In the arena above, iron gates thundered open all around the arena floor. Not just one or two of them, but every single entrance at once. The sound of dozens of rolling wagons and clanking chains filled the air as an army of workers poured onto the sands. Tuscans, their towering forms making even fully grown men look like children beside them, followed close behind while hauling massive carts piled high with rich, dark soil. Behind them came scores of arena servants pushing wheelbarrows laden with young trees and sacks of seed.
"Weren't these men defeated by the Willow Whip days ago?" One person in the crowd asked. "What are they doing here now?"
"Look, they're acting like laborers," another man said, pointing to the group of ferocious soldiers who had given up their weapons and armor in exchange for simple tunics and gardener's tools. "Is this because they were defeated in the battle against the Willow Witch?"
