"Shall I send some of our great warriors to deal with this fool?" Rikon asked, his voice low but tense.
All around the coliseum, Orc warriors bristled with anticipation. Their fists pounded against their chests, their roars shook the air, tusks glinting in the torchlight. They were ready, hungry to bathe in human blood. For glory. For recognition. Perhaps even for a chance to be noticed by the Orc Queen herself at the Capital.
The chants rose into a deafening thunder, the crowd of warriors demanding blood.
But then the Great Chief raised his hand. Instantly, the coliseum drowned in silence, as though the very air itself obeyed him. Even the torches seemed to burn quieter, the shadows trembling under his presence.
"I know all of you dogs are burning to prove yourselves," the Great Chief's voice rolled like thunder, carrying to the highest seats. "But I cannot grant you that wish. This man…" he jabbed a finger at Belanor, eyes narrowing like steel. "…is mine."
