The duel between Rogg and Billok had finally begun. The sky darkened, and heavy rain pounded the cliffs of Kavusi, turning the battlefield into a maze of mud and rushing water. Tension climbed with each downpour.
Billok advanced, wielding his forked sword and massive iron shield, and charged with a guttural roar."GRRAAAHH!!"
Rogg swiftly sidestepped and blocked with his spear. The clash of metal rang sharply—forceful and imposing. Rain dripped from Rogg's soaked hair, but his gaze stayed unwavering.
Billok attacked relentlessly, his sword cleaving through the air mere inches from Rogg's form. But Rogg danced away—leaping, spinning, deflecting. He struck Billok's shield repeatedly, warping its surface.
Still, Rogg's body bore bruises. The heavy shield struck his chest and shoulder, staggering him. His breath heaved, but his stance remained steady.
Around them, the tribes watched silently: Migase war drums and Balevad battle cries blending into the rain.
Billok backed up, breathing hard."Surrender!" he barked, voice hoarse. "You're just a small human—I'll crush you!"
Rogg planted himself firmly."You're running out of strength, Billok. Your blows are slowing."
"ARROGANT FOOL!" Billok bellowed, lunging again—his speed now noticeably diminished.
Rogg's expression hardened."Enough. Now you'll see the end of this fight," he murmured loud enough for all to hear.
Yara, standing with Migase's women warriors, narrowed her gaze through the downpour. Though tears threatened, a proud smile broke on her face when Rogg drew the small blade at his waist—Heraxes, the legendary Lovarian steel short sword passed down by his father.
In an instantaneous motion, Rogg deflected Billok's swing with his spear, spun, and chopped the sword's handle with Heraxes: KRAKK!—Billok's sword snapped in two.
Billok's jaw dropped."What—?!"
Before he could retreat, Rogg drove Heraxes into the back of his shield with brutal precision—piercing metal, flesh, bone.
"AARRGHH!!" Billok howled. His right arm fell to the ground with the shield.
Rogg followed with a knee to the head and a crushing kick. Then he seized Billok's head and smashed it into the dirt: DUKK!
Billok lay motionless, blood pooling around him. Rogg's blade didn't strike again—but instead, he cut off Billok's right ear—a symbolic mark of a defeated warlord.
Silence fell over the Balevad forces. Men exchanged fearful looks, then broke ranks to gather Billok's fallen body. Their beasts, terrified, cowered.
Rogg raised his voice above the storm:"Tell your king this—Migase will never bow to oppression!"He added, "And I will come to your lands. I will challenge your strongest… and bring them down, one by one!"
A roar erupted from the Migase—hundreds fell to their knees, touching the earth in honor and gratitude.
Pragyan, wounded but resolute, limped forward and knelt before Rogg."In the name of my father and my people… I pledge loyalty to you, Lokahita Visaka."
He drew his own blade and cut the palm of his hand, letting his blood drip on the ground. Rogg gently lifted him:
"You need not harm yourself. You will be a great leader one day. Learn from this."
Then he addressed Bala:"This isn't over. Balevad withdrew, but they can regroup. We must pursue them, learn their territory, and prepare."
Bala hesitated."Risky, my lord—crossing into their lands…"
Rogg nodded."I won't take all of us. Bala, you stay here. Fortify the village, train them well. Secure this valley."
He turned to Pragyan:"Select fifty of your best—those who can blend in, speak their tongue, live in their forests. We move swiftly before they recover."
Yara stepped forward strongly."I will go too. And I'll choose five of my finest women archers to follow behind."
Rogg glared approvingly."Are you sure?"
She smiled, confident."You sleep easier knowing we watch your back."
"Fine. But stay a hundred meters behind. Only come forward if signaled," Rogg instructed.
"We'll signal. And if danger strikes, I'll find a safe route," Yara affirmed.
The battle had ended, but the war continued. Though wounded, heartened by purpose, Rogg and the Migase braced themselves for a longer campaign: into enemy territory, to prevent Balevad's resurgence.
Standing among the remaining soldiers, rain-soaked and battered, Rogg raised his voice:"Bala—this valley is yours to protect until I return. Keep morale high. Don't let a single person lose hope."
Bala bowed deeply. "Your will will be done, lord."
Rogg then looked at the seated warriors."You stand not as abandoned feet, but as this land's guardians. You are our final wall. Should Balevad return—you must hold fast."
Heads nodded, spears gripped tighter.
Moving to the back ranks, Rogg said:"Tell everyone—learn our terrain, learn our enemy's language. We must be smarter, not just stronger."
He turned to Bala:"I entrust Tetua Hergon with customs leadership. I remain Lokahita Visaka—your war leader. But this mission must be fulfilled."
A brief silence fell. Rogg managed a small grin."Oh, and one last thing…" he raised a hand toward the cliff."The weapons and shields Balevad dumped into the chasm? They're still there, right?"
Bala confirmed."Yes, my lord."
"Retrieve them. Use wisely. Send them to the smiths to be reforged into tools of war. Consider them gifts… from our enemies."
Laughter spread among the ranks, even the wounded smiled. Exhaustion lifted, replaced by renewed determination.
At dusk, a select group of eighty-six warriors—Rogg, Yara, Pragyan, the five women archers, and chosen trackers and scouts—prepared to leave the valley. Their gear was light, their resolve heavy. Torches flickered as they followed the trail of Balevad's retreat—mud tracks, broken branches, fire remnants leading them outward.
Rogg walked alongside Pragyan, guiding quietly:"Make sure no one falls behind."
Pragyan nodded firmly."Already set markers every fifty meters. If anyone misses a mark, they'll halt and wait."
Behind them, Yara positioned her archers:"We stay a hundred meters back. Our role: healing and surprise support—only if they get encircled."
They all agreed.
Back in the valley, Bala returned with news of their success. Triumphant cheers filled the air. Kids tossed flowers and lanterns lined the road.
Yet not everyone felt wholly rejoiced. In the council hall, the elders reflected solemnly. Tetua Hergon quietly remarked:
"He has gone—not merely to survive, but to guarantee that none of us must always survive in fear."
Another elder added softly:"He never claimed to be a god… but look how our lives have become his faith."
They recognized that Rogg brought them something deeper than strength—steadfastness, purpose, and a future worth fighting for.
Though uncertainty remained, Migase set to work—repairing defenses, training their youth, reforging the spoils of war. In each heart burned a growing belief: Rogg would return.