D101 Chapter 187

After concluding the meeting with Rho'dan, Varrus had gone to the hospital to heal the seriously injured patients. 

Within a wide open tent were more than 200 people. Wrapped in gauze, and being force fed pain reducing potions, most of them were moaning in agony. 

For those who couldn't hold back their outbursts, or were in extreme distress, they had been placed within an induced coma. 

Healing limbs, curing plague, regrowing eyes, and other organs was generally impossible for all those save for the Priests of the Heroic tier. 

Amongst the Elves, religion wasn't as important as it was for Humans, as their immortal life spans led to a false sense of invincibility. 

Why pray to a God when you never intended on dying? 

As such, the number of Priests-especially Heroic Priests-occupied a low number amongst the Elven ranks. 

Hence, when it came to healing, Varrus's spammy Skyrim spells were amongst the best, if not the very best. 

The continuous beam of chain healing that he could unleash was much more efficient in both time, and healing done. What may take a single Heroic Priest a week of effort could be accomplished in minutes when it was Varrus doing the healing.  

Casting Infinite Light, Varrus watched on as wounds mended themselves, and flesh knit itself together. 

Red patches disappeared, and were replaced with smooth, clear skin. 

Smiling to himself, Varrus felt childish glee as he saw one formerly paraplegic man stumble to his feet. 

Catching him and letting him gain his balance, Varrus was a little shocked to see that this man was familiar. 

Possessing shocking white hair, pale skin, and cool blue eyes, he certainly stood out from the average peasant farmer. Varrus wagered he must be some noble son, or perhaps a bastard. 

It was the teen, James. One of the two kids that had been looking off into the abyss. 

Varrus couldn't mask his shock, and in fact, felt a little guilt. 

Both his speech and actions had likely sent this young man back onto the battlefield. 

To wind up as a paraplegic within a week of the battle of Stratholme. It was rough. 

But there was some hope for these brave men and women who risked everything. Varrus had experienced the flaws of government first hand on Earth and been cheated out of an exorbitant amount of money. He had gone out of his way to set something up for these dispirited souls, and he made sure to let James know. 

“You are a strong man, James. There would be no shame in bowing out, and retiring now. Every soldier who is grievously wounded like you is offered compensation in both food, money, and a shelter within Stratholme.” Varrus offered in a compassionate tone. 

“Thank you, healer. Now if you don't mind, could you point me to the central square? I have a duel to attend.” The kid, James said with fiery conviction. 

Keeping his eyebrows raised, Varrus was even further in shock. 

Was this guy the one who fought to the last man, and achieved victory over a village that outnumbered his army group 10 to 1? 

And the first thing he did when coming back was to make a challenge, a challenge whilst he was still limbless, no less! 

He really had no guarantee that Varrus would be here in time to heal him either. 

This kid, no, this man was a mad lad worthy of ridicule. However, the sheer wieght of his balls must be slowing him down, because it took grit to have that kind of look in your eye. 

James meant business. 

“Just that way, and take a left, you can't miss the giant tower.” Varrus eventually let out, once he saw that there would be no dissauding him. 

“Thank you, healer.” James nodded, then briskly left the hospital. 

Varrus formed a half smile. It was funny, people typically said “thank you Highlord” or “many thanks, Lord Vandercross” a rare few had started calling him a Prophet or something, which made him uncomfortable, as he really only had a small understanding of the future. 

But what really amused Varrus, was that James addressed him as healer. 

It was one of many hats he wore, but not something people called him. While Syra or Rho'dan may interpret this as disrespect if they were here, Varrus took it positively. 

There really was something special about watching a paralyzed person get up and walk again. 

“Impressive. Makes me wonder what kind of character his commanding officer is.” Varrus muttered to himself as he lazily trailed behind the departing young man. 

Walking onto one of the main avenues leading to the central square, Varrus noticed a large crowd was gathering for this spectacle. 

For the troops who had been clearing out the Undead from across the land, this would likely serve as a nice reprieve. If you were stationed on Quel'Vanar, then it was likely that you were on a rest cycle, or were about to be shipped out. Entertainment was something Varrus looked forward to providing. Happy men were engaged men, and engaged men were more likely to follow orders, and less likely to mutiny. 

Besides, blood sports were a time honored tradition in less civilized times, and the people of Azeroth barely fit such a description. 

Needless to say, duel culture was rather popular, and held a place similar to football in the hearts and minds of Azeroth's people. 

The Elves-for all their vaunted superiority-were actually huge proponents of duels. Syra had even won him a right to make his case, and reform the Convocation because of the results of a duel. 

It was a remarkable facet of Azerothian life, and one Varrus wouldn't deny to the troops. 

As he walked closer, the street became so clogged with foot traffic, it felt like he was attending a concert back on Earth. 

Thankfully, he was a wizard, and by releasing his flying carpet from his inventory, Varrus easily flew over their heads, and made his way to the entrance to the tower, where Rho'dan was standing in wait. 

Next to the giant red head were James, and a smug blue haired Elf. 

“A pleasure to make the acquaintance of the First Seat. I am Dalorn Theron.” The classically handsome Elf drew a shimmering silver enchanted blade, and bowed with great pomp. 

Varrus chuckled at Dalorn's salute, then entirely ignored him as he analyzed the so-called cowardly officer. 

Did Varrus condemn running away from an ambush in which their forces were outnumbered 10 to 1? 

No, not really. 

Getting outflanked by ravenous Undead was scary. Varrus had the luxury of possessing bullshit magic, perks, and unlimited mana. If he put himself in their shoes, he might have been liable to scatter too. 

Armies back on Earth broke all the time, it was understandable to retreat in such a circumstance. 

However, if it was as Rho'dan reported, and Dalorn had truly left without saying a word, then that was something worth looking into. Even if he did emerge from this duel as the victor, Varrus was considering a demotion. 

A guy like this probably shouldn't be in a leadership position. 

What was interesting about him, however, was his gear. 

Varrus noted that Dalorn was clad in crimson thorium. Variois mystical symbols reflected off it, and it gave off an aura of power. 

This was one of the few sets that Varrus had managed to craft. It was a piece of gear reserved for the best of the best. Only the most qualified-or connected-Elites were permitted to wear such equipment. 

Enchanted with Common Soul Gems-and sometimes Greater Soul Gems too-this was the pinnacle of Varrus's smithing capabilities. 

Thorium was quite literally the next best thing beneath adamantium, and was such a valuable substance, it made mythril look like copper in comparison to steel. 

When the smug Elf introduced himself as a Theron, it clicked into place. 

Dalorn must be related in some way to Lor'Themar. 

Likely a distant relation, as if he recalled Lor'Themar's backstory, he was a woodworker who, as a young man, had his entire family and village wiped out by trolls. 

Dalorn was probably a distant cousin, or nephew. 

Varrus was curious if he really advanced through the ranks based solely on name recognition alone, or if there was some merit to him. 

He could very easily see someone in charge of distributing weapons/armor gifting this set to Dalorn in an attempt to garner favor from Lor'Themar. 

Which was endlessly amusing to Varrus, because the Ranger General was a decent, reasonable man. A guy who sucked at politics, but kicked ass at war, Lor'Themar would probably become enraged if he discovered someone was trying to buy his influence through a relative. 

In conclusion, this dude was utterly juiced, and James, weaponless and without gear, was likely to get curb stomped. 

Whilst Varrus was internalizing these thoughts, Rho'dan stepped forward, and coughed into his fist. 

Varrus looked up, and realized the smug Elf had grown rather red in the face at being ignored for so long, and a large crowd numbering in the thousands had begun to fill the square. 

“If you would construct the arena, Highlord.” Rho'dan requested. 

“Did you bring the snacks?” Varrus crossed his arms, and bit back. 

“Fruits, nuts, and candy. It wasn't cheap.” Rho'dan stressed the mention of expenses in a terse tone. 

“Bread and circus my good man.” Varrus grinned grandly at him, then turned to get working on an architecture spell. 

Having studied how to construct Towers of Jenga from bricks, Varrus was familiar enough with constructing a few other ‘basic’ designs. 

A coliseum was well within his repertoire. 

Muttering a few words, and waving his hands, Varrus channeled a spell, and bricks began to fly out of his inventory, and stacked/fused with one another in good order. 

Varrus grinned at the sight, as making something like this felt like playing with Lego. When he had more free time, he could definitely see himself messing around with building materials, and seeing what he could create. 

One of his dreams was to post autonomous Arcane Towers all around Quel'Thalas, and now all within Covenant held land. 

He honestly thought it could be a nice hobby to partake in with his children, once Syra eventually became pregnant and gave birth. 

Maybe he could even construct an amusement park for them? The wonders of magic were truly endless. Sometimes, with this seemingly endless war against the Scourge, Varrus forgot the whimsy and basic appeal of magic. 

‘Yes, the one thing from Earth I'll be introducing to Azeroth is the mighty Lego!’ 

Varrus grinned to himself as he finished the stadium. Currently, he was in an area beneath the stadium, in a place where gladiators were meant to gather. 

The building was created with about a capacity of 10,000 in mind. It largely resembled the Roman coliseum. 

“Orderly file in and take a seat. Food and beverages will be provided upon entry!” Varrus projected his voice to outside the arena. 

Turning to Rho'dan, Varrus clapped his hands as if to say ‘get to it.’ 

Rho'dan seemed to withhold a sigh, then bowed and left to carry out the distribution of the snacks. 

“As for you two, you can wait behind those two separate gates until you are called. A few events have been planned, and you will be the main event.” Varrus smiled gamely at James and Dalorn, then pointed them to opposite entrances. 

“Yes Highlord, I shall follow your orders. As any good soldier should.” Dalorn preened at Varrus, and glanced at James with the kind of ‘subtly’ of a teenage girl as he passed by. 

“My challenge is to face him. I was told an officiator was necessary for the duel to commence. You are here. The fight has begun.” James said clearly, coldly and concisely. 

The young white haired teen then mumbled the words to some spell, and formed a sword of ice in his hands. He then wordlessly began to sprint headlong at Dalorn. 

Dalorn's ears twitched, and he spun around at the last second, drew his enchanted blade, and met James's ice sword head on. 

“Insolent cur!” Dalorn swore as they locked weapons. 

They were about to continue, however, Varrus held them apart with telekinesis. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Varrus narrowed his eyes at James. 

Whilst he was sympathetic to the young man, and had respect for his determination, and for the act of surviving in a 99 vs 1,000 scenario, that didn't mean Varrus would tolerate such naked disrespect towards himself. This guy was acting without restraint, as if he were some shounen MC. What a ridiculous move. 

He had told them to wait at the gates. Was his word worth less than the piss that showered the sewers?! 

“Just like the rest.” James spat hatefully on the ground, and refused to elaborate as his bangs covered his eyes. 

“This is the kind of insubordination that resulted in your companions' deaths in the first place. Hmph, Highlord, it is presumptuous of me, but please, I beseech you, allow me to put this lesser being in his place here and now.” Dalorn spoke in a peak high-class accent, and gnashed his perfect teeth in barely repressed rage towards the pale teen. 

Varrus rubbed his forehead at this annoying duo. 

Shooting them both with Paralyze, he released his telekinetic hold over them, and watched as they collapsed to the dirt, still like statues. 

“Enough out of both of you. Dalorn, you seem to be under the mistaken belief that I tolerate such behavior. Speak all you want on your own time, but such words are poor for morale, and go against my promise to the Covenant. Your actions undermine my credibility. Consider yourself demoted to the same rank as James here.” Varrus said, shaking his head in disappointment. 

Twisting his hand, Varrus untied the belts securing the Thorium armor to Dalorn with telekinesis, and then he collected the gear into his inventory. 

“As for you, James. This is an active campaign. My tolerance has a wide margin, and is why you are still breathing. If we Elves truly were all the same, you would be dead, or worse. I am capable of entrapping your soul in an endless nightmare for all of eternity, yet I am not some villain twirling his mustache waiting for you to fail. You are a soldier under my auspices, someone I care for equally as any other troop. Someone who will receive a punishment equal to what anyone else would receive. As of this moment, your entire promised pension has been placed on hold.” Varrus crossed his arms, and coldly fumed at the teen. 

After speaking to them individually, Varrus then cast a shroud of Muffle to hide his next words from any prying ears. 

Leaning in close over their paralyzed forms, Varrus let loose the tiniest bit of Imposing Presence. 

“Finally, I have decided to place you both on the same squad. Henceforth, you shall be responsible for one another's lives. If any foul play should arise, I'll do this to you.” Varrus finished his threat by pulling Zul'Jin's head from his inventory. 

“Ya ya mon. Butterflies be jammin mon~ Blue sky so high, ah~” Zul'Jin muttered in a dazed, very clearly insane tone. 

Putting the head away, Varrus released the shroud, and cast Dispel Magic on the pair. 

Shivering, and slowly standing to their feet, James and Dalorn looked at Varrus as if he were some kind of monster. 

“Good. We have an understanding. When your names are called, you are to exit the gates, and commence with the combat.” Varrus waved them off without a second thought. 

Glancing at one another, James and Dalorn gulped, then wordlessly nodded at Varrus, and departed for their gates. 

Placing his hands behind his back, Varrus shook his head in disappointment, and left the arena’s underbelly to get the opening act all set up.