In the stands the crowd buzzed louder than usual, voices clashing over what they had just witnessed. Zeva's performance had undeniably left an impact, but for every new admirer she gained, twice as many seemed to turn against her. Calvinel's popularity—his polished image, his easy kindness, his genuine attitude—worked against her now. To see someone like him cut apart so mercilessly was something many in the audience simply couldn't stomach.
In a VIP stand, Zara sat with her hands clasped tightly, eyes closed in reverence, her face lit with profound satisfaction. "Goddess has truly blessed us today," she whispered, her tone dripping with awe. "To be witness to something so divine…"
Beside her, Prince Mark cast her a sidelong glance, his brow creasing. "Sister," he said carefully, "I think your hatred for him might be… exceeding at this point." His words were measured, but inwardly he thought, *She really got her wish. She wanted him torn apart, and that's exactly what she saw. Did not expect that to actually happen...*
Zara opened her eyes at that, turning toward him, the glow of satisfaction dimming but never fading. "You do not understand, Mark. You did not see how rudely, how vehemently, he rejected me. His whole act of being a virtuous knight—it is nothing but a façade. A mask that breaks the moment he is challenged." Her eyes narrowed, sharp and cold as she looked back down at the arena floor.
"I see…" Mark replied quietly. He wasn't convinced. His instincts told him Calvinel was not the man Zara painted him to be, but he kept that thought to himself, letting silence take hold between them.
Elsewhere in the stands, a very different exchange played out. "Pay up, Jefferey," Drift said, holding out his hand expectantly.
Jefferey groaned as he dug into his coin pouch, reluctant but bound by the bet. "Goddess, I don't even know how to feel about that match," he muttered, passing the coins over. "Did you hear his scream when she drove her blade through his foot?"
Drift tucked the winnings away without a flicker of sympathy. "What else were you expecting? Zeva's been leagues above everyone else since the start. Even with his Soul Chamber, Calvinel didn't stand a chance."
Jefferey scratched at the back of his neck, uneasy. "Yeah, no, I get that… but still. I wasn't expecting her to go that brutal. I mean, cutting him apart like that—it was a shock."
Drift shrugged, dismissive. "Maybe. But enough about that." He waved the thought aside. "What matters now is tomorrow. Did you decide who you're betting on? Because I have."
Jefferey gave a slow nod. "I have too. But let's keep it to ourselves until the day. No sense spoiling it early."
Drift smirked and nodded back, both friends already set for the finals.
Somewhere else in the stands, Wolf sat with his mask tilted ever so slightly upward, his voice carrying with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Alright, one more match for you to win!" His voice boomed from behind his mask, brimming with energy. "And then you'll show everyone why the Blossom family is the most dangerous of all!" The laughter that followed rang so loud that the spectators around him shifted uneasily, sliding in their seats, putting as much space as possible between themselves and the masked man's fervor.
Meanwhile, in another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna leaned forward in his seat, his expression measured. "That was… quite surprising. I did not expect the match to escalate into such violence."
Tianteng inclined her head, her voice calm, reflective. "Many expected such brutality from The Elf I suppose, but not her. However, given her family background, it should not have been entirely unexpected."
The Emperor hummed softly, thoughtful. "Perhaps. Yet I find myself surprised not by the act itself, but by who suffered it." His gaze lingered on the arena floor, where blood still stained the ground. "That, I think, is what unsettles me most."
In yet another VIP stand, Samwell sat rigid, his thoughts consumed not by the match that had just ended but by the memory of his son lowering himself onto his seat at the head of the table. That simple act, silent yet deliberate, carried with it a declaration louder than any words: that he intended to sit where Samwell sat now. The roar of the crowd, the violence in the arena—none of it had reached him. The last fight might as well have not happened at all.
Matthew, was no less troubled. His mind was also caught on his brother's bold declaration, but unlike his father, he had still forced himself to watch the match. And what he saw left him unsettled. He was no stranger to blood or death—he had witnessed men turned to ash in the blink of an eye, bodies obliterated in a blaze of magic—but that was different. A clean death, swift and final, was one thing. What he had seen now was another entirely: a man cut apart piece by piece, screaming as steel tore into him.
And tomorrow, his brother was expected to face her.
The thought tightened in Matthew's chest. He had watched Even struggle, fight desperately just to keep pace against Xain. And now the one waiting for him was Zeva Blossom, who had reduced a knight in full plate to broken flesh and blood without hesitation. He was afraid. Afraid for his brother's life. *Are you going to be okay?* The thought pressed heavily in his mind, but before it could root deeper, Quincy's voice boomed across the arena.
"Thank you all for coming to the sixth day of the Tournament of Greatness!" the holder of the coliseum cried, her tone carrying that familiar mix of charisma and command. "Now make sure you return tomorrow—you cannot miss it! For tomorrow is the day that decides it all. The day we crown the champion, the one who will truly stand above the rest! Be here to witness the final day of the Tournament of Greatness, and the last match—Zeva Blossom versus Even Mathers!!!"