A massive black tarp stretches across the octagonal arena, casting a broad shadow to shield the space from the intense sunlight pouring down. Yet, it doesn't fully cover the sky, leaving patches of the stands and the arena below bathed in harsh light.
Spectators in the sunlit stands, shielding their eyes with hands pressed to their foreheads, squint to see a figure in a deep brown robe standing at the center of the arena, introducing the next match, with a towering figure beside them.
"The Red Dragon of Ixtarn! The warrior who has come to defeat the undefeated buffalo mace, Doaju! From the sacred circular arena of Rhaud, the holy ground of warriors, comes the red-scaled fighter! Niiiia! Calaaaagon!"
From beyond the arena's waiting room, the sound of an introduction echoes, and at the same moment, the heavy wooden door leading to the battleground creaks open.
"Ugh, it's blinding."
Nia grimaces, raising a hand to shield against the sunlight pouring down while slowly stepping onto the arena.
Freshly laid earth and sand cover the ground, but the scent of blood—spilled from the previous match and splattered on the arena's walls—stings Nia's nose. The familiar smell, evoking the dark crimson rust of old iron, returns after so long.
With each step, tension builds in Nia's heart, but paradoxically, the faint scent of battle—the smell of blood—begins to calm the mind.
"Oh! The Droko warrior is really here! But aren't Droko supposed to be small? You're tinier than expected! Come on, Droko gladiator, bring another victory to this Doaju! Step to the center of the arena!"
Doaju's voice booms, reverberating through a massive iron helmet as it calls out to Nia.
The helmet, designed with five large circular holes around the eyes and twelve smaller ones surrounding them, encases Doaju's head and neck in thick iron, sacrificing some visibility to thoroughly protect the face and eyes. In the right hand, Doaju wields a peculiar mace—a long iron handle topped with a round, flat, pumpkin-sized lump of metal. The left hand holds a shield bristling with elongated spikes. Thick iron armor covers the right shoulder, while the left, bare and tanned dark by the sun, remains unprotected. No breastplate is worn, revealing dark, muddy-brown skin and disproportionately thick forearms and shoulder muscles for a small stature. Iron-plated boots extend up to the thighs and knees.
The incongruous figure of Doaju steps forward, standing before Nia as the warrior approaches.
"I'm Nia Calagon. Let's have a good fight."
Nia offers a greeting to Doaju, voice trembling with anticipation. At last, the long-desired one-on-one duel against a single opponent begins—a battle not against beasts but to test honor and skill, basking in the cheers and applause of the crowd. A moment dreamed of countless times.
"Hah! Alright, Nia Calagon. I'm Doaju. Doaju Ramanusa."
Doaju raises the mace high, then slams it into the ground, returning Nia's greeting.
"Now, let the two gladiators begin the duel!"
The announcer's voice rings out across the arena, accompanied by the deep, resonant blast of a horn, signaling the start of the match.
"We can't disappoint the expectant crowd, Nia Calagon!"
-THUD-
As soon as Doaju's words end, the shadow of the massive mace looms over Nia's head before crashing down.
Nia swiftly kicks the latch on the scabbard, drawing a sword in one fluid motion while dodging Doaju's attack.
"Oh! That's some skill! Your movements are as quick as that tiny frame suggests… Didn't you say there's no experience fighting warriors?"
A gash, sliced by a sharp blade, now mars the thick gauntlet covering Doaju's right hand and arm.
"Hah. If it weren't for the gauntlet, my arm would've been cut clean off."
Doaju remarks, eyeing the dark red blood seeping from the gash in the gauntlet.
The moment of attack is when the greatest vulnerability is exposed.
Though no one taught this, Nia's swordsmanship—honed through countless observations of gladiators duels and relentless practice—lands a wound on Doaju's arm.
'Faster… Faster… The sword and movements need to be faster.'
Despite warming up in the waiting room, Nia's arms and legs feel as heavy as if shackled.
"Here I come again! Hrrgh!"
Doaju charges at Nia, swinging the mace downward from above, aiming for the head once more.
Nia lightly pushes off the ground, stepping back to evade the attack.
Doaju's assault continues. The mace, slammed down, is lifted again, pulled to the right, and with a forward step of the right foot, a faster and fiercer strike aims for the side of Nia's head.
But Nia deftly slips to Doaju's left, evading the blow. As the attack is dodged, Nia's long two-handed sword nearly grazes Doaju's thigh.
"Got you!"
With a hearty shout, Doaju's spiked shield slams toward Nia.
Using the strength of a thick, muscular arm, Doaju wields the shield not to block but to intercept an opponent charging forward, striking like a weapon.
"Gah!"
Nia hastily redirects the sword to block the incoming shield, but the iron spikes pierce shoulder and arm.
The armor worn fails to stop the spikes, and blood seeps from the holes torn in Nia's shoulder.
"If it were anyone else, that would've pierced clean through the shoulder… The scales of the Droko are tough!"
Doaju remarks, eyeing Nia's blood on the spikes of the shield.
"Here I go again! Hold on tight!"
Doaju lets out a thunderous roar through the thick iron helmet, charging at Nia.
The left hand wields the spiked shield, and the right swings the mace in a relentless assault.
'Don't forget the shield in the left hand. Dodge. Dodge and strike.'
Doaju's ceaseless attacks fail to land on Nia. The swinging shield cuts through the air, and the mace slams into the ground, kicking up dirt. Each missed attack comes at a cost.
Nia's sword leaves marks on Doaju's arms, legs, and sides—not deep, but enough to draw blood.
Doaju's body gradually accumulates wounds from Nia's steady, disciplined swordsmanship, which strikes at the openings created by missed attacks.
If dodging isn't possible, Nia blocks. If the opening is too brief, Nia doesn't force it, waiting for the next opportunity. This swordsmanship wears Doaju down, bit by bit.
Sweat beads on Doaju's forehead inside the helmet while facing the small Droko warrior whose attacks refuse to land.
Nia's swordsmanship, which never shone when fighting beasts or alongside other warriors, begins to awaken in this duel with Doaju. Though still rough and unpolished, the blade steadily carves wounds into the opponent.
'This is… Supposedly a novice gladiator…'
Doaju, with a wry smile inside the helmet, watches as Nia dodges attacks, closing the distance with the long two-handed sword and counterattacking with increasing precision.
'Adapting to my range!'
Even as they fight, this small Droko warrior's sword swings faster, with dodges and counterattacks growing sharper and more precise.
'No more holding back.'
Doaju swings the mace diagonally downward with full strength.
-THUD-
The mace strikes the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Nia shields the face and steps back, while Doaju retreats as well, widening the distance between them.
"Now I'll show you the true power of Doaju's mace!"
Doaju raises both arms to the sky, shouting. The arena erupts with the roars of the crowd, blanketing the battleground.
As the arms lower, Doaju places the shield onto the end of the mace. The shield's components fold and wrap around the mace's handle, transforming it into a massive spiked mace that gleams in Doaju's hands.
"Now this feels worth swinging!"
Doaju extends the now-free left hand toward the ground, then clenches a fist tightly. The dark skin flushes with a reddish hue as muscles swell, bulging with power.
"RAAAGH!"
Unable to contain the surging strength, Doaju grips the massive spiked mace with both hands and slams it into the ground. The spikes dig into the earth, but are effortlessly pulled free, swung through the air multiple times.
"Let's do this again, Nia Calagon!"
Doaju leaps high into the air, gripping the mace with both hands and raising it behind the head. Descending, Doaju swings with the full weight of the body, aiming a devastating blow at Nia, who looks up from the ground.
'Bigger weapons are slower.'
The fleeting thought crosses Nia's mind while sidestepping Doaju's descending attack. But that momentary lapse in focus exacts a heavy price.
"Grah!"
Just as Nia thinks the attack is dodged, the spiked mace hurtles through the cloud of dust at terrifying speed.
Nia hurriedly raises the sword to block, but it's not enough to withstand the force.
A dull metallic clang rings out as the mace collides with the blade, and with a short groan, Nia is pushed back, sliding across the dirt.
Losing balance, Nia tumbles to the ground.
'That was close. Barely blocked it, but it was close.'
Nia springs to the feet, kicking up dust while regaining a stance. Amid the cheers of the crowd, Doaju's laughter and the sound of charging footsteps echo.
There's no time to analyze the attack. As Nia rises, Doaju is already rushing forward.
"Let's keep going, little dragon friend!"