"You have a good hand, soldier."

  Vincent turned around, and behind him appeared three dark elves in identical red robes,

  standing with their hands down. The Wizard, who had been using his penetrating eye, had

  not been able to detect their approach, and Vincent was astonished. There was only one way

  to sneak up on Vincent, who was on full reconnaissance: teleportation spells.

  But Vincent didn't feel a wave of magic energy either.

  'Who are you? Vincent stops Hardy, who is about to rush forward and take care of the witness.

  He is not sure of Hardy's strength. The three red robed men are the most likely mages in

  terms of the way they appear. But on the other hand, since Vincent has been approached by

  someone in Heaven, it does not rule out the possibility that these men are some kind of

  demon. All in all, they are some tough guys.

  "We mean no harm, fellow mages. Put away your weapons. I just want to talk." The first dark

  elf walks up to Vincent. He was very old, and the wrinkles on his face were so deep in his skin

  that if it rained there might be enough water in it (Hardy was thinking now). His eyes were

  wide open, but they did not move at all, and his eyelids did not blink.

  "Young man, come with me. Let my two apprentices settle these two guards who killed each

  other." The old mage drifted slowly past the three men, deep into the corridor leading to the

  superior box.

  The two red-robed mages murmured incantations, and the two guards healed their wounds

  and rose quickly to their feet. However, Vincent finds that the two guards no longer have the

  same breath of life in their eyes as before, but are simply walking dead. However, it would

  take several days for their deaths to be discovered.

  The two red mage apprentices looked up, but they were also two old faces. Dark elves have

  an extraordinary life span, not two thousand years like their terrestrial relatives, but a thousand

  years or more is not a problem. These two dark elves must be at least a thousand years old,

  or age would not have shown them aging so clearly. Vincent began to wonder how old was

  the age of the old wizard who had just floated past as their teacher?

  The two red wizards nodded to Vincent and told them to follow the old master. Then they

  leaned against the wall on either side of the aisle and disappeared with a shout.

  This time, even with their eyes staring, Vincent did not understand how they managed to do

  it. The actions of the two mages made it clear to the three young adventurers that any

  alternative to listening to them was extremely dangerous and deadly.

  Hardy put away his double-headed sword and followed the Mages and Mark deeper into the

  arena.

  The old mage was clearly the guest of honor. He had his own box, directly facing the arena

  platform, and the only place on the master of ceremonies. From here, the whole arena was in

  full view, and the seething crowd below was in constant agitation, waiting for the gladiators

  to begin. Here, it is like the throne of the whole arena.

  The room was simply decorated with a crystal ball that gave off a faint glow and lit up between

  the old wizard's waves, so that the three guests could see the arrangement without harming

  the dark elf's eyes -- although Vincent always felt that the old Wizard was blind, and his eyes

  never moved, as if he were always open but not "looking".

  The only things that remained were the tables and chairs. A few chairs with soft cushions were

  placed in front of the observation window, and the wall of the room facing the arena was the

  whole of a large piece of clear crystal, polished and set there to make an observation window

  for the games. The crystal was so flat, and the surface so clean and spotless, that if you did

  not look closely you would think it did not exist at all. At the four corners of the crystal strong

  are carved magic runes, which Vincent thinks are used to solidify the crystal.

  There must be other magical enchantments in the room, otherwise the room could not be so

  quiet. When Hardy, the last to enter, closed the door, the VIP room was silent except for the

  breathing of four people.

  "This is one of my private boxes. You can all sit down where you are comfortable and not so

  formal." The old Master floated over to a separate chair in a corner, sat down, and

  straightened the folds of his robes. He leaned back gently against the back, just enough to

  hide himself in the shadow of the room.

  'Who are you, please? Vincent sat down, not letting go of the wand of Power. In the city of

  the Dark Elves, anyone can be an enemy. Mages have to be very careful.

  "Don't be so nervous, young man. My name is Vizren, but my last name, it doesn't mean

  anything anymore, but that's all that matters. You just need to know my name. ' The old

  Wizard looked at the three men before him and smiled softly. "Don't be so nervous. If I wanted

  to be bad for you, why would I bring you into my box? The decoration here costs a lot of

  money."

  "So, Verzren, what exactly did you seek us out for?" 'asked Vincent.

  "The staff," the old mage pointed to Vincent's hand. "I made the staff."

  "Really? Do you want to take it back? It's only a few dozen gold pieces." Hardy looked at the

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  fine tea set in front of the chaise longue. "What you got here is worth less than that?"

  "Not to take it back, of course, but to say that the scepter was taken by one of my students

  to see how sensitive you are to magic." 'continued the voice out of the darkness.' Plus, they've

  got a nice location-aware magic in there to know where you are at all times. '

  'It turns out you planted the magic in there. It was very clever indeed."

  'No, it still can't. How else could you have cracked it? And it's amazing that the staff now

  seems to have regained its power." But there was no hint of surprise in the old sorcerer's tone.

  Vincent now regretted that he had restored the staff's strength so quickly. From the hidden

  magic array inside, he should have thought that there might be something wrong with this

  staff, or that it might be a trap laid by others. That is to say, this scepter is being closely

  watched. However, I have completely repaired this staff in just a few hours, which will naturally

  attract the attention of those who have a heart. The mages who use the magic network do

  not have such a fast repair speed anyway.

  "Whatever method you used to do it, I have a word for you." The old Master continued, "Do

  not teach this method to anyone."

  "What?" he asked. Vincent thought in his heart that the dark elf was asking him to give up the

  secret of how to replenish the staff. But now the situation has exceeded his expectations.

  "Mages, warriors and this dwarf, what do you think of human nature?" 'asked the Wizard of

  Vizren suddenly.

  But before the three of them could answer, the old Dark Elf raised his arm from the shadows

  and pointed to the platform of the arena. "The gladiatorial fight is about to begin. Let's watch

  it first."

  Vincent could clearly see the Master of Verzren in the darkness with his penetrating eyes. He

  was about to speak again, but the Master shook his head and pointed his finger once more

  towards the arena.

  Vincent closed his mouth and turned his head to look through the huge crystal window.

  The battle in the arena has begun, pitting a team of five against six goblins. Apparently the

  gnomes were the sacrificial offerings for the opening ceremony of the arena, and with no

  combat experience, they let the opposing warriors rush into battle at the first sight. The other

  four members of the five-man squad didn't move at all, watching as the warrior turned

  around, swiped a long knife across each goblin's throat, and the fight was over. The six goblins

  collapsed into a circle right next to the warrior -- feet in, necks out, heads off their bodies

  and rolling to one side.

  Most of the people in the audience were obviously accustomed to this kind of spectacle, for

  they had long since grown tired of seeing the gnome-killing scene at the beginning of every

  arena. But a few others were cheering, clapping their hands, jumping in excitement, Shouting

  for the next fight to start.

  Vincent could not understand why the old Master wanted him to keep watching this kind of

  battle. It seemed to him like a senseless slaughter of each other, but sadly, it was fun for many

  races -- just a bunch of goblins who had come out of nowhere and were still screaming with

  excitement at the fallen corpses of their own kind.

  "The gnomes who cheer are actually slaves in the arena, and they are the same gnomes below

  who are being used as opening offerings. Except one group of gnomes will die, and the other

  will clap their hands and cheer the dead to set the mood, hoping that next time they won't

  be chosen to be the dead they once mocked."

  "Gnomes don't think that far into the future, they think it's good enough to live through today

  and tomorrow. As for the day after tomorrow, they don't think, nor are they capable of

  thinking."

  'Yes, I think so too. But let's keep watching. '

  As the minutes ticked by, the action in the arena was heating up. The team of five lost to a

  guy who knew how to use a sandstorm, who then lost to someone else. The scene is getting

  bloodier each time, and the crowd is getting more excited each time. Even Hardy, who was

  sitting in his room, had forgotten that he was surrounded by a mysterious dark elf wizard and

  was enjoying the excitement of the fight.

  Mark had no interest in the fight at all, but he could not leave alone, so he lay down on a soft

  cushion. After a while, he did fall asleep, with a soft snoring sound.

  Vincent kept looking at Vizlen, of course, with the power of his discerning eyes at the mage

  beside him, and with his own eyes as if they were looking at the arena. All this time, this Vizren

  did not move, he just sat there, quietly in the shadows. More and more, Vincent could not

  understand the significance of the dark Elf's movements.

  Two strong gladiators struggle to take down their opponents, two other Minotaur berserkers.

  Their bodies are covered in blood, both of their enemies' and their own. The two men hold

  each other on their hands as they wait for the audience to decide their final fate -- whether

  to live or die.

  "By the way, the show is about to begin..." After a long, boring wait, the old wizard finally

  spoke.