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Round 2 – Bash vs. Geddon
“…”
Bash had been standing idle in the center of the arena for more than a minute now, and his opponent had still not arrived.
Sword in hand, the Hero patiently waited.
He waited for another minute.
And then another…
Yet the other party was still nowhere to be found.
The audience was growing angrier by the second, erupting in boos and protests.
Eventually, the Dwarven official that was responsible for calling out the participants walked out into the arena.
Was he the opponent this ti?
Bash began lifting his weapon and shuffling his feet into a stance, but quickly noticed that his potential foe was unard.
Instead, the Dwarf drew a small, red flag from under his belt, and waved it for all to see.
The jeers and boos grew even louder…
“Winner, Bash!”
Geddon had forfeited the round.
Round 3 – Bash vs. Koro
The second round ca and went, and the third round was now upon the Orc Hero.
Bash had again arrived before his opponent, who was still absent.
Taking this ti to reflect, Bash closed his eyes and recalled the conversation he had just had in the waiting room a few monts ago with Prira.
The Dwarf was pleased that they had won the second round and had given him a few sparse words of encouragent.
“The next round… everything is going down on this one… this one is the important one…”
Though it sounded more like she was addressing those words to herself.
Not like it mattered much to the Orc anyways, as the sight of the girl, who was then wearing nothing but a leather apron, boosted Bash’s motivation to heights never seen before all the while erasing all other thought from his mind, his disappointnt at his opponent’s absence vanishing into thin air.
After the first round, Prira had taken the ti to fix up Bash’s armor at the furnace.
From where he had stood, Bash’s eyes had been riveted to her voluptuous figure, accented by the light of the blaze.
Her breast swayed with every swing of her hamr, and her armpits were in plain sight every ti she would wipe the sweat off her brow.
It took all of Bash’s Orcish discipline to resist his primal urge to pin her down and unleash his lust, and yet there was a part of him that wanted to do nothing but respectfully admire her figure.
“Entering now from the Tiger Gate! Warrior Koro!”
A man finally entered the arena and walked up to Bash.
His nose was bestial, and his fur was as dark as night.
A Beastkin, probably a few years younger than the Hero.
Koro.
Bash had heard of that na.
A youth that had once been appointed captain of a Beastkin suicide squad – a particular brand of Beastkin combatants famous for recklessly charging into their enemy’s ranks, sacrificing their own lives in exchange for the opponent’s head.
But even after putting his life on the line ti and ti again, Koro made it out alive.
His abilities were well known, even among the Federation.
In fact, he was even decorated with the most prestigious of awards after returning from one especially life-threatening mission.
The Wolf Fang dal of Honor – a dal given to only the bravest and strongest, and whose efforts without which it would have been nigh impossible to win.
[Hmm…]
But Koro’s life from then on was a mystery to most outside of Beastkin country.
Why was a man that had made it out of the war with not only his life and limbs still intact, but also with honor and glory wasting away in a place like this?
Why was a decorated veteran that could comfortably live in retirent now fighting in a Dwarven arena?
Following the signing of the peace treaty, Koro had at first calmly settled down, content to live a life of peace and quiet.
But habits die hard, and it was difficult for a man that had lived his life on the edge to return to normalcy.
No longer could his issues be settled by tooth and claw. His violent tendencies that had made him an exemplary warrior during the war were now a liability.
After one too many run-ins with the law, he had lost his place in Beastkin country. Scorned and exiled, he was forced to wander for a ti, before finding himself in Do Banga’s Pit.
Naturally, his attitude did not change.
However, Do Banga’s Pit had sothing no other city had.
Do Banga’s Pit had the Colosseum.
The Beastkin, who spoke better with his sword than his tongue, had finally found a place for himself in the peaceful post-war world.
His first attempt at the Armant Festival was less than stellar.
Last year, he had dropped out during his second round.
While it was arguably a decent performance for a first tir, it was extrely disappointing for the forr soldier.
He went back to the drawing board, humbling himself and going back to polishing his skills.
But, due to his short temper and poor attitude, he still couldn’t attain the one deciding factor to win the Armant Festival…
Yes, it was decent equipnt.
It was then that a Dwarf ca to him.
The Dwarf light-heartedly chastised Koro for his ill-temper.
“I know you’re a Beastkin, but that doesn’t an you have to act like an actual dog,” they said, “Have so dignity and respect.”
But the headstrong warrior didn’t listen. After all, who was this Dwarf to tell him what to do?
And yet the very next day, the Dwarf ca back again.
“Co on Koro, listen to just once. Just once! And I won’t bother you again.”
And the day after that as well.
And the day after…
One day, after finishing his opponent in one of his arena matches, on a whim, Koro decided to follow the Dwarf’s advice.
The Beastkin, instead of belittling and kicking his downed enemy, instead helped them up.
It had been a hard-fought battle, and he was fatigued. He just didn’t have the energy to think of appropriate insults to throw, so he reasoned that he may as well be honorable for a change.
The very next mont, cheers erupted from the audience.
The entire crowd showered him with praise, chanting his na.
Koro was elated.
Since that day, little by little, the Beastkin’s behavior changed.
Though his rude deanor was a lost cause – he still berated anyone that crossed him, he had stopped abusing his downed opponents.
His fanbase grew exponentially, the Dwarves of Do Banga adoring his heel-face turn.
After all, who doesn’t love a good redemption arc?
Koro, seeing that his benefactor had so obvious goodwill, asked the latter if they would make him so equipnt for the Armant Festival.
The Dwarf, though taken aback, imdiately agreed.
Over the next few months, they went through countless trials and errors, finally forging a blade and armor perfectly fitted to the Beastkin’s physique.
With a smith at his side and steel on his shoulders, Koro was now perfectly prepared for this year’s tournant.
The dwarven blacksmith who lent him their strength?
Her na was Carla Do Banga.
“…”
The crowd expected Koro to be up to his usual antics – what kind of insults would he hurl towards his opponent? Would he point out their diminutive size for an Orc? Would he insult their parents? Their skills?
But unexpectedly, the rowdy Beastkin did none of the above.
As the match began, the dark-furred warrior curled his tail and bowed deeply towards Bash – a Beastkin gesture of gratitude and submission.
Never in his entire arena fighting career had he done such a thing.
Intimidation was the norm, but a bow?
The entire audience was speechless.
Those in the know were aware of the significance of this act.
A Beastkin warrior would only bow before a fighter that was plainly superior to himself.
In other words, Koro was outright admitting for all to see that he had a slim to zero chance of coming out victorious from this match.
The warrior lowered himself into stance, adopting to use Beastkin Army’s martial arts instead of the lax, mocking posture he would usually take.
His body was turned sideways, his hips low to the ground.
Holding his sword by his side, every muscle in his body were coiled up like a spring, ready to pounce.
“I am honored to face you in combat. Thank you for this opportunity.”
Koro himself didn’t expect to act this way.
Even if the Beastkin Hero Leto was his opponent, he would have loudly claid to be stronger, and that he would prove it.
But even so, he had inadvertently, yet naturally, thanked the Orc Hero.
The warrior quickly cleared his mind of such thoughts, however.
This was the third round of the Armant Festival – the furthest he had ever gotten. A place he had reached with the help of his Dwarven partner.
And his opponent was none other than Bash, the Orc Hero. Everyone who was anyone on the battlefield knew how deadly this man was.
This was not a fight when he could afford to think about frivolous things.
“Umu.”
Bash nodded and raised his sword.
The fight began with little fanfare.
Gliding soundlessly over the dirt, Koro quickly positioned himself to Bash’s right, swinging out his blade.
But it was a feint. The Beastkin wanted to draw out the Orc by striking his dominant side.
His feet dug deep into the ground as he lowered himself and sharply turned instead toward the Hero’s left side, further away from the latter’s sword.
The dark-furred warrior swung his sword out again, this ti fully intent to land a hit.
In an instant, Bash’s arm turned into a blur.
And in the next, Koro was flung away like a dead puppy.
Before anyone knew it, the Beastkin’s limp body had gone over the arena’s walls and crashed into the stands.
Fortunately, there was nobody sitting in the spot of the collision.
But unfortunately, that ant there was nothing to cushion Koro’s landing.
He did not get up.
“Winner, Bash!”
The match was over in the blink of an eye.
Bash had won.
As many of the spectators had expected, Koro had suffered a crushing defeat.
However, nobody mocked him.
Instead, he received applause, albeit sparsely, for having the bravery, just like Gorgol before him, to even cross swords with the terror that is the Orc Hero.
Thus, Bash’s spot in the tournant’s semifinals was decided.
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