The sun remained high in the sky, overseeing the land and its entirety. Though shrouded by the surrounding forest and elevated hills, the world felt large. Unexplored. An urge exploded inside the Champion to scour the entire continent from corner to corner. He wished to see the caves affiliated with the dwarves as well as the grand and calm forests of the elves. On the orc conquest, the urge was not as strong but still present when he saw rivers and ominous trees.

One thing about being a conqueror was the aspect of exploration. That was the main perk drawing him in next to the aspect of unity and peace.

"I think I'm going to faint," Nam'ill complained, breathing heavily.

The Champion looked over his shoulder to catch the knight a few dozen feet behind him. They were still descending the rather large hill, but the destination was not far. They just had to walk across a small stretch of flat land, then onto the next hill. And with that, they were there.

"You did not tell me why Shimmer isn't here," the Champion requested, soon to check the enemy tents ahead. He knew he had already been detected, but there was no defensive party on their way to engage him. It was probably a good sign. Or maybe preparations for an ambush. He couldn't be sure which, so it was best to be safe.

"She... didn't want to come," Nam'ill breathed, and clutched his chest in a slowing pace. He even stopped for a breather on bent knees. "When I told her I was leaving for the battlefield... she didn't say a word. She didn't even look at me..."

"So you just left her—"

"She is safe and sound in our room," Nam'ill assured the Champion, who was seconds away from ridiculing the knight. "The inn is one of the better ones, anyway. It's why we've been holed up there this whole time." He stood and poised himself as he began to count with his fingers. "The patrons are nice, the innkeeper is a kind enough fellow, and the ales," he chuckled, "are just fantastic."

"You two must drink a lot," the Champion decided, snorting as he continued on. He was already climbing the next hill. Only a few more minutes and it was showtime.

"A few or so every hour, but no more than that," Nam'ill claimed, already back to walking. "It got out of hand the first time, I know. We can manage ourselves better now. It's just something to cool down the world around us. We don't have to be so tense and nervous all the time."

The Champion stopped halfway up the hill, in a position where he could see the tops of the tents up above. Even the indecipherable chatter of enemy guards were slight background noises.

"You are tense and nervous around her?" he asked, though it was more confusion than anything.

Nam'ill sighed at the question; however, he didn't stop to think or even have a short break.

"It's better now than how we were with you back then," he answered. "We still have things we don't want to talk about, and it keeps us on edge, but it's nothing serious. We can get past those things and it'll be alright."

"Hmph," the Champion replied. He returned to walking up the hill with Nam'ill only a couple of feet behind him. "Of course you just want her for yourself, and that I only get in your way—"

"What?" Nam'ill interrupted him, but it was too late to question the murmuring even further. 

The Champion steered clear of the hill blocking his vision, finally stepping foot at the top. No longer were the tents great in numbers from how he was staring at them from above; from here, there was just a thick bunch of them. As well as a whole mob of guards, most of whom having their weapons out.

"At ease," the Champion declared, not fazing the fierce gazes he received, despite him raising an unarmed gauntlet for peace. With a sigh, he waited for Nam'ill to stand beside him, which only provoked the guards even more into backing up and talking amongst themselves. He didn't understand a single word that came out of their mouths.

"Elves and dwarves, huh?" Nam'ill whistled. "I guess the tales are all true. The elves are far too lengthy and slim—they must only eat plants or not even eat at all!" He laughed as he pointed at one of the dwarves with a coiled brown beard obscuring most of his face. "And dwarves! Hah! They eat far too much and do nothing but sit around and drink!"

At the outburst and laughter, the enemies shared confused glances with their battle stances falling. They had the duo surrounded in a narrow semicircle as a means of blocking them from pushing any further in. The Champion noticed the elves all had tall golden helmets, as was most of their stretched armor, that hid everything but their eyes. Most, if not all, had emerald eyes very similar to that of leaves. He was positive there were as many females as males, marked by the more narrow and longer eyelashes of some of them.

The dwarves, though less in number, all had beards to practically act as a face mask. Their eyes were all beaten and fierce, normally a brown or gray color. There were no females except for one with horns sticking out of her helmet, the only one without a beard.

What a strange species to say the least.

"Have you come on terms of surrender?" one of the elves asked in a very thick, rich accent belonging to only the wealthiest nobles the Champion had the misfortune of talking to.

"I wish to speak to your king," the Champion requested, again sending a ripple of confusion among the bunch. They were all out of their stances by now.

"Which king?" a dwarf questioned, his voice rough and booming.

"The king," the Champion repeated himself, unsure of what he was being asked. 

"He speaks of the rightful monarch: the faithful and gracious Hea'ot," the elf from earlier decided, sticking up a finger thoughtfully.

"No, lies!" the dwarf snapped, as he rushed up to the elf and poked his lower chest with a commanding finger. "The true king is the almighty and brilliant H'rumage! Not your fancy and dandy queen of a man—"

"This is an outrage!" the elf exclaimed angrily, before tackling the dwarf. As the two dirtied their respective armor in the dirt, others joined in.

It was sheer madness. How could there be an enemy if they just eradicated their own selves?

"Well, this is entertaining," Nam'ill commented, while watching the brawl only drunks would be in. His amusement was very different than what the Champion felt about the whole situation.

"Stand and bring me to your kings," he demanded. When he took a thundering step forward that seemed to have shook the ground, the fighting ceased immediately. "This is utter disrespect. Is this the tarnishing image you wish to show? Is this how truly pathetic you are?"

The primary elf shoved aside the dwarf on top of him and went to stand, while muttering under his breath in an alien language.

"Before we do such a thing," the elf announced, trying to brush off the dirt that hid any golden attributes to his armor, "it is required for you to leave behind any weapons. Honor this very rule and you are permitted to be graced with my good king's presence—"

"Our good kings' presence," the dwarf on the ground interjected in a grumbling voice.

"Of course, yes," the elf agreed, though his emerald eyes showed nothing but irritation. "Now, please lay your weapons down and any others at your disposal. This confrontation must be handled on the highest and most respectable standards possible." He clasped his gauntlets together. "You are kings, after all."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," the Champion remarked, knowing Nam'ill had the same idea. It was enough to be stripped of dignity and position, but also weapons? That was truly a belittled state he would never wish to be seen in—to his enemies, nonetheless.

"I'm afraid you must," the elf countered impatiently. He glanced at a nearby elf for an entire defensive row to be formed in moments, just like when the Champion had first arrived. "Do it or be met with heavy resistance. Your death now will not satisfy the terms at all. We will continue the invasion like you hadn't even come."

The Champion scanned the row of elves with their spears and swords pointed at him, prepared to say no once more; however, a thump erupted beside him. He looked at the source to see Nam'ill's great sword lying on the ground. The knight was unarmed and had his gauntlets calmly at his side.

"Just do it," he advised, his gaze set on the Champion, who cursed under his breath.

The man would always be a coward, it seemed.

"Fine," the Champion decided against his better judgement, as he dropped his great sword, too. Though, by how the guards weren't moving to retrieve the weapons, it was clear that wasn't satisfactory enough.

"Your crossbow, too," the main elf decreed, wearily glancing at the Champion's hip.

"Hmph."

After brief hesitation and respite, the Champion also allowed his crossbow to fall beside his sword. Unlike Nam'ill, he kept his gauntlets clenched and ever so menacing. He would never appear unarmed, even if he was stripped of an actual weapon. What little did they know...

"Veruan," the elf spoke in his native language that flowed off his tongue perfectly, then nodded his head. As elves went to retrieve the weapons, he gestured behind him in a friendly manner. "This way, sires. Feel free to study our beloved and most astonishing sights intently. Your visit here should be of a high regard and ever so comfortable, for it is our priority to treat you like guests now that you have respected our terms."

Immobile, the Champion watched elves walk up to him and pick his weapons up. Two were required for his sword, which had both of them grunting in exhaustion. Even Nam'ill's sword had the same treatment.

"See, no need for bloodshed," Nam'ill whispered after leaning over to his shoulder, as he passed him to catch up with the elvish escort.

The Champion watched Nam'ill walk further and further away while falling into a distracted state. The guards looking his way slowly eased themselves into lowering their weapons, but it was clear they were still on alert. The area itself was quite calm and serene, only aided by how the surrounding forest provided distant chirping and a moist atmosphere. Even with the sun shining down on everything and everybody, it didn't seem to bother any of the guards who slowly began to lean against tents or even sit down. Mostly the elves were the ones falling into groups and chattering in their native tongue.

"These wretched rats!" Jewel snapped, startling the Champion at the sudden uproar right in his ear. He turned around to see the void embodiment fuming with smoke rising all over him. His yellow eyes were wide in rage and his mouth relentlessly quivered and took different forms rapidly.

"Can you believe these are the pathetic morons that ended me?" Jewel asked, as his eyes shifted onto the Champion, who just stood there in silence. "These fancy, spoiled, self-righteous cowards? They would rather spend hours complimenting another and maintaining the most irritating social customs!"

"Complimenting another?" the Champion repeated confusedly.

"Yes!" Jewel thrust his whole arm forward that took the form of a jagged spear. "They're doing it right now!" The Champion looked over to where the arm was pointing and saw a group of elvish guards sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor doing nothing but talking and laughing. "I can understand their every word—it must be wondrous for you to be unable to. How lucky!"

Jewel sighed in frustration and stomped around.

"I hate, hate, hate them!" He spat a whole wad of black blood that stuck to the ground, as if it were mixing in with it. Soon, his gaze darted right back to the Champion, where he fell silent for a while. His twitching smile and eyes reverted to normal. His batch of uncontained emotions was calmed. A smile appeared on his face that told of true sinister, delightful revenge.

"You'll do your brother justice, yes?" Jewel asked, then chuckled. His spear of an arm thrust forward on its own, making the Champion look behind him.

The tents were ablaze. Guards were running everywhere and screaming, something that went silent fairly quickly. The once blue sky above was a rosary red. There was no sun. There was no forest—what was left of it was burning down quickly. The scent of decay and burnt flesh replaced the once-serene aroma belonging to flowers and wildlife.

Through the wild flames—that made the Champion's visor reflect their flickering orange state—a knight walked out. Coated in blood, the figure trotted out with his helmet dipped down. He dragged a red sword behind him, its blade already tarnished and chipped in places. Any other guards around were but corpses lying around, soon to be taken by the hungry flames.

"It's all here right before your eyes," Jewel mused, grasping the Champion's shoulder and extending an open palm ahead. "You know you want it. You know emerging as this victorious hero is your true desire—your true mission. They'll all see in the end that you are indeed capable. That you are their savior and always will be."

The bloody knight proceeded forward until stopping right in front of the Champion, who matched the figure's height and everything. Silence was shared between the two until abruptly breaking:

"I think it's against these idiotic customs to waste time like this."

At Nam'ill's voice, the Champion blinked back into focus to find himself in a normal setting. There were no more flames. No more decay. No more imagery of himself after a brutal slaughter.

"I can do whatever I want to do, no matter the worthless rules attempting to hold me back," he decided, pushing past Nam'ill and entering the camp at long last, where the elf escort waited for him in utmost impatience and irritation.