Mae's sudden announcement drew the attention of the entire room, every eye shifting toward their table.
"Oi! Tensions are already high," Even hissed under his breath, his voice sharp with irritation.
Mae only grinned and gave a careless shrug. "So what?"
"So maybe don't make people take even more of a side?" Even shot back, incredulous.
Mae raised her hands in mock surrender, her tone dripping with false innocence. "Oh, you're right—but sadly I don't have the power to reverse time. So… it's happening~." Her sing-song taunt carried just as people began drifting over.
"You're holding a vote?" Ulrich asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.
"I guess we are now," Roland sighed, shoulders slumping as he let out an awkward breath.
"I suppose," Annabel said, half-crossing her arms as her lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Since it's the final match, we might as well. I think it'll make things more interesting."
"Okay then!" Quincy said suddenly, slamming her palms against the table before springing to her feet. Her voice rang out with theatrical enthusiasm. "Let's do this! Let's vote on who the victor will be—it'll create even more competition!"
She turned first to Even, then to Zeva, who stood toward the back of the crowd. "Of course… only if our competitors are fine with it."
Both fighters exhaled almost in unison.
"Might as well, at this point," Even muttered.
"Sure, go right ahead," Zeva added with a small nod.
"Perfect," Quincy said briskly, clapping her hands together. "Here's how it works: I'll call on each of you, one by one. You'll say who you vote for and your reason. Clear? Alright—let's start." Her eyes swept the group before settling. "Gurion! You're first. Who do you vote for, and why?"
All heads turned as the martial artist shifted his weight, glancing between Zeva and Even before finally answering. "Even. And it's not because I want him to win, or because Zeva went too far. I just don't see how she could stand up to his magic—especially that Mana Blast."
There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
"The same reason I gave," Drack muttered, lifting his cup again.
"Vilak! You're second!" Quincy announced, her gaze landing on the necromancer.
Vilak stiffened, then shuffled forward with an awkward cough. "I vote… Zeva. If she closes the distance, I don't think Even's magic will help him that much." His eyes darted nervously toward Even. "S-sorry."
Even just shrugged, showing no real reaction. More murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Xain! You're third!" Quincy called.
Xain scratched the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable before pointing toward Zeva. "I mean… Even struggled so much against me, and she's in a whole different league compared to me, so…" He trailed off, his reasoning simple but solid. Of course, that wasn't his only reason—Ercale's words and the truth of Zeva's bloodline still weighed heavily on his mind.
"Don't let it get to your head," Even snapped defensively, turning away with a huff. "You put up a fight, but you still lost in the end."
Quincy's eyes flicked to her next target. "Annabel! Fourth! Cast your vote!"
The sorceress didn't hesitate. She simply raised a hand and pointed at Even. "Magic. And he beat me." That was all she said, and all she needed to.
"Callum! You're fifth!" Quincy declared, jabbing a finger toward the werewolf.
Callum scratched the back of his head, looking uneasy under all the eyes now on him. "Oh goddess… uh, I'll go with Even. He did beat me, and if he traps Zeva the way he did me, I don't really see how she gets out of it."
Quincy nodded, then her gaze swept over the crowd again. "Ulrich! You're sixth! Speak up!"
The bandit lord leaned back with a smirk and raised a hand. "As a man who fights with swords, I've got to throw my vote behind the woman with the blade. So… Zeva it is." He gave a playful shrug as if daring anyone to argue.
"Edluar! You're seventh! What say you?" Quincy pressed, her voice growing more theatrical with every call.
The wandering swordsman gave his answer without hesitation. "Zeva. Same reason as Ulrich—swordsmen and women need to stick together."
Quincy spun on her heel. "Lexy! You're eighth! Say your words!"
The assassin tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Zeva. She's more fun than Even."
"Thanks for that," Even muttered flatly, rolling his eyes.
"You're welcome," Lexy replied brightly, utterly unbothered.
"Sir Bryanard! You're ninth! Who shall you vote for?" Quincy called, her voice booming toward the old knight.
Bryanard's eyes flicked between the two fighters before settling firmly. "The Mathers. His versatility with magic would overwhelm Zeva." He delivered it like a verdict, calm and absolute.
"Yeah, we'll see about that tomorrow, won't we?" Zeva shot back, her tone sharp.
Quincy didn't miss a beat. "Amos! You're tenth! Tell us your vote!"
The bounty hunter tipped his hat lazily. "Even. I mean, what's anyone supposed to do against his magic? Especially the blood one?"
Finally, Quincy turned to the last fighter. "Hittag! You're eleventh! Announce your vote!"
The champion sat in silence for a moment, then answered simply. "Zeva." He offered no more than that.
"Alright then," Quincy said, whirling around to face the rest of the room. "Now it's time for the non-fighters. What are your votes?"
Zee blinked, taken off guard. "We… get to vote?"
Quincy nodded firmly. "Of course. Drack, Roland, and I already voted for Even—so yes, all of you get a say too."
"Then I vote Zeva," Zee said without hesitation.
"I'm goin' with Even," Larkin chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
"I don't really want to vote, so I'll abstain," Clara said, hands raised with a polite smile.
"What she said," Elsa agreed with a nod toward Clara.
"Zeva," Nori wrote down quickly, holding up the word on a scrap of paper.
"Alright! Then let's tally up the votes!" Quincy announced, rushing over to the bar. She returned with a pencil and paper, setting them on the table and scribbling furiously as she counted aloud.
"For Even we have… eight votes! And for Zeva… ten votes!" She raised the paper high. "So more people believe she'll take the victory!"
"That was expected," Zeva said smoothly, trying to sound unaffected, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
"Just because you won here doesn't mean you'll win tomorrow," Even countered, his gaze sharp as it met hers.
"You're right," Zeva replied confidently. "This doesn't matter much. What matters is when I beat you tomorrow."
The two locked eyes across the room, their rivalry already burning hot as both stood poised for the clash awaiting them in the finals.