The grand tournament is in the castle's majestic courtyard, flanked by the imposing western, eastern, and northern wings. Each wing boasts a large and ornate balcony on the second floor, which offers a stunning view of the courtyard below.
As the tournament progresses, the barony of Krimlond and Razlond comes to life outside the western wing. On the balcony, the influential figures of the baroness Lina and the lords of Razlond and Krimlond are gathered, their presence adding a layer of excitement as they cheer on their champions with unwavering enthusiasm.
On the balcony above their people, the Barons and Baroness of Erenlond and Solond are positioned outside the eastern wing. Their anticipation is palpable, their excitement contagious as they eagerly await the tournament's outcome, fervently rooting for their combatants.
The northern balcony overlooks the entire courtyard, reserved for the Queen and the royal family. They watch the tournament with keen interest, observing every move of the knights as they compete for glory.
In the courtyard below, the knights of the White Orchid are stationed, guarding that part of the wing with utmost diligence. The atmosphere is electric, and the excitement is palpable as the tournament climaxes.
The courtyard green is bustling with activity as the lower-ranking members of the baronies sit outside, chatting and soaking up the sun. Large umbrellas have been set up for most ladies, providing them respite from the heat. The combatants are gathered in the southernmost part of the courtyard, waiting for instructions. Runner and Zavet are among the group, eagerly anticipating their turn to fight.
When Runner spots Zavet, he urgently throws his hand up to get his attention. "Zavet," he calls out, his voice tinged with desperation. Zavet turns towards him, a smile spreading across his face. They navigate through the large crowd, their steps quick and purposeful. "Hi, are you fighting too?" Zavet asks Runner, sensing the urgency in his voice. "Yeah, I got kicked out of the order, and I'm being forced to fight to join a barony so the order doesn't execute me," Runner explains, his words rushed and filled with fear.
Zavet looks at Runner curiously and is surprised as he listens to his story. Runner describes in great detail everything that happened upon returning to the city.
Zavet looked at Runner, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh wow," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe he just no like you. He in the tournament?" Runner gestured towards a tall, muscular man with a bald head and a purple and white tabard standing in the crowd. The man's arms are crossed over his chest, and his expression is unreadable. Still, a sense of power emanated from him, making Runner think twice about fighting with him.
Zavet followed Runner's gaze and nodded, studying the man momentarily. "Is he strong?" he asked, his voice low.
Runner thought momentarily before answering, "Yeah, but he is arrogant. He probably thinks no one here can beat him."
As they spoke, the crowd around them grew quiet, and the tension in the air became palpable. Something was about to happen, and Runner and Zavet tensed, anticipating the tournament.
Merlot Nurison, the charismatic leader of the baronies, stands confidently in the middle of the bustling courtyard, addressing the lively crowd gathered before him. He beams with pride as he expresses his delight at how the festival has been great so far, and the people cheer in agreement. Merlot takes a moment to congratulate Krimlond on their well-deserved win in the battle of baronies, which was a thrilling and fun event for all in attendance.
Merlot, known for his sense of humor, apologizes for not being present during the battle and playfully jokes that they would have put up an even better fight if he had been there. The crowd laughs and nods in agreement.
The leader then makes a grand announcement, his voice booming with excitement, of a large tournament scheduled for the day, with the winner awarded a coveted Magic weapon. Merlot also reveals that the baronies will use the tournament to scout for recruits, adding a competitive edge to the already intense event. He encourages the fighters to do their best, his voice rising passionately, giving them a much-needed morale boost.
"WITH THAT BEING SAID, LET'S GET THE FIGHTS STARTED," Merlot bellows, his eyes shining with anticipation. He then leaves the courtyard and heads to the northern balcony with his wife, the queen's mother, to watch the tournament unfold.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with jet-black curly hair steps onto the lush green field, clutching a large scroll. With a commanding voice, he unrolls the scroll and announces the names of the first two combatants. The fighters make their way to the center of the field, each armed with their chosen weapon. The fight begins, and it's clear that both men rely solely on brute strength, lacking any real skill or finesse in their attacks.
One fighter wields a crude-looking axe, while the other uses a wooden club and a shield. The battle rages on, with the combatants trading blow after blow. Suddenly, the axe-wielding fighter's weapon gets lodged in his opponent's shield. Seizing the opportunity, the club and shield user lands a devastating blow, striking the axe-wielder with a well-placed attack that proves fatal.
After the fight, a man from Solond approaches and heals both combatants. The black-haired announcer steps back onto the green and raises the hand of the victorious club and shield user, declaring them the first to advance to the second round. With a gesture, he directs the winner to take his place in front of the northern wing, ready to face the next challenge.
The arena is alive with noise as the announcer calls out the next two fighters. The crowd is on its feet, eager to witness the impending battle. Suddenly, amidst the cheers and jeers, a woman strides into the arena, wielding a sword and shield. Her opponent enters from the opposite side, brandishing two short swords. Sitting next to Zavet, Runner nudges him and whispers, "She's good. I watched her last year."
Without wasting time, the woman charges forward, ramming the man with her shield before unleashing a flurry of sword strikes. The man is no match for her ferocity and skill; she slices through him like a hot knife through butter, nearly splitting him in two at the waist. Zavet is amazed and claps along with the rest of the crowd. Runner laughs and tells Zavet, "She beat Ivan last year; it was great. I don't know why no baronies asked her to join."
The woman is dressed in Viking-esque clothing, and her wild demeanor reminds Zavet of a predator he would have run from when he was just a little lizard. As soon as she pulls her sword out of the man's body, she makes her way to the winner's area without waiting for the announcer. The crowd roars with approval, and Zavet can't help but feel a sense of awe and excitement at the spectacle before him.
The arena is filled with cheers as the announcer congratulates a woman on her victory. As the crowd quiets down, the announcer calls out the next fighters. "Our next fighter is a favorite of the people, LORD IVAN!" His name echoes through the arena as he confidently strides to the center. Suddenly, Ivan interrupts the announcer's next call-out and steps forward, holding up a hand to stop the proceedings. "My lords, if you would allow me, I would like to make a challenge," he says, his voice clear and commanding. "I would like to challenge Runner Ghostfast. He was recently removed as one of my knights in training, and I would like to teach him a lesson today." The lords agree, and the queen gives him permission with a slight bow. As Ivan turns to face his opponent, Zavet gives Runner a rough slap. "Fight his mouth off." Runner sighs and reluctantly steps to the courtyard's center, preparing to face his former mentor in a grueling battle.
Runner gripped his two-handed sword tightly and got into his battle stance, with his sword level with his eyes. He pointed the tip of his sword towards Ivan's feet and lowered his stance slightly lower than normal. On the other hand, Ivan was wielding a longsword and a round wooden shield. His stance was lazy, as he didn't expect much of Runner, no matter how well he fought. Ivan constantly criticized him and forced the other knights to mistreat him.
Runner slowly circled Ivan, waiting for him to make a move. Once Ivan launched an attack, Runner quickly dodged backward and attempted to counter-attack by aiming for his feet. However, Ivan had brought his knee up, avoiding the attack. Runner side-stepped and went on the offensive, circling towards Ivan's sword hand. In a swift move, Runner drew first blood by cutting into Ivan's hip.
Ivan was taken aback by Runner's skills and retreated, quickly resetting his stance. He glanced at the lords, slightly embarrassed that he had underestimated Runner's abilities.
Runner was relentless in his attack, never giving his opponent a chance to catch his breath. He charged forward with great skill, striking and dodging with incredible speed and precision. On the other hand, Ivan went on the defensive, trying to block each attack, hoping to find an opening. They continued to trade blows back and forth, the intensity of their fight increasing with each passing moment. The crowd grew louder and louder with excitement, cheering them on as they battled it out in the center of the ring.
Ivan stumbled back, feeling the sting of a few new wounds. Frustration and anger boiled within him as he realized he hadn't touched Runner yet. Breathing heavily, Ivan locked eyes with his opponent. "Where was this determination when we were training?" he spat out. Runner just smirked in response. "You never allowed me to show you," he said, tauntingly. The crowd erupted into cheers as the two men clashed. Runner seemed to dominate Ivan with each attack, but Ivan just let out a small laugh as he threw his shield at Runner. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Ivan charged forward and grabbed Runner's sword by the hilt. Quickly, he stepped behind Runner and threw him to the ground. Runner gasped for air as Ivan let out a deep, guttural laugh. "You fell for that? You fight well; I'll give you that. But you don't know battle." As Runner started to roll away, Ivan swung wildly at him, determined to claim victory.
The seasoned warrior Ivan had Runner pinned to the ground, using his powerful legs to deliver a series of bone-crunching kicks. Ivan laughed maniacally as Runner rolled and writhed on the ground, unable to get up or defend himself. Ivan's face was twisted into a cruel sneer as he taunted Runner. "Where is your fight now, boy?" he jeered, clearly enjoying his dominance over his opponent.
But then, something strange happened. Ivan felt a sudden jolt of pain shoot up his arm, and he winced, feeling as though a bolt of lightning had struck him. He tried to move his arm, but it seemed paralyzed as if he had lost all control over it. As he rubbed his shoulder, a strange tingling sensation spread through his body, making him feel weak and unsteady on his feet. Despite the pain and confusion, Ivan managed to piece together what was happening. He looked at Runner, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and anger. "Poison?" he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "You would bring poison into a tournament? Coward!" His face twisted in agony as he realized his arrogance and overconfidence had led him into a trap. He felt his facial muscles twitching involuntarily and knew he was in serious trouble.
Runner gets back on his feet, his heart racing as Ivan's body slowly starts to succumb to the poison inside him, paralyzing him. Runner looks at Ivan with a mixture of disappointment and anger. "After all the training you put us through, you fell for what you tell us is the undead's favorite weapon? You should have known better, Ivan. You are an embarrassment!"
Runner walks over to his sword and picks it up, his eyes fixed on Ivan. He points the tip of his sword at Ivan's chest, slowly running him through, pushing the blade deep into his heart. Ivan's eyes go wide with shock, and he falls to the ground with a thud, his body lifeless.
Runner looks down at Ivan's lifeless body, his chest heaving with emotion. He feels sad for the Knight and relieved that the battle is over. The runner takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
The stadium erupts in thunderous applause as the underdog emerges victorious. The man with curly black hair strides confidently towards Runner and raises his hand to the sky. "My lords and ladies, we have just witnessed a remarkable turn of events. One of his former students has vanquished Lord Ivan, a seasoned warrior. The cunning use of poison against an undead-fighting knight has proven to be a winning strategy. It is a reminder to all of us never to underestimate our opponents." With a flourish, he lowers Runner's hand and guides him towards the winner's podium.
Runner stood next to the woman who had just won the second match in the tournament. "Hey, Alley," he said, trying to catch her attention. She turned to face him. "The poison was clever. I can't believe that idiot didn't have some sort of protection against it, especially since he is a knight. Don't undead have poison on their claws?" Alley's casual way of talking surprised Runner, but he was also intrigued by her knowledge of poison. "Uh, we normally ensure we are protected during patrols or travel. I knew he wouldn't have one. He didn't have a high expectation of me," Runner said, feeling slightly embarrassed. Alley smiled and cast a magic shield on herself that would neutralize the next poison she was infected by. Runner laughed as she finished and asked, "I take it that you won't be underestimating me?" Alley replied with a flirtatious tone, "Not at all. You were great." As they were talking, Zavet walked into the winners' area. Runner turned towards him and asked, "I didn't even see the fight start. What happened?" Zavet held his bloody fingers up and said, "He ran and jumped at me. So I side-stepped and let his attack hit my shield. It was bad. Maybe he tried a new move. It didn't work."
The announcer escorts Zavets' injured opponent off the green. "Wow, that was quite a scene. I'm unsure how a creature like that could compete in the tournament. It looks like the lizard injured his opponent's eye with his finger, and he didn't even use his tail, sword, or whatever else."
As the fights progress, Zavet, Runner, and Alley carefully observe each fighter, analyzing their every move. Most competitors are brutish and lack real skill or talent, but the trio closely monitors them. When the victors enter the winner's circle, the three friends step back, knowing they will face them in the next round.
After four of these fights, the announcer strides confidently to the center of the arena, his voice booming across the stands. He looks up at Krimlond's balcony, his expression of confusion and disbelief. "Are you sure, my lords, or was this a practical joke?" The members of Krimlond begin to look around with surprised expressions, wondering what he is talking about. Suddenly, a gray-skinned gnome with a long hat adorned with gears bursts out laughing, his high-pitched voice echoing throughout the arena. The announcer smiles and shakes his head as he rolls his eyes, amused by the gnome's antics.
"Lord Hoat, your name was magically entered by phantom writing," the announcer explains, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Will you be entertaining us with a show of sportsmanship?" A human with monkey-like features stands and looks at the gnome, his features twisted into a scowl. The gnome giggles and says, "I bet you five hundred gold you can't win this tournament." The crowd of peasants gasps and starts talking in hushed tones, unable to believe the audacity of the gnome's bet.
Hoat responds by raising his hands, his expression calm and collected. "Calm yourselves," he says, his voice carrying over the crowd's noise. "As Krimlond's right-hand man and second in command, I will accept this bet, but any winnings will go to the people. I will use it to build a new lumber mill where the wage will start at twenty-five gold per year." This wage would be very high and considered a high-class artisan's pay in a guild, prompting everyone to clap and cheer. The crowd erupts into a frenzy, their voices ringing across the arena as they cheer for Hoat and his generous offer.
As the names appear on the scroll, the announcer feels the tension in the air rise. The lords in attendance have different expectations for the tournament, which the announcer quickly addresses. "Your lordships, please," he says, trying to calm them down. "This is not the tournament you are looking for. As you all know, this is for talent scouting." He then turns to the queen and adds, "Yes, Lord Ivan participated and lost, but please, I apologize, your Majesty. Would you like this to continue, or would you like me to remove the lords?"
The queen stands up and looks at the crowd with a loving expression. She has a plan in mind. "For every lord that wins," she says, "they will do the same as Lord Hoat. The barony will pay the wage for the first year, after which the wage will be lowered to reflect the production cost. There will be no owners of these businesses. All of the profits will go to the employees." Her announcement is greeted with cheers and applause from the peasants, who realize this could significantly change their way of living.
Hoat jumps down from the balcony without any visible weapon. He approaches the announcer and asks, "May I join the winners' circle and fight in the second round of the tournament?" The announcer turns to look at the combatants who have not fought yet and agrees, "I do believe that will be fine. It will give us an even number of combatants." The other members of the entered baronies also go to the winners' circle.
Zavet, Runner, and Alley greet the lord and barony members as they enter the winners' circle. "Great fight, guys. The three of you had us excited. We just wanted to test you personally," Hoat tells them. Alley raises an eyebrow in annoyance as she looks at all the new people. "So all of that stuff was a lie?" Hoat grins and gives her a little laugh. "No, we will be doing that. We needed to boost the morale of the people. That was all part of the queen's plan." Alley shrugs and looks up at the queen.
After all the combatants had a round in the tournament, all the victorious participants assembled at the winner's circle. The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that The tournament will resume in three hours. Please take a break and enjoy some delicious food or explore the various attractions of the festival. We'll see you back here soon for more thrilling battles!"
Hoat stops Runner. "Would you come with me? I have something I would like to talk to you about." Hoat takes Runner under the Krimland balcony, where the barony members surround them.
"We have an informant who told us you fought a champion of the Forgotten."
Runner nods. "Yeah, I fought him." He turns to look at Zavet across the green at the winner's circle. "They let me go because of my name, Ghostfast. It apparently was a famous name of a necromantic knight. Why do you ask?"
Hoat also turns to look at Zavet, and a thought crosses his mind. "Who was the champion?"
Runner smiled. "He wasn't a champion. We were both fighting for our lives. They even commanded the knights of the Black Order to kill him, and he took out two of them at once. They thought he'd kill me easily. I think they were just testing his strength. I didn't get to see the outcome. He asked them to release me for putting up a good fight. We were both at their mercy. There was this bronze-skinned elf guy who seemed to be in charge."
Hoat nods and turns back to Runner. "A bronze elf? The old stories say the dragons freed this world of bronze elves and their necromancy. Are you saying you met one of them?"
Runner turned to Hoat. "Yeah."
Hoat looked at Zavet. "Who else knows about this?"
Runner shook his head. "Ivan didn't take me seriously. He wanted me out anyway. I'm pretty sure he didn't tell anyone."
Hoat rolled his eyes. "Ivan's stupidity caused us a lot of trouble back in the day. Did you know he was in Krimlond once? We had to kick him out because he was too stupid to work as a team. After he left, we started to become what we are now. He had the last baron in his pocket. Once Lina took over, she removed eleven members and kept Flynn." He laughed. "He was a joke. That's why his knight order is considered the worst of all the other orders."
Runner smiled, and they continued to talk about the barony.
Meanwhile, Zavet waits for the runner and ally to come back. He lies down and falls asleep. His eyes open to see a graveyard with mausoleums and tombstones as far as the eye can see. He looks down to see a half-skeleton black-scaled hand.
Zavet finds himself standing alone in a dark and eerie graveyard, and the air is thick with a palpable silence. Suddenly, a gravelly voice whispers a name, "Iscariot," and the sound is like gravel being poured over a fiery pit. He looks around to locate the source of the voice, and to his horror, he sees undead creatures crawling out of graves and mausoleums. The creatures stand before him as if waiting for his command.
The lord of liches, Merek, materializes before him and declares that the undead forces are ready to go. The voice returns, commanding Zavet to "go forth and kill the living." The command fills his mind, erasing all other thoughts. He screams, but no sound escapes his lips.
Suddenly, he wakes up on the green field, feeling the command still trying to control his mind. He struggles against it, grabbing onto the grass to ground himself. Slowly, the urge subsides, and he stands up with the help of Runner. He realizes he is in a nightmare, but the experience seems all too real.
Runner and Alley ask what happened, and Zavet is given water to drink. The announcer calls for everyone to take their seats, and the tournament's second round is about to begin. The crowd cheers as the first fight between Alley and Vlad, a fan favorite, begins. Vlad wields a long sword and a medium-sized shield, while Alley also has a sword and shield. The crowd eagerly watches as they take their positions, and the announcer shouts, "Fight!" marking the start of the second round.
Amidst the crowd's deafening roar, Alley begins to circle Vlad with agility and precision. Her movements are swift and calculated as she tries to find an opening in Vlad's defense. Meanwhile, Vlad's sword emits a fiery red glow, and a massive ball of fire soon forms around it.
The spectators gasp in amazement as Vlad charges towards Alley, hurling the ball of fire with all his might. However, Alley's reflexes are lightning-fast, and she deftly dodges the attack, causing the ball of fire to explode in a spectacular display of flames.
The crowd erupts into thunderous applause, cheering for their beloved fan favorite. But Vlad is not deterred, and he continues to face Alley with a confident smirk. With his sword held high, he blocks Alley's strikes with ease, taunting her with a mocking laugh and a dismissive shake of his head.
"You'll have to do better than that, my dear," he says, his eyes glittering with a cruel glint.
Alley launches a series of relentless attacks towards Vlad, but he seems to effortlessly dodge each of her moves. As she prepares to cast a spell shield, Vlad's sword emits a red glow again. He wastes no time and throws a ball of fire at her, which she successfully blocks. However, before the first ball hit, he launched another one, shattering her shield. Fortunately, her spell shield prevents her from getting hurt by the spell despite her shield breaking into bits.
Alley quickly reaches out to her side, pulls out a mace, and prepares herself to face Vlad. She starts casting spell protections and shields to defend herself, but Vlad seems completely unfazed and watches her intently. "Don't bother," he says to her. "I'll end this in just a second." Without hesitation, he charges towards her with his sword at the ready.
Alley, being no ordinary fighter, swiftly dodges Vlad's attack by dropping and kicking the tip of his sword up. In a split second, she pins his foot to the ground by stabbing through his foot and into the dirt. Vlad tries to turn around to defend his back, but Alley smashes the side of his knee with her mace, causing him to fall to the ground and rip his foot off the sword.
While Alley was preparing her spell, Vlad was trying to heal himself. She chanted, "I silence you; may your voice be forgotten." However, the spell hit Vlad and reflected to Alley. She panicked and struggled to speak, grabbing her throat.
"I was able to heal myself," Vlad admitted. "But that was all my spells. I'm not very skilled in magic. I always depend on my companions for spell shields and magic items." He then pointed towards his sword and said, "This is Faust. The best thing about its powers is that it cannot be healed if Faust removes a limb or your head. You would need to go to the healers guild to get it back. Do you have the ability to resurrect? Some people can't. I don't want to end the life of such a well-rounded fighter. If you forfeit the fight, I'll put in a good word for you at the healers guild," he said mockingly.
Alley and Vlad stood facing each other on a serene green field. As Vlad spoke, Alley took a deep breath, preparing for what would come. She strode confidently towards the center of the field and pointed to the ground, signaling she was ready to fight. Vlad's face twisted into a crooked smile as he chuckled, reminiscing about last year's tournament. "We would have invited you to join Solond, but we thought you were a Mary Sue," he taunted, "So we picked Krunk, the orc."
Alley couldn't forget humiliating Krunk last year and the night of the tournament when she was killed and robbed of all her possessions. As she turned to see Krunk standing under the Solond balcony, Krunk used the opportunity to distract her by twiddling his fingers. At that moment, Vlad swiftly swung his sword and struck her elbow, causing her to clutch her arm in agony. Before she had time to react, Vlad launched another attack; Alley's response was too slow. Her hand fell to the ground, still gripping the mace.
Runner warns Alley to move just in time as Vlad's sword narrowly misses her neck. She retaliates by attacking Vlad's ribs, breaking through them, and puncturing his lungs. Vlad tries to distance himself from her by rolling back, but Alley charges in to finish the job. The fighting is silent, and the only sounds heard are the wet noises of her sword cutting through his flesh. Three members of Solond intervene, including Krunk, to stop Alley from using Vlad's sword against him. They knock Alley down and take Vlad's sword away.
The green is now a site of chaos and bloodshed. The announcer quickly sends in the kingdom guards to stop the debauchery. Once everyone is off the green, they tend to Vlad, injured during the fight. However, despite their best efforts, Alley's arm remains injured and unable to heal. The tournament officials scold Vlad for using such a weapon in a friendly match, and the announcer asks one of the royal court members to fix Alley's arm at the cost of the Solond barony. A brown-skinned human named Leyland with white hair steps forward and offers to heal Alley. He draws a circle in the ground and pulls out a Book of rituals, telling her it will take thirty minutes to complete. She sits on the ground as he sets an empty chair beside her and begins to chant. As he does so, the circle begins to glow, and he works magic to heal her arm.
Meanwhile, the announcer again takes center stage to announce the next match. The combatants are Vexx and Knotley, two of the four brutes who had fought earlier. Vexx is the better fighter and waits for Knotley to tire himself out before taking advantage and killing him with a wild swing that removes Knotley's head. The announcer raises Vexx's hand as the winner, and Vexx cheers as he makes his way to the winner's circle. The healers tend to Knotley with a higher-level healing spell.
As the next match commences, the reigning beauty of the kingdom, Rowan, steps into the arena to face off against the newcomer Zavet. As Zavet hears his name, a surge of nerves grips him, compounded by a command implanted in his mind by Iscariot, inducing fear and dread. Reluctant to cause harm, Zavet closes his eyes and reflects on his carefree days as a lizard, reminiscing about days spent feasting on bugs and swimming in the streams.
Approaching Zavet with a friendly gesture, Rowan extends his hand for a handshake. However, the implanted command takes hold, compelling Zavet to unleash all the necromantic magic at his disposal onto Rowan's hand. An anguished cry escapes Rowan as the magic disintegrates his skin and muscles, leaving behind a skeletal hand that crumbles to dust as it falls to the ground. Rowan, reeling in pain and attempting to speak, is mercilessly attacked by Zavet, who uses his tail to rip into Rowan's throat.
As Rowan collapsed, Zavet prepared to deliver the final blow, only to be interrupted by a commanding voice: "That's enough, boy." Zavet's mind cleared upon hearing the voice, and he recognized it as Talich's. Spotting Talich in the crowd of peasants, Zavet waved in elation, relieved to see him after days of separation.
The healers quickly took Rowan off the green and began treating him, but he started yelling about something; the crowd's cheers quickly drowned out his voice. When they turned around, Rowan was nowhere to be seen. Talich suddenly appeared, explaining that Rowan had walked off, claiming he would finish healing himself. Talich sprinkled some dust on the grass, assuring them not to worry, and said he would make sure Rowan got his things. The healers shrugged and walked away while Talich wiped the sweat off his forehead, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed what he did.
Zavet walked to the winner's circle, where Runner clapped him on the back and said, "Damn, Zavet. He didn't even stand a chance. Your fights have been the fastest." Zavet laughed, feeling his mind clear. More than clear—he couldn't even remember the words that had made him lose control. Hoat approached Zavet, congratulating him. "Good job. Now you have a target on your back. He's a member of Solond."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Zavet turned to Hoat. "Why is that?"
Hoat explained, "Well, you humiliated him, for starters. That's going to be tough to recover from."
Zavet smiled and chuckled. "Why did he enter the tournament if he wasn't ready to lose? I enter every fight knowing I might be eaten."
Hoat gave Zavet a strange look. "Eaten?"
Zavet nodded. "You never know if a bird will fly down and scoop you up. I had an uncle who got taken by birds and pulled apart. They're mean."
Hoat looked at Zavet, dumbfounded. "Birds? What? Was your uncle a child?"
Zavet shook his head. "Nah, he was the biggest in my family."
Hoat tilted his head, thinking Zavet was messing with him, and started to laugh. "You had me for a second. Not going to lie. Birds!" Hoat laughed, slapping Zavet on the back. "I think we're going to get along famously."
Zavet smiled back, not understanding that Hoat thought he was joking. "I haven't had a problem with them since I became big."
Hoat grabbed his stomach in laughter, and Runner, Alley, and the others joined in. Zavet looked around at them, confused. "What's funny?"
The laughter continued, echoing around the winner's circle. Zavet stood there, his confusion deepening. He glanced at Talich, who gave him a reassuring nod, then back at the laughing group, trying to piece together the humor in his uncle's fate. But the camaraderie at the moment, the shared laughter, and the relief of having Talich back made the confusion more bearable.
The announcer looks at the winner's circle as they laugh. "Do you need a minute? You are the next match at your earliest convenience, Lord Hoat and Runner. The winner of this match will advance to the finals. You will skip the next round."
Runner catches his breath and makes his way to the green. Hoat sighs and looks at Zavet. "I was hoping to face you, my friend. It's okay though. For the next fight, can you try to make it last longer?" He winks at Zavet before taking his place on the green. The crowd erupts into cheers, chanting Hoat's name. He raises his hand and waves to the spectators, acknowledging their support.
Runner looks at Hoat with a questioning look. “Where is your weapon?”
Hoat smiles at Runner and extends his hand as a spear materializes into it. He expertly spins the spear around himself and assumes a fighting stance. Runner rolls his eyes, unsheathing his two-handed sword from his back and mirroring Hoat's stance.
The announcer glances at both of them, then declares, “FIGHT!”
Hoat leaps into the air, soaring higher than any normal person should be able to. Runner follows his trajectory but is momentarily blinded by the sun. The spear flies through the air, its back end forward, striking Runner in the chest. Hoat lands gracefully in front of Runner, the spear reappearing in his hand as if by magic. Runner darts in with a high feint, then attacks low, attempting to catch Hoat off guard.
Hoat ignores the initial feint and counters Runner's low attack, beating his sword to its intended target. He stabs the spear into the ground and delivers a high kick to Runner's face with precise execution. Runner spins with a wide, arcing swing, only for Hoat to block it with his spear. Hoat follows up with a back-fist strike to the same spot he kicked. Runner jumps back, nodding in acknowledgment of Hoat's skill.
The two warriors engage in a flurry of attacks and counterattacks. Runner darts forward, releasing a series of feints and strikes, utilizing his reach to his advantage. Hoat parries each blow with deft movements, his spear a blur of motion as he counters Runner’s relentless assault. The crowd watches in awe, the intensity of the fight captivating their attention.
Runner swings his sword downward, only for Hoat to sidestep and jab his spear towards Runner’s midsection. Runner pivots, narrowly avoiding the thrust, and counters with a swift side swipe. Hoat blocks with the spear shaft then spins to deliver a sweeping kick that Runner barely manages to evade.
Breathing heavily, Runner steps back, reassessing his strategy. Hoat remains calm and composed, his eyes locked onto the Runner’s every movement. The crowd's cheers grow louder, and the anticipation of who will win this intense match fills the air.
Hoat goes on the defensive, and Runner goes on the offensive. Vials of poison hit Hoat without him seeing Runner throw them. The poison has little effect on Hoat as he has grown an immunity to poison. Hoat leaps into the air and goes on the offensive. Runner is hit on top of the head with the blunt side of the spear. Hoat continues to attack, pushing Runner back. His attacks are more precise than what he used to. Runner realizes that Hoat may be the most skilled fighter he has seen and fought against. He stays on the offensive longer than Runner can keep up with. His arms and legs start to give out. He falls but throws his sword up to try a counterattack. Somehow, the sword makes contact. Hoat jumps back, grabbing his thigh.
“Nice Counter. Very good form. Exilent endurance. Some training on the ships will help with your footwork,” Hoat tells Runner. Runner stands and catches his breath. You are not using magic or any magic items besides the spear coming back to you, which is pretty cool.” Hoat shrugs. Would you like to see me do more? I'm not saying I can easily beat you. I was just wanting to see your fighting ability.” Runner smiles, showing his teeth “Sure, let's see what the second in charge of the most accomplished barony can do.” Hoat laughs and summons a golden black and green spear. “Ok,” The spear starts to float by his side.
Hoat and the other spear dart in faster than Runner's eyes can keep up with. The spear attacks on its own, while Hoat uses his other spear to prevent the Runner from blocking the floating spear. The spear penetrates straight through Runner as though he is made of paper. Runner falls to the ground and sees the sky. The spear continues stabbing him until Hoat calls it back. The healers rushed to Runner's side and began healing him.”Sorry Runner. The spear is made for killing. I would never use it unless I'm in a dire situation. I was just showing off for the crowd.” Runner sits up “Yeah, I can see the gap. So magic items can create a large gap in ability and skill.” Hoat shrugs “Well, magic itself creates the gap. A straight-up fighter with no magic ability has its limits. Now, a fighter who also uses magic will be the most powerful person on the battlefield.”
Runner stands and shakes Hoats hand. Hoat turns to the members of Krimlond and then looks back to Runner. “If you accept, we will gladly take you in. Maybe one day you can join us.” Runner can't hide his excitement, so he walks to the Krimlond balcony and sits beside the other members on the grass. They all pat his back and start going through his pockets. One of them says, “ He doesn't have shit. “ one of the ladies starts putting stuff in his pockets. Runner laughs and playfully pushes them away. Lina starts throwing stuff at her hooligans. She starts mouthing the words “ Quit”. They all start messing with her back by giving her a surprised look.
The announcer walks onto the green again. “ Ladies and gentlemen, that was quite the show. Krimlond looks like it has found a recruit. It's been quite some time since they have taken a new member. Congratulations, Krimlond.” He smiles at them and shakes his head. Our next match is Jett and Gnash. These two are the other ones that used brute strength.”
Gnash walks onto the green, but Jett does not move. He holds his hands up and tells the announcer he does not wish to continue. He walks out of the winner's circle and walks out of the area. The announcer sadly accepts the forfeit. “ Looks like Gnash goes to the next round.
The announcer turns to face the winner's circle. “Zavet, Alley, you are the next combatants. Let's see a nice, clean match.” Zavet looks to Alley excitedly. “You ready?” Alley looks at Zavet, testing her voice, and clears her throat. “ Yeah, let's give them a good show, yeah. Don't try to win so fast.” Zavet laughs along with Hoat
Zavet walks onto the green, full of excitement. Alley makes her way to the weapons racks next to the green. She grabs a new mace, a dagger, and a shield. Then, she meets Zavet in the middle of the green. The announcer looks at both. “Are you ready?” They both nod. “Fight,” the announcer takes a few steps back; Alley and Zavet circle each other.
Alley begins to cast protective magic, creating a shimmering shield around herself. Zavet mimics her, but his shields are darker and slightly obscure his form. Alley, puzzled by the difference, squints to see him better through the magical barrier.
“Here I come,” Zavet announces, striding confidently towards her. Alley strains to see him through the distortion of his shield, but suddenly, he’s right beside her, striking swiftly. She winces as his tail slashes her side, drawing blood.
“Uhh, Zavet, the shield is supposed to stay on you,” she admonishes, clutching her wound. Zavet glances at his shield, realizing it has drifted away. “Just a sec,” he mutters, gesturing for the shield to return to him. The crowd laughs as Zavet chases the elusive orb of magic around the arena. Alley shakes her head, taking advantage of his distraction to launch an attack.
She catches him off guard, her blade cutting deeply into his dominant arm. Zavet shows no sign of pain, and his focus is solely on retrieving the orb. He finally grasps it, only to find Alley behind him, poised to strike. In a panic, he hurls the orb at her. It passes through her, causing her eyes and fingers to blacken with decay. She stares at her hands in horror.
“Zavet, what is that?” she demands, her voice tinged with fear.
Zavet shrugs, unsure. Seizing the moment, he attacks again, his tail tearing a chunk of flesh from her side. Alley darts back, attempting to heal herself, but the healing magic only intensifies her pain. She screams, her eyes filled with desperation. “What did you do?”
Zavet looks at her helplessly, gesturing with his hands in confusion. Desperate and angry, Alley launches a ferocious onslaught, her attacks fueled by pain and panic. Zavet dodges and counters, but her expertise leaves him with numerous wounds. His left leg is barely attached, hanging by tendons and muscles.
Alley’s condition worsens rapidly. Her eyes and nose turn black; her breathing becomes labored. “Zavet, you need to pull this out of me before they see. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want you getting into trouble if it’s what I think it is,” she whispers urgently.
Alley begins a theatrical display of attacks, intentionally missing Zavet by narrow margins. He catches on and starts working to extract the dark magic from her. With each attempt, dark liquid oozes from her pores like black sweat. Her face and hands gradually clear as the malevolent substance is expelled.
The crowd, unaware of the true nature of their struggle, cheers wildly, believing they are witnessing an intense and skillful duel. Zavet focuses intently, using his knowledge of necromancy to draw out the last remnants of the dark magic. Alley’s breathing steadies and her skin returns to its normal color.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes filled with relief and gratitude. Zavet nods, his wounds severe but his determination unwavering. The two warriors, now allies in their secret struggle, face the crowd with the appearance of fierce competitors, their true battle hidden beneath the spectacle.
She wipes her face and starts attacking again. Zavet falls as she cuts off his leg. He rolls and attacks with his tail, knocking her sword out of her hand. He pulls her in, and they start grappling on the ground. She manages to pull out the dagger and starts stabbing him. He gets his tail around her neck and starts choking her. She stops fighting and goes limp. He keeps choking her. After a few moments, the healers tell him she is out, and he wins the fight.
Talich walks up to Zavet, pulls him off the green, and begins healing him. “Boy, Do Not Use Your Magic Here. I will pull you out of this tournament. You understand me.” Zavet cowers, never being scolded like that. “I'm sorry. I don't know how to use it very well.” Talich pats his head and waits to see if anyone approaches them. After five minutes, no one approaches them. “No one noticed the magic was necromancy,” he says quietly. “You took some heavy hits. She stabbed you a bit in the ribs. Zavet, that dagger was pretty long. How did you manage to stay alive, sustaining that much damage? “ Zavet shrugs. “ I don't know. I know it should have hurt, but something was pushing me forward. “
Talich used four higher-level necrotic spells to heal Zavet. He whistles in amazement “That's a lot of magic to heal you. Something is changing within you. Getting stronger. If I gauge your endurance, you would be around the power of a death knight, the strongest undead you can create without being a lord of necromancy. You are not undead, though. But you are healed by necromantic magic. If I were you, I would lose the next match on purpose. We don't need the royals taking an interest in you.”
Zavet listens but starts shaking his head. “I don't want to lose. I want to fight Hoat. I can smell necromancy on him. Watching his fight with Runner, I don't know if I can beat him. I want to find out.” Talich grins and laughs a little bit. “ You may be able to. I don't know anyone besides myself who can take a death knight alone. Last year, It took six of the strongest members of Krimlond to kill one.” Zavet laughs and starts acting tough with his arms as if he is swollen with muscle.
The announcer calls Gnash and Vexx to the green. Vexx walks up, waves to the crowd, and meets Gnash. The announcer gets them in the middle of the green and yells, “Fight!”
Vexx and Gnash clash as they both furiously charge each other. The two begin to exchange blows. Both of them use brute strength.
The two combatants continue exchanging blows. After a few minutes, they are exhausted yet push through, trying to get the upper hand. Gnash falls to his knees as Vexx stands, looking down at him. Both men are breathing heavily. Vexx musters up the last bit of his strength and kicks Gnash in the chest. Gnash lays on his back motionless. Vexx drags himself over to the other combatant. Vexx delivers a devastating blow to the chest of gnash. He slowly steps back, waiting for the healers to do their part. They run in and begin casting healing spells on both combatants.
The announcer yells, “I think we have a winner. That was a great display of strength for both combatants. Vexx has shown us he is here to win. We will see Vexx and Zavet in the semi-finals. We will take a short break to allow Vexx to catch his breath. “ Vexx sits in the winner's circle, away from the others.
Zavet sits with Talich as they wait. Alley walks over to them with some food and a cup of water. “You were something else out there, Zavet.” he looks up at her. She hands him fish and water. “A little something to keep you going. I am looking forward to this being over. I want to get to know you and Runner. You guys are fun. I think I'll go places if we become friends. “ Hoat Interrupts Zavet as he is going to reply to her. “You were all great. Don't worry. Win or lose, I will give the four of you tokens of our barony. We will include you in our missions and jobs. Just to feel you out. You hear that vexx that counts for you, too.”
Vexx turns to Hoat “I would not join your little group of stuck-up elites. You are a laughingstock of the kingdom. Your group is as strong as it is because you keep a small number of members. The spoils of your missions and wars spread out equality.” Hoat nods and gives Vexx an apologetic smile. “ I'm sorry, that's what it looks like from the outside. The real reason we keep low numbers is because we have been betrayed multiple times. Each time, they have taken very valuable rituals from us, along with magic items we loaned to the members. So yes, we are very cautious about who we let join us. It takes years to gain our trust now. every barony has gained power in one way or another because of our ex-members stealing info or other valuables from us.” Vexx just stares at Hoat for a long minute. Then he stands up and walks away.
The announcer walks to the center of the green. He bellows out. “Your Majesty, lords, ladies, And our beautiful People of the kingdom. Welcome to the Semifinals. We have The Lizardman Zavet and Vexx Andiesen, older brother to lord Vlad Andiesen.”
The courtyard green buzzes with anticipation as Vexx and Zavet approach the center of the arena. Vexx, his demeanor cold and detached, wields a basic iron short sword in one hand and a longsword in the other. Each weapon, though simple in design, gleams under the afternoon sun. Zavet, a seasoned lizard man, checks his weapon, Rumpwhip, and his sturdy shield, ensuring they are battle-ready. The metallic clink of his shield is reassuring. He lifts his gaze, meeting Vexx's determined stare as the announcer raises his hand, ready to signal the beginning of the duel.
Without warning, Vexx charges forward, his eyes locked on Zavet. He leaps into the air, swords poised to strike. The announcer’s voice cuts through the tension, “Begin!” The clash is immediate and violent—Vexx’s swords meet Zavet’s shield with a resounding clang. The force of the impact sends Zavet crashing to the ground, his shield buckling under the pressure. Vexx lands deftly, his form agile and predatory.
Both combatants quickly regain their footing and begin to circle each other; eyes narrowed in focused intensity. Vexx’s movements are fluid and precise, betraying a level of skill that seems almost unexpected. His strikes are a blur of steel as he presses his advantage, his swords cutting through the air with lethal intent.
On the sidelines, an old elf materializes beside Talich, who is cheering fervently for Zavet. An ethereal glow and an air of authority mark the elf’s appearance. “How has our little lizard fared in the tournament?” the elf inquires, his voice a low murmur though it carries an underlying command.
Talich, caught off guard but quickly regaining composure, turns to face the elf. “Master? What brings you here?” he asks, his voice tinged with surprise and respect.
The elf places a weathered hand on Talich’s shoulder; his touch is both reassuring and commanding. “I sensed a significant surge of energy emanating from this area,” he explains, his gaze fixed intently on Zavet. “I needed to relay a command directly to you. You and the lizard must assist the city with the impending events. Maintain a favorable appearance. Consider taking over a barony. Have Zavet align himself with Lina for the time being. I have further tasks for him once he ingratiates with their circle.”
As the elf begins weaving a complex spell, murmuring arcane words, Talich watches with keen interest. The magic weaves around the elf, shimmering with an otherworldly light. “We will do as commanded,” Talich responds with a slight bow of his head, his voice firm and resolute.
Back in the arena, the fight has reached a fever pitch. Vexx’s attacks are relentless, leaving a trail of blood and injuries on Zavet. The lizard man’s cold-blooded nature gives him extraordinary tolerance for pain and injury. Despite the grievous wounds—a missing eye, a severed arm at the elbow, and numerous punctures—Zavet’s resolve remains unshaken. His breathing is labored, his movements sluggish, yet he stands firm, his gaze unwavering.
Facing Vexx, Zavet’s raspy but determined voice emerges. “Why do you fight like this now when you fought so differently in your previous matches?”
Vexx halts his advance, lowering his swords. His expression shifts to one of casual disdain, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “My apologies,” he says, his tone dripping with condescension. “I seldom leave the Andiesen Estate. My primary role is training the Andiesen guards. I initially entered this tournament out of boredom. However, with the lords participating, I saw an opportunity to remind them of their lesser standing compared to the House of Andiesen. My little brother’s defeat at the hands of someone from the north was a disgrace to our family.”
Zavet, his resolve steeled and voice resolute, responds with a dismissive shrug. “That someone from the north is named Alley. She put up a better fight than you. You talk too much.”
The shift in Zavet’s demeanor is palpable; his focus and determination are sharper than ever. The duel has become more than a mere contest of skill; it is a testament to Zavet’s indomitable spirit and Vexx’s arrogance. Mesmerized by the unfolding drama, the crowd waits, awaiting the next move in this high-stakes confrontation.
The magic that the old elf weaved seeped into Zavet from the ground. Vexx did not realize why he got so many hits off Zavet. It was not because he was better than him but because he was receiving Messages from the old elf through magic. He was told to stand exactly Where he is currently standing. All of Zavet's wounds closed, and his missing Limbs started to grow back extremely fast. A voice command from Talich's Master creeps into Zavet's mind. Win this tournament. The command rang through his mind. His mind entered another state of Concentration.
Vexx charged in with unmatched skill, which this tournament has yet to see. Zavet waited for the last second, just as the swords were a foot from his face. He threw himself backward into a backflip. He wrapped his tail around his opponent's leg, causing Vexx to do the slips. Vexx screamed in pain and rolled over, escaping an onslaught of kicks, tail whips, and claws.
In panicked defensive maneuvers, Vexx cut the lizardman's tail off. The onslaught stopped, giving him time to stand up. Zavet used this time to grab his rump whip and his shield.
As the duel resumes, Zavett adopts a new strategy. Each time Vexx lunges with a sword, Zavett counters with precise bursts of magic, conjuring barriers of shimmering energy and pulses of elemental force. Vexx, initially surprised, quickly adapts. He nods in acknowledgment, a flicker of appreciation crossing his face as he begins to mirror Zavett’s magical responses. With a deft flick of his wrist, he channels the same type of magic, creating a fluid exchange of magical prowess between them.
The air crackles with the clash of magic and steel, and the arena’s atmosphere is tense. Zavett, however, catches a whiff of something familiar—an unmistakable scent of necromancy. His eyes narrow as he looks at Vexx with renewed scrutiny. “You use necromancy too,” Zavett accuses, his voice a low growl.
Vexx, momentarily losing his frustrated scowl, winks at Zavett with a hint of satisfaction. “Indeed. It’s a useful tool,” he admits casually, gesturing to a healed wound that would have otherwise been a gaping injury. “It healed me.”
Zavett glances down at the wound that should have been on Vexx, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and understanding. “I see,” he responds, his tone heavy with realization.
Still excited, the crowd falls into stunned silence as Vexx abruptly raises his hand. “I forfeit!” he declares with a dramatic flourish. His sudden decision leaves the spectators in disbelief, and the crowd roar transforms into a murmur of confusion and speculation. Vexx strides off the green with a confident, almost defiant stride.
The Queen rises from her seat, her regal presence commanding attention. She addresses the discontented crowd with a voice both soothing and authoritative. “You must respect his decision, whether you agree with it or not. It is his right to forfeit. We rarely have the honor of witnessing a trainer from such a prestigious household as the House of Andiesen enter our tournament. I extend my gratitude to Vexx for the captivating performance he has given. Your display thoroughly entertained both Her Majesty and me.”
Her gaze shifts to Zavett, admiration evident in her eyes. “Our newcomer Zavett has demonstrated unparalleled tenacity. Such heart is rarely seen even among the generals of our army. We thank you, Zavett, for providing a fight that will be remembered forever. We now bestow upon you the title ‘The Unpredictable’ for your actions defy expectations and keep us on the edge of our seats.”
Merlot Nurison, the formidable leader of Razlond, chuckles warmly as he applauds Zavett’s performance. He then turns to the Queen Consort, patting her hand affectionately. She responds with a loving smile, blowing him a kiss. Her lips form “love you,” a silent but heartfelt declaration of their bond.
As the crowd settles, the announcer steps forward. “We have a winner!” he proclaims. “Zavett, please step off the green and take a moment to clean up. You’ve earned it.”
Zavett, his energy depleted and his heart racing wildly, stumbles over to Talich. With a relieved exhale, he collapses into Talich’s supportive arms. Talich, his demeanor protective and reassuring, envelops Zavett in a firm embrace. “Breathe, boy. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, holding Zavett with the strength and tenderness of a bear cradling its young.
The old bronze elf approaches, placing a comforting hand on Zavett’s back. “You fought well, my boy,” he says, his voice warm and encouraging. “I had no doubt you would prevail.”
Zavett looks up, his voice breaking with fatigue. “Meh'na—”
He is interrupted by Talich’s firm squeeze. “Alright, Zavett, let’s discuss your strategy for your next opponent, Hoat. He wields two spears; one is a formidable weapon, and the other has a mind capable of attacking and defending autonomously. It’s going to be your toughest fight yet. You’ll need to rely heavily on your magic to have any chance of victory.”
Talich releases Zavett and turns to the old bronze elf with urgency. “Master, do you have any advice or assistance for him?”
The elf’s eyes sparkle with a knowing glint as he extends a hand toward Zavett. “Indeed,” he says, his voice imbued with ancient wisdom. As he channels energy through his hand, a warm, pulsating light envelops Zavett. The power surge causes Zavett’s eyes to glow a fierce red, and his claws and tail elongate and sharpen, an enhancement that remains unnoticed by those outside the green.
Zavett feels the transformation within him, the added strength and precision making him feel more formidable than ever. With newfound resolve, he prepares for the challenges ahead, ready to face whatever comes next in the tournament.
As the final match approaches, the courtyard green is electric with anticipation. Hoat and Zavett stand facing each other at the center of the arena. Before the announcer can make his customary call, Hoat confidently strides forward, clearly eager to begin. Zavett, eyes narrowed and focused, remains calm and composed.
The announcer’s voice cuts through the crowd's murmur, building excitement. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, we present the finals of one of the most thrilling tournaments in the past forty years. A newcomer has made it to the finals—an unprecedented achievement. Our lizard man fighter has displayed a level of power and determination that belies his size, with feats that some would have thought impossible. And now, he faces an opponent who is a legend in his own right.”
The crowd roars in anticipation as the announcer continues. “His opponent is one of the greatest warriors of our kingdom, the leader of our most illustrious baronies, the lord of the seas, and a man of extraordinary accomplishment. He is Hoat, a name that will be remembered in the annals of history. Hoat won this tournament twenty years ago at fifteen, and he is the only known person to have ever defeated Sir Merlot Nurison. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you—Lord Hoat!”
The roar of the crowd crescendos, their cheers echoing throughout the arena as the announcer steps back, signaling the start of the fight. The tension is palpable as the two combatants stand across from each other, sizing each other up.
Hoat, a towering figure with supreme confidence, begins by summoning his spear. The weapon materializes in a greenish-gold light, crackling with magical energy. The spear’s ethereal glow contrasts sharply with Zavett’s more subdued presence. Zavett tightens his grip on Rumpwhip, his shield positioned defensively. The weight of the command to win the tournament bears heavily on his mind, and he watches Hoat’s every movement with intense concentration.
Hoat moves with deliberate ease, feinting and probing for openings. His movements are a calculated dance meant to unbalance and unnerve his opponent. He launches a series of swift, probing attacks, each expertly aimed but ultimately blocked by Zavett’s steady defense. Zavett’s responses are smooth and confident, his shield effortlessly absorbing the impact of Hoat’s strikes.
Suddenly, Hoat gestures, commanding the magical spear to act independently. The spear flies through the air, seeking Zavett as an autonomous entity. However, it skims past Zavett, unable to lock onto its target. Hoat’s eyes flash with understanding and slight frustration. “I anticipated this,” he admits, his voice hinting at resignation. “After revealing that I’m tied to the creator of this spear, I realized it can’t attack those who are connected to its creator. It’s a limitation of the magic, but it’s the best I can explain within these confines.”
Hoat unsummons the spear with a flick of his wrist, the greenish-gold light fading from view. He closes the distance between them with remarkable speed, moving with an unnatural swiftness that defies expectations. He throws the spear behind Zavett, using it as a distraction, and then unleashes a flurry of kicks and punches. Each strike lands with precision, causing moderate but significant damage to Zavett. Despite his best efforts, Zavett struggles to counter the relentless assault.
Hoat leaps back, raising his hand in a gesture of satisfaction. Just then, the spear reappears, thrusting toward Zavett’s back with deadly intent. The attack would have pierced him, but Mah’nethotep’s enchantments on Zavett’s body activated in the nick of time, mitigating the spear’s impact. The enchanted magic envelops Zavett, absorbing much of the blow and leaving him staggered but alive.
The magical spear that struck Zavett's back spins out of his body and tumbles over his shoulder, leaving a trail of blood. Zavett winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He quickly lifts his shield hand, channeling his magic to heal the wound. The pain subsides as the wound begins to close, though the effort leaves him visibly shaken.
Hoat, observing Zavett's swift recovery, grins with respect and excitement. “Oh, so you’re going to be a harder fight than I anticipated,” he declares, his voice bubbling with exhilaration. “This is getting interesting.”
Without hesitation, Zavett surges forward, launching a relentless barrage of attacks. His movements are a blur of precision and fury. Hoat counters with fluid grace, parrying and evading with skillful agility. The clash of their weapons and the impact of their blows create a cacophony. Both combatants are soon covered in minor wounds, their skin marred by cuts and bruises. Despite the injuries, neither fighter pauses. They heal themselves as they continue their ceaseless exchange of strikes and defenses.
Hoat decides to escalate the battle. With a commanding gesture, he summons a blast of fire magic, propelling himself high into the air. From this aerial vantage point, he hurls his spear toward Zavett with deadly accuracy. Zavett, anticipating the attack, reacts swiftly. He throws his shield with precise aim, intercepting the spear mid-flight and knocking it out of the air with a resounding clang.
As the spear clatters to the ground, Zavett grabs it, feeling its weight and the potent magic infused within it. But the spear’s returning magic is stronger than Zavett’s grip. The force pulls him through the air, dragging him towards Hoat. Zavett, in a desperate move, prepares a spell. His eyes blaze with determination as he unleashes a powerful burst of energy into Hoat’s chest. The spell's force propels both fighters downwards, their bodies hurtling through the air.
They crash to the ground with a thunderous impact, a cloud of dust and debris erupting from the collision. Zavett seizes the moment, charging toward Hoat with a fierce resolve. He wraps his tail around Hoat’s neck, trying to strangle him into submission. But just as victory seems within reach, a spear materializes through Zavett’s chest, piercing him with deadly force.
The body Zavett was choking fades into raw, swirling magic, revealing the illusion for what it was. Hoat’s true form emerges, and his expression is a mask of cold satisfaction. He shoves Zavett away, pinning him to the ground with a powerful grip.
Hoat then casts a high-level healing spell with careful precision. The spell’s aura is subtle, cloaked in a veil of magic that hides its true nature. As the spell engulfs Zavett’s head, the intended effect becomes apparent—Zavett’s life force is being drained away, leaving him helpless and on the brink of death. Hoat keeps the spell’s effect discreet, ensuring that no one in the crowd realizes it is a healing spell, thus preventing any interference or suspicion.
Hoat leans in, his voice a low murmur filled with grim satisfaction. “As I thought,” he says quietly, his words barely audible above the crowd's din.
Zavett’s vision fades as the spell takes its toll, his body succumbing to the enchantment’s fatal power. The arena, once filled with the roar of excitement, now falls silent as the crowd watches the match's dramatic conclusion, the shocking and devastating outcome.
The crowd's cheers quickly turn to screams as everyone begins to rush the green. Using his magic, he leaps through the air and lands on the balcony. From there, he notices the chaos: people are attacking each other, their movements jerky and unnatural. "Undead, they are undead," he hears people screaming, desperately fighting for their lives amidst the madness.
Mah'nethotep and Talich now stand atop the castle, with Talich holding Zavet's lifeless body. "Is this according to plan?" Talich asks.
Mah'nethotep shakes his head. "No. I commanded all undead to stay away today. This is unnerving. As the master of the undead and necromancers, something of my caliber is at work here. But what can it be?"
Talich lets Zavet's body dissipate, casting a spell on the ghost left behind. The ghost is a shadow of pure necrotic energy, reminiscent of the moon of necromancy.
"By the power of necromancy, I command you, spirit, to serve my will. Follow the pull you feel towards the black pyramid. I will meet you there. Do not go towards the golden light at the healer's guild. Hear my command."
The spirit slowly disappears as it begins its journey the necromancer guild hall.
The undead overwhelmed the city in mere moments. Each person they killed rose again as one of the undead, perpetuating the cycle. Panic and chaos spread as people ran for safety, but many did not leave the city. The streets were quickly filled with the fallen, their once vibrant lives now twisted into a macabre army of the undead.
The queen is quickly escorted to one of the flying ships, which is kept as a precaution. The barony and their members fight valiantly to keep the royal family safe.
Runner frantically searches for Zavet but never finds his friend. Amidst the chaos, he finds Alley, and together they fight the undead with all their might. The undead seem endless.
Erenlond is the first to fall, followed by Razlond. Krimlond and Solond manage to reach their embassies. Solond barricades their sector of the city, but Krimlond lacks the manpower to hold off the hundreds of thousands of undead. They lose Teric and Scarlet in the fighting. Harley is separated from the group and ends up within Solond's sector of the city.
Lina, Hoat, Gauge, Flynn, Runner, and Alley are the only survivors to their knowledge. They reach the Krimlond embassy and can board one of the ships, hoping to escape the nightmarish fate that has befallen their city.
“We just lost all of our rituals and items,” Gauge says with a deeply sad sigh. Hoat is screaming for Harley, hoping she is still alive. “Gauge, can you message her?”
Gauge shakes his head. “Sorry, all of that stuff was in our keep. We couldn't waste time to gather it. Sorry, sir. I truly am. But if she dies, she can resurrect at the keep back home. It may take her a week or so, but she will.”
Unbeknownst to them, the people who became undead had their souls locked in their bodies. The undead would need to be killed before resurrecting, a deviation from the normal undead creation spells.