Will of the Battlefield

"Are y’all ready for my last performance?"

Asked the half-naked Kitty Kat as her fake tail wiggled.

"Yes!" The crowd answered in unison, relieved to learn that the tremor they felt was merely an earthquake and not something more sinister.

For such occurrences were common in the capital city of the Bentram Kingdom, where the earth often trembled beneath ancient stone streets and towering spires.

Thane Ironforge stood up. He had no interest in this perverted mid-air gliding show. With his cup of coffee in hand, he turned toward the same dim, empty stairway he had come from, his mind still fixated on the match he had witnessed earlier.

The thrill of combat lingered in his veins, making his heavy footsteps echo through the stairwell.

As he descended, his eyes caught sight of a trash bin at the bottom of the stair alley.

He glanced at his coffee and considered tossing it. However, after a moment’s thought, he decided to savor the taste of the money he had spent.

Damn the taste buds.

Cautiously, taking a sip, he immediately spat it out. The bitterness was unbearable, but at least it kept him sane.

His head filled with vivid imagery of the match, imagining himself in the ring against the fighters. Pure, wild imagination fueled his every step.

"Will I ever be like them? No— not them... like Edniot Quintess!"

Thane was deeply inspired by the noble in blue, who displayed composure, entrapped his opponent with finesse, and his unshakable confidence.

The way Edniot toyed with his foe was nothing short of artistry.

Willa’s strategy impressed him as well, but that impression paled compared to Edniot’s, for Thane was the man of brawls not brains.

Lost in thought, Thane reached the bottom, the reception hall of the arena. It was vast and illuminated by lights unseen in ordinary cities.

Chandeliers made from enchanted crystals hung from the ceiling, casting an ethereal glow that danced across the polished marble floors.

The architecture never failed to amaze him. He admired the bas-relief sculptures adorning the walls and the myriad of statues—some naked, others in noble suits, and a few clad in armor wielding weapons.

The artistry was so lifelike that he half-expected the figures to draw breath.

The arena had four reception halls, one in each quadrant. Thane found himself in the third. The beauty of the art urged him to explore the other halls, but he lacked the necessary reference from a known figure to gain access.

At the far right end of the hall lay the toilet section. Nature called, and Thane hadn’t relieved himself since he arrived.

He hurried toward the washrooms. Seven stalls in total, and only one vacant. Two men in noble attire, likely in their late twenties, loitered by the door, engaged in meaningless chatter.

"Excuse me, guys. You wanna go in or nah? I gotta piss," Thane said bluntly.

The men turned to look at Thane’s massive frame. Not only tall but built like a champion from a strongman competition, that is if there was any.

"Whose fucking bodyguard are you?" one of them sneered.

Thane’s patience wore thin. "I’m the guard of Lord ’None of your damn business.’ Now, can I go?"

The men flinched. They were no nobles—just rich brats wasting their father’s fortune. They stepped aside, letting the giant through.

Before entering, Thane glared at the one who had spoken. "Hey, come here."

"M-me?!" the man stammered.

"Yeah, you. Hurry up." Thane raised his voice.

The man jolted forward, expecting a beating.

Thane lowered his head and said, "Don’t say ’f*cking’ or any curses. Pops said cursing gives you bad breath. One more thing..."

"Y-yes?"

"Can you hold this cup of coffee, till I get out? And be sure to not spill it. That’s some expensive shit." Thane handed over the cup and dashed into the washroom.

"Ayi ayi ayi!" he cried as he locked the door and unzipped just in time. "Haaahhhh... one more minute and I’d have pissed my pants."

After finishing and washing up, he prepared to leave, but an eerie sensation prickled his body, as if tiny needles were poking his skin.

His instincts screamed at him, yet he couldn’t grasp why.

The atmosphere felt... off. Almost like a storm brewing beneath the earth.

But who was Thane Ironforge? The bravest brute of Borderstone City, his only flaw was his dim-witted mind.

He swung the door open, only to find the two men gone. His face turned red with rage.

"Damn thieves... they stole my coffee! I’ll kill you if I catch you! I swear to Pops!"

"Your coffee is here," a deep, heavy voice echoed.

Thane spun around and flinched. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

The coffee was in the hand of a 6’1 tall man in a white robe. Beside him stood another man in a blue robe, two inches taller.

Their presence was otherworldly, as if the shadows themselves bowed to their will.

Thane immediately recognized them. "You guys caused the earthquake and vanished in the blink of an eye, didn’t you?"

His nervousness dissipated as his mouth moved.

The two men exchanged glances, then the blue-robed man, whose voice was both manly and piercing, asked, "What’s your name?"

Thane grinned stupidly. "Ah, before that, can I get my cup back? It’s expensive, you know."

The white-robed man chuckled and handed it over. "Oh... I’m so sorry. Here."

Thane grabbed the cup and sniffed it. "Ah, still smells good, despite being surrounded by shit and piss."

The two men exchanged another glance before repeating, "So, what’s your name?"

Thane sniffed the air and replied, "Can we go out? It’s stinky here."

"No. We stay," the blue-robed man said firmly. "If you’re hesitant to answer, we won’t disturb your drink anymore." The two men began to walk away.

"I’m Thane, but I won’t reveal my clan name. You guys look suspicious." Thane sipped the coffee and grimaced.

The man in white chuckled. "We asked your name for confirmation, we already had a hunch of who you are. You’re from the Ironforge clan, third child of Thomas Ironforge."

Thane’s face paled. He tightened his grip on the cup and cautiously asked, "Who the hell are you?"