The small army surrounding the War God’s Battle Area shifted restlessly. Agamemnon, their king held his spear loosely and towered over his army of great warriors. One of his men came forward, covered with sweat and mud. He fell down to his knees.
“I am sorry, my king! We couldn’t catch the horses. They managed to snap the ropes and run!”
Agamemnon didn’t bother to turn towards him. His gaze was locked on the exit of the dungeon.
“It was expected. Go and join others.”
The commander on Agamemnon’s right ordered him. The kneeling warrior scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply before retreating into the ranks of his comrades. The atmosphere was tense, the sharp tang of anticipation mingling with the scent of sweat and steel. Agamemnon stood like a statue, his obsidian spear lightly gripped but radiating an aura of latent power. His golden armor gleamed under the muted light, the intricate engravings of past conquests catching the eyes of his soldiers like divine blessings.
“Shouldn’t we enter the dungeon, My King?”
The commander beside him asked, his tone tinged with both respect and curiosity. He was a grizzled veteran, his scarred face a testament to countless battles. “That Poyraz kid. Do you really think he could conquer the dungeon?”
Agamemnon’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained fixed on the dungeon’s yawning maw.
“Do you not trust the Champion chosen by Aliera herself?”
The commander hesitated, his weathered features betraying a flicker of doubt. Thanks to being on Agamemnon’s for years he knew the answer his king expected from him, even though he didn’t believe that answer.
“He is still a kid, my kid. A brat who can’t hold a candle to your experience.”
Agamemnon chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through the ranks of his warriors. It was not a mirthful laugh but one laced with danger, a reminder of the godlike figure they served. He finally turned his head, his piercing gaze fixing the commander in place.
“Brat or not, he has the blessing of Aliera. But you are not wrong. He can’t match up to me, even with his blessings.”
He answered, his voice as deep and resonant as a drumbeat in the silence. The commander tried to reply but a deep, resonant hum echoed from the dungeon’s entrance. The sound grew louder, reverberating like the beat of a war drum. Dust and debris cascaded down, and the army fell silent, their eyes locked on the growing chasm of darkness.
The first to emerge was someone Gargareans knew very well despite her armor and weapons being different. She carried a black halberd made out of drake fang while a massive cleaver hung from her back. It was Artemeni Stormspear, the sister of their king and a commander of the Amazon army.
The next to her was Blanche Silverfox, a genius from the infamous noble Silverfox family. Despite conquering one of the hardest dungeons, her silver-white clothes were pristine and clean.
The next two were less known among Gargareans but still powerful, archmage Aurora Skyweaver and Thalia Sunshard a head priestess of Aliera. Despite all of them being beautiful, the hungry eyes of Gargareans were drawn to an unknown person among them. Her amethyst wings unfurled as she stepped gracefully into the light.
Whispers rippled through the ranks like a gust of wind as a winged woman emerged, her amethyst wings catching the light and shimmering like the twilight sky. The soldiers’ eyes were wide with awe and confusion, their gazes glued to the enigmatic figure walking alongside the famous champions. Even Agamemnon, who rarely showed more than a flicker of emotion, raised an eyebrow as his sharp eyes assessed her.
But even she couldn’t take all the attention as the figure they had been waiting for emerged. Poyraz Karabulut stepped out of the dungeon’s shadow, accompanied by his white wolf pup. A massive greatsword nearly taller than himself hung on his back, along with a shield made out of outwardly material.
The murmurs among the Gargareans died instantly. They had been prepared to see him beaten, humbled by the dungeon’s challenges. Instead, he looked like a conqueror returning from a glorious victory.
Artemeni was the first one to react, grabbing her halberd and taking a defensive stance with her shield.
“King Agamemnon! What is the meaning of this? Why have you surrounded us with an army?”
Agamemnon’s smirk widened at his sister’s defiant stance, but he did not immediately answer. Instead, he let the silence stretch, causing unease in both his army and Poyraz’s group.
“Artemeni,” he said finally, his deep voice carrying effortlessly over the murmuring soldiers, “is this how you greet your brother? With suspicion and hostility?”
Artemeni’s eyes narrowed, her stance unwavering. “Don’t play games with me, King Agamemnon. This is no ceremonial guard. Why have you surrounded our way with an army?”
Agamemnon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed across the battlefield.
“I came here with an army to meet and escort you to Quipax, my dear sister. I mean no harm. How could I, as the rightful king of Gargareans do anything but make the road for Aliera’s Champion easy and quick?”
Poyraz's eyes scanned the rows of soldiers, his expression unreadable but his posture firm. G?kb?rü, standing by his side, let out a low growl, his sapphire eyes fixed on the mass of warriors before them.
Artemeni’s grip tightened around her halberd, but she held her ground. “You insult me, brother,” she said, her voice laced with restrained fury. “I know your games well. You don’t bring an army to ‘escort’ anyone. What are you truly after?”
Agamemnon’s smile faded just slightly, the edges of his lips curling in a predatory fashion. He tilted his head toward the figures behind Poyraz, particularly focusing on Nyxara, who had stepped forward as if to greet the challenge. The soldiers murmured again at the sight of her wings unfurling fully, the amethyst glow casting an almost hypnotic light across the battlefield.
“The people of Gargareans are curious, sister,” Agamemnon’s voice turned cold, his earlier warmth stripped away. “They have heard the stories. Champion himself said that he would conquer War God’s Battle Area to acquire a weapon that could defeat Moloch the Demon King. May we witness the greatness of that weapon?”
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Poyraz’s gaze locked with Agamemnon’s, a quiet tension hanging in the air. His hand drifted toward the hilt of the massive greatsword on his back, the cold weight of its presence sending a shiver through the ranks of Gargareans. G?kb?rü growled lowly beside him, the sapphire-eyed wolf's fur standing on end. Every soldier around them seemed to collectively hold their breath, unsure whether the moment would erupt into chaos or settle into an uneasy truce.
“Agamemnon.”
Poyraz’s voice spread among the army despite its softness.
“Tell your army to step down and open the way.”
His voice lacked any kind of hostility yet some of the younger soldiers in the army shifted restlessly in their place. Agamemnon’s eyes glinted with a sharp edge, but he didn’t immediately respond. The warlord had not expected Poyraz to remain so calm in the face of this tension, much less demand an answer with such quiet authority.
Finally, Agamemnon spoke, his voice cutting through the murmur of his troops like a blade.
“Why answer me with such disrespect and hostility, Champion? I came all the way here just to greet you. Yet you try to order me around and hide your weapon. Why is that? Maybe because you don’t have it?”
He stopped, letting murmurs spread across his man.
“Of course! If you had it, you would have shown it! Even now you can prove that I am wrong! Or is it that the Champion of Aliera is a liar?”
The silence that followed Agamemnon’s challenge hung heavy in the air, like a taut string ready to snap. The murmurs among the Gargareans grew louder, their suspicion now a tangible thing, weaving through the ranks of soldiers and sweeping over the faces of the champions standing with Poyraz.
The young warrior’s calm expression never wavered, though his gaze hardened slightly, like a blade sharpening in the heat of tension. He stepped forward, his presence commanding, though the weight of Agamemnon’s accusation loomed over him like a cloud.
“Let’s say that I showed you the weapon, Agamemnon. What will you do?”
Agamemnon's expression shifted, a flicker of something between amusement and contempt passing across his face. He took a deliberate step forward, his armored form moving with the grace of someone accustomed to control.
"Show me the weapon, and then we will see if it lives up to the tales of its power," he said, his voice laced with both challenge and mockery. "If it truly is what you claim it to be, then perhaps I will believe you. But if not—"
He let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but clear. The soldiers around him seemed to lean in, drawn into the tension, their eyes flicking between their king and the champion before them.
Poyraz did not flinch. He met Agamemnon’s gaze with quiet confidence, his hand hovering just above the hilt of his greatsword. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but it was not one born of arrogance. It was the smile of someone who knew something Agamemnon did not.
“Very well, Agamemnon. Choose your champion.”
With a quick, single movement Poyraz threw his greatsword and shield back and crackled his fingers.
“If you want to see my weapon, you have to make me draw it. If you think any of your men can do it, order them to come forward. If not, get the hell out of my way. I am tired.”
The Gargarean warriors exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes flickering between Poyraz and their king as if trying to gauge the depths of the young champion's resolve. Even Agamemnon’s piercing gaze seemed to falter for a moment, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind gently blowing. Agamemnon’s smile twisted into a dangerous grin, though his eyes were sharp, and calculating. He glanced down the ranks of his army, his mind quickly assessing the strength of the men arrayed before him. His voice rang out with a commanding force that made the air vibrate.
“Let it be known,” he announced, turning his gaze toward his men, “who among you believes they can best this young champion and draw his weapon?”
A ripple of uncertainty passed through his warriors. Most of them knew Poyraz from rumors. A young, unknown warrior who was crowned as the Champion of Goddess of War. But now standing in front of him, most of them weren’t so sure.
The first to step forward was a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with the battle-worn face of a veteran. His bare body exposed his bulging, massive muscles and countless scars. His eyes burned with the fire of someone eager to prove himself. He locked eyes with Poyraz, his hand resting on the hilt of a massive warhammer, his stance one of challenge.
"I will do it," the warrior said, his voice strong and resolute. Agamemnon silently nodded.
“Your challenger stands before you, Champion. If you are truly confident in your strength, show us."
Poyraz’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he didn’t break his gaze. Instead, he slowly put his hands behind his back.
“Come on then. I don’t have the all day.”
The warrior snorted.
“Draw your weapon, brat. Or you will die in one strike.”
Poyraz tilted his head to the side with a smug grin.
“We’ll see about it.”
The warrior swung his hammer down with incredible force, the sound of it slicing through the air like thunder. But Poyraz didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem to care about the incoming strike. Instead, with one smooth motion, he stepped to the side, letting the warhammer crash into the ground where he had been just a moment before. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, causing cracks to splinter in every direction.
The soldier’s eyes widened in disbelief as he quickly tried to lift the hammer for another strike. But Poyraz was already upon him.
In a blur of motion, Poyraz moved so quickly that the warrior had no chance to react. With one swift, brutal strike, Poyraz slammed his fist into the warrior’s chest, sending him flying backward and crashing into the ranks of soldiers behind him. The sound of bones cracking filled the air as the warrior crumpled to the ground, unconscious, before the soldiers could even catch him.
A shocked silence fell over the army. The tall warrior, once confident in his strength, now lay motionless, his body sprawled out like a ragdoll. Poyraz stood tall, his eyes cold and unwavering as he turned to face Agamemnon.
“Now. Do I need to break more bones or will you step aside?”
