Landel tried to defend against the incoming attack by taking a defensive stance. His opponent first distracted him by the blade, but then swiftly did a round-house kick packed with so much power that the stance failed him.

  Landel was thrown against the wall of the colosseum with dust flying off everywhere — it engulfed that entire section of the arena.

  The audience could not see anything whilst Arlone just stood there. The lad was sure of his victory now but—

  When the dust cleared, Landel was standing there. He was injured, yes, but standing. Blood trickled down to his forehead — it was not a fatal wound. None the less, it was a wound which made his opponent grin.

  "The pretty boy's is bleeding. Why not give up now, and I might let you go." Arlone mocked, yet his opponent just wore the same stoic expression.

  It certainly angered the champion, so he decided to lunge forward once again, but something strange happened....His speed was not the same as before.

  It was as if the effect of the potion was wearing off already. This sudden loss of power made him step back abit. Eventually he noticed that Landel was not infront of him anymore. He searched throughout the battlefield to see that his opponent had equipped the same shield that was discarded by himself earlier.

  It was a strange yet strategic move. Arlone was too arrogant to care, and pushed again without any care.

  This time he vaulted towards his opponent with his weapon pointed directly at him to finish the fight once and for all. His agility was still top notch, and he was able to pierce through the old shield quite easily — breaking it in the process. The crowd gasped, but not at the move of Arlone.

  The one who had equipped the shield, was not behind it at all. Arlone was frustrated by this strange development, his potion’s effect was wearing off rapidly, and his opponent was dodging him without a fail. He turned around to find that Landel was at the other side of the battlefield. He was just standing there in defensive pose.

  “Fight me you coward! What good will come if you keep on running away!” Arlone shouted.

  Landel did not react, and stood his ground, making Arlone furious.

  Two hours had passed since the beginning of this fight. The council-men were bored as well as annoyed at Arlone for stretching the fight this long. They were chanting all sorts of insults at him which greatly added to his fury.

  He charged towards his opponent again, but his mobility was again much slower than before. This time, it took him a few seconds to even reach Landel. On top of that, his attack had also lost precision and speed thus Landel was able to deflect again.

  Of-course, due to the wound, Landel's movements were also effected so the progress of the fight was still stagnant or so was assumed.

  After another hour had passed. A strange man from the audience got up, and signaled towards the tower in which Harwin's party were residing. Upon seeing it, Viyetral shouted:

  “COME ON! DO NOT TAINT THE NAME OF THE SWORD-SAINT!”

  This sudden announcement from the opposing faction made Arlone, and the council-men anxious. The man’s statement was not a simply encouraging one, but it was an order, or even a signal.

  Before Arlone could have seen what had happened, Landel had again disappeared from his line of sight. This time, he could not find him anywhere on the battlefield. He rapidly glaced around — checking out all the corners, but he could not have expected what happened next—

  “ARLONE, YOU FOOL! LOOK ABOVE!” One of the council-men shouted at the top of his lungs, but it was too late.

  As soon as Arlone looked up, Landel came flying down with his sword, piercing through the eye of the champion. It was a gruesome scene, there was nothing that could have been done to avoid this strike. Landel quickly took out his blade, and stepped away abit as a precaution.

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  His opponent could not fathom what had happened. For a few seconds he stood there, eventually touching the side of his face that had been pierced — only to find a hole right through it. Blood gushed out, and he lost his senses.

  The descendent of the fake hero fell down, and the crowd had mixed reaction to it all — some cheering, and some in distress.

  The council-men had not anticipated this as well, but before any of them could have acted Viyetral and Farelen jumped down from the high tower — landing in the middle of the arena.

  Farelen quickly gave Landel a hand who had now fallen to his knees. It was not as if the fight was easy, Landel was also injured himself, and had faced his greatest advisory yet. Of-course, it was not a fair fight at all, as most of this advisory’s attacks were based on tricks and relied on potions.

  Viyetral stood firmly, and then signaled the announcer to come forward to declare the end of the fight.

  “THE FIGHT HAS ENDED! THE WINNER OF THIS CHALLENGE, AND THE NEW CHAMPION OF THIS TOWN IS LANDEL OF THE NORTHERN GREAT-FOREST!”

  The announcer declared with abit of hesitation, as he was scared of the council-men’s reaction to all of this. Indeed, Quintel and his fellow members of the council were furious, but they were also confused. Then came the address of Viyetral himself:

  “People of this town, especially the elves amongst you! I and my friend here, Landel, the new champion, were sent here on a mission by the sword-saint, Graftel. If Lirael is the hero of this town, then the sword-saint is the hero of the entie elfin race! Most of you, would have heard about him from your folks! Some of you might have heard about his great from the commander, or the captains! A few of you might have even had the honour of fighting beside him against the evil-doers! Do all of you remember him? Does your loyalty still lie with the hero of our race?”

  Viyetral knew exactly of how to manipulate the emotions of the audience, and it worked as well. Cheers from all around the colosseum were heard, which must have echoed throughout the town.

  “I also want to bring to your notice, that the giant standing beside me who is my comrade, is a hero to all of you as well. He is the giant of the elfin race — the one who defeated the rebellious battallion of the beast-men who had burned our brothers and sisters at stake. He was the one who avenged our brethern, when all others failed! Farelen the giant stands here with the same objective — to complete the mission given to him by the sword-saint himself. Now I ask, do you recongnize this man?”

  Farelen stood straight, and rose his giant battle-axe as Viyetral introduced him.

  The crowd, of-course, was more than pleased. Farelen was a legend, he was the hero of the elves. Childrens and younglings aspired to be like him, and most of all the people from his generation owed their lives to the man.

  “We will stand united once again! You have shown us that the people of the first town are just as patriotic as anyone from the other elfin villages or settlements! Now, what is our mission? What is the objective that the sword-saint gave us? Your and also my own leader, Graftel, has declared this man who stands before you, victorious against the champion of this town, as his successor! Do you believe in his judgement? Do you believe in the one who freed you from the oppresive enemy forces? Will you assent to the orders of your benefactor? ”

  Each word motivated, and rekindled the resolve of the audience, but were sharp and poisonous arrows to the hearts of the old men of the council.

  The crowd cheered once more. It was clear that no matter the era, the heroic tales of Graftel were etched in the hearts of every wood-elf or even half-elf. Only the council of this town was rotten. Viyetral, realizing he was successful, continued his speech:

  “The people of this town have answered, and now it does not matter what the old man of the council say or acknowledge because this town was not built by the council! It was built by its people. The sword-saint will be glad, and grateful for your loyalty. I, myself thank and commend all of you for your deep devotion to the old heroes! The elves, no...infact, none of the citizens of this town will ever be defeated, or enslaved, if all of us are united together against this cruel world! We will rise even higher! Our enemies will cower away in their castles, and shiver behind the stone walls when they hear our names!”

  Viyetral pointed his finger directly at the tower in which the council was residing, while he made the last statement.

  The crowd was in awe of this staggering moment. Their dying passion, and loyalty towards their leader had been rekindled. It was just as Viyetral had planned. He knew that if there was ever a need for a revolt, he needed to capture the hearts of the people of the town first, and this was what he had executed brilliantly. He had perfectly placed the seed of doubt in the hearts of the citizens.

  The collosseum was soon closed on the orders of the council-men, and an emergency meeting was summoned. Viyetral and his party were to attend it as well. The agenda was clear to the captains, they knew that the council men wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible.

  Upon returning to central-building, a crowd of guards were seen occuping the entire inner-hall.

  Upon traversing through the crowedm, they found that there were bodies of a great number of guards lying dead infront of the entrance of the basement. Blood trailed to the dungeons which when checked were empty and wrecked. The whole place was in a sorry state. None of the prisoners were there anymore.

  The council-men were more shocked than furious at the state of the affair. Viyetral, however, remained calm and waited for the questioning from the old men who were in no state to speak.

  What had exactly occurred in this secure place in the past couple of hours? Why were there dead guards all over the place? Why was the dungeon empty…….