The herald, momentarily thrown off, resumed his speech and quickly stepped away from the fiery young man.
"Uh... And remember, gentlemen: glory to the victor and disgrace to the loser! And now, warriors, fight!"
The arena was now fully claimed by the two combatants: Essart, the reigning champion, and the desert rogue.
As the crowd saw Shahin standing tall with his legs spread wide in a proud stance, a ripple of doubt swept over them. Yet, they redoubled their jeers and drowned the arena in a sea of noise.
"Silence!" thundered Shahin, raising his arm with sovereign authority.
The crowd fell mute. His call for calm was delivered with such vehemence that it chilled the blood in their veins. They stared, bewildered, at this mysterious man with the commanding voice. Averkane couldn't help but laugh at the sheer audacity of it.
The champion, amused by the boy's pretension, broke into a sly grin, eyeing him with a mocking air.
