As they made their way back to the pitch, much had become clear for Veil. Firstly, after glancing at the scoreboard, he saw that he was dinged more heavily for missing the last part of the third event. He was still in first, but by a margin of only 20 points. The second thing he noticed was Grok was tied in fourth place. The other thing he noticed was that the pitch had been turned into a fighting area, and the crowd was now gathered, watching a duo face off in it. Panic settled into his stomach, almost causing him to spew the alchemical formula he’d imbibed only moments before.
“Oh no, did I miss my fight?” he asked, looking down at Tank.
“I do not believe so,” Tank responded.
“Let’s go find out. Do you see the chief or Grok?” Veil asked.
“I do not, but I can sense them. They are over there,” Tank replied, motioning towards the east side of the pitch.
“I didn’t know you were a pointer, bud,” Veil said as they made their way over to the less crowded side of the event.
“I am a majestic direwolf from Long Forest. What is a pointer?” Tank asked.
“A pointer is a type of dog. You just—you know what, never mind. There they are,” Veil said. “Hey!” he called out to his companion.
“Hello, brother,” Grok responded, crestfallen.
“What’s wrong, brother?” Veil asked as mild cheers rang out from the crowd.
“I am in fourth. I am not carrying you as I thought I would. You could do better than having me as a brother,” Grok responded.
“What do you mean, brother? You’re the best, and that score proves nothing but—” Veil began.
“But what?” Grok asked.
“What happened? I thought you were right behind me in the scores.”
“I was, brother, but you and Tank, you’re simply unbeatable. And then, when you were attacked, the way your flames… You’re amazing.”
“That was an accident. I wasn’t even thinking. I saw the sword and just reacted. I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax. We were all impressed. They even talked about giving me extra points for being your trainer, but—”
“But what, brother?” Veil asked, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, pulling him down so they were eye to eye.
“But all the excitement, it—”
“It what?” Veil asked.
“It caused me to cut too deeply and rupture the stomach of my animal, which tainted the meat. I messed up, and because I messed up and ruined the meat, they dinged me extra points,” Grok replied tearfully.
“How is that even fair?” Veil asked.
“Because all of the meat goes to the feast after we are done, and because I messed up, we will have to send a hunting party out. My animal was much larger than yours, in case you hadn’t noticed, which means I was responsible for not feeding the tribe,” Grok blurted out.
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“But it’s already been remedied, has it not?” Veil replied.
“It has. The hunters have already returned,” Grok said with a sigh.
“Then there is no foul.”
“No, they didn’t bring back any avians,” Grok responded, his face crinkling up. “Why would there be?”
“No, it means—it’s a sports—you know what, never mind,” Veil responded, patting him a few times before letting his brother rise to his full height. Just then, the low rumbling cheers of the crowd turned into a cacophony of yells, swear words, and a few swings from the crowd. Veil even noticed a few coins being shifted from some people’s hands into another’s.
“Are they betting?” Veil asked Grok.
“They are. It is customary for men from all over to place bets at this stage and honestly even before they even arrive.”
“I wonder if anyone’s bet on me,” Veil thought to himself.
“Oh, they have, Veil, but until your little light show, most people were betting against you, honestly,” Tank replied.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Veil responded.
“What do you mean?” Tank asked.
“You usually don’t just talk first,” Veil responded.
“I didn’t. You spoke to me,” Tank said.
“What? No, I didn’t,” Veil said.
“You said, ‘I wonder if—’” Tank began.
“I honestly forgot for a moment you could hear my thoughts,” Veil responded, slapping his trusty soul-bound wolf companion on his side lovingly.
Tank wagged his tail and let his tongue loll out of his maw like a good boy.
“So, who is up next?” Veil asked Grok.
“I am,” Grok responded as he began to push through the crowd. Turning suddenly, he said, “Brother, it is time I catch up, but also, good luck to you.”
“Good luck, brother,” Veil called out as Grok turned and made his way back to the center of the circle.
Grok unstrapped his great axe from his back, held it over his head as he walked in a circle, never losing eye contact with seemingly everyone in the crowd. “Are you not entertained?” he shouted as he lowered the axe and swung it so fast it became nothing more than a blur.
His opponent made his way through the crowd shortly after the brief show Grok had put on. The dark green man was an orc through and through, but his features were vastly different. Where Grok’s nose was slightly squished and broad, this guy’s nose was long, pointy, and slightly too narrow for his thick, bulbous head. Where Grok was tall and muscular, this man was short and almost sickly skinny. This isn’t even going to be a fair fight, Veil thought to himself. But then he remembered himself and how even at 6’2”, he was a full head shorter than every orc of the tribe. The smaller man didn’t choose a weapon but instead bowed to Grok and then the judges and spun on his toes to stand behind the designated line that told opponents where they needed to stand, his back still turned to Grok. The second the chief yelled for them to begin, Grok swung his giant axe out as he lunged forward. The mysterious green orc seemingly didn’t even flinch, but Grok’s weapon missed him by a hair.
Grok continued an endless barrage of swings. Each one seemed to nearly land, but even Veil knew in a fight, words like nearly or close didn’t count, unless of course, explosives were being used.
Time dragged on, and Grok’s attacks slowed. His arms didn’t seem to want to lift anymore. Just as he was about to yield, the man spun around and began his attacks. Each one landed with extreme precision. First, the man attacked Grok’s waist, going for the kidneys, then his stomach, and lastly, the blows landed around his neck and his face, each of the attacks barely perceivable to Veil’s eyes. Veil spun around; he couldn’t stand to see the brutality of the fight before him. He couldn’t bear witness to his brother’s failures. But just as he did, a loud, manic laugh erupted from the pitch. He knew the fight was over, but then, through all the adrenaline, all the suffering in his heart, he realized the person laughing was Grok. Veil spun around again, seeing Grok lifting his arms. He clasped his fists together and smashed them into the man’s head, knocking him out instantly.
As Grok left the ring, Veil and Tank ran over to greet the victor.
“That was amazing, brother,” Veil said.
“It was,” Grok agreed.
“How’d you know that— I thought you were defeated,” Veil said.
“No, I knew I couldn’t defeat him without tiring him out. His speed is renowned throughout the seven kingdoms. But I also knew if I could make him even slightly tired, I’d be able to catch him. I was lucky he didn’t choose his dagger, but maybe he was just overconfident in his abilities,” Grok said with a humble smile.
Veil was next, so he and Tank took to the pitch. He quickly and silently walked to the line they were meant to stand behind and awaited their opponent. The orc that stood was large; he was nearly two heads taller than Grok, and Grok was one of the largest orcs in the village. There was a large lump of nerves stuck in his throat, but no matter how hard he tried to swallow it down, it wouldn’t go away. Then, a single voice became clear through all the commotion: “Believe in yourself, believe in your training.” He looked around and couldn’t tell where the voice originated from or even whose voice it was, but it served its purpose. The fog his nerves had created lessened. He took a deep, steadying breath, closed his eyes, and remembered his training. He chose a longsword from the weapons rack and swung it around once. His opponent stood steadfast in his corner, lifting a sword that was twice the thickness and length of his. He knew it from a popular video game he’d played in his youth to be called a bastard sword. He’d seen the character wield one, but to see it in real life was another thing entirely.
“Begin!” the chief called out, and Veil began to lunge forward, but the large man immediately dropped to his knees and yelled out, “I yield!” to the crowd.
Throughout the matches, everyone who was slated to fight Veil dropped out of the match before it even began. He was crowned the winner of the trials, but at what cost? He was afraid no one would respect him, as he knew the orcs respected power. And they wouldn’t even let him show that he had power. He was worried they’d let him win solely because he wasn’t worthy to fight them. All of his worries were quelled the moment the chief walked up to him and slapped him on the back.
“Did you see that, son? Did you know the trials include orcs from all the tribes, and all of them accepted you as the true hero, the true Beast Master today. Are you ready, son?” the chief asked excitedly.
“Ready for what?” Veil asked.
“Your clan tattoos,” the chief replied, leading Veil to a tent on the side of the event grounds.