The magnificent statue, illuminated by moonlight, towered several meters above the ground in front of the cathedral square. It seemed almost as if it stood admonishingly above the sea of houses of the people, which was in front of the hill of the cathedral and the statue. Once this statue had been the splendor of the inhabitants of Riberia and every person knew the story behind it.
The tall figure was once decorated with gold to emphasize the noble look of the armor and did not harbor any cracks. With the cathedral in the background, it looked like a champion of the gods turned to stone, watching over the city, facing all enemies.
At that time, the man depicted must have achieved great things to be immortalized and respected by posterity for a long time with a statue dedicated to him. Now, however, it had lost much of its luster and the moonlight gave visibility to minor cracks in the marble that crisscrossed the statue.
Splendor and prestige long forgotten, no one bothered to repair the cracks or bring back the statue's luster. The people of Riberia forgot their glorious hero and let his image decay, as it had happened to almost the rest of the world.
Wars had existed since the beginning of time, but they were not the ones that brought the human world almost to the brink of destruction. Wars caused deaths on the battlefield, but humans were haunted by worse than their self-made suffering. Diseases and plagues were upon them, and no one had the time to worship the ancient heroes.
Only one man knelt, in the dark night, before the impostane statue of marble, armed with the still-protective spear. Argos knew the deed that the man carved in marble had done. He had been a champion. The champion of human, born in Riberia as Argos was. Once Riberia was magnificent, blessed by the gods, earned by the grand champion Ivar of Riberia.
Born in Riberia, the capital of the kingdom of Ismar in the world of human, and now one of the last great cities for refugees, Ivar grew up to be a knight and took part in the Trial of Champions in his glory days. For his achievements, Argos respected him even today. But it was not only for his respect that he knelt before the statue.
"Tomorrow is finally the day. The time of my revenge has come...."
Humanity has been the victim of the last catastrophe of 10 years ago, in which storm floods and famine almost swept the human world away. Argos was among those who survived the last calamity brought by the gods.
"Do you hope that the marble image of your glorious hero Ivar will give you strength, tall man? Or do you hope he will fulfill your desire?"
'That voice...'
"You're still awake at this late hour, Thorvil? What are you doing here? Is there no more mead to drink? Or did they throw you out?"
Argos turned his lowered head away from the image of Ivar and looked instead at Thorvil, who surprised him here in front of the cathedral, where Argos thought he was alone. Unlike Argos, Thorvil was much shorter than the tall man, but also much broader. For a dwarf, however, as Thorvil was, he was of average height and weight.
"I figured I'd find you here, the night before the trial. You're volunteering tomorrow, aren't you?"
'Should have guessed...'
Of course, Thorvil knew Argos was this time's champion, who would represent the human world in the Trial. Who didn't know that either? Humans and Dwarves lived together long enough after the Dwarven homeworld was doomed, and so there were few secrets between the two races. And even more so, there were no secrets when it came to the fate of the two races and their shared world.
But Thorvil was probably one of the few who knew Argos' motives behind his decision. There were few warriors in the history of humanity who would voluntarily give themselves to the pantheon.
"Yes. Tomorrow I compete in the trial of champion. In the god's Pantheon."
The mood in front of the cathedral between the two men was anything but cheerful. The Trial of Champions always meant a lot of sacrifices, because in the end, only one among them survived. And one brought upon himself and his clan the ignominy of not only losing in the trial but also exposing his own homeworld to damnation.
"You have taken part before, haven't you, Thorvil?" asked Argos, full of curiosity. "Tell me, what are my chances tomorrow? What will await me on the battlefield of the Titans? Not your glorious stories, but the unvarnished truth."
Argos has known Thorvil for many years. He met the old dwarf when his kin came to the human world by the portal after the destruction of their world. A risky option in Argos' eyes, but if the other choice was death, probably the better option.
During the years when humans and dwarves were getting used to living together in Ismar, Argos had gotten to know Thorvil.
Whenever there was one jug too many for Thorvil in the taverns, the veteran dwarf would tell of his time in the Pantheon, of the battles and skirmishes in the world of the Titans. Each time Argos listened to the words of the old dwarf with fascination, because he was hungry for knowledge about the world of the gods.
"It is the bloodiest carnage I have witnessed in my 347 years, boy. It's unremarkable at first, but as the fighting progresses, it gets worse. Severed arms and legs and sometimes a head. You may have a chance of winning the trial, but regarding your other goal….I'm not sure."
Thorvil's participation and victory in the trial was a long time ago. It would have to have been around the time of Argo's great-grandfather, at least that's what he had always roughly estimated. Since then, many trials have passed and worlds have been destroyed, and the division among the races is growing.
"But it's no use listening to this old dwarf's tales, boy. My bones are weary and do not remember the battle as well as they once did. Much has changed since I passed the trial. Back then we competed completely alone."
Even as he spoke, he made his way to the statue of the Hero of Men: Ivar the Champion. With a spellbound gaze, the little dwarf eyed the statue from head to toe.
"It has been a long time since you humans won the trial. Do you think soon they will also carve your likeness in marble and place it here on the hull?"
Without a word, Argos merely shook his head. The chances of victory were anything but realistic for him, and he didn't hope from the start.
"Even if I should emerge victorious from the test, you know what I actually have in mind. If my plan fails, you can imagine what the reaction will be."
'But at least I tried with all my might.'
"Every contestant who does not win is a loser. They all lose their lives, and that it hits one among them again in addition doesn't make the others any fewer losers. I don't want you to lose. Against no one."
"I know..."
Basically, Thorvil was right. Anyone who lost his life in the trial was ultimately a loser. But they had no choice but to take part, so Argos had resigned himself to the fact that he would most likely die.
'It hurts. But it would hurt even more if they were still alive...'
"I wish you all the luck of men and dwarves, boy. It would be an honor if I could carve your likeness in stone and display it here. It would mean that you have returned from an impossible quest."
"I will go to the extreme, Thorvil. That I promise you!"
With these words, Argos left the enormous statue behind and went to the stairs leading down to the city of Riberia. Before him stretched the dark night sky, which lay over Riberia. It was a cool night, accompanied by a breeze, but the sky was clear, so that he could direct his gaze to the stars and let his mind wander for a bit.
Each of these stars was once home to a planet on which a race was living. Many were still out there, but there were fewer with each Trial of Champions. How much fewer, probably only the gods could say, because unlike the relationship between humans and dwarves, there were also hostile races.
Like humans, most races often had at least one victorious champion who could tell of the trial and the other races. Argos himself, as a young child, had also listened to the horror stories told to him about the other races.
Big, stocky monsters that looked human, but with red-brown skin and almost twice as big and strong as a human. Graceful creatures that looked more like humans with sharp ears and even completely hairy creatures that looked more like walking bears, according to the stories.
All these stories came from oral tellings of the champions of the humans. What exactly was true and what was not true, Argos would probably find out for himself the next day. Whether he could report it, however, depended on his fate.
His gaze left the sky and instead focused on the city of Riberia that stretched before him. From the elevated position of the cathedral, one could almost overlook the entire capital. A sea of hundreds of thousands of houses, their roofs reflecting the light of the moon.
An entire city that now placed its hope in his hands. Step by step, he descended the massive staircase that led down into the city, and it took him several minutes to get back on level ground with the others.
With his head held high, he followed the stone path to his own home, which was among the countless houses. It was a larger house with several rooms, but in none of them was light visible from the outside.
He opened the door without having to unlock it first, for he had not locked it for several years. Now that they knew him as a volunteer champion of the humans, there was no one who would have wanted to harm him, anyway. But even before that, Argos didn't really care about his safety.
Silently, he climbs the wooden steps, which creak under his heavy footsteps, to the next floor, where he enters a long hallway. There are only two rooms here, one on the left and one on the right. First, he trudged to the door of the room on the right side of the hallway and slowly opened the door.
A small bed, not even big enough for a full-grown man of his size, fell directly into his eye and it seemed as if his body would freeze at the sight. Motionless, he stood there and did not avert his gaze.
Only after a few moments did he squint his eyes and a tear that formed in his right eye rolled down his cheek, detached itself from his chin, and fell to the floor.
Argos took a deep breath before closing the door again and turning to the second room. Here was a large double bed, with a pillow on each side.
'If only I could have done something....'
In the doorway, he froze again, not letting his gaze wander from the bed. After a few more moments, he turned away from the room again, not even closing the door. Instead, he went back down the creaking steps and went into the large living room that he had already passed through when he went in.
It was sparsely populated. An armor stand with a rather old-looking armor, a spear on the wall and a table with only a single chair, on which he sat down.
Still from before, a corked bottle stood on the table, which he grabbed, and after uncorking, emptied in one go. The wine tasted as bitter as he felt at the moment.
With the armor, the spear, and a few more volunteers, he would take on the Trial of Champions.
As Thorvil had mentioned, some things had changed since the aged dwarf had taken part in the test. By now, mortal races could take up to five fighters into the pantheon, but only the actions of the champions determined winners and losers, and no non-champion was allowed to attack a champion.