Order of Fate

Meanwhile, as William crossed the great expanse of The Sounra Kingdom's desert and even long before he had risen from his slumber, upon the city of Al-Intys many slaves were awakening before the sun had yet to greet the sand. 

Naturally, among them was Arren himself. As he awoke, his emotions immediately threatened to overflow his heart. Arren could only harden his resolve and prepare himself to face what was destined to be upon this dreaded day.

It did not take long before all the 501 slaves had finished their morning routine and stood in attention, waiting. Soon the heavy doors of the slave chambers parted and the familiar rust colored armored soldiers made their entrance. 

Upon any other day, their arrival would signal to the slaves present that they must begin their orderly ascension towards the arena far above their heads, however today was an exception. All those present did not dare move a muscle as they waited for the honored figure to arrive. 

Their wait was not long, just as the many guards finished their entry into the slave chambers and after they had taken an orderly formation, a sole figure leisurely paced forth. When the figure at last came into full view, all were made witness to his familiar features. 

A young man with tanned skin, sharp black eyes, long brown hair which was neatly tied behind his head and made to rest upon his left shoulders, and possessing a well defined jawline stood before everyone present. 

His lean muscular body was cladded under a rust colored armor with elaborate engravings etched into its steel. Beyond that, a deep maroon colored cloak hung upon his left shoulder, just long enough to conceal the entirety of his left arm. The cloak's cloth was made of pristine material and upon its center a silver crest could be found. 

Upon his entry, every slave present bowed and spoke in unison.

"We greet the Vice-Master!" 

Of course, all present were rather familiar with the man before them as he was the overseer which spectated every Battle-Grade Day; Venerable Julinh-Ru, The Slave Vice-Master. 

Within the soldier role, there were three ranks of authority. The first and with the least power were The Record Keepers which were responsible for overseeing the day to day trials and the points which the slaves earned.

Directly above them was Julinh-Ru, The Vice-Master. He holds command over everything in the absence of his father, The Slave-Master. Naturally, it is the rank of Slave-Master which holds the highest authority in not just The Soldier Role Course but the entire southern district of Al-Intys where said role was being held. 

Julinh-Ru's expression was stern and his temperament was that of utter confidence. His dark eyes examined every slave within his sight before his lips at last parted and his deep voice reverberated forth. 

"Slaves of Al-Intys, those of Steel and Blood, today we shall continue our practice of glory. It has been many years now and only two more of these battles remain for you all to conquer. Now then, let me lay witness to the worthy, to those which shall stand beside The Sounra Kingdom's king and act as his shield and sword… May triumph come to all which are skilled enough to obtain it." 

As his words finished spreading forth throughout the slave chamber, every slave once more bowed in respect towards his statement. Satisfied, Julinh-Ru turned and began his march towards the surface. Behind him hundreds of slaves followed with elation, anticipation, and furious determination burning viciously within their eyes.

*****

"You ready?" 

Upon arriving at the arena's surface, Arren soon heard a familiar voice emerge from his side, it was that of Sieg. Arren shrugged. 

"Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be at least…" 

He replied with a somewhat self deprecating voice. A hint of worry flashed within Sieg's eyes as he frowned slightly. 

"Then I'll be cheering you on with vigor comparable to that of a thousand men."

Upon hearing such, Arren could not help but chuckle. 

"Just a hundred will do…"

Sieg smiled, he then parted his lips and was about to reply when suddenly he halted. The reason was simple; from atop the eastern side of the arena where a special area reserved for only the most venerated of guests, the figure of Julinh-Ru emerged. 

He had led their march to the arena before he quickly dismissed himself and began his ascension towards the honored seats. Now that he had arrived, then it signaled the beginning of the second to last Battle-Grade Day. 

Immediately, The Record Keepers, which had been standing motionlessly, suddenly began to move. As they did, they approached with ten different black boxes grasped upon their hands. Staring at this sight, many slaves felt their hearts become engulfed with trepidation as they knew what such a thing signaled. 

The Randomly Selected Duels… 

The structure of each Battle-Grade Day was rather simple, furthermore throughout the entire expanse of the soldier role's third stage its structure had yet to change once. 

The slaves all possessed a rank, one which was determined by their points. On a regular day, each slave had the opportunity to gain an exact total of 1,000 points should they find success upon the daily trials. However, in the end what mattered was but this day, for only upon The Battle-Grade Days could a slave drastically change their points. 

Consisting of two parts, The Randomly Selected Duels and The Chosen Duels, whichever slave could grasp upon absolute victory would be granted half the point value of the loser's total while the loser would have half of the winner's new total point value removed. 

Such was the essence of the challenge set before them, yet with the first half being a random selection those of the bottom ranks could not help but despair at the thought of being set to battle anyone above The Silver Rankers.

It was as all of The Walker Ranked slaves' expressions turned grim that the Record Keeper's announced the commencing of the draw. Every slave present then formed into ten rows of fifties. Then, one by one, they approached a Record Keeper, paid their respects, then drew a card from inside the black box which they held. 

The moment one did so, they were required to announce their duel partner out loud and the partner in question was then required to step out of the rows of fifties. 

Due to such an arrangement, the slaves situated at the far back of each line did not expect to ever reach The Record Keepers before their rank would be called forth. When it came to Arren, upon this day he found himself near the center of his respective line, however his own expectations were the same as those behind him. 

Due to that, his mind only processed the voices which kept on calling forth the random ranks.

"Walker 156!"

"Silver 2!"

"Golden 10!"

"Ninth Sword!"

As the different voices continued to reverberate, Arren only felt his body grow tenser and his chest become tighter. 

Please… 

He desperately thought, however, his suspense was not given the chance to subside as time moved forth and no voice was yet to call forth his rank. 

"Walker 20!"

"Dagger 43!"

"Walker 199!"

As many more ranks were called, Arren's line was shortening rapidly. Then to his surprise, he found himself before a Record Keeper, with it being his turn to draw. Hiding his somewhat startled state, Arren composed himself before his hand reached forth and soon grasped a card between his fingers. 

Please, someone I can handle!

As he raised his hand, his heart churned at an even more vigorous speed than before. His inner pleading now a desperate yell. However, his hopes were immediately shattered the moment his eyes landed upon the card within his grasp. It read: 

'Seventh Sword'

At that moment, Arren froze completely as despair rushed into his heart and a bitter thought emerged. 

It's over… I… I can't win.