"Good Play? What more good drama could there be? It's already done?" "Hardy asked,

puzzled, as he recovered from his excitement.

"These two men were a pair of adventurers who came up from the surface, but were

unfortunately not clever enough to learn to respect the rules of the Underdark, and became

slaves to the arena." Wizlen explained to the three of them. "But my students asked me today

to save one of them. I don't know what he wants, but it's a simple matter for me."

Vincent looked at the Dark Elf Mage and felt that he was different from the other Drow. In

the eyes of ordinary dark elves you could see the perfect mixture of cruelty and guile, but in

Vizren's eyes, in his facial expression, it was hard to detect any emotion. There was nothing

but coldness in his face.

Whether he was stating a fact or smiling to explain something, no matter what expression he

put on, Vincent always felt out of touch with his heart. The old Master's use of his facial

muscles was purely and simply a matter of presentation.

"Wake up, little sleeper, you ought to see this. For a dwarf, you must never have seen an

execution."

Mark jerked out of his sleep Come over, it is like being poured cold water on the head. He floated up to the crystal window

and looked down.

"Don't worry, I was just showing him. There's no need for you to try to undo my magic." Vizlen

shook his finger. "It wouldn't really do any good."

"These two seem like good adventurers who could defeat the pit's minotaur Berserkers, but

they should be sentenced to death by the pit." Vizlen walked over to the crystal window and

stood by the corner wall watching the seething crowd below.

"Death! Die! Die! Die!" The frenzied crowd broke into thunderous shouts. And the sound of

their death was first heard from the scattered goblin "audience". As they infect others around

them, the idea of the victors' death spreads through the field like a plague, and whatever your

initial thoughts are will be drowned out by the tide.

"And so! At the request of all, today's two victors are beheaded!"

The two victors stood in the center of the arena. They said nothing. They were too tired to

say anything. Once inside the arena, where they become enforcer slaves, there are only two

ways: one way is to be killed in battle by your opponent, the other is to become the victor

and put your fate in the hands of the audience, praying for a slim chance of freedom.

But often the spectators love blood -- that's why they come to see it -- and often the victor

ends up dead.

A few troll executioners with broad beheading knives, accompanied by a small bear-goblin

escort, slowly approached the two adventurers. They were there as a precaution to prevent

the condemned man from inflicting a violent attack before his death. But it seems. This kind

of protection doesn't seem necessary, and those two guys are barely standing at all.

"My men will be here soon," he said. Weizmann pointed to the arena at his feet, still cold,

cold, like a transcendent looking at a swarm of unknown, muddled ants.

Separating the crowd, a dark Elf warrior walked quickly up to the executioner and handed

him a piece of paper. Several trolls huddled together, looked at it, nodded, and handed the

paper back to the messenger.

"Just received, it's a deed of redemption. The slave Kavs is now the personal slave of Jariel, a

resident of Prudence. And with the concurrence of the Arena."

"I'm sorry, there's only one execution to watch today, but there will be something more fun

than that..."

Before Vincent can ask questions, something changes in the center of the arena. The

condemned man, with the strength he could not find, seized his companion by the neck and

forced him to the ground. Through his penetrating eyes, Vincent could easily read the man's

expression. His eyes were red with such force that they bulging the muscles around them; He

was breathing fast and hard through his nose and mouth, and the veins on his arms were

visible beneath the red blood. As he attacked the people below him with all his strength, he

shouted loudly: "Why! Why are you alone? How could you!"

The troll executioner quickly rushed forward, and several people worked together to fight off

the maniacal creature.

"Look! These are the two men who came to the Darkspaces together and were captured

together, who have lived together as slaves and fought together. But when one is given a

chance to live and the other is not, this is what happens to them."

Vizlen looked with interest at the pale-faced dwarf and the puzzled warrior, and finally

returned his gaze to Vincent. The young mage seemed much the same as he had before he

had seen the scene. His expression was still very serious.

Vizlen continued, "Both men have just been sentenced to death, and the executioner is

approaching them, but they do not resist. Why? It's because they know that they have this

person with them on the road to death, that they are not alone. When others accept their

fate, even if it leads to death and extinction, they can accept it with peace of mind. The only

reason is that they are not the only one who is suffering."

'One of them has been spared from dying today, so the other has to go on his own. If two

Stolen story; please report.

sheep are together, waiting to be slaughtered, and suddenly realize that one of them is not

going to be killed today, the other sheep will howl with joy. It will be happy that one of them

is going to live."

"But we don't -- and I don't just mean humans or dwarves, but we drow -- when people

around us who should be facing the same misfortune as themselves are freed from it, they

feel angry, jealous, betrayed. Look at the strength of the body of that fellow, who, just a

moment ago, could hardly stand; Look at the strength of the arms of that fellow, who, just a

moment ago, could not hold his companions steady; Look at his voice, so loud, so mad, so

powerful, that just now he could not even say goodbye to his companions."

"Only because the man who fell next to him, just now, had been given a chance to live."

"And only by remaining a slave, miserable in the city of Prudence, in the city of the

Underdark..."

Vincent looked at the old mage, not expecting to hear so many words from him. Now he

looked at Vizren and felt nothing of the evil qualities peculiar to the dark Elves. The mage,

who had lived for at least a thousand years, was now nothing more than a bleeding-heart,

even a little like his master, Kasol, if the dark skin were removed from him.

The maniacal creature is pulled away, but he is still struggling under the troll's tackle. The bear

gnome nearby knocks him unconscious, which brings the situation under control.

"I only come to the arena when this kind of drama is likely, and I feel something different

every time I come."

"Take a closer look and see what happens to the one who is going to be beheaded. Listen to

the voices in the yard now, to the frantic voices calling for his execution. This time, there are

no goblins fanning the flames."

The nearly strangled slave Cuffus, supported by two bear gnomes, staggers out of the arena.

He does not look again at his fellow combatants -- not even at the moment of death.

The decapitation was a simple process, with the victim's position positioned, the hand raised

and the knife dropped, and it was over.

"All right, this show is over. Mr. Vincent... ' Vizlon returned to his chair. 'Don't be so surprised.

I know all three of your names. You're just trying to get attention or intimidate people. I, on

the other hand, am not surprised to have a few eyes around the city."

"Yes, Master Vizren, I agree with all that you say." Vincent soothed the frightened dwarf. "But

what's that got to do with us?"

"I am a master of prophetic spells, and my magical powers have been with me since the time

when the Great Arcane was alive. Fortunately, I was able to use the Magic Network and was

spared the catastrophe that killed all the Great Arcane."

"Vincent, you are a young man, but you already have good magical powers, even surpassing

me in some respects. I know exactly where your magical powers come from. The skill of

replenishing a magic item in a very short time, I saw it many times when I was young."

'But you probably don't understand the consequences of this kind of art. And you're not the

only one in the world with this skill. For all I know, there's at least one other guy." Vizlen picked

up a glass of water from a nearby table and took a sip. "I don't know who those guys are, but

I found you now. However you found it again, I tell you, keep your normal heart."

"For it is so great that it can swallow you up..."

Vincent frowned and looked at the mage who claimed to have been alive since the age of the

Great Arcane. "I still don't understand what you're saying..."

"I mean, one day, you'll get used to this great power -- even if it's nothing yet. You get used

to being on top, you get used to being able to control everything, but then you find out that

there's someone else who has that power, and you get crazy, you get jealous, you get angry?

Besides, when I was young, there were plenty of great Arcane masters; Now, there are none."

'So I'm going to give you some advice. Even if we do not meet today, I will tell you these

words at some later time. I've seen so much. I've even seen the whole Drow come into being,

how they came down here, and how they became what they are..."

"But aren't you a Drow yourself?" Vincent said, "I still don't understand what you're trying to

say."

"In fact, my vision of the future is also vague, but I see a person who will sow terror throughout

the Blasares world, a person who has the power of the Great Arcane." Vizren gently lit his

crystal glass with his finger. "I don't know if it's you or anyone else. But from what I just saw,

it's unlikely that terror will spread from you."

"We dark elves have chosen darkness, but this man is out to destroy light." Vizlen smiled. "Do

you think, if I wasn't dark now, I'd be more like a great sacrifice to Greafury, the god of light,

or a nagging one?"

"I've seen so many things, and I've made countless prophecies. So my life is coming to an end,

and I don't want to be involved in these things anymore, and whatever you do in Prudence, I

don't care to ask. But I say, Vincent, be careful of the power in your hands."

'It either begins with you or ends with you...'