Chapter 3

Douglas ascended the wide, detachable podium, placed at the center of the arena, and took his place among the other contestants. He ignored the unsavory side glances from those around him. He stood fully erect, eyes closed and arms crossed tightly on his chest. He just stood there, minding his own business.

Most of the looks though weren't exactly as unsavory as Douglas believed, but more of astonishment. They weren't directly on him per se, but on the enormous, majestic sword strapped to his back. Hell, one couldn't even accurately call it a sword. It was more of like an enormous lump of obsidian, black steel, shaped out to resemble a sword.

It was thick, rugged, bulky and unwieldy. Douglas was exactly six foot one, so he was by no means a short fellow, nor was he one of average height. The sword was almost as long in length as he was, with the tip of the sword very nearly touching the platform he was on and the crimson hilt, slanting proportionately to his head. The sword was some inches wider than he was, with the edges of the sword clearly visible from behind Douglas's back, if one were observing him from the front. It was an insanely broadsword.

The sword lacked the grace, elegance and captivating appeal of swords of the highest quality, but when the contestants close to Douglas eyed this enigmatic sword, they felt an unfathomable feeling of heaviness, uncomfortably press on their hearts. They wondered how one would effectively wield this unusual item.

The announcer wanted to continue on with the names, but the clamors and uproars from the audience still deafeningly raged on, restricting him from getting on with his task. He could condone their initial reaction, but the incessant, vulgar clamors were now beginning to get on his nerves. He had expected some bit of class from them, as most of the members of this audience were distinguished representatives from the various provinces. There were even some Grand dukes (leaders of the provinces) among the audience. And one would expect that this so called grand dukes would be restrained and reserved and would at least have some decency and manners, but this was not the case. They were even the ones making the most noise; swearing and cursing so passionately, so vehemently, that saliva was beginning to froth on their mouth.

The announcer frowned deeply and rebuked strongly,

"Where do you think you all are?! Do you think this is a market place or do you think you are still in your insignificant provinces, where you rule and tower over others and where you can do whatever you like?! This is the holy arena of arges, which is only opened every twenty-five years for the Arges combat tournament. No one enters this Amphitheatre, before the commencement of the tournament; not even his majesty has that right. This is a sacred place, worshipped and revered throughout time and throughout the ages by the common people of Arges, as it is a true representation of our culture of power and supremacy. You are only fortunate to be in here, because you are somewhat significant in your provinces. But instead of showing reverence, instead of observing decorum and cordiality, here you all are stupidly raising your voices like unrestrained commoners: cursing and swearing and spitting like drunkards and scoundrels!! What if his majesty were here to watch this opening ceremony? Is this what he would have witnessed? Is this how you would exposed yourselves? What a shame!! What an utter and complete shame!! I am positive that even the denizens of Bermuda you are all hating on, wouldn't have behaved in this disgraceful manner!!!!"

Silence, at once, returned to the Amphitheatre. Those in the audience were noblemen and women, army commanders, knights, wealthy merchants; important dignitaries from the different provinces, except Bermuda of course. But none from among this dignitaries dared to retort back at the harsh statements of the announcer. Who were they to even dare to try such a thing? They were only important in their provinces, with some maybe more important than others. But to the capital, to Zion, they were nothing more than useless trash. They were no different than the commoners they lorded over.

The residents of the majestic capital, Zion, constituted mostly of the Elites; the wealthy, the powerful, those who left their provinces and were qualified and approved by the king to reside in the capital. Those whom were strong and powerful enough, ability wise, were drafted into Zion's military and those even stronger were given top positions in the military. So to people such as this, being a grand duke, or a lord, or a noble of a province had no meaning or relevance whatsoever. It was just akin to been a bigger ant in a colony of ants.

The announcer snorted in derision at the despondent faces of those in the audience. He then continued on with the names on the scroll.

Douglas casted a quick glance at the seating area of the Zion's Military official, situated at the right corner of the podium.

That man isn't here

Suddenly, he felt a slight nudge to his side, by someone attempting to gain his attention. With a deep frown on his face, he turned sharply to face the instigator of this nudge, as he felt it was someone trying to pick a bone with him. But then, a broad grin bloomed, as he recognized the familiar face grinning back at him. A face he had been so eager to see.

"Yo, Douglas." The person quietly whispered.

"It's been a long time, Jason." Douglas responded.

After the thirty-two participants were all on stage, the announcer returned to his seat, but not after casting a quick glance at Douglas. Another military officer took to the pulpit, sonorously apologized to the members of the audience for his colleague's harsh words and then proceeded with a long lengthy speech on the history of the tournament, the relevance of the tournament and what it represented, the winners of the previous tournaments dating back to the first tournament held a thousand years ago, as well as the provinces each of this winners originated from.

When this officer was done, another military officer came on and informed both the contestants and the audience on the how the tournament would be held.

"The contestants will be placed in eight groups, ranging from A to G. Four contestants will be placed in each group. There will be three matches in each group and the first two in each group will advance to the knockout stages."

The officer pointed to the gigantic screens stationed on the gold pillars supporting the Amphitheatre,

"The groups, as well as the matches in the knockout stages, will be randomly generated and displayed on the screens for all to see."

The officer paused for a bit, before he continued,

"A match is won, when a contestant surrenders, is unconscious or dead. We sincerely advice contestants to give up when there is no hope left, in order to avoid certain death or grievous injuries. Any fighting among contestants outside of the arena or among members of those in the audience would lead to automatic disqualification and ban from entry into the capital. We shall not also condone any criminal offenses or discrepancy in the capital from anyone of one of you. You all shall adhere strictly to the rules of the capital or you shall be punished severely and grave sanctions would be placed on your Provinces. The Ashanti palace has been reserved for your comfort and satisfaction and I wish you a blissful stay in Zion."

The military officer returned to his seat and then a thin old fogey, full of years, garbed in the black and gray stripes of the military, with six golden stars on both shoulders of his uniform, slowly got up from his seat, and with the assistance of his ivory cane, he gently made his way to the pulpit.

The undivided attention of all in the Amphitheatre, including the high ranked military officials of Zion's military were all on this Gray haired man. No one dared to even breathe too loudly. They all held their breaths in admiration and reverence.

This old fogey was the most important individual in the Amphitheatre. He was a man who was above all, but below one. He was the man who was second only to the king, himself . The man was the Grand commander of Zion's military, the head of the whole military personnel in Arges. The man was Grand commander Jozu Hanks.