The camp was nothing near the Champion had expected: a true display of elvish and dwarven culture. He wished to see sculptures found nowhere near the human kingdom, but all he found was utter blandness. Tents, more tents, and all the guards were still just leaning or sitting down. It was as if they had come here to talk and survey the land for no other reason except for fun.

"They don't seem particularly interested in laying siege to our kingdom," Nam'ill commented, as he stood near the Champion, who continued to scan his surroundings. The elf escort in the lead had his way of making everything seem like an exhibit by how he fanned his gauntlets around and spoke like a guide.

"And over there is yet another example of the raleinst pruvian..."

Can't you see I don't care? the Champion thought bitterly, trying to drown out the escort's rather irritating voice.

"I don't know if it's just me, but these elves have quite the nice body," Nam'ill declared randomly, which made the Champion look at him. "What? They do."

"Aren't you supposed to be assigned to Shimmer and nobody else?" the Champion asked. When he glanced around, he did see many pairs of eyes going his way. Most looked away upon detection, either out of embarrassment or fear. Definitely fear.

"Well, I'm just stating a fact," Nam'ill claimed, before silence could spell out clear defeat. "Yes, they have nice bodies and pretty eyes, but," he stuck up his finger, "Shimmer will indeed be the only one my heart truly belongs to. Nobody else!"

"Huhuh," the Champion muttered, his gaze set straight ahead at the sight of a larger tent. There were even two guards at the entrance, though they were in full armor that hid their whole face.

"And here is the Royal Tent," the escort announced, after pointing out at least a dozen other things that had gone unheard. "Both kings share it, so it's a very tranquil and lovable place." He abruptly halted a handful of feet away from the entrance, forcefully coughing. "The dwarven king can make it quite the opposite, however. Do be patient with his mean temper and whatnot. He's a very easy fellow to anger."

The Champion stepped past the irritating guide to examine the enormous tent before him. It stretched high up to the sky far more than the others around it. A crest shield was placed on the left side of the entrance with a green emblem of a sprouting plant with roots under the ground. On the right was another shield but with a more gray and darker tone to it. 

"Oh! Before you go in, make sure to treat Hea'ot with utmost respect and gratitude," the elf added, though it was of little importance.

"Hm," the Champion replied distantly, then proceeded toward the tent. He could not see very well inside of it from how the flaps were guarding it in a very secretive manner. Even the guards outside made sure not to give any hints away, like it were some grand secret.

Before he could enter, one of the guards stopped him with the shaft of their feathered spear with a sharp, green line running across the dark oak shaft.

"Do not bother entering with that provocative armor on," she spoke, not even looking at him.

"I will enter as I wish," he responded, so close to just breaking the spear and barging inside. What was there to stop him?

"You cannot disgrace the gracious Monarch like that," she argued, resting her visor on him. The guard next to her also began to look at him. It was incredibly irritating and just asking to be taught proper respect. He was a king after all.

"Excuse my friend," Nam'ill suddenly declared, moments before the Champion could state his proposal that involved death and broken weaponry. He leaned against him in an utmost casual state. "I promise I'll keep him in check. Nothing will come of your brilliant Monarch except for love and respect."

The elf registered his words in silence, withdrawing her spear in hesitation.

"Thank you," Nam'ill remarked, as he proceeded ahead in a boasting trot.

The Champion couldn't help but narrow his vision.

Seriously?

"Do well to please the Monarch in a fitting manner, or I will force you both to," the elf threatened, which only made Nam'ill stop inches away from her and loosely shrug.

"Feel free to; I'd love to see you try," he replied carelessly, then walked inside the tent after ducking under the wide flaps.

Noticing the elf curse under her breath in frustration, the Champion pursued his so-called partner. He was more confused than anything at what had just happened, but he was quite amused at the outcome. Nam'ill had done a similar thing with servers in the past; he had a certain charm with people, either they be elves or bandits out to kill him.

The Champion shouldered the flaps aside, maintaining his kingly dignity. He would not be looked down upon. He was a king and would be treated like one. Rules had no effect on that. It wasn't like they could be enforced, anyway.

On its own, the tent was the size of a smaller dining room able to seat around fifty or so people. The ground completely consisted of animal rugs with no visible dirt anywhere. Tables were set up along the sides, but the main attraction was the longer table that stretched across the whole length of the tent. Two throne-like chairs lay behind it, already occupied by figures that fit the king trope all too well.

The dwarf king donned a full set of dark iron armor with bulging gauntlets resting upon the table. He continuously pounded them as he ranted in an alien language; he acted as if the Champion wasn't even there.

In contrast to the rough, angry voice, the elf king spoke in a much smoother and calmer voice for a response. There were other guards in the room, though they didn't speak or move. All they did was stand in a royal state with their gazes set straight ahead.

"Ah, settle down, they have arrived," the elf king, named Hea'ot from prior information, requested kindly, which shut up the dwarf king.

"Aye, the most foolish and obnoxious human of the lot now stands before us," H'rumage remarked, scanning the Champion with stone brown eyes. His thick beard dropped to where his chest was, not ending by how the table was in its path. "What business has he with us in that childish armor of his? How disrespectful can they be to treat us like this? Are we not to be taken seriously?!"

H'rumage slammed his gauntlet onto the table, which didn't startle anybody except for Nam'ill, who had been idling distantly for the past few minutes. If anything, Hea'ot appeared even more annoyed by how he narrowed his eyes and frowned. A crown rested upon his head full of silk-like, smooth black hair only found on females. It seemed elves were quite different in many aspects of appearance and life.

"At ease, my good friend," Hea'ot spoke calmly, as he gestured his arm loosely like it were traveling freely with the wind. "These men have come on good terms and nothing more. There is no need to feel threatened or angered at their appearance. It is just how they are and will be until the end of time: yearning for battle, no matter if they can be won or not."

"Let such a pathetic ideology go to waste," H'rumage snorted, falling back in his chair in defeat. He was not the one going to be talking, it seemed, for Hea'ot took his position with pride.

"It is good weather and just the most serene atmosphere lingering about, isn't it?" Hea'ot remarked. When he fanned his hand around, the green sleeve of his very royally decorated robe pursued closely after. It was far too loose and wide for the rather-skinnier elf, but it was all for intentional show.

"Just gorgeous," Nam'ill agreed.

It would be a lot more gorgeous with flames in the mix, the Champion thought, while his right fingers boredly tapped the air.

"Have you found your stay so far to be welcoming and pleasant?" Hea'ot asked, smiling.

The Champion had seen hundreds of smiles before, either from friend or foe. Most of the time, they displayed a hidden desire of malice; however, there were rare cases of genuine kindness. Only Shimmer's warm smile came to mind for an example, for there were no other faces he felt safe looking at. They were all fake and evil.

"Very much so," Nam'ill again agreed. Despite keeping his voice sounding somewhat interested, the Champion could sense the boredom and irritation from within. It was almost like he was speaking through clenched teeth.

"Splendid," Hea'ot responded, and then sat there in silence for some time.

All movement in the room seemed to have stopped. Hea'ot kept his smile, the guards in the room continued to just stand there, Nam'ill went back to idling, and the Champion felt entirely invisible. He hadn't spoken a word or moved a muscle since his arrival.

"Speak for Troval's sake!" H'rumage snapped, moments away from slamming his gauntlet onto the table. 

"Ah, pardon me," Hea'ot said quickly. His eyes were on the Champion the whole time, and that smile had even faded not long after. Like a cold truth had become realized. "We are gathered here on the basis of, put simply, terms." He rested his hands on the table. "We came here because you didn't fulfill your part of the bargain. Negligence—it was truly spitting in both my face and the good dwarf's beside me as well."

"Absolutely, downright disgraceful shame only given to filth on the ground!" H'rumage spat.

"I was not a fan of coming here and using brute force," Hea'ot admitted, narrowing his eyes in disgust at the word, "but I was persuaded eventually. I've always allowed your kind to make mistakes and kindly let them be; however, times have changed." He looked over at H'rumage with pursed lips. "It seems such mistakes cannot be tolerated any longer. They must be paid for accordingly."

"And that is why we are here for ye head," H'rumage added abruptly.

Silence filled the room with both pairs of eyes dead set on the Champion, who still just stood there. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He didn't like listening to either of them. The idea of destruction and dismantling both of their faces was beginning to appear as the best option.

"Speak, or are ye a tree?" H'rumage demanded. With the sound of a gauntlet slamming down against the table, the Champion broke out of whatever trance he had been in. His gaze finally drifted down onto the dwarf.

Take that fool's head right now, show him you are very much not a tree he mocks you with, Jewel ordered. At the end, he will be the one under a tree. He will be the very seeds of its existence!

"You have come to relinquish your title," Hea'ot cut the silence. It was enough to repel Jewel's voice in an instant. "It is a very selfless task to perform. Rather, impossible." He heaved his shoulders and sighed. "Humans would never do anything like this. They don't have the courage—"

"The stupidity," the Champion interrupted him, startling both the kings at his newfound voice. His newfound command, for he was no longer just some statue to talk down to. "It is uncanny to surrender oneself to death. It would be purely cowardice. A loss of spirit a defeated man would show."

"Aye, I knew the moment right when ye came here in that armor that there would be no peaceful surrender," H'rumage decided, while he tapped his gauntlets on the table intently. Anger was not apparent any longer. "It is found within all of ye disgusting humans. Never have ye the willpower to accept a peaceful outcome. Instead, it always comes to bloodshed and suffering." He shook his head in pity. "Look at all the wars ye have had! Unnecessary. Nothing was ever achieved except for blood and crushing thousands of spirits."

"I will not accept an end befitting of men with nothing left to live for," the Champion stated firmly, only for H'rumage to laugh.

"Nothing left to live for?" His laughter expanded to bellows of utmost humor. "Are ye saying ye have something to live for? There is nothing! Hah!"

The question impaled the Champion's heart, making him look down onto the rugs beneath him. He had always thought he lacked a motivation and purpose. The only ones he had were very childish and but fantasies; however, Shimmer was still there in his mind. He felt empty on the inside, like he was but a hollow shell with nothing to live for, yet he did have somebody. Whether he die or not, he would make sure that Shimmer would always be safe. A lie such as surrender terms was too unreliable to go through with, especially meaning it would be his end.

Champions died honorably. With such a reputation and name, they had to go out in the most spectacular way possible. Wipe out a whole army, then die by the thousand wounds inflicted by those that had been slaughtered. It would be a profound impact on the battle, the whole world itself. The death would be mourned by all, with the body given a burial only provided to majestic kings.

As a champion, he would not go out like a coward. He would not submit his life just like that. No, he would die in battle, if it had to be the case.

"Then what are you even here for?" Hea'ot asked wearily. "Our heads? To decimate our whole army made of only the finest and trained soldiers? The smartest commanders? You can't hope to do such a thing—are humans really this childish?" He looked at H'rumage in confusion. "Do they really think they can just do these things against all odds? When death is certain?"

"Aye, they are not very bright," H'rumage responded, not moving his steel gaze off the Champion, who was becoming more and more provoked by the second. As if this unruly dwarf was a plague upon all existence.

Show him, then, that you are not just a mere tree to be kicked around and talked down to! Jewel exclaimed, like it were obvious.

The Champion clenched his right gauntlet at his side. The guards around became alert at the sight and fell into a defensive stance. Even Nam'ill was uneasy behind him.

"I request a duel," the Champion announced, striking utmost surprise in the faces around him.

"A duel? What are ye even—" H'rumage began, though he fell silent at a thundering step forward. The Champion only needed to say three more words for the dwarf to finally recognize what his true intentions were:

"To the death."