Hero of Triumphant Song

Time seemed to slow within the sigh of Oronyx. He heard his own heavy breathing, and the ribs in his chest ached sharply, as though they wished to draw every last bit of air in the arena into his lungs... Sweat and blood mingled and ran down, and the ground beneath his feet tempted him to give up, to enjoy that soft and comfortable rest... He was exhausted.

“Where will the next blow come from? The left, or the right? Is it a feint, or...”

The spear had already come, he had no time to think. Then let him simply hand his fate over to the Titan of Strife, while he himself need only thrust straight forward once.

The dust settled slowly, and the light of the setting sun shone in from outside the arena onto one side of his face.

The audience in the stands rose all at once, and the applause and the cheering came rushing in like waves of the sea. At this moment he was astonished to discover that the arena was in fact so vast, and that the suffocating feeling of having no way out seemed to exist no longer. Within that wide space there remained only a pool of

blood, the fallen opponent, and the victor, alone yet resplendent.

The city lord raised his arm high and declared him the final champion. The drums sounded accordingly, and he set the laurel wreath upon his head, becoming a legend of the arena.

“You have been chosen as the Battle-Overseeing Champion at the side of the city lord. Your name, together with this victory, will be written into the epic of heroes!”

Afterward his name was shouted by the whole city, and the glory of Nikador covered over him, as though the whole world existed for his sake.

Whether in great victory or in bitter defeat, the champion of the arena would always return from the battlefield. The city lord regarded his extraordinary luck as a “symbol of victory”, took the long spear and the shield from his hands, replaced them with a command horn and a war banner, and ordered him to grant that extraordinary luck to the whole army. The officers and soldiers believed that the glory of Nikador always walked with him, and that so long as he led the way forward, victory was certain.

“From now on you need no longer be a warrior, become a symbol instead.”

A body tempered day and night, hard as iron and stone, now resembled all the more a stone statue in a temple, meant only to be looked upon.

He was stopped outside the training camp, the soldiers fearing that the “symbol of victory” might meet with an accident, even the smallest one. He was invited to the banquets of the city lord, where the guests asked about the legendary story of those sixteen battles of life and death. Now he stood at the edge of the battlefield, holding the command horn, and the golden bracers reflected a face growing ever more unfamiliar. For an instant his heart felt as though it were being squeezed... He had long since had no need to charge into battle, he need only sound the horn of victory... So this, it turned out, was the “hero who does not fight” that people so often speak of.

“...If this can bring victory to the whole army, I am willing to give up the glory of the battlefield.”

Nikador never chooses the road of victory for “a symbol”. He did not dare be careless, for perhaps the last battle of this life was drawing near...

Facing a god who had fallen into madness, fate had decreed that no one could leave as the victor. Where the long sword of Nikador swept, spears snapped in two, shields shattered, and the battle line collapsed inch by inch... The soldiers could not hold their ranks and fell into chaos and fear such as they had never known. The horn of the arena hero was buried beneath screams, groans, and the clash of iron and steel, and no longer had strength enough to turn back the tide of defeat.

“Nikador wants to take back the victory he promised, and I must trade my long spear and my fresh blood for it.”

Within the rolling smoke and dust, the tattered banner still advanced toward Nikador. The soldiers realized that the hero of extraordinary luck had chosen to go and never return.

At first only four or five followed, then it grew to dozens, then hundreds... They kept close behind that broad back, advancing toward the deadly battlefield, launching the final assault... The comrades who had fallen seemed to have turned into spirits whispering in their ears, urging the living to finish this last game of chess. Even though Nikador had fallen into madness, he still sensed by instinct the unyielding resolve and the extraordinary will of this band of warriors.

“Look! The hero of the arena is still advancing, we must follow!”

The gilded armor still glittered beneath the light of the setting sun, as he led the army toward a death of honor and dignity.

The soldiers stepped quietly into the ruins and began to clear the battlefield. Some dragged the bodies with difficulty, separating comrades from enemies. Some knelt beside fallen companions and gently closed their eyes... The screaming of the battlefield had gone far away, leaving only a silence that choked everyone... The hero of the arena also rested among these departed, leaving behind only a pair of gilded shinguards standing alone amid the blood and the dust.

“Remember well, warriors upon the battlefield never vanish completely, their souls will live on forever in the memory of later generations.”

After that, the quiet air was broken by mournful singing, as the priests slowly walked onto the battlefield to carry out the funeral rites for those who had fallen.

Fire blazed up in the darkness, and the sorrowful song stretched on without end... Suddenly the sky far away was pierced by a dazzling ray, as though the Spear of Divine Punishment had struck down into the earth, it was Nikador calling to the souls in this place. Immediately afterward, the soldiers and the civilians attending the funeral all knelt down with their hands raised high, their hearts full of awe and gratitude... That light turned into warmth, gently lifting up the soul of every warrior, whispering of the grace and the tolerance of the Titans, and declaring the everlasting immortality of heroes.

“Look, though his body has sunk into the realm of death, the hero of the arena is still leading the warriors, toward home.”

The hero gave a slight nod. Within the ancient ballads, his noble soul will be forged anew.