“In the distant past, during less civilized times, public executions were treated as a spectacle, with some reigns even using it as a form of public entertainment, often involving various forms of cruel and unusual punishment. Bloodlust naturally runs high in such nations, and more often than not they met with a violent end in due time.

Fast forward to the present day, and the only nations who still made a spectacle of public executions are the three dwarven nations, all through an obscure clause in their laws that allowed for a trial by combat by unresigned convicts. Other nations often decried the practice as a barbaric and uncivilized one, but considering the dwarven love for combative spectacles? It worked out just fine for them” - From a paper by Leigh Wainwrought, on the development of combat-based spectacles in the last century.

“Aaaaaaaand now for our main event! Contesting his conviction through a Trial by Combat, we have Jamron the Bloodletter! Convicted for multiple murder and rape cases, as well as three counts of dwarf-eating two centuries ago, he was caught trespassing in lands he had been exiled forever from, on the pain of death!” yelled the announcer loudly, although the crowd had not needed his help to be riled up this time. They already were. “Word has it he’s been run off from every place he tried to make a living in, which led us to where we are now, folks!”

A smattering of laughter replied to the announcer’s dark humor. The convict was not a sympathetic man to say the list, given the list of crimes he was guilty of. Cal herself never had a good opinion of rapists, which naturally prejudiced her against the dwarf.

“To face this vicious ex-dwarf, representing the Royal family as their champion, is the Seventh Royal Princess, Her Highness Sieglinde Carlotta Eugenia Eisenhand herself!” added the announcer, this time to far more widespread applause and cheers from the audience. “This will be the eighty-second time the Princess represented the Royal family as their champion, with a record of eighty-one victories in their name and not a single defeat to mar her record!”

The crowd went even wilder on the announcer’s pronouncement. Cal also gave an appreciative whistle. From Orloff she had learned that the Seventh Princess had only taken up the mantle of champion in the last half of a century, which meant she won more than one duel representing the royal family a year on average. Since the dwarves had a combat exhibition featuring their champions on a yearly basis, that meant at least thirty cases where she fought outside such a setting.

“She’s one of the king’s favorite kids, since her ma was also one of his favorite concubines, despite being an elf,” said Orloff as he looked at the Royal Princess, who idly twirled the chain she held with her right hand. “Back then most of us balked at the idea of the king having an elven concubine, but she turned out to be one of the best things that happened to him, so by now most accepted and even loved her.”

“His favorite but serving as the champion?” Cal asked with some curiosity. “I’d have thought a king would have been more prone to keeping their favorites coddled and safe, just letting them enjoy life. Definitely one having them take part in death duels in their stead.”

“It’s all part of our culture I guess. We’re a martial people at heart. Personal strength is something we all wished for our loved ones if we can afford it,” said Orloff with a nod as he explained. “Sieglinde there has got the best tutors and teachers to train her in whatever piqued her interest since she was a wee lass. That she took interest in fighting was a happy coincidence, though knowing that old fart Wolfgang and how much he dotes on her, he’d have supported her even if she wanted to be like a painter or whatever.”

They ceased their chatter after that, because with one last announcement, the duel began. Jamron took to the offense first, as he weaved his large cleaver with practiced hands in rapid, almost mesmerizing patterns. The heavy blades were slightly curved, and of a forward-heavy construction, designed for heavy chops that could sever bones.

Cal saw how the Princess nonchalantly weaved around her opponent’s wild chops, graceful in her movements like a leaf in the wind, a grace rarely seen in half-dwarves like her. Cal thought it must be her elvish heritage that helped her move with such grace, as she avoided the cleavers often by the narrowest of margins, all while her eyes gave a disdainful stare at her opponent.

At the same time, the chain in her hand lashed out repeatedly, and left many angry welts on Jamron’s skins, on a couple occasions even tearing through the skin and leaving a bloody wound. They were shallow wounds, however, practically inconsequential in such a fight, which made Cal question her choice of weapon some more.

Jamron clearly thought the same, as when the Princess leapt back and whipped her chain from afar, he crossed his cleavers and caught the chain with them, pincering the chain with his cleavers like an oversized pair of scissors.

“Is that all ye got!?” he yelled as he taunted the Royal Princess.

The Princess’ response was outside his expectations, however. Jamron was exiled from the Kingdom Down Under long before the Princess was even born, as such he had never heard about her, or her reputation. Similarly, he had no inkling as to what affinity she possessed.

“Had felt this was too good to show to an animal like you… but you asked for it,” said the Princess quietly. Before her opponent could react or answer, she allowed her magic to course through her weapon and do the talking for her. The last meter or so of her chain - including the part caught by Jarmon’s cleavers - suddenly looked as if they were dyed a jet black.

Cal recognized it in an instant, and what it implied. A thin coating of void magic, characteristic of a Void Dancer’s magic. Much like what she expected, the chains tangled by the cleavers sliced through the cleavers like a hot knife through butter instead, and before they even touched the ground, the Princess flicked her wrist and whipped her chain around, making it look almost like a living serpent.

With a scream, Jarmon the Bloodletter fell to the arena’s sands. His legs were severed crudely by the void-clad chains just below his hips, and both his arms left as stumps that ended before the elbow. The Seventh Princess made no move to finish him off, and instead allowed him to bleed out slowly to his demise even as the crowd applauded.