The Fall of Everything [Rewrite]

The golden rays of the sun illuminated the vast training grounds of Rhazgord. The sky was clear blue, free of clouds and sparkling. The air was warm and comfortable with a gentle breeze. Young people between the ages of 7 and 14, who had just finished their training, were lined up around the training ground, watching the fight taking place. Each of them was attentive, not wanting to miss this moment. They were intrigued that the old instructor had trained someone specially. And this person was not even from Rhazgord. This meant that this was no ordinary fight of an ordinary day; this was a clash of two different worlds.
Belisarius, in his borrowed, thin armor, stared down at his massive opponent. His opponent towered over him like a mountain, with his massive muscles and powerful stance. The sun shone on the broad surface of his opponent's sword, making him look even more menacing. Belisarius' sword was sleeker and lighter, an expertly crafted weapon, sharp on both sides. His opponent's sword was heavy, broad and an instrument of death designed for brute force.
Belisarius had learned the art of the sword late in life. His musculature seemed to pale in comparison to his opponent. But he had one advantage: The Lightstone. Since childhood he had been able to consume the power of this rare stone. The energy of the stone permeated his body, giving him extraordinary strength and endurance. His opponent, on the other hand, had only used a very small amount of Lightstone once in his life. No matter how impressive his muscles and size, he was no match for the power within Belisarius.
The first move began with the clash of two swords. The metallic sound of steel rubbing against steel echoed throughout the training grounds. Belisarius' seemingly weak arms struggled against the massive muscles of his opponent. His opponent could not understand how this scrawny man could display such strength, and his eyes widened in amazement. But this surprise did not dampen his determination to fight, on the contrary, it made him even more ambitious.
Sword after sword was swung, one blow after another. Belisarius danced around his opponent with swift and sharp attacks, never giving him a moment to catch his breath. His opponent, on the other hand, deftly kept his sword in a defensive position, meeting each attack in time. Both warriors understood each other's strength and skill, but the fight had reached a stalemate. Each was trying to find the other's opening, but neither could gain the upper hand.
Belisarius was too fast and agile to give his opponent any chance. His opponent, however, was an experienced warrior and his defense was excellent. As the fight dragged on, it attracted the attention of the surrounding soldiers. The sound of clashing swords echoed in the open air, creating an atmosphere where everyone held their breath.
Belisarius lost his balance for a moment. Perhaps from fatigue, perhaps from a moment of carelessness. His opponent seized the opportunity. He swung his sword at Belisarius with all his might. The blow, which Belisarius defended at the last moment, knocked Belisarius down hard. The earth welcomed Belisarius' body with a warm embrace. The soldiers around the field looked at each other in silence. The old instructor had already predicted the outcome of the fight and nodded his head slowly as he saw it come true. The sun shone brightly on Belisarius' body lying on the ground, but that did not mean that he had won the battle.
Belisarius struggled to his feet, slowly recovering his slumped body. His breathing quickened, exhaustion weighed heavily on his body. As the little warriors gathered around him watched his efforts in silence, the old instructor approached the Rhazgord warrior with heavy steps. The instructor had a wise expression on his face, his eyes fixed on the warrior's eyes. He spoke in a low voice in the Rhazgord language, his voice full of experience, but at the same time firm and full of determination. The warrior listened attentively to the instructor's words, then began to walk towards Belisarius.
His opponent's footsteps echoed on the dirt floor. As Belisarius shook off the dust, his opponent came up to him and looked at him briefly. The sunlight shone on the warrior's sweat-soaked face, revealing the depth of expression in his eyes. "Good," his opponent said in Adler language. The word was simple and short, but the meaning was deep. The warrior clearly did not know Adler language well enough, but that one word was enough to express his intentions. From the expression on his opponent's face, Belisarius knew exactly what he meant. It was a sign of respectful acceptance. They shook hands in silence, then the warrior saluted the old instructor and returned to the soldiers who had been reprimanded for interrupting their training and distracting them from the fight.
When Belisarius came to the old instructor, the old man looked at him intently. As his eyes swept over Belisarius' tired but determined face, he sighed deeply. "How many times have you used the Lightstone so far?" he asked, his voice full of curiosity but not judgment.
Belisarius lowered his eyes to the ground as he answered this question. He knew that if he had not consumed so many Lightstones, he would not have been able to withstand his opponent for even a few seconds. Embarrassed, he said in a low voice, "More than twenty times." he said. This was an amount that even the heirs of free kingdoms had difficulty reaching. Given the economic situation in the Kingdom of Adler, it was clear that Belisarius' father had spent a considerable amount of money on him.
The old instructor looked at his embarrassed state and shook his head slightly. "There is no need to be ashamed of using the Lightstone," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Maybe you wouldn't have lasted this long without consuming the Lightstone, but you are certainly capable. The Lightstone increases your strength, but the real skill is in controlling that strength. It is respectable that in just a few years you have mastered your fighting techniques so well, and that you are able to use the power of the Lightstone so effectively."
Belisarius felt a warmth in his heart when he heard these words. The instructor's praise was a great source of morale for him. But the old man did not stop there. "I'm afraid I can't comment on your techniques," he added. "If I try to correct your movements, I might damage the basis of your techniques. Do you remember I told you that I have met your ancestors before?"
"Yes, sir, " Belisarius replied, standing straight, like a soldier impressed by the seriousness of the occasion. He wondered where the instructor was going.
The old instructor took a deep breath and continued. "There is an important difference between you and Emperor Tiberius. Tiberius was not a warrior, but he had the eyes of a warrior. You, on the other hand, can become a real warrior with a little more training, but you don't yet have the eyes of a warrior. If you are truly of Tiberius' blood, you can achieve that power."
Belisarius felt the weight of the old instructor's words on his shoulders. The words "eyes of a warrior " kept running through his mind. He could not fully grasp the meaning behind these words, but he sensed that it was more than just physical strength and technique. The instructor's words had taken him on a journey deep into his inner world. This was not only a matter of fighting, but also of inner growth.
The old instructor noticed that Belisarius was lost in thought and gave him some time. Then he came closer to him and continued to speak, lowering his voice. "The eyes of the warrior," he said. "Eyes that are clear not only when looking at the enemy, but also when looking at themselves. Tiberius used not only his sword to rule, but also his soul. A fire of battle burned in his heart, but it was not an uncontrolled rage, but a focused will. You need to gain that will, Belisarius."
Belisarius listened carefully to the instructor's words. He was trying to understand; this will, perhaps, was not just for fighting, but for standing up to all the challenges of life. The instructor was trying to mold him not only into a warrior, but also into a leader.
"You have consumed the Lightstone twenty times," the old man continued. "It may have strengthened your body, but did it strengthen your spirit? Did it make you believe in yourself? You have to ask yourself that question. The Lightstone gives you physical strength, but the real power comes from the will within you. You must find the warrior spirit within you. It is not only about defeating your enemy, but also about defeating yourself."
Belisarius paused for a moment at the profundity of these words. The instructor was right; so far he owed much of his strength to the Lightstone. But being a true warrior and leader was not only about physical strength, but also about inner strength. This was a new level of awareness for him.
Belisarius nodded, strengthened by the instructor's words. A new determination had sprouted in him. He would not only improve his techniques; he would also create the spirit of a warrior. Taking the instructor's words as a guide, he was determined to follow this path. That day was not only the end of a fight for Belisarius, but also the beginning of a journey.
Belisarius thought his training was over, but it was not. He saluted the instructor and turned to leave the training grounds when the voice of the old instructor was heard. "I'm sure I told Corvus when the training was over." he raised his head and looked up at the sun. "There is still time, I see," he said.
While Belisarius was searching with his eyes for Corvus to save him, the old trainer was choosing Belisarius' new opponent.