..."

The Orks in the cages laughed. One hand clutched their stomachs while the other pointed at the boy, and they laughed so hard they sprawled everywhere, tears and snot streaming down their faces. "Little shrimp? Eat me? Wakakaka!"

After fighting humans for so long, and with their considerable learning ability, the Orks naturally understood human language.

The boy's wild words amused the Orks, easing much of their frustration at being captured and lifting their spirits again.

"Orks must be delicious~" Some especially boisterous Greenskins even began mimicking him with exaggerated gestures, babbling in silly voices and rolling around the cages in carefree laughter.

"The soup would definitely be very fresh." The boy was not angry. His tone was serious, and he was genuinely looking forward to the taste of Greenskins.

"Whose child are you?" someone beside him asked as he indulged in his fantasy.

The speaker's voice was hoarse and low. His rough tone was like a handful of rocks and gravel grinding together, tough yet weathered by countless hardships.

The boy turned at the sound and saw a tall warrior in blood-soaked white armor. Two lightsaber hilts hung at his waist, an inactive guardian spear was in his right hand, and his helmet was tucked beneath his left arm. A fierce aura radiated from his entire body.

He stood tall and straight, with thick brows and large, spirited eyes. Several scars crossed his cheeks, but they did not diminish his heroic bearing in the slightest. Instead, they added to his ferocity.

"An outstanding warrior, Champion Swordsman, Duelist Haran Ogilvy!"

With one glance at the guard, the boy spoke his name and the honors and glory that accompanied it.

"You know me?" Haran was surprised. He searched his memories but was certain he had never met the vibrant boy before him.

"You've won the arena championship twenty times. You win every competition you enter, and your name is hanging right up there." The boy gave him a look that seemed to be asking if he was stupid, then raised a hand and pointed to the highest banner in the arena.

Haran tugged at the corner of his mouth and forced out a smile to hide his embarrassment.

The endless fighting had made his thinking somewhat sluggish. He had forgotten that he was somewhat famous throughout Guardian Domain.

The boy had looked down on him. In those clear eyes, Haran was plainly nothing more than a reckless brute with muscles where his brain should have been.

"What is your name?" Haran asked. He could not quite determine the boy's identity, but he keenly sensed that he was not from an ordinary family.

"Doom Norwick! Third son of King Norwick!"

At the mention of his own name, the boy lifted his chin slightly. His clear voice carried a little more solemnity and pride.

"Doom Norwick?" Haran repeated the boy's name, then suddenly jolted in shock. The scars on his face twitched from excessive surprise. "The child who fell from the sky three months ago?"

"No..."

As a witness to Doom's descent from the sky, Haran stared in disbelief. He tucked his helmet at his waist, raised his spear like a ruler, and measured out a length.

"Three months ago, you were only this big?"

After his shock, Haran examined the boy again. He wore a long robe, and a mysterious mark could faintly be seen over his chest.

After standing stunned for two breaths, the Champion Swordsman who had seen all manner of storms fell silent. He asked Doom, who looked like a young boy, "What did you eat to grow up? Some secret royal recipe I've never seen?"

A group of warriors who had been fighting abroad and had never seen Doom were drawn over by Haran's shocked cries.

Haran gestured wildly as he gave an exaggerated explanation, prompting more startled exclamations from the Night Watchers. They all said they had never seen a child grow so quickly.

The guards clicked their tongues in amazement and exchanged their opinions.

Just then, King Norwick and Queen Daisy arrived at the edge of the arena. Seeing Doom surrounded by onlookers, Daisy's first instinct was to pull him out of the crowd.

Just as she was about to act, King Norwick grabbed her hand and lowered his voice. "Let's see how he gets along with the guards."

Surrounded by fierce warriors reeking of blood, their killing intent not yet faded, Doom did not show the slightest fear. He puffed out his chest and declared loudly, "You're making a fuss over nothing! I fell from the sky, so isn't it normal for me to grow a little faster?"

Doom had never felt uneasy about his own extraordinariness. When faced with others' surprise, he accepted it calmly.

The Night Watchers froze for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter. "Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"I like this kid!" Haran laughed the loudest. He tossed his spear to a comrade, wrapped an arm around Doom, lifted him overhead, and set him astride his shoulders.

Doom's frank self-assurance and the ease in his words made the Night Watchers like him greatly.

Haran lifted him high, then slowly set him down. He crouched in front of Doom, placed both hands on his shoulders, and asked with a smile, "You think Orks should taste good?"

"Your idea is interesting, but Orks are a warlike race. You must always maintain proper vigilance and respect toward them."

"I agree with what you said, but I object to one part of it." Doom nodded solemnly like a little adult, though his childish face revealed a calmness beyond his years.

Looking directly at the Champion Swordsman before him, the bravest warrior among the Night Watchers, he said, "We should indeed remain vigilant toward Orks, but why should I fear delicious mushrooms?"

Haran's face stiffened slightly, and his smile gradually faded. He felt that the boy before him was somewhat arrogant, reckless from ignorance.

"Can you defeat one?"

Rather than directly suppressing the youth's arrogance, Haran pointed at the Ork imprisoned in the cage. It was a Special Ops Boy, far stronger and more cunning than an ordinary Ork Boy.

With a clever question, he intended to guide Doom into thinking for himself, comparing seriously, and examining his own abilities.

"Yes!"

Doom's crisp voice allowed no doubt, brimming with powerful confidence. "All I need is one punch and one kick!"

Haran fell silent when he heard that firm, ringing answer and saw the determination and composure in the boy's eyes.

He did not know how Queen Daisy had raised him. Unlike his two humble elder brothers, the Third Prince was completely unlike someone from the same family.

"You doubt me!" Doom sharply noticed the disbelief in Haran's eyes. It was doubt about his strength.

"Champion Swordsman." Doom pulled Haran's hands off his shoulders. His expression was stern, and his bright eyes stared at Haran with an almost oppressive intensity as he said solemnly, "I am stating a fact, not making an exaggerated claim."

Facing those fiery, clear eyes and the steadily rising pressure, Haran was surprised to find that he did not dare meet Doom's gaze. He unconsciously shifted his eyes away.

Doom looked around at the disdain in the Night Watchers' eyes and felt somewhat angry.

But on second thought, his small body truly was not convincing enough to make them believe him. It was normal for them to look down on him.

Helpless, he could only shrug and say indignantly, "One day, you will know that I was not speaking empty words!"

"What if I gave you a chance to prove yourself?"

Hearing the stern and majestic voice, everyone instinctively looked over. The Night Watchers who recognized it had already dropped to one knee and shouted:

"My King!"