Chapter 30

Several things happened at once.

The instant Even mouthed those two words, Samwell Mathers' face twisted with pure rage. His right hand shot up, fire surging into existence at his fingertips. With a furious snarl, he reeled back and hurled a fireball straight at his son.

Even reacted immediately, slamming a foot down on the gemstone platform. The minerals beneath him shifted, rising to form a barrier just in time. The fireball collided, exploding against the wall with enough force to send cracks spiderwebbing through the surface.

Before the dust even settled, Matthew moved. Seeing his father attack, he leapt straight from the VIP stand, landing in the arena below. His hands shot up, crackling with electricity before he loosed a bolt of lightning toward Even.

Quincy, still hovering midair, snapped out of her stunned silence. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she conjured a thick wall of iron ore, intercepting the strike. The lightning scattered across the metal in a blinding arc, sparks showering the platform.

Even gritted his teeth as the remnants of the fireball shattered his barrier, sending chunks of mineral flying. He let out a sharp grunt. *If this platform had been normal rock instead of mixed minerals, I'd be near dead right now.*

There was no time to breathe. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed his rifle, and fired.

The bullet streaked through the air, but Samwell barely reacted. His skin glowed faintly for an instant as the shot bounced off harmlessly. Even's eyes widened. *Fourth-stage enhancement magic? He's fortified his entire body!*

Then Samwell moved.

In a single, explosive burst of speed, the old magician launched himself off the VIP stand, covering the distance in an instant.

The audience erupted into chaos. Some gasped in horror. Others cheered wildly, thinking this was some kind of staged spectacle. The competitors were just as divided—some backing away, others gripping their weapons, unsure if they were about to be dragged into a full-scale battle.

Samwell slammed into Even, tackling him clean off the platform.

"How dare you!?" he roared, his voice thick with fury.

The air cracked as they hit the ground, Samwell landing atop his son.

"How dare you use that name!?"

Even let out a strained wheeze as his father's hands clamped around his throat. He gritted his teeth, trying to shove the older man off, but it was impossible. The strength difference was staggering. Samwell's grip tightened, cutting off his air. He tried to focus, to summon his magic—but he couldn't. His mind was too clouded, his body too panicked. Samwell knew that. That's why he was choking him.

Below them, Matthew, having had his attack blocked, wasted no time. He gathered wind magic beneath his feet and sped up the stairs, dashing up to the central platform to aid his father.

"All of you, STOP THIS AT ONCE!" Quincy's voice boomed over the arena.

The sheer authority in her tone cut through the noise like a blade. And just like that, the illusion shattered—everyone finally realized this was not part of the show.

Samwell, undeterred, snarled down at his son. "This is what you get for—"

But before he could finish either his sentence or his son, a blur of motion slammed into his temple.

CRACK.

Samwell was ripped sideways, sent sprawling to the ground by a brutal flying knee. The sheer force of the impact knocked him loose from Even, though not from pain—just sheer momentum.

Xain landed heavily beside Even, staggering slightly before straightening. "Thank goddess I'm wearing this armor," he muttered, flexing his leg, "or my knee would be shattered."

Even coughed violently, rubbing his throat as soft blue light flickered over his skin, healing the damage.

"Are you okay!?" Xain asked, his voice tense, eyes scanning Even with clear concern.

Even swallowed, testing his voice before giving a short nod. "I'll live." His eyes flicked toward his father, and his expression darkened.

Samwell pushed himself up with a furious snarl, his gaze burning as it locked onto Xain.

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" Spit flew from his mouth as he bellowed, pure rage rolling off him in waves. "Do not interfere, you BARBARIAN!"

"Father! Are you okay?" Matthew called out, his sharp eyes darting over Samwell's dust-covered clothes.

Samwell turned to his younger son, his expression dark and unreadable. "Matthew, kill this filth right here!" He jabbed a finger at Xain, his voice carrying no hesitation, no concern—just a command.

Xain's eyes widened. His mind barely had time to process what he'd just heard. *Did he seriously just order his kid to kill me?* Matthew was barely nine, yet there was not a moment of hesitation in his movements.

Without a word, Matthew flicked his hand outward, conjuring a blade of wind. The slicing arc hurtled toward Xain with frightening speed.

"Woah!" Xain barely had time to react, raising his arms in defense. The cutting wind slammed against his forearms, sending him skidding backward across the arena floor, but doing nothing beyond that. The angelic armor absorbed the attack entirely.

Matthew's brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. "No damage?" he muttered, eyes narrowing in shock.

Before Xain could respond, Even's voice rang out, raw with fury. "You named him Matthew!?" He whipped his head toward his father, eyes blazing. "You irredeemable piece of shit! Just when I thought you couldn't get worse!"

His hand shot up, yellow mana surging to his palm as he prepared to fire his hereditary ability—Mana Blast.

"Stop!"

Quincy dropped between them, her boots striking the stone with a sharp impact. Her wings flared slightly as she straightened, her gaze burning with authority.

"What are you all doing?" she demanded, sweeping her glare across them. "This may be an arena, but it isn't a place you can just brawl to your hearts' content!"

"He attacked me!" Even snapped, jabbing a finger toward his father.

Quincy turned sharply, fixing Samwell with a look that was anything but amused. "Mr. Mathers, you may be an honored guest, but you cannot do whatever you want. There are limits."

Samwell scoffed. "This is a family matter, and I will deal with it how I please, when I please." He stepped forward, towering over Quincy, his presence oppressive.

Then, a voice cut through the air—cold, regal, and filled with disdain.

"How uncivilized."

All eyes snapped upward.

The Emperor of Aeruna had risen from his seat in the VIP stand, staring down at them with a gaze that might as well have been watching insects crawl over a feast.

"It's a wonder you people accomplish anything at all," he continued, his voice smooth and unimpressed. "Animals behave better than this."

A sharp crack of electricity flared in Samwell's hand as his fingers curled into a fist, his rage spiking so suddenly it was as if he was ready to attack the Emperor himself.

"You dare speak—"

"He's not the only one, Mathers," Prince Mark cut in coolly.

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin against his knuckles, his eyes cold. "This is supposed to be an event that brings the people of Aetheria together. You're ruining it with your familial spat, Mathers."

Samwell's teeth clenched, but before he could snap back—

"Is this how the Patriarch of the Family of Magicians acts?" Zeva Blossom spoke up, stepping forward with her arms crossed. Her narrowed eyes locked on Samwell with open disdain. "If so, it's deplorable that our house shares the same standing as yours."

"You—" Samwell's lips twisted into a snarl.

"And I agree," another voice chimed in, far more casual.

Calvinel Snow strolled up beside him, placing a hand on Samwell's shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Mathers. You can deal with this family drama after the tournament. Besides, you'll get to see your son? If I got that right, get beaten down too, won't you?" He smirked slightly.

Samwell's glare darkened. With a sharp jerk, he knocked Calvinel's hand off his shoulder.

"We'll settle this later," he growled, pointing a finger at Even. His gaze lingered, the silent promise behind his words as clear as steel.

Then, he turned to Matthew. "Let's get back up, boy."

Before leaping back up to his VIP stand, Samwell turned to Quincy. "Get on with the tournament. We've wasted enough time on introductions." Without waiting for a response, he jumped, Matthew following closely behind. Quincy exhaled sharply, watching them settle back into their seats.

She rolled her eyes, rubbing her temple before clapping her hands together. The arena beneath them rumbled, the gemstone platform, and the platform the competitors were standing on in the middle of the arena dissolving, resetting the battlefield to its normal state. Then, she lifted off the ground, wings beating as she ascended.

"Everyone!" she called out, her voice carrying across the coliseum. "That was not planned, and I apologize for the panic we caused! So to make it up to you, we'll be starting the Tournament of Greatness immediately!"

The crowd hesitated—then erupted into cheers. Not as loud, not as wild as before, but still, the energy in the arena was rekindled.

Back on the ground, Even stood rigid, his fists clenched, his gaze locked on his father. Samwell turned slightly, meeting his son's glare.

Neither spoke. Neither moved.

But both of them made the same silent vow.

*I'll definitely kill you.*