The Guard Arena.
One of the most iconic structures in the City of Warriors, this massive circular building was chiseled from a single piece of stone. The stands, capable of holding hundreds of thousands of spectators, rose in concentric circles around the central fighting pit.
Typically, the arena was used for sparring, where warriors would face off in a brutal, no-holds-barred exchange to determine who was superior. On special occasions, the Sentinels would hold competitions to blow off steam and crown a new Champion.
But today, with most of the Sentinels on an extended campaign, the only sounds were the hollow echo of the wind and the gentle flapping of banners. The arena felt ancient and solemn.
Those very banners, dark red with gold-threaded names, silently told the stories of past Champions. They rippled in the breeze, a tribute to the glories of those who had fought here.
In the outer stands, more than a dozen Sentinels, recently returned from the front lines, were trying to rest. Their white power armor was stained with the grime and blood of battle, and the bone-deep weariness was plain to see. No one disturbed them as they leaned back-to-back, catching a few moments of peace before their next deployment.
In the center of the pit, a handful of stationed Guards watched over several large iron cages. Inside were a couple of dozen Green-skins, captured from the front lines for the War College's researchers and as a training tool for young apprentices. The Orcs flexed their brutish muscles, their blood-red eyes full of feral rage, constantly growling to intimidate the crowd.
The audience around the cages was a mix of robed scholars, warrior apprentices, and curious civilians. They watched from a safe distance, studying the creatures.
"I'm not a fan of aliens," said a voice, surprisingly clear and boyish. "But I heard from the academy that these Green-skins are a lot like fungi. Their meat must taste like mushrooms, right? A good stew or barbecue would be delicious!"
A boy, barely four feet tall, had squeezed his way to the front of the crowd. He leaned on the cage bars, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and no hint of fear.
The Guards all turned to him, startled by his bold comment. He was just a kid, but his voice was as bright as ringing metal, and there was an inherent nobility to his posture. With his fair skin, high cheekbones, and large, expressive eyes, he was clearly going to be a handsome man one day.
"Hur hur hur! Haw haw haw!" Da caged Orks bellowed, poundin' dere guts an' jabbin' fingers at da runt. "Oi, lil' shrimp! You'z fink you'z gonna eat us? WAAAGH-harhar!"
Having fought humanity for generations, the Green-skins had picked up the language and understood his words perfectly. His audacity had brightened their day, lifting the gloom of their captivity.
"Soup would definitely be very fresh and delicious," the boy said, completely unfazed, his tone serious and full of genuine anticipation.
"Whose kid are you?" a gruff voice asked from behind him, rough like gravel. The boy turned to see a tall warrior in blood-stained white armor. A Guard spear was in his hand, a helmet tucked under his arm, and two lightsaber hilts hung at his waist. He was a mountain of a man, with thick eyebrows, piercing eyes, and several scars on his cheek that only added to his heroic aura.
"Outstanding Warrior, Champion Swordsman, Duelist Harlan Ogilvy!" the boy said, rattling off the man's name and titles with ease.
Harlan raised an eyebrow. "You know me?" He racked his brain, but couldn't recall ever seeing the boy.
"Twenty-time Arena Champion. Your name is hanging right up there," the boy said, his eyes holding a hint of "are you serious?" as he pointed to the highest banner.
Harlan's face twitched. The boy's clear gaze had him pegged as a thick-headed brute who had forgotten his own fame.
"What's your name, then?" Harlan asked, sensing that this was no ordinary child.
"Blazkowicz Novick! The Third Son of King Nowick!" he declared, puffing out his chest with a touch of solemn pride.
Harlan's jaw dropped. "Blazkowicz Novick?" The scars on his face pulled taut as his mind processed the name. "The child who fell from the sky three months ago?"
Harlan, who had witnessed the event himself, was in disbelief. He used his spear to measure the boy's height, his eyes wide with shock. "Three months ago you were only this big?" he stammered. He then took in the boy's robes and the faint, mysterious mark on his chest. After a moment of stunned silence, Harlan asked, "What in the world have you been eating to grow so fast? Is it a palace secret recipe I'm missing?"
Harlan's outburst attracted a group of Sentinels, all of whom had been fighting on the front lines and had not yet met the boy. They gathered around, exclaiming at his ridiculous height.
Suddenly, King Nowick and Queen Elise arrived at the edge of the arena. When Elise saw her son surrounded by the warriors, her first instinct was to pull him out of the crowd.
But Nowick held her back. "Let's see how he handles himself."
Blazkowicz was not intimidated by the circle of hardened warriors. He stood tall and said, "What's the big deal? I fell from the sky. Doesn't it make sense that I would grow quickly?"
His calm acceptance and carefree words endeared him to the battle-hardened Sentinels.
"I like this kid!" Harlan laughed, tossing his spear to a comrade. He swept Blazkowicz into a hug, lifting him up and placing him on his neck.
After he set the boy down, Harlan knelt and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "While I admire your imagination, we must always be vigilant against the Orcs."
"I agree with your statement, but I have a counterpoint," Blazkowicz said gravely, looking like a miniature adult. "I will always be vigilant. I just don't know why I should fear delicious mushrooms."
Harlan's smile faltered. He saw a hint of arrogance in the boy's face, a confidence born of ignorance. Without directly chastising him, Harlan gestured toward one of the cages. "Do you think you could defeat one of them?" he asked, pointing to a Commando Orc, far stronger and more cunning than a typical Green-skin.
"Yes!" Blazkowicz's voice was firm. "Just one punch and one kick!"
Harlan fell silent, sensing the pure confidence radiating from the boy. Blazkowicz was nothing like his two older brothers, and the warrior was baffled by the Queen's methods.
"You doubt me!" Blazkowicz said, pulling Harlan's hands from his shoulders. His face was dead serious, and his eyes bored into the Champion Swordsman. "I am stating a fact, not an exaggeration."
Harlan found that he couldn't meet the boy's gaze and his eyes involuntarily shifted away. Blazkowicz looked at the other Sentinels and saw the same disdain in their eyes, which made him angry. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders in frustration. "One day," he said indignantly. "You'll know I'm not just talking."
"What if I gave you a chance to prove yourself now?" a new voice said, full of authority.
Every Sentinel instinctively knelt as they turned and saw who had spoken.
"My King!" they shouted.