The emperor's light of knowledge

A drum roll echoed through the arena, and then the four Lords of the Sands entered the stage. They came majestically and in formation, wearing shining golden armor that reflected the light of the setting sun and glittered like a twinkling starry sky. Kha Lamar, followed by Faelan Veren, Branthor Ironheart and Orun Vataar, strode forward, their weapons and armor gleaming magnificently and in stark contrast to Mortis' somber appearance. 

Kha Lamar, the Emperor of the Sands, moved his two sabers with an ease rarely seen in such a swordsman. At his side stood Faelan Veren, the skilled bow hunter, Orun Vataar, the spirit whisperer and shaman, and Branthor Ironheart, the warrior clad in armor of pure iron even in the blistering heat of the arena.

Mortis turned his scythe in his hand, ready for the first attack. His eyes met Kha Lamar's, and a crackling duel of glances began.

Faelan was the first to move. An arrow, shot with lightning speed, whizzed through the air. But Mortis was prepared. With a quick slash of his scythe, he split the arrow in two before it reached him.

Branthor attacked next, his massive body swift as the wind. His mighty sword met Mortis' scythe, and sparks flew in all directions. But Mortis' skill and speed allowed him to deftly outmaneuver Branthor and knock him to the ground with a well-aimed kick.

Orun Vataar began muttering an ancient mantra, and the sand beneath their feet began to move. A sand elemental, massive and fearsome, emerged from the earth and attacked Mortis. But Mortis, always one step ahead, used his scythe to slice the elemental in half and disarm the shaman with a quick throw.

Lastly, Kha Lamar, the Emperor of the Sands, remained. He danced with his sabers, a whirlwind of steel and sand. Their blades clashed, sparks flew, and the sand swirled. It was a dance of death, a duel between two masters of their craft. 

Mortis' eyes sparkled in the darkness of his hood, and though he was fighting the best swordsman in the Sand Kingdom, there was no hesitation in his movements. Every blow from Kha Lamar was parried by Mortis, and every attack from Mortis was blocked by Kha Lamar. The two moved so quickly that they were almost impossible for the untrained eye to follow.

Meanwhile, Faelan had risen again and was using his bow skills to weaken Mortis. He fired arrow after arrow, each more accurate than the last. But Mortis, ever on guard, used Branthor, who was slowly rising again, as a human shield, causing the arrows to miss their mark and instead stick in Branthor's armor.

During this distraction, Mortis approached Faelan with lightning speed and dealt him a heavy blow with the blunt side of his scythe, knocking the archer to the ground, ripping his bow from his hand and leaving him immobilized.

Orun, who had regained his strength, once again summoned the element of sand. He sent a wave of sharp sand particles toward Mortis to take his sight and separate him from his allies. But Mortis, though he had to wipe the sand from his eyes, strode through the storm unimpressed and continued to move toward the shaman. One quick blow, and Orun, too, lay defeated in the sand.

Kha Lamar, now alone against Mortis, increased the intensity of his attack. He tried to break through Mortis' defenses with a frenzied onslaught of saber slashes. The two put on a breathtaking display as steel clashed with steel, sparks flew in all directions, and the sand melted into glass beneath their feet.

In a final, desperate attempt to defeat Mortis, Kha Lamar tried to deliver a fatal stab to Mortis' heart. But Mortis, with incredible reflex, blocked the attack and executed a counterattack that sent Kha Lamar to the ground.

Dust swirled around the two fighters as the crowd tensely held its breath. Mortis stood over Kha Lamar, his scythe ready for the final blow. 

Kha Lamar glared at Mortis as he lay on the ground, filled with hatred. But deep down, he knew the fight was over. Mortis swung his scythe seemingly menacingly toward Kha Lamar's neck, but the protective spells left him unharmed.

In a serious tone and firm voice he spoke, "This fight is over. I hope you take it to heart. Keep the scars as a memory and think carefully about whether you want to interfere in the affairs of our continent again. You should know how much you can take on. When you are ready to negotiate and apologize, you know where to find me."

Mortis rose, turned, and raised his scythe triumphantly. He threw Edna, who was standing next to her parents, a winking smile, which she returned shyly. He then proceeded to his box.

Kha Lamar felt a heaviness in his chest that he had never experienced before. Never before had anyone dared to condescend to him, the emperor, or even to lecture him. From birth he was destined for greatness, from the cradle he was destined to rule. People were supposed to look up to him, worship him and serve him.

But now he had been defeated by someone who had come into the world as a simple peasant. A man without royal blood, without exalted lineage. The sting of failure was deep, the wound in his pride gaped wide.

However, when he rose, ready to endure the ridicule and contempt of the masses, he saw something completely unexpected: the spectators stood up, applauded and cheered him. There were no scornful looks, no derisive shouts. Instead, he felt respect - not because of his birth or title, but because of the courage and determination he had shown in battle.

He realized that true respect was not gained simply through a crown or title, but through deeds and character. The people honored him not because he was their emperor, but because he was a fighter who had stood firm to the end.

With this new understanding and with the sense of pride that came from the recognition of his people, Kha Lamar left the arena with the other kings, his head held high and his heart full of gratitude.