Severely wounded

"Oh, oh, oh, oh... look what I've found! A powerful human, a ferocious firearm! I'll wager it'll go down in an epic!" the old dwarf shouted excitedly. The spectators finally did him the courtesy of craning their necks to look into the arena. Mostly, the M1 Rifle had made such a racket that it had driven away everyone's drowsiness. Its rate of fire was also utterly unexpected. There was no shortage of knowledgeable dwarven masters in the stands, but even most of them believed some sort of spell had been permanently imbued into the firearm-such weapons had existed before. Yet permanently imbuing a weapon with a spell was highly demanding technical work even for many master mages. That made enchanted firearms of this sort expensive and not worth distributing widely among riflemen. Otherwise, these dwarven craftsmen would surely have seized Diago's rifle by force and dismantled it to study its secrets.

"The gladiators' blood is boiling! Their lust for slaughter can no longer be contained! Who will their opponents be this time?" Grisstone roared passionately, as though only this could return him to those glorious years of old. "We'll be seeing jungle lurkers endowed with the power of venom! Their sharp claws and venomous fangs will show us the meaning of primal evil!"

"Cheer! Will our gladiators survive their promotion bout and face our ultimate challenge? After this duel, we'll know!" the adjudicator cried wildly, turning back toward the preparation room. At last, the spectators' interest had been stirred.

But the second bout did not begin immediately. Everyone had to wait while several Dark Iron Dwarves cleared away the dead Digger Worms. By now, the dead worms had tangled into one nauseating mass, covered in yellow-green slime, a revolting jumble of colors. Despite considerable effort, the dwarves could not pull them apart.

"Let me handle this round, all right, buddy?" Masley pleaded quietly with Diago while they waited. Ever since going underground, they had been sneaking around, hardly daring to breathe, and the young elf had found it unbearably stifling. What adolescent with grandiose fantasies didn't love flashy, stylish battles and letting his passion run free? In truth, he could hardly wait to cut loose and have a proper fight.

"All right," Diago said casually. He knew what their next opponents would be, and he did not believe they posed a threat to the Night Elf.

In the end, the dwarves still could not pull the enormous ball of worms apart. They simply rolled the whole lump to the very edge of the arena and left it there-they could deal with it once all of today's bouts were over. The arena had plenty of captive beasts that needed an extra meal. Honestly, sometimes the Dark Iron Dwarves were just that arbitrary.

After they left, the thick iron portcullis rose again with a grinding noise.

This time, the adventurers' opponents appeared quickly: four or five Lava Spiders, each the size of a tabletop. They were much larger than their counterparts in Searing Gorge, but that was all. These stowaways from the Elemental Plane could not even spin silk, nor did they possess the venomous fangs Grisstone had described. In truth, they were nowhere near as formidable as they looked.

After the opening bout, the spectators began focusing their attention on the coming fight. Masley did not disappoint them. With a deafening roar, an enormous beast appeared in the center of the arena.

The spectators were utterly stunned. This transformation lay completely outside their experience. Some in the front rows even rose from their seats and climbed to the very edge of the upper stands for a clearer look. After all, even the oldest Dark Iron Dwarves here might never have seen a Night Elf Druid. This ancient calling from Kalimdor, across the sea, was exceedingly rare here.

The Lava Spiders charging into the arena glanced around, then lunged without hesitation at the enormous creature in the center. They lacked the intelligence to judge how dangerous their opponent was, which might have been the root of their tragedy.

After his miserable experience in Searing Gorge, the Night Elf clearly knew how to deal with these arthropods. Hunting Lava Spiders in Searing Gorge had also given him ample experience.

His giant bear form was the best way to deal with these spiders. A single charge bowled over every opponent. The giant bear's swipes were practically overwhelming to the spiders, while these bugs' claws and fangs could not even pierce his thick fur.

With several squelches of bursting carapaces, the giant bear finished the battle covered in bodily fluids. He had taken even less time than Diago. The spectators had not even seen clearly what happened before it was all over.

An uproar swept through the stands. This pair of challengers was clearly stronger than they had imagined. They wondered which Silver Champion could handle these two and keep their wagers from going down the drain. Just then, the preparation room door opened again, and Adjudicator Grisstone emerged once more.

"At last, the moment everyone has been waiting for! Clearly, these prisoners have proven themselves strong enough to issue a challenge. So let us welcome our first Gold Gladiator, champion of the year, the orc Garrosh-"

He drew the name out, sounding somewhat hysterical, but the spectators were thoroughly worked up, and a commotion swept through the stands. More than anything, though, it was because of the man about to appear, the man who had brought them countless surprises and shocks over the past few years.

Without question, this was an enormous surprise, and the gamblers felt much more secure. Ordinarily, facing a Silver Gladiator defending the arena was already the limit for challengers entering for the first time. This arrangement practically announced that the matches were rigged. But apart from the two challengers in the arena, who cared? The Dark Iron Dwarves only cared that their wagers did not vanish into thin air.

"Grisstone clearly doesn't think much of these two either. Maybe he's placed a huge bet on them losing himself," many of them speculated hopefully. Sometimes people simply liked to look on the bright side, and Dark Iron Dwarves were no exception. It had to be said, though, that this guess reassured them considerably. "Now the gold in our purses won't grow legs and run off, will it?"

Amid Adjudicator Grisstone's deafening cries, the room across the circular arena from Diago and his companion slowly opened. A tall figure emerged from the darkness. He was an orc, wearing or painted with no Horde insignia that would allow Diago to identify his origins.

Diago's heart lurched. He knew who this orc was. Given a choice, this was the opponent he least wanted to face.

The orc entered the circular arena like a war machine rather than a living, breathing being. A pair of battle-axes lay crossed on his back. He regarded the two adventurers coldly, without so much as glancing at the Dark Iron spectators in the stands.

But the Dark Iron Dwarves clearly loved this attitude. They shouted loudly in admiration. Many raised both fists and stamped their feet, making the stands shake in welcome. In truth, under the oppressive enslavement of the Firelord, the arena was one of the pitifully few places where the Dark Iron Dwarves could freely vent their emotions.

The orc stood there with his upper body bent forward, looking more like a rock than any dwarf.

His equipment was clearly a haphazard assortment. He wore a cloth hood, gray-green mail, and leather shoulder armor studded with iron fastenings. His unremarkable high boots probably were not anything decent either. The only relatively striking items were the two battle-axes in his hands. These axes were enormous, looking like oversized kitchen cleavers with the backs of their blades clamped to wooden handles. Supposedly, Adjudicator Grisstone had specially commissioned a dwarven master smith to forge them for him. Orcish runes capable of activating Bloodlust were etched into them.

Diago could not help swallowing. Of the Arena of Order's aces, this orc was the best counter to a hunter's abilities. This orc Warrior was astonishingly fast and adept at avoiding slowing abilities such as Frost Trap. Once he closed in, shaking him off was extremely difficult. He was practically a hunter's nemesis.

In fact, this orc had not been captured and brought here. Quite the opposite: he had entered the Dark Iron Dwarves' territory of his own accord. Even Adjudicator Grisstone had been stunned when he met him. This orc, who called himself Ascetic Garrosh, had actually reached his arena all alone and made the insane request to stay and train here. Grisstone immediately realized that this enormous, gray-green-skinned fellow was no ordinary fighter and made him an ace of the arena.

The facts had vindicated his judgment. This orc had practically been born for battle and could rightly be called a fighting machine. His perfect record across thirty-nine gladiatorial bouts had made him shine throughout the Arena of Order. Notably, not one of his opponents in those thirty-nine bouts had survived. All had been dismembered. The most intact had been a dwarven Shield Defender, whose thick dark iron armor had helped him leave a complete corpse-if one did not count his head, which had been cleaved in two.

The orc walked into the center and took the two axes from his back. Crossing them, he assumed a fighting stance. Diago saw not a trace of fear or conceit in his eyes. In truth, had he harbored either, this orc would not have survived until now. He looked cautious and confident.

Diago knew opponents like this were the hardest to handle. But before he could warn his teammate not to be careless, the Druid bear had already launched a reckless attack.

Although Diago had already told Masley not to charge straight in and block his line of fire, the Druid bear still lunged ferociously at the orc head-on, with his back to Diago.

But the giant bear's lunge came to nothing. The orc swung his twin axes like a whirlwind. The bear could not even approach, much less land an attack.

A dozen or so seconds later, the orc's Whirlwind finally stopped. He planted his feet, but staggered dizzily, perhaps from spinning too fast.

An opening! Now! The Druid bear was secretly delighted. He let out a roar and lunged forward, roaring as he swept out a paw.

"Stop! It's a trap!" Diago shouted, but it was already too late. The giant bear had thrown his whole body into the lunge. Diago hurriedly fired, but the shot missed the orc. The bullet flew over his head and buried itself in the arena wall.

Diago's eyes strained wide as he watched the orc Warrior pivot and slip past the giant bear. Swinging his battle-axe, he hacked at the bear's flank. Although most of a bear's vital points were on its chest, a blow to the flank from that sharp battle-axe would still be enough to inflict a serious wound.

At that moment, however, the Druid bear's enormous body seemed cumbersome and sluggish. The orc's battle-axe slashed behind him. Though the elf avoided a blow to his vital flank at the last instant, the keen axe still left a horrific wound across his back, deep enough to expose bone.

The orc's technique was deft. As the axe blade struck his enemy, he dragged it and flicked it sideways. That single motion produced the effect of Mortal Strike. Obstructed by shredded flesh and torn skin, the ragged wound could not even close, much less heal.

The giant bear gave a low roar of pain and rolled away toward the edge of the arena. But the orc showed no intention of pursuing him. He turned his head and regarded the hunter coldly, making no attempt to conceal the killing intent in his eyes.