Following the sound of the voice, Blazkowicz saw a massive figure emerge from the edge of the arena. He was a powerfully built warrior, nearly three meters tall, clad in dark green power armor and a pure black cape with gold trim. He was breathtakingly imposing.
Walking beside him was Queen Elise. She wore a long court dress and carried herself with an air of serene elegance, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she looked at Blazkowicz.
Blazkowicz instantly recognized the tall warrior. The most authoritative man on the planet, the bravest warrior, the wisest monarch—and his father, King Nowick.
At this moment, the Sentinels dropped to one knee, and the scholars bowed their heads, all in silent reverence to their King.
Blazkowicz, on the other hand, felt a wave of tension seize him. He had always imagined their first meeting would be a glorious affair on the Triumphal Avenue, with him opening his arms to welcome his father home from a victorious war. Instead, he felt like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, a nervous energy making his limbs feel out of place.
"Answer me, Blazkowicz!" King Nowick strode closer, waving a dismissive hand for everyone to rise. He looked down at his son, whose head barely reached his leg. "If I give you a chance, can you prove yourself?"
Blazkowicz looked up at his father, a man whose face was a mask of authority and whose presence radiated an astonishing pressure. No one would dare lie to him.
"I will prove my words, without exaggeration or falsehood." The boy's nervousness evaporated, replaced by his natural confidence. He lifted his chin and proudly met his father's gaze. "Your son does not engage in empty boasts!"
"With one punch and one kick?"
"With one punch and one kick!"
"Very good!" Nowick nodded in satisfaction, his gaze sweeping from his son to the Sentinels and the beasts in the cages. He let out a low roar. "Clear the arena! Let's see what the he is capable of!"
"Yes, sir!"
The Sentinels moved with blinding speed. Cages were hauled away, and the audience found their seats, eager to witness an unprecedented duel.
"Be prepared. The orc will not stop, so you have only two choices: victory or death." The King's words carried a somber weight as he turned and headed for the stands. "The rules of the duel: deathmatch!"
A deathmatch. The term sent a shiver through the crowd. It was an unrestricted, all-out battle where the goal was to kill or be killed. It was a practice that hadn't been seen among the Sentinels in nearly a thousand years.
"Blazkowicz." Harlan, the Champion Swordsman, approached the boy, his expression complicated. He felt a sense of responsibility for what was happening. Sending a child into a deathmatch with a beast filled him with unease. "Be careful," he urged.
"I will break your contempt with my strength!" Blazkowicz said, his voice firm as he pulled his robe down to his waist, revealing a surprisingly lean and muscled torso. "After I win, you will apologize for your arrogance."
Harlan's lips twitched in a smile. He looked at the boy's serious face. "All right," he said with a genuine laugh. "If you win, I will apologize for my contempt." He then became serious and added, "I'll be glad to."
"How about we add a little wager?" King Nowick's voice boomed from his seat at the edge of the arena. He had heard their conversation.
"What kind of wager?" both Harlan and Blazkowicz asked at the same time.
"Harlan," the King said. "If Blazkowicz survives, you will serve as his personal guard. If he fails, your personal swordsmanship techniques will be preserved by the royal family."
"I accept!" Harlan said without a second's hesitation. The offer was a godsend. While there were many skilled swordsmen in the kingdom, only a handful of masters had their techniques preserved. Harlan's application had been rejected in the past, deemed too wild for the royal family's tastes. This was a dream come true, and he couldn't lose.
"I accept too!" Blazkowicz declared. While defeating the orc might not be easy, gaining the Champion Swordsman as his personal guard would be a huge honor. Neither felt they were losing anything.
Harlan walked to the iron cage. The orcs inside, sensing the impending battle, were no longer the comical creatures from before. Their eyes were full of a savage, eager light.
"Pick me! I'm da best fighta!" one roared.
"You'z blind, ya big git! Pick me!" another snarled, shaking the bars. Green-skinned orcs were obsessed with combat, and all they cared about was a good fight.
"I'll choose him!"
Just as Harlan was about to pick a target, Blazkowicz stepped forward, pointing at the largest Commando Kid in the cage. "He's the strongest. My victory will be worth more if I defeat him!"
Harlan's thick brows furrowed, pulling at the scar on his handsome face. "Are you sure?" he asked, a warning in his eyes, urging the boy to reconsider.
"Sure!" Blazkowicz's voice was decisive, his tone full of an authority that momentarily stunned the veteran warrior.
"Oi! Open da cage, ya big lug! I can't wait no more!" The Commando, draped in animal hides, gnashed his teeth and shook the bars, his crimson eyes locked on Blazkowicz. "Ya zoggin' 'umie shrimp! I'll rip yer arms off, tear ya ta bitz! I'll chew yer bones an' leave dat noisy gob flappin' to see 'ow tough ya really is!"
"Beast," Harlan said sharply as he opened the cage. "This is a warrior's arena. You should feel honored." He added, "Don't make any unnecessary moves until I give the word. You know what our power can do." The Commando Kid simply grinned and shuffled to his designated spot, muttering, "In human territory, respect human fighting ways!"
"Aren't you worried at all?" Queen Elise whispered to Nowick, trying to keep her voice down. She knew her son's keen senses, but a deathmatch was still a deathmatch.
"Not a bit," Nowick said.
"Where does your confidence come from?" she asked.
Nowick remembered the siege three months ago, the heart-stopping moment he picked up Blazkowicz for the first time. The sensation of his hair standing on end. "The first time I held him," he said simply.
In the center of the arena, the two combatants stood ten meters apart, awaiting the signal to begin. The Commando was a brutish, 2.3-meter-tall mass of muscle with veins bulging across his body. Blazkowicz, by contrast, was a lean boy with the runic mark on his chest.
"When the helmet hits the ground, you can fight as you please," Harlan said, giving Blazkowicz a final, lingering look before tossing his helmet into the air.
The audience held its breath. Even the orcs in the cages fell silent, their blood-red eyes wide with excitement. They waited, hoping to see the Commando Kid tear the boy to shreds. Harlan, too, was on edge, his tiger-like eyes fixed on the center of the arena, his hand subtly ready to grab his spear and intervene if needed.
The helmet hit the ground with a solid thump that echoed through the arena.
"WAAAAAGH!" The Commando roared, launching forward with an astonishing burst of speed. In a flash, he was just two meters away from the human boy, who stood motionless, as if frozen with fear. The Sentinels' genetic bloodline made them incredibly quick, and to their eyes, the orc was moving in slow motion, yet he was still closing the distance.
Harlan narrowed his eyes, preparing to intervene, but a sharp glance from Nowick stopped him. The King would not allow anyone to violate the rules of the dueling arena.
Blazkowicz still stood there, a serene and unhurried look on his face.