Chapter 1: Chapter 1
"Ajito Joe representing the province of Savannah!"
Cheers and applause reverberated through the colossal Amphitheatre, as a huge hunk of muscle emerged through the black gates, located at the right edge of the arena. His seven foot, hulking frame strode quietly, but majestically across the long length of the arena, as he joined up with his competitors, whom were displayed in the center of the arena, to the audience.
"Brad Jamieson representing the province of Duransville!"
Another round of applause and cheers resounded, though with less vigor than the previous. A slender young man emerged through the red gates, located at the left edge of the arena and hurriedly strode to the center.
"Devon Douglas representing the province of …. UHH?!!!"
The announcer exclaimed in disbelief, as he stared perplexedly at the scroll held in his hand. This odd action of his, caused the audience, whom were boisterously in high spirits, as they were observing the young contestants, to divert their attention towards his direction. They wondered what could have plunged the announcer into this state of confusion. They wondered what was amiss.
"Emm! Hm! Hm!!!" The announcer loudly cleared his throat. He regained his composure, adjusted his glasses rightly, and with a bit of disgust and a tint of helplessness seeming to creep on his hardened face, he boomingly voiced out, "Devon Douglas representing the province of Bermuda!!"
Silence suddenly enveloped the atmosphere of the colossal Amphitheatre. The boisterous side talks, the incessant cheering, the high-spirited, enthusiastic reverberations, all of this instantly ceased. The sudden silence was so dense, so severe, that it was almost corporeal. A pin drop could easily be pin-pointed, unmistakably.
Then, in discordance, it reemerged. The noise, which was a whole lot more raucous and violent, reverberated from every corner of the audience placement. This noise wasn't the cheers and applause, which was previously showered on the two earlier contestants, or the contestants before them. No, this was utterly different. This was boos and jeers! Devon Douglas was been booed and jeered by the audience!
"Why the hell is someone from Bermuda in this tournament?!!"
"What?! That shit province had the guts to field a participant in this tournament! What the f**k?!!"
"This Sacred tournament is tainted, I tell you. It's completely tainted!!!"
"Well, technically, the province of Bermuda is still one among the thirty-two provinces of Arges, so they have every right to compete. But still, this is utterly surprising."
"We don't want any f**ker from Bermuda on this ground! Devon Douglas or whatever your useless mother named you, f**king get lost from here!!"
"Yeah, Scram, you son of a whore!!!"
"Your mere presence defiles this holy ground, you unconsecrated piece of s**t!!!"
The audience rancorously slurred and jeered in utter disdain. Some in the audience, who were close enough, launched their spittle at the poor fellow, like as if he was some kind of disgusting, abomination formed from the pit of hell. Like as if he wasn't of the same specie as them. As if he didn't have the same blood flowing in their veins as them.
As this was going on, the announcer stared intently at the enigma, who was indifferently strolling to the center of the arena. The announcer should have been ticked off by the manner in which the young contestant was lackadaisically taking his sweet, precious time, like as if the arena was his personal garden or something, but this unforeseen situation didn't afford him the avenue to contain such emotions. Facially, the announcer seemed to have regained his calmness and composure, like nothing was amiss, but internally, his heart was a nest of unbridled, uninhibited confusion.
Representatives from the capital were dispatched to supervise and inspect the preliminary tournaments held in the various provinces and confirm and validate the winner of this tournaments. This was to ensure transparency and to deter any hanky-panky from taking pace in the preliminaries. The announcer, himself, was a representative, dispatched to the province of Golgia, which was just some miles north of the capital. He knew, by heart, every single representative dispatched and each of the province, each person was dispatched to, as each of them were his friends and colleagues in the capital's military.
So how was this possible?
How was it possible for a contestant from the province of Bermuda to appear on the finalist list, when there was clearly no preliminaries held in that province?
The announcer was certain that thirty-one representatives were dispatched. So who in hell could have added a 'Devon Douglas from Bermuda' when, no one was dispatched to Bermuda province?
Could this have been a mistake? Could there have been some sort of error?
NO!!
The announcer internally disagreed with this train of reasoning. Mistakes weren't allowed in the capital. There was no room for error in the capital. There was no room for error in Zion.
The officials of Zion were perfectionists, in every sense and in every way. The scroll in his hand, which contained the list of contestants (winners of the preliminary tournament in their various provinces) had been vetted and thoroughly scrutinized by every high ranking official of Zion, before it made its way to the path of his majesty, the King. His majesty had also approved, signed and had applied his royal stamp on the scroll. Ultimately, one could state that what he held in his hand was a decree from the king, himself. So, how dare he question the pronouncement of his majesty? How dare he conceive such inane thoughts that the King of Arges had made a mistake of some sort?
No! There was only one simple explanation for this. Someone must have sneakily added this name to the list, after his majesty's approval. Someone must have snuck into the holding, where this scroll was kept, to add a 'Devon Douglas' to it.
What an utterly reckless thing to do!!! Who the hell could have done this?!!
The announcer thought to himself, as he gritted his teeth to stem down the rage boiling inside of him.
Security at the holding where the list was kept, wasn't lax either. About a hundred guards had been positioned in that area every single day, until today. And this guards weren't just ordinary guards. They were his majesty's personal guards, whom were considered some of the strongest soldiers of Zion. Apart from the guards, the door of the holding had a high level, inbuilt defense mechanism. So how was someone able to still infiltrate through all this defensive setup?
"Hahhhhhhh!!!"
The announcer sighed in exasperation, as he stared at the scroll, before diverting his attention back at Devon Douglas, who was already approaching the other contestants at the center.
There was nothing that could be done at this stage. There was nothing that could be done to review or change this outcome. The province of Bermuda was finally going to have a participant competing in the Arges Combat Tournament, after a hundred years of absence.
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