The excitement in the coliseum was electric. Every seat was filled, the air thick with anticipation. Today promised not two, but four matches—back-to-back chaos—and the crowd knew it. The roar was near constant, conversations layered over each other in a blur of energy. People leaned forward in their seats, practically vibrating.
"So who're you betting on?" Jefferey asked smugly, elbowing his friend.
Drift gave an exaggerated sigh, already tired of Jefferey's bragging after just one correct prediction. "First match is between The Elf and The Youngest Fighter. Think the choice is pretty obvious." He gave a casual shrug. "I'm going with The Elf."
Jefferey raised a brow. "Even after what he pulled at the end of his last match?"
He turned his attention to the arena with a crooked grin. "I think he's gonna pull something again and walk away with the win. Just watch."
Somewhere else in the stands, Amara leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed. "Let's see how much you've improved, brat," Amara whispered under her breath, her gaze locked onto the arena. "Wonder if I'll see that Hatred again… or more of that magic..."
Somewhere else in the stands, Clara was practically vibrating, her hands flailing in excitement as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "Oh goddess I'm so excited!"
"Calm down, Clara," Elsa said, gently patting her shoulder. "I get that you're excited but—you're gonna hurt someone flailing around like that."
Clara puffed her cheeks in a pout, then tried—tried—to settle. Her feet still tapped, her hands still jittered, but she did at least stop waving them.
Somewhere else in the stands, "Do you think Ercale will help him this time or will he just watch?" X asked, glancing toward the goddess beside him.
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't," Sarandel replied calmly, eyes still fixed on the arena. "That man does whatever he feels like, whenever he feels like it."
Elsewhere in the stands, "Ah I'm so nervous," Zee muttered, rubbing her hands against her knees as she fidgeted in place.
"It'll be fine, they ain't gonna be hurtin' each other all that much," Larkin said, scratching at his beard in an effort to sound reassuring.
But it didn't help. Not for Zee. And definitely not for Nori sitting beside her, fidgeting just as much. Neither of them could sit still. Nori wanted Xain to win—but the thought of him getting hurt twisted in his gut. Being half-elf himself, and remembering Mae's last fight clearly, he knew Xain walking away unscathed was a fantasy. Zee, meanwhile, was caught in a knot of emotion—she loved them both, her twin and Xain. Picking a side wasn't just difficult; it felt wrong. And no matter how the match went, she didn't want to see either of them hurt.
In one of the VIP stands, Mathew sat rigid, arms crossed and shoulders tense. The crowd's roaring energy washed over him, but he barely registered it. Last night's conversation with his brother echoed too loud in his head, the truth of his name still gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Beside him, Samwell seemed unfazed.
"It's The Elf fighting first, huh?" he said with a glance toward the arena. His tone was flat, but a moment later, his brow furrowed, voice tightening with simmering rage. "Good. I want to see that blue-haired barbarian get put in his place." He was clearly still stewing over the knee he'd taken to the skull.
Elsewhere in another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze sweeping across the bustling arena. "Today is going to be an exciting day, it seems," he mused, his voice calm but watchful.
"With four matches ahead, yes, my Emperor," Tianteng replied smoothly, standing just behind him. "Prepare for the crowd to be louder than usual." Her usual thin-lipped smile didn't waver, though the memory of what she'd witnessed yesterday clung to the corners of her mind like smoke. If it weighed on her, she didn't show it. The Emperor gave a slow nod, never once breaking focus from the arena floor.
In yet another VIP stand, Zara leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on the arena. "I hope he wins… for Clara's sake," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want her to be saddened."
Prince Mark didn't respond. He was focused on her—more specifically, on the side of her face that was now entirely too close to his own. She was practically leaning on his shoulder, and while he said nothing, his entire body was screaming discomfort. Still, he didn't shift away. If he did, she'd probably just move even closer.
Above the arena, Quincy suddenly burst forth in a flash of feathers and motion, soaring into the sky with practiced flair.
"Wow!" she beamed, wings flaring wide as she hovered above the center of the arena. "I can feel the energy today!" Her voice carried effortlessly through the coliseum. "Everyone's really excited for these four matches, I see! Don't worry—we're diving right into it!"
With a snap of her fingers, she flicked her hand sharply toward the eastern and western walls. A deep rumble followed, stone grinding against stone as both walls slowly began to part.
"On one side!" Quincy called out, her voice ringing with theatrical energy, "We've got The Youngest Fighter! The one who, on the very first day of the tournament, claimed victory over the Hardened Criminal in quite the unique way—Xain!"
From the east wall, Xain stepped into the light. He drew a breath and held it for a second longer than he needed. Even after already fighting once, this kind of spotlight felt suffocating. The weight of the crowd's attention pressed down hard—and Quincy reminding everyone of his past victory didn't help. He exhaled, low and steady, trying to anchor himself.
"I'm ready," he muttered under his breath. "Even if I have to fight her."
The pieces of angelic armor on his thieves garb catching the sunlight as he stepped forward.
"And on the other side!" Quincy called, turning in the air with a dramatic spin, "We have someone who I know still strikes fear into the hearts of many here! The one who brutally tore through her last opponent—it's Mae Eirina Qinra, The Elf!"
From the west wall, Mae stepped out slowly, like she was savoring every second. Her lips parted in something between a smile and a sigh.
"Ah~ finally, I get to do this," she whispered to herself, eyes lidded, licking her lips as if the fight itself was something she could taste.
Quincy clapped her hands, and the arena shuddered in response. With a deep grinding, the floor rippled and reshaped itself. Wooden planks erupted upward, forming a wide tavern floor lined with long tables and sturdy stools. A bar stretched along one side, its shelves stacked with mock bottles glinting in the light. Hearths flared to life at either end, fires roaring inside. Pillars rose to mark the corners and support wooden arches—but there was no roof above. The open sky loomed high overhead, allowing the crowd in the stands to see everything clearly. It was a grand, exaggerated version of the Raging Eagle Inn, now expanded into a full battlefield.
Hovering above it all, Quincy raised a single hand high.
"Okay!" she shouted. Then, with a sharp swing downward, her hand sliced through the air.
"BEGIN!"