Proving Myself

Doom followed the sound to see a warrior walking from the edge of the arena, clad in dark green power armor with a jet-black, gold-trimmed cloak flowing behind him. He was massive and powerful, standing nearly three meters tall, looking incomparably formidable.

Walking alongside him was Queen Daisy. She wore a court gown, her hands folded gracefully before her abdomen, a meaningful smile on her face as she looked toward Doom.

Doom naturally recognized that tall Champion.

The most authoritative person on this planet, the fiercest warrior, the wisest monarch—and his father, King Norwick!

At this very moment, the Night Watchers knelt and the scholars bowed, welcoming their sovereign.

Doom, however, felt somewhat constrained, his body stiff with nervousness.

He had once imagined the scene of reuniting with his father: on the Triumphal Avenue, he would open his arms to welcome his father's triumphant return.

The current situation was dire; he felt like a naughty child caught doing something wrong, his hands trembling, not knowing where to place them.

"Answer me, Doom!"

King Norwick strode closer, waving his hand to signal everyone to rise. He looked down at his son, who didn't even reach his knees, and asked, "If I give you a chance, can you prove yourself?"

Doom looked up at his father. That expressionless face was full of majesty, and the oppressive force of his massive frame was so overwhelming that no one dared to lie in his presence.

"I will prove what I said, without any exaggeration or falsehood."

The boy's confidence now eclipsed his nervousness. His demeanor was relaxed and his voice clear as he lifted his chin, proudly telling his father, "Your son disdains false boasting!"

"Using only one fist and one kick?"

"Using only one fist and one kick!"

"Very well!" Norwick nodded in satisfaction. His gaze shifted from Doom, sweeping over the Night Watchers and the beasts trapped in the cages, and he let out a low roar: "Clear the field! Let us see how much ability the Son of Heaven's Descent truly has!"

"As you command!"

The Night Watchers moved quickly to clear the area. They dragged away the cages and the audience took their seats, preparing to enjoy a duel the likes of which had never been seen before.

"Prepare yourself. The Greenskin Orks will not hold back; you have only victory or death."

"The rules of the duel: a deathmatch!" With that final warning, King Norwick turned and headed toward the spectator stands.

A deathmatch! Such a thing had not occurred within the Night Watchers for nearly a thousand years.

A deathmatch was a slaughter without restrictions, where both combatants exhausted every skill and means at their disposal to kill the other.

"Doom." Harlan's expression was complex. He was a sensitive man and felt that he bore some responsibility for how things had turned out.

Sending a child into the dueling arena left him feeling uneasy, and he offered a friendly warning: "Be careful!"

"I will use my strength to shatter your contempt!"

Doom pulled his silk robe down to his waist and tied it, revealing his lean upper body and the distinct, well-defined muscles beneath: "By then, you will have to apologize to me for your contempt."

Seeing his serious expression, Harlan gave a carefree laugh: "Very well. If you win, I will apologize to you."

He stood straight, his smile fading as he said sincerely, "I will apologize for my contempt."

"How about adding a wager?" King Norwick's voice rang out; he had been sitting at the edge of the arena and had heard their entire conversation.

"What wager?" the two asked in unison.

King Norwick said to Harlan, "If Doom survives, you shall serve as his personal bodyguard."

"If he fails and dies, your personal swordsmanship shall be added to the royal collection as a reward for your participation."

"I agree!" Harlan accepted without hesitation. Such a wager was a tremendous reward; he couldn't lose either way.

In the Guardian Domain, there were countless experts in swordsmanship, but only the techniques of the true masters were recorded by the royal family to be passed down as reference for royal martial arts.

Harlan had once submitted an application to the royal family, only to be rejected by the Grand Swordmaster Xilan. His swordsmanship was too savage and aggressive, failing to align with the upright and magnanimous style of the royal family.

To Harlan, this unexpected opportunity was nothing short of a gift from the heavens.

"I agree as well!"

Doom accepted without hesitation. Although defeating an orc was no easy task, the honor of having a Champion swordsman as his bodyguard would be immense.

And so, neither side felt they had lost out.

Harlan walked to the iron cages. The imprisoned orcs were waiting expectantly, their previous comical behavior gone, each one full of vigor.

It was the nature of the Greenskin Orks; they cared for nothing, their minds filled only with fighting.

"Pick me! I'm the best fighter!"

"Are you blind, big guy? Pick me!"

The orcs gripped the iron bars, roaring and baring their massive teeth to prove their strength.

"I'll pick that one!"

Just as Harlan was hesitating over whether to choose an ordinary Greenskin Orc, Doom walked to the cage and pointed at the largest Special Ops Boy: "It is the strongest. Defeating it will make my victory more valuable!"

"Are you sure?"

Harlan's thick brows knitted together, pulling at the scar on his handsome face and making him look particularly grim, but his eyes held a plea for Doom to know his limits.

"I am sure!"

The clear voice was resolute, brooking no doubt, and the youthful majesty it revealed left Harlan momentarily dazed.

"Big guy! Open the cage! I can't wait any longer!"

The Special Ops Boy draped in animal skins inside the cage gritted his teeth, his two massive hands shaking the iron bars, his crimson eyes revealing a ferocious glare as he stared dead at Doom:

"Damnable human brat! I will rip off your limbs and tear you to shreds! I'll chew your bones bit by bit, leaving only that yapping little mouth to see just how hard it really is."

"Beast." Harlan opened the iron cage, releasing the impatient orc, and issued a stern warning: "This is the Warrior Arena; you should feel honored."

"Do not make any unnecessary moves before I call for the start. You know what we are capable of."

The Special Ops Boy naturally knew the capabilities of the Night Watchers. Sneering, he walked toward his designated spot in the arena, muttering as he went: "In human territory, respect the human way of fighting!"

"Are you not worried at all?" Queen Daisy lowered her voice as much as possible, avoiding being overheard by Doom.

She knew her son's abilities well—his keen perception, excellent athletic prowess, and impressive strength meant there would be no danger in dealing with one orc.

"Not worried."

"Where does your confidence come from?"

King Norwick recalled the siege three months ago, the moment he picked up Doom, and that heart-stopping sensation that made his hair stand on end: "The first time I held him."

In the center of the arena, the combatants, with their massive disparity in size, stood face to face, waiting for the signal to begin.

The Special Ops Boy was very tall, standing at two meters and thirty centimeters, yet stocky; his skin was grass-green, his face hideous, and his body was knotted with muscles and bulging veins.

Doom had a robe tied around his waist, his lean, strong upper body exposed, the most striking feature being the rune mark on his chest.

Ten meters apart, he could even feel the orc's volatility and see the snorts of breath expelled from over-excitement.

"When the helmet hits the ground, you may kill at will."

After Harlan finished speaking, he took a deep look at Doom, then tossed the helmet into the air.

At this moment, everyone held their breath, not daring to make a sound that might affect the judgment of the two duelists.

Even the orcs in the cages, who had been roaring and shouting incessantly, fell silent, staring with blood-red eyes, excitedly waiting for the Special Ops Boy to tear the human boy apart.

As for Harlan, he was equally nervous. His tiger-like eyes were fixed on the center of the arena, considering whether he should intervene to save the child if the situation turned dire.

"Bang!"

The crisp sound of the helmet hitting the ground echoed through the arena, ringing in the ears of the spectators and the duelists alike.

"Ohoho~" The Special Ops Boy sneered, his lower limbs alternating rapidly as he took quick strides, charging toward Doom.

He rushed toward the human brat who stood motionless, appearing completely terrified and arrogant, his mind already set on how to tear him apart!

The orc's movements were fast, his short-distance explosive speed astonishing; in just 0.56 seconds, he was within two meters of Doom.

Yet Doom remained motionless, seemingly truly frightened out of his wits.

The Night Watchers were getting anxious too! The genetic bloodline inherited from the Golden Age gave them terrifyingly fast reaction speeds.

The orc's movements appeared like slow motion in their eyes; although slow, he was closing in on Doom bit by bit!

Harlan narrowed his eyes, preparing to throw his spear to intervene, but suddenly felt a sharp gaze fixed upon him.

He dared not make another move; King Norwick would not allow anyone to break the rules of the dueling ground.

Yet Doom still stood there, no sign of fear on his face, looking completely composed.