The third installment of this summer mini-series focuses on the most iconic Iop warrior of the Wakfu Era. He's a redhead with a fiery spirit who's just as obsessed with fighting as Nox is with the Eliacube: Sir Percedal of Sadlygrove waits patiently – not exactly his strong suit – for the most iconic Iop warrior of the Dofus Era to return and keep his promise…

Still it stood…

Rising toward the dark skies of the Sidimote Moors. The last vestige of a masquerade organized long ago in honor of a deadly barbarian. Brandishing the legendary sword that was responsible for some of the bloodiest massacres that the World of Twelve had ever known. It smiled broadly, symbolizing the unfailing pride and self-confidence of the warrior it represented. But on that day, the statue of Goultard mostly seemed to be mocking the young Iop who stood there looking up at it.


For five years in a row, Percedal had made his way to the monument on this same date. The anniversary of his meeting with the Iop who had become his hero. The day when Goultard himself had made him a promise.

"A day will come when I will teach you everything I know. And that's a promise, Daldal!"

The young Iop was now eleven years old. He tried to calculate how old he had been at the time, but all he got for his effort was a miserable headache. So he kicked his foot idly in the dust. It was then that he discovered an old scrap of paper covered by the brown dirt. He pulled it from the infertile soil. There seemed to be some kind of instructions written on it. The knight's apprentice blew gently on the sheet to reveal these words:


The paper was worn with age. Only the Twelve knew how long it had been there. A broken bit of string dangled from one end of the sheet. This message must have been attached to something once. Percedal looked up at the statue.

It smiled back at him.


The young Iop walked around the monument to Goultard. There had to be something around here somewhere! Behind the statue, on its massive pedestal, he quickly noticed a slightly tilted wooden panel, bearing the symbol of the Iops: a red sword with its blade turned downward. He was almost certain that hadn't been there the year before… There seemed to be a hollow space behind it. He removed the panel, and sure enough, there was an opening carved into the base of the statue – but it was empty…

Just then, he heard a strange whistling sound.

He raised his head and pricked up his ears. Teenagers laughing. He followed the voices: down below, just a stone's throw away from the statue, a young guild was fooling around.

"All right, boys, get ready to fight! Steady! One, two… wait, what comes after two…? … Four!"


A Iop about fifteen years old was acting as a referee for his two friends as they faced off with wooden swords. He had signaled the start of the fight with some kind of magic whistle that made a preposterous sound, apparently due to what looked like a tongue. The result was a sort of slobbery "splonk", complete with a spluttering spray of spittle. Percedal was intrigued by the colors on the object; the same red Iop symbol appeared on it as well. He decided to approach the group:

"Hey, buddy, you didn't find that whistle in the statue of Goultard by any chance, did you?"

The guild immediately stopped what they were doing. The Iop teenager, Gronard the Bastard, walked up to him with a bold and intimidating attitude, flanked by a young Ecaflip and a Sacrier, Meowzer Pall and Mykill Cramm.

"Why? Are you from the Bontarian militia?"

"No, I was just wondering if…"

Before Percedal could finish his sentence, his fellow Iop punched him full in the face. The others burst into loud guffaws.

"Ooh, sorry, kid! I guess you won't be whistling any time soon!"

Gronard turned back to his friends, who were laughing even harder now.

"If I were you, I'd get outta here, squirt," said the teenager as he walked away.


They could all hear the rage in the young Iop's voice. He was on all fours on the ground.

"What're you gonna do?" smirked the big oaf. "Cry?"

Gronard's friends, a supportive audience if ever there was one, chuckled stupidly yet again. They didn't see Percedal's face: his jaw set and his eyes all white, as if his pupils had disappeared. In rapid succession, he lunged at the Sacrier to give him a left hook to the gut, then at the Ecaflip with a right cross to the face, before raining blows on Gronard. But the older Iop remained impassive, as if he didn't even feel the young redheaded warrior's attacks.

"You finished?"

He grabbed Percedal by one foot and swung him up into the air. Then he pounded him relentlessly into the ground. Each time he raised him above his head, the young Iop looked a little more smashed up: blood poured from his nose, then his eyebrows, then his mouth… Percedal cried out in pain each time he hit the ground.

Finally, Gronard threw him aside like a rag doll. Then he went over to his friends to help them up.

"That little guy packs a punch…" admitted Mykill, the Sacrier.

"Maybe for a couple of wimps like you!"

They started to walk away, but suddenly Gronard started checking his pockets, then glancing about at the ground all around him.

"Looking for this?"


Battered and bruised, yet smiling, Percedal brandished the whistle victoriously. A broken bit of string dangled at the end opposite the tongue.

"Gimme that back, NOW!" roared Gronard, flustered and increasingly enraged.

The young Iop stood up and, in one final provocation, started blowing the whistle.

Spleeeeeeetalooaloo!!! Spleeeeeeetalooaloo!!!

Then he burst into wild laughter.

"I love the sound this thing makes!"

"Hope you love the sound of my fist hitting your face!" Gronard threatened, beside himself with anger.

The muscular teen ran straight at Percedal, who jumped back just in time to avoid his attacker. The redheaded warrior picked up one of the wooden swords that Gronard's henchmen had left on the ground, then tossed it at his enemy's feet. He armed himself with the other sword and assumed a fighting position:

"En garde, my little Iopette!"

Gronard could scarcely contain his rage, but seemed to accept the duel by picking up the rudimentary weapon. He put all of his strength into a series of wild thrusts, determined to wound his opponent. But Percedal, who was smaller and more agile, dodged them one after another. Even so, he barely stopped the third thrust with the flat of his wooden blade, and nearly dropped his sword from the force of the blow. That didn't stop him from tapping Gronard on the calf with his blade:


He dodged a wide cut by folding his body sharply, then spun quickly around to get behind Gronard and poke him in the right butt cheek with the point of his sword:


Percedal didn't see the thug's elbow coming at his nose until it was too late. He collapsed instantly, and Gronard was already raising his sword high above his head:


And with that, he swung the sword down abruptly. Meowzer Pall, the Ecaflip, who was too sensitive for this kind of violence, hid behind his Sacrier friend, who gritted his teeth… until his jaw suddenly dropped.

"What happened?" the big cat finally asked. "Did he kill him? … C'mon, answer me!"

But Mykill Cramm couldn't hear him, too stunned by the surreal scene before his eyes. The Ecaflip had to look for himself: Gronard's sword had come to a halt a mere hair's breadth from Percedal's face, frozen in place. The blade's path had been stopped just in time.

Goultard himself was standing in front of Gronard, looming over Percedal. He held the edge of the wooden sword between two of his toes.

"That's no way for a Iop warrior to fight, No-Nards!" said Goultard in his booming voice.

"…I… It's… it's Gronard… sir…"

Goultard made a quarter-turn at the hip to easily disarm Percedal's attacker with his foot, then stretched his leg high over his head. He bent his knee, then threw the sword into the air and caught it by the blade – with his hand this time – and held it out for Gronard to take the handle:

"Go back and train some more, kid…"

"Y… Yes, sir."
"You remind me of someone… You're not related to that no-good usurper, Koltard the Bastard, are you?"
"He… he's my father, sir."
"Figures… Has he ever told you about me?"
"He… said that you had ruined the festival he created in your honor, sir."
"So he didn't mention trying to pass himself off as my brother and fattening his own pockets on the strength of my legend?"
"No, sir."
"Well, now that you know, I'd suggest that you work to be better than him – shouldn't be too hard – or I'll be back here to kick your butt! Got it, No-Nards?"
"Got it, sir…"
"Now scram!"

Gronard took off at a sprint, followed closely by his two cronies.

Percedal looked up from the ground at his idol with stars in his eyes. Goultard extended a hand to him:

"It looks like your day has finally come, Daldal."

That day, the young Iop's joyful shout rang out all across the Sidimote Moors.