Date: August 7, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Krag-Mhor's "Fighting Circle" was located in the deepest part of the city, where the heat from the underground lava veins was almost unbearable. It was a huge basin, hewn from basalt, filled with thick smoke from torches and smelling of sweat, old blood, and excitement. There was no room for elegance here—only brute strength and a test of that very "core" Datuk loved to talk about.
When the dwarf and the bear appeared at the edge of the arena, the stands, filled with working miners and smiths, exploded with welcoming shouts.
"Hey, Brawler! Did your Ma finally kick you out?!" came a mocking voice from above.
"Shut up and get your coppers ready, Bolg!" Datuk retorted, adjusting his spiked gloves. "We're not here for easy money today! Arena Master! Give us someone worth breaking our fists on! We need Pillars!"
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then buzzed even louder. A Warrior challenging a Pillar was a rarity—the difference in the density of inner power was too great. The Arena Master, an old, grim-faced dwarf with a scar across his face, squinted.
"You sure, lad? The Horn brothers are just warming up. They just got back from a long-range patrol yesterday. Both are seasoned Pillars. They'll tear you and your mop to shreds."
"Bring them on!" Datuk struck his chest with his gloved fist, and his skin began to rapidly turn crimson.
The veins on his neck and arms bulged, his eyes filled with red veins. The Berserker Spirit sensed the imminent fight and began releasing doses of uncontrollable heat into his body. Beside him, Sobra also changed: the bear crouched low, his fur bristled, and a sound like the rumble of an approaching avalanche began deep in his throat.
The Horn brothers entered the arena. Giant dwarves in heavy plate armor. Their presence was felt physically—the inner power of the Pillar rank pressed on those around, making the air around them tremble. In their hands were no weapons, only huge fists encased in steel.
"Well, hold on, small fry," the elder brother boomed, and the fight began.
The collision was devastating. Datuk lunged forward, becoming like a cannonball fired from a catapult. His Berserker Spirit worked at full capacity, doubling the power of each blow. A ringing clang of steel on steel sounded—Datuk crashed into one of the brothers, raining a hail of blows on his armor.
Sobra, meanwhile, grappled with the second. The bear used his mass and claws, trying to penetrate the Pillar's defense, but the opponent was too tough. One of the Horn brothers landed a powerful side blow on Sobra, sending the bear flying towards the arena wall with a pained roar.
"Don't you touch him!" Datuk roared.
His skin became frighteningly red, and barely visible steam began to pour from his pores. The dwarf entered a state of highest frenzy. He slipped under the giant's arm and delivered a series of devastating uppercuts to an unprotected joint in the armor. A crunch was heard—the Pillar's rib couldn't take it. Brother Horn gasped and staggered. Silence fell in the stands: no one expected a Warrior to draw blood from a Pillar.
But the difference in ranks was inexorable. As soon as Datuk slowed for a second under the weight of his own Spirit, the second brother brought both fists down on his back. The dwarf was slammed into the ground. Sobra tried to come to his aid, but the Pillars worked in unison. Within ten minutes, a real drama unfolded in the arena: bloodied, beaten, but unbroken, Datuk and Sobra kept getting up again and again, making the Pillars break out in sweat and new wounds. By the end of the fight, the Horn brothers' armor was dented, one had a broken nose, the other a broken arm.
In the end, Datuk simply couldn't get up. His Berserker Spirit had consumed all his strength, leaving his body empty and lifeless. Sobra, completely exhausted, lay down beside his friend, covering him with his paw.
"It's over..." the Arena Master rasped. "The Horn brothers win!"
Despite the loss, the stands roared as if Datuk had just defeated a Spirit Lord. The Horn brothers approached the prone dwarf and, breathing heavily, extended their hands to help him up.
"You have..." the elder brother wiped blood from his face, "...you have a core of true black steel, lad. We haven't sweated like that in a long time."
Receiving a handful of coppers—a symbolic payment for the incredible spectacle—Datuk and Sobra, supporting each other, limped towards the exit. They were in pain, every step echoed in their heads, but on both their faces shone satisfied grins.
An hour later, they were sitting in the hot pool of Krag-Mhor's public baths. Sobra, occupying half the tub, blissfully squinted as the hot water washed the grime from his thick fur. Datuk, ice packs on his shoulders, sipped cold kvass from a mug.
He looked at his trembling hands. "We lost, but our essence has become denser. A few more fights like that, and we'll become Pillars ourselves. And then... then we'll show this world what a real blaze looks like."
The bear grunted in agreement, blowing bubbles in the water. It was quiet in the baths, steam enveloped them in a cozy cocoon, and for the first time that day, Datuk felt true peace. He knew that tomorrow his Ma would meet him with a rolling pin again, and the training would get even harder. But that was the essence of life—in constant overcoming and laughter in the face of defeat.