Outside The Mordak Tribe
"He's actually about to do this…" Ambrose muttered speechlessly several meters away from where Beherath and Kharzug stood facing each other.
Both Kings had their weapons drawn out—Kharzug dragging his massive blade through the black sands behind him. He took his opponent in.
Up close like this… Beherath was almost twice his height.
But that won't be an issue for long.
"The rules are simple," His grip hardened around the hilt of his orc-sized blade. "We fight… to the death. No magic. No outside interference. Just pure, brute strength."
Keylath, who was standing near Ambrose close to the tribe walls, had her fingers over her mouth.
"Is he going to be okay?"
Ambrose frowned.
It took a few more seconds for him to realise that question was directed at him.
"Oh." He quickly wore his best smile. "Beherath? Of course, he'll be okay. Don't you trust his fighting skills?"
Her breath hitched. "I… I do." She looked back at the damaged wall.
