This series takes place in an alternate universe, and is based of the events of u/BritishBean’s Gladiator Tournament III. It is NOT part of the main series.

In this Universe, Logan is now 14 years old, a man grown and a seasoned warrior. He has faced off the Legions of Hell, and has ascended to the rank of General. He holds wealth, honor, and prestige, and is a known force in the world.

The following is from the journal of Logan Cudgelurdge, General of Nazushnóton Nabår Nòm, Dwarven Supersoldier:

Director Erush has informed me of a great gladiatorial tournament taking place in the west. There is fame and glory abound, he tells me. I want no part of it: I was meant to fight the enemies of the realm, not to take part in a circus. Erush tells me that this event transcends mere show: it is a chance to show off the might of the Dwarven Race. Besides, he tells me, we have stamped out the Goblin threat and destroyed the Legions of Hell: surely, the Elite Guard and the Secret Service would be enough to hold the fortress. I have misgivings about this, but King Minkot has given his executive order, and it seems I must take a part in this farce.

ïngiz Towerknives, chief medical dwarf, tells me that I must begin a period of sobriety. I will experience muddied thoughts, shaking hands, and increasingly impaired fighting ability. She is also preparing a potion that will rob me of the power of the Mountain: I will be no stronger, faster, or tougher than an average dwarf. She tells me this is the rule of the fortress, but this sets me on alert: could this be a scheme to assassinate Nazushnóton Nabår Nòm’s foremost warrior? There are still dark creatures abound on this Earth… but no. Armok told me himself that I was meant for greater things, to shed blood around the world, and to keep the enemies of the Dwarves in chaos. Perhaps this is my calling after all.

…

We arrived today. Erush told me that I am to fight a Kobold. I’m ready to leave on the spot. I’ve been sober for over a month, but they think that’s going to mean that I can’t defeat a Kobold pest? I’ve slaughtered hundreds of their kind. Hell, one of our founders, the great Ushrir, who lies slain our Hall of Warriors, killed a Kobold in the early days of our fortress.

I said as much to ïngiz, but she just smiles and tells me that the sobriety is making me irritable. She tells me that this Kobold was trained by the dwarves. Like that makes much of a difference: it is well known that Nazushnóton Nabår Nòm has the greatest military of any Dwarven realm, and our recruits would make mincemeat of a lesser fortress’s guard.

Ah, this is not like me! I am not one to go against the wishes of my people. ïngiz is right: the sobriety is messing with my head. I will face this Kobold, Muzhu, and give him the honors of war, and expect the same from him.

…

I stand victorious on this day.

ïngiz had given me the potion before the fight. It was green, and tasted of sand, but it worked: my strength is gone. It felt as if liquid fire was going through my veins. My eyes popped, my muscles bulged, and I was coughing, and although I was nauseus, I could not throw up. It felt like I was going to explode. When I was about to black out from the pain, it receded, and suddenly I was fine again. Everything felt the same, until I left the tent and hit a practice dummy. It barely moved, when before it would rock with the force of my blows, and before it was reinforced, it would explode under my fists. I tried to put up a barrage of hits, but I was out of breath in minutes. I no longer had the strength of the mountain with me.

I began to feel afraid. My hands were shaking, I couldn’t focus, and now the last thing holding me together, my superdwarven strength, was gone. It was then I was summoned to the arena. I regained my composure and steadied myself. I would not face my death like a coward. I would fight for the glory of all Dwarfkind, strength or no. I would show them that a Dwarf doesn’t need ungodly strength to best the greatest of them.

I retrieved my arms and armor. It would seem that I was to go unarmored, wearing a loincloth to cover myself. Erush had selected my weapons: a copper battle axe and a wooden shield. The shield would do me well, but the copper battle axe was no warrior’s weapon: it was more fit to chop trees then skulls. Erush had told me that they would be providing the first pool of competitors with weaker weapons. I understood that: no foe could stand the might of Sherikokab if I wielded it: my axe has a mind of its own, and it would cleave straight through steel and flesh and bone as if it were cheese. On the other hand, I expected that we would be given at least iron weapons. No matter: as a child, I had fought terrifying creatures with my fists, with no weapon at all. If a copper axe was given, an copper axe is what I would take. I stepped out onto the battlefield.

The masses cheered me on. One crowd had a banner with my symbol on it: a dwarf wielding Sherikokab, standing over a Goblin. Next to it was the Symbol of Armok and Nazushnóton Nabår Nòm: A giant red humanoid on a black field. Armok is not a kind god, indeed quite condescending, but he is a god that makes warriors, and we Dwarves were made in the fires of his forges. So I saluted his flag, giving thanks to both Armok and our King, and all the citizens of my home that I have come to love. Then, my opponent arrived.

He was dwarven trained, that was for sure. His size and large yellow eyes made him unmistakably Kobold, but he was outfitted in Dwarven garb. He had an axe of copper, just as mine, and he hefted it as easily as any Dwarf. He wore a full suit of copper armor, glinting in the sun, fitted for a Kobold. I imagined I looked quite naked in comparison, with only a loincloth for armor. He carried a buckler, which for him was as big as a shield, and stood at the ready. I did not understand his words, but he gave the Dwarven salute, raising his axe to his brow before swiping it downward. I returned it in kind. He was an honorable foe, a credit to his race.

The horn sounded. There is something of battle that focuses a Dwarf. Gone were the shakings, the headaches, the muddied thoughts: although my movements were slower, sloppier, and more labored, my weapon and my body were of one. They may take my strength, and they may take my skill, but they can never take my spirit. And that is all a Supersoldier is: a spirit of war, an avatar of strength.

I rushed at the kobold, as he rushed at me. I got the first strike in: a whistling strike that he took with his shield. If I still had the strength of the mountain, his shield would be split twain, but he took the impact well enough. I jumped away from his blows, whirling and sliding to avoid his axe, as I did in my youth, when I had no shield or weapons to defend me. Seizing an opportunity, I checked a blow with my axe and sent a riposte to his arm. Alas, the riposte was rushed, and it bounced harmlessly off his gauntlet. I made a mental note to take more care in where I placed my blows.

I charged at Muzhu, and he spun away, countering with an axe blow of his own. His spin was poorly executed, and his footing was off: I parried his axe and sent my own blade to his exposed foot, this time aiming precisely for the weakened joint. The copper axe barely dented the Kobold’s armor, but the force of the blow did the trick: his ankle gave out with a sharp crack, and the Kobold fell upon himself. The crowd went wild, but I knew it was far from over. The Kobold had a look of determination in his face: he was used to ground fighting. The Kobold lifted his shield defiantly, ready to lay under it and take my assault until I fell, exhausted.

But I have fought many grounded opponents. When you are unarmed, and have beat your opponents bloody, often they are on the ground, and you have no choice but to pursue them downward. I sent my axe ringing all over Muzhu, at his shield, at his limbs, any point I could target, like a master smith hammering at an anvil. His armor and shield deflected my blows, but each parry was slower, and each recovery more labored. At that moment, Muzhu knew he could not stay on the ground, and with a roar he attempted to rise, send his axe towards me. I leapt away and countered, cleaving his cheek twain. His face a ruin, the Kobold kept fighting, but it was lost. Soon, I had took his arms off with two successive blows from my axe, and in the next instant, my axe had removed his left eye. The Kobold tried to keep up his defense, but it was of no use, and he expired soon after.

The Kobold had fought well, but he was no match for me, even in the weakened state that I was in. There was no glory in that match, even if the crowds went wild. I returned directly to my tent, where ïngiz gave me my first sip of alcohol in a long time. It felt good, and I could feel some of my former skill being restored. Even if I couldn’t use the Mountain’s might, I would feel better going into battle with a clear head. Erush tells me that I will be fighting a Sasquatch next, an exotic beast that pummeled his scrawny Dwarven opponent into a red smear on the floor. I smiled grimly at that: it had not been long ago when it was I, the small Dwarven child, was beating exotic beasts of massive proportions into the floor, with hardly anything to bury. But this was no time for levity: my foe would not be an unblooded glory-seeker this time, but a true savage with kills under his belt.

I shall rest now, and soon face this beast. I shall vanquish this foe, or die with honor and glory in the process. Armok be with us all.

Hope you enjoyed reading things from the perspective of an older Logan! Be sure to follow the Tournament on Reddit, and show your support!