Chapter 29

Everyone in the crowd felt a surge of excitement as the announcement rang out across the coliseum. The energy in the air was electric, anticipation thick enough to taste.

"This year, we have quite the lineup!" Quincy, the coliseum's holder, declared, her voice carrying effortlessly over the roaring spectators. Suspended high above the arena, she hovered effortlessly, white owl wings spread wide. "Not only in the way of fighters—but in the way of spectators as well!"

With a sharp dive, she plummeted toward one of the VIP stands, her white hair whipping behind her like a comet's tail. She came to a graceful halt, wings barely stirring the air as she addressed the regal figure seated before her. "We're so glad you could join us this year, Emperor!"

The Emperor of Aeruna sat composed, unmoved by the theatrics. He offered only a small nod in response.

Tianteng, standing at his side, gave a slight bow and answered in his stead. "We are thankful for the invitation."

Quincy smiled and gave a quick nod before flaring her wings and launching into the air once more, gliding smoothly toward another VIP section.

"I hope you'll enjoy the festivities like last year, Prince Mark," she said, her violet eyes gleaming with mischief.

Mark lazily swept a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. "I doubt I will, on account of who I'm here with this year. But… thank you."

Quincy's gaze shifted to the woman seated beside him. "Oh~ some family drama!" she cooed, but her grin was playful rather than prying. "I won't pry in it, but I do hope you enjoy your time here as well, Princess Zara!"

Zara inclined her head slightly. "I will try."

Satisfied, Quincy spun through the air with a flourish, soaring toward the final VIP stand. "Ah~ Samwell Mathers! The Patriarch of the Family of Magicians! I do hope this year's tournament won't leave you disappointed."

A sharp huff was her only immediate response. Samwell leaned forward slightly, eyes cold and calculating. "I doubt that. But I suppose it hardly matters, considering you'll keep inviting me regardless."

Quincy chuckled, clasping her deathly pale hands together. "Right, right, you're so right!"

Before she could continue, a voice cut through the moment.

"We've been sitting around long enough. Could you introduce the fighters already?"

The demand came from Matthew, his impatience clear. Quincy pressed a thin hand to her lips in an exaggerated gasp.

"Oh! My apologies! I'll get right to it, little Matthew~" she said, voice teasing as she shot higher into the air, coming to a stop at the very center of the arena.

"You've all waited long enough, so let's introduce the warriors who will be fighting this year!" With a sharp snap of her fingers, the barren expanse of the arena began to shift. The ground groaned and rumbled as the very earth itself molded and twisted, forming an elevated platform at the center of the coliseum.

"Earth magic?" Zee muttered, watching the spectacle unfold.

"Looks like it," Larkin replied, eyes narrowing as he studied the platform. "And at a damn high level, too. It ain't just rock—look at the different minerals. That kind of precision takes some serious affinity."

"Here come our fighters!" Quincy's voice rang out again, drawing every eye back to her as she gestured toward one of the arena walls.

With a deep, grinding noise, the massive doors swung open. A flood of competitors spilled into the arena, led by coliseum staff who guided them toward the towering platform at the center.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the fighters stepped onto the platform, the energy of the coliseum surging like a living thing. Voices rang out, calling to friends, family, and favorites among the competitors.

"Look! There's Xain!" Clara exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat as she pointed toward him from the front row.

"I can see him, Clara," Elsa replied dryly, though her gaze remained on him all the same.

That didn't stop Clara from cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting, "Go, Xain!" despite nothing having happened yet.

"I can sense Ercale inside of him," Sarandel murmured, narrowing her eyes as she observed Xain.

"That's some armor he's wearing," X remarked, beside her.

Meanwhile, Xain found himself overwhelmed as he ascended the stairs leading up to the platform. His head swiveled as he took in the sea of people, thousands of eyes bearing down on him. His stomach twisted. *Oh Goddess, this is just as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be!*

*Calm yourself, ape. You'll be fine. Just have some confidence,* Ercale's voice echoed in his head.

*Easy for you to say, you old piece of crap!* Xain shot back, his nerves fraying by the second. He was nowhere near as ready as he had thought.

As the fighters took their places, Quincy's voice rang out again, silencing the murmurs of the audience.

"Time to introduce our fighters!" She hovered above the platform, wings beating the air as she extended a hand toward one of the competitors. "First up, we have the bare-knuckle fighter and martial artist—Gurion Wing!"

The ground beneath the dark-skinned demi-human fox-man suddenly rumbled and lifted, elevating him above the others. Gurion jolted slightly, ears twitching as he found himself hoisted into the spotlight.

"A man hailing from Woodsmen Creek, an unknown village in the middle of nowhere! Just like his home, he himself remains a mystery, with no notable history to his name—yet! Let's all give a cheer for our enigmatic fighter!"

The crowd responded with a wave of applause and cheers, though Gurion himself looked less than pleased as the ground beneath him slowly settled back to its original state.

"A little warning would've been nice," he muttered under his breath, still a bit rattled.

Quincy, of course, had already moved on.

"Next, we have a woman from a family I'm sure many of you have heard of—it's Zeva Blossom!"

The moment her name was called, the platform beneath the swordswoman shifted and lifted her into the air, much like it had for Gurion. Unlike him, however, she remained a bit more composed, blinking as she rose above the arena.

"The eldest daughter of the esteemed Blossom family—a lineage of swordsmen and swordswomen who have dedicated their lives to the way of the blade! Goddess have mercy on whoever faces her, because I doubt she will!"

The coliseum roared once more, the very walls shaking from the sheer force of the cheers.

*You're fucked, ape. You can't win this tournament,* Ercale's voice cut in suddenly.

*Wha—what?!* Xain's thoughts stuttered, thrown off by the bluntness of the statement.

*She's from the same family as Bram Blossom—a member of Winter's party. If she's even one percent of what her however-many-great-grandfather was, she's winning this tournament.*

Xain's breath caught as his eyes snapped toward Zeva, watching as she stood on the raised platform. His fingers curled into his palms.

Meanwhile, Zeva herself frowned slightly as she was lowered back to the ground. "Why did she make me sound merciless?" she muttered under her breath, clearly displeased with Quincy's dramatics.

"Next, we have someone stepping in as a substitute!" Quincy announced, her voice carrying effortlessly over the roaring crowd. "Another fighter was unfortunately injured before the tournament, and this young man—no, this boy—took their place out of the kindness of his heart! I'm talking about Xain!"

The ground beneath Xain trembled before shifting, lifting him high into the air like the others before him. As he rose, he felt his stomach twist even more. *I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack.*

"The youngest competitor in this tournament at only sixteen years old!" Quincy continued, wings flaring as she gestured toward him. "Let's all cheer for him and his kindness!"

The audience responded with another wave of applause and cheers. But for Xain, it felt different. His eyes flicked toward the front row, where he spotted Clara and Elsa. Clara, unsurprisingly, was nearly jumping out of her seat, waving frantically. Elsa, meanwhile, clapped in a far more reserved manner, but she was still showing support in her own way.

His gaze shifted further back, barely managing to pick out Zee, Larkin, and 'Nerissa' among the distant spectators. Zee and Larkin were both cheering, much like Clara, their energy unmistakable even from afar. But 'Nerissa' was doing something different—'she' was signing to him.

"Good luck. I'm cheering for you."

For some reason, seeing that steadied him. The anxiety that had gripped him moments ago loosened its hold. He took a slow, deep breath, then another. The pounding in his chest began to settle as he was lowered back to the ground.

*I know you said I can't win, Erkie,* he thought, determination solidifying within him, *but I made a promise. I'm going to fulfill it—even if I have to fight the descendant of a legend to do so.*

Ercale didn't reply. But there was a shift—a subtle but undeniable feeling of approval.

"Next, we have a warrior! A knight! One who bears no crest and serves under no lord!" Quincy called, her voice once again drawing the crowd's attention. "It's Sir Bryanard Temple, the Warhammer!"

The platform beneath the armored older man rumbled before lifting him into the air. His well-worn full plate armor gleaming a dull gleam under the sun, the weight of his presence alone enough to demand respect.

"A veteran warrior with countless victories to his name! He has fought in more battles than most men twice over! One has to wonder—why enter this tournament when his name is already etched into history?" Quincy spread her arms dramatically. "I suppose one can never have too many victories!"

A chorus of cheers erupted, but this time, the loudest voices came from those who looked like warriors themselves—men and women dressed in armor, mercenaries, knights, and soldiers who recognized the legend before them.

As Bryanard was lowered back down, he muttered, "That woman knows how to rile up a crowd."

But Quincy was already moving on.

"Next, we have yet another knight! One who has recently earned his title but has already won the hearts of many! It's Sir Calvinel Snow, the Victorious!"

As the younger knight's platform rose, he wasted no time in making an impression. With a confident grin, he spread his arms wide, spinning in place as he ascended, basking in the adoration of the crowd. The effect was immediate—cheers erupted, but this time, the most enthusiastic voices came from the ladies in the audience.

"You can see his confidence!" Quincy laughed. "A legend in the making! No doubt he's aiming to win this tournament—to add to his glory and to his ever-growing list of marriage proposals!"

Calvinel let out a chuckle at that, flashing a grin before he was lowered back down. "A real fun girl," he mused, eyes flicking toward Quincy. "I like her."

But Quincy wasn't finished yet. She flapped her wings, hovering higher above the arena, her excitement practically vibrating in the air around her.

"Alright! We've got plenty more fighters to introduce," she said, practically squirming midair as if struggling to contain herself. "And I wanted to save this one for last—but I can't hold it in anymore! So, let's do it now!"

The crowd murmured in confusion. After the introduction of a legendary knight and a legend in the making, who could possibly excite Quincy this much? The uncertainty rippled through the competitors as well.

"Who could she be talking about?" Zeva mused, scanning the platform.

"As if this competition wasn't already stacked," Gurion muttered, arms crossed.

High above, Quincy spread her arms dramatically, her wings fluttering with sheer excitement.

"When I saw his name among the participants, I was shocked—no, stunned! I thought someone was playing a joke on me! Or maybe there was some kind of clerical error!" She let out a breathless laugh. "But no—it was real. He was real. And so, for the first time in the history of the coliseum, a member of the Family of Magicians is competing in the Tournament of Greatness!"

The words hit like a thunderclap.

The audience gasped. Competitors stiffened in shock. Quincy's announcement sent a ripple of disbelief through the arena—everyone stunned except for four individuals, both in the stands and on the platform.

"What!?" Samwell Mathers shot to his feet, his face twisted with outrage. "Who dares without my permission!?" His sharp gaze scoured the arena, eyes burning with fury as he waited to see who would be lifted next.

"Surely this is just someone using our name, right, Father?" Matthew asked, though his own voice was lined with uncertainty as he, too, scanned the platform.

Then, the ground shifted. But unlike the simple stone pillars that had lifted the previous fighters, this one was extravagant, a polished platform inlaid with shimmering gemstones. The moment it began to rise, Samwell's glare deepened.

And then, at the center of it, stood Even Mathers.

"Who is that?" Samwell barked, his voice sharp with disbelief. He didn't recognize the young man at first—but it didn't matter. His fury didn't wane. If anything, it intensified.

Up in the air, Quincy spread her arms again, her voice ringing through the arena. "Let's all give a cheer for this historic moment—for Even Mathers!"

A fresh wave of noise erupted, but Samwell barely heard it. His breath caught. His eyes locked onto the fighter standing on the ornate platform. And in that moment, recognition struck.

"You," Samwell seethed, his face twisting in sheer disbelief.

"Father…?" Matthew hesitated, watching his reaction. "You do know him?"

But Samwell didn't respond. His entire being was fixated on the son he had cast out. The son who had been forbidden from ever bearing the Mathers name again.

Meanwhile, from the stands, a voice cut through the noise.

"Good luck, Even!" Lia called, even though she knew full well he could not hear her.

Dirk leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "I wish I could see the face of Samwell Mathers right now," he muttered to himself, grinning.

Back in the arena, Even took his time. He turned toward the VIP stand, locked eyes with his father… and, slowly, deliberately, mouthed two simple words:

"Fuck you."

And Samwell Mathers exploded.