As if tangible, the presences of the massive orc and the mysterious intruder rolled off them, their auras alone seemingly making the world around take in a bated breath of anticipation. One was a mysterious intruder, a Sanctioned Lord of legend. The other a notorious figure in all of the lowlands, a Warlord of a thousand chiefs, a conqueror.

 

Yet, it wasn't simply his raw power as a monster that gave him such an aura. No, there was something else behind it, something that only a few scant carried about them as it was not inherent on the level of power one possessed.

 

It was experience. Pure and sheer experience.

 

The number of kills, battles, and wars this individual had fought through and survived was hard to make mosts' minds wrap around. The battle lust born only from a mind raised, forged, and quenched in internal strife was evident in his eyes.

 

It was the aura of a true Warlord.

 

Yet, even as all around, those who had created a healthy distance between the two monsters about to fight were baffled as the much smaller and unknown challenger did not even flinch in the face of this.

 

This intruder, now known as Xavier, the Sanguine Lord, as the prompt had announced his name, was a menacing opponent in his own right, though most still thought him insane for even thinking of the idea of challenging the Tyrant of the North.

 

But he merely scanned his opponent with eyes that promised that only one of the two walked out of here alive. Both of them initiated skills to divine the statuses of each other, but only Xavier was successful.

 

 

Xavier didn't act surprised, however, either hiding his shock or not impressed by what he saw. Though, the warlord did not care. He would soon find out the mettle of his enemy.

 

The one to break the calm was Tol'zeroth, his corded muscles tightening an instant before his huge figure moved with speed unbefitting his size. The cleaver, almost twice the length of two adult human men and just as broad as one, was shifted to his left and behind him, gripped in an overhand grip with both hands.

 

To anyone somewhat familiar with the art of wielding swords of any kind, this stance would've looked clumsy without proper leverage to perform a swing. However, that was quickly proven otherwise as the warlord's rapid momentum closed the distance.

 

As his body twisted, skin retracting and tightening as his muscles rippled underneath, the massive bone cleaver in his hand looked to almost disappear as the entire power behind his charge was poured into the weapon's sudden flick.

 

But even with that, Xavier moved to match that speed, his spear intercepting the blade that had seemingly gone invisible for a brief instance. The resulting shockwave from the clashing weapons was deafening, sounding like a thunderclap as both the earth beneath Xavier's feet was blown away and the surroundings were buffeted in the excess force of the blow that had no option but to diffuse elsewhere.

 

Slack-jawed, the onlookers found their mouths dry. For not only had the small Xavier survived the blow from their warlord head-on, but he had done so with just a single hand, parrying the strike as if it was just any normal attack.

 

He had an impressive figure for such a small monster, alright. But compared to the towering mountain of a monster that was Warlord Tol'zeroth, his stature barely distinguishable from an ancient beast and his strength second to none, this should've been an impossible feat. At least, if not turning him into meat paste, it should've seen him flying.

 

Yet, there he stood, spear locked with cleaver.

 

There was something odd about his spear, however. It was glowing, the veins of red running along the black shaft infusing the steely spearhead with some power that had everyones' heart skip a beat.

 

Eliciting a screeching noise as the Tol'zeroth raked his cleaver out of Xavier's hooking block, another clang rang out with the warlord moving into a graceful swing that even from that awkward angle was too fast to take advantage off. Again, Xavier barely moved, his spear in one hand as he parried the strike while the other hand glowed with a crimson power.

 

Seeing this, the warlord attempted to interrupt the obvious conjuration of magic, but the execution of the spell was too quick. Suddenly, he found his speed sapped as if his body had to move through molasses. The blood flow in his body slowing and his body seemingly working against every movement.

 

This cost him just enough time that he wasn't able to put up a defense against the attacks that began punching deep holes in his thick hide and flesh. It was impossible to evade or parry any of these attacks, hell even blocking them wasn't feasible with how much slower he had gotten and with his opponent disappearing every other second, only to appear in another place.

 

Magic, stealth, and a powerful artifact that sheared through his otherwise impenetrable body - Tol'zeroth quickly realized how dire his situation was.

 

He hadn't underestimated the intruder as he had been well aware of the possibility of him being much more powerful. But this was the first time he had ever seen or fought a Sanctioned Lord in real combat.

 

The number of tricks, abilities, and power behind each attack was on a level unfamiliar to even him. No matter the skill, the amount of strength he put into every strike and slash, or even the trump cards he was slowly pressed to reveal, it all proved futile.

 

With a roar, strength surged within his bloodied body. Unleashing the power of his ancestral lineage, the power of the markings lining his body, his muscles swelled and his already impossibly large frame became even larger.

 

Under the strain of his skill, Might of the Ancients, the spells that had been continuously cast upon his body which slowed him down and worsened his wounds, broke apart. Still, even with this power coursing through his veins, Tol'zeroth knew it was far from enough.

 

"You're strong, and your experience is immeasurable," Xavier spoke up during the lull of the fight, his body bloody from both his own and his opponent's blood despite not a single scratching still visible on him. "But compared to other Sanctioned Lords, that is all you are."

 

Tol'zeroth knew the truth of those words, having for the first time in his life experienced the powers wielded by Sanctioned Lords.

 

Though all wounds had been healed with that insane regeneration of his, the warlord had gotten in a few good hits even at the disadvantage he had.

 

But nonetheless, it was obvious to any that the Sanguine Lord was holding back. It was not carelessness or disrespect, but the complete lack of battle fervor only brought by a battle that posed a threat to one's life. Tol'zeroth remembered this feeling well as he himself had fought and sparred against those far stronger than himself many times during his long life.

 

But now, he was facing one such individual in a fight that would only have one of the two participants walk out alive.

 

It was a pity, he thought.

 

But an inevitability nonetheless.

 

For such was the life of a warlord - to die by war.

 

The way of a greenskin - to die in battle.

 

He felt no bitterness or despair as the surroundings were suddenly enveloped in a dome of darkness where the ground turned into a sea of blood. There was only regret in the fact that he had not been strong enough to be the victor.

 

For only that mattered.

 

Looking up at the abyssal sky, the warlord wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or a massive creature moved about up there. The power on the display fascinated him, and as his attention turned to the titan of blood rising from the crimson sea, his gaze finding the figure of his opponent hoving high above, he found his thick and scarred lips turn up.

 

He started laughing, his rumbling voice echoing out into the nothingness even as death slowly descended upon him.