Chapter 31

"What? Are you all sure!?" Quincy asked, panic creeping into her voice.

She stood inside the waiting room where the competitors had gathered before the tournament began. At the request of many, they had reconvened here, but now Quincy found herself staring at a group that was far smaller than before. More than half of the fighters—no, former fighters—stood before her, their expressions ranging from uneasy to resolute. Worry flashed in her violet eyes as she scanned the room.

"Yes, we're sure," a grizzled mercenary stated firmly, his arms crossed over his chest. Scars lined his weathered face, but his expression held no hesitation. "There's no way I'm stepping into that arena after what just happened—and most of the others feel the same."

"The Mathers clearly don't approve of this tournament continuing," added a woman clad in soldier's gear, her voice sharp and pragmatic. She rested a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Fighting in it now? That's just asking to lose favor with them. Most of us can't afford that risk."

"But—but I can't run the Tournament of Greatness with this few people!" Quincy exclaimed, her wings twitching in agitation. She threw out her arm toward those who had chosen to stay: Xain, Mae, Gurion, Zeva, Bryanard, Calvinel, Even, and nine others. That was it.

"Sorry, but this just isn't worth it anymore," muttered a broad-shouldered prizefighter, shaking his head. "Hell, we'd have to fight a Mathers, too. We don't stand a chance. We're out."

Quincy opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word out, the fighters turned their backs to her and began marching toward the exit in droves.

"Wait! Please don't!" she called, her wings flaring as she took a desperate step forward. But not a single one of them hesitated. One by one, they disappeared through the door until, in mere moments, the number of competitors had been reduced from sixty-four to just sixteen.

Quincy's shoulders slumped. She stared down at the floor, her hands tightening at her sides, her mind scrambling for a way to fix this.

"Tch. Let those cowards leave." Mae's voice broke the silence. She tilted her head back, arms crossed, her smirk radiating arrogance. "The best one is still here, after all."

Quincy didn't respond. If anything, she seemed to deflate further.

"I… don't know if I would've put it like that," Calvinel cut in, stepping forward with an easy, charming smile. "But don't be sad, miss. We can still put on a show worthy of the Tournament of Greatness."

Quincy buried her face in her hands, letting out a silent, muffled scream before dragging them down her face. With an exasperated huff, she whipped her white hair back, turning sharply to the remaining competitors.

"Okay—alright—okay," she blurted out, clearly trying to keep herself together. "This is going to seem really desperate, and that's because it is desperate. But do any of you have ideas on what to do? Because I don't! How the hell am I supposed to run the Tournament of Greatness with just sixteen people!?"

Her violet eyes darted over the remaining fighters, wide with panic.

"Wait, we have to give you ideas?" Gurion asked, pointing at himself, his brow furrowed.

Quincy turned on him instantly. "Trust me, I know how pathetic this is. The host asking the competitors for ideas on how to run her tournament? Yeah. I didn't want to do this. But I don't exactly have a choice!"

Gurion raised his hands in surrender, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "Calm down," he urged, shifting back slightly under her intense gaze.

"Could we hold other events? Not just fighting?" Zeva suggested, lifting a hand as if she were a student in a classroom. "That could help fill the gaps."

Quincy pressed a hand to her chin, considering it. "That would work for other events like this, but for the Tournament of Greatness... no, I don't think that would work. Not with the kind of people attending," she admitted, shaking her head.

A man with shaggy black hair and a beard raised his hand lazily. "Hey, are we still getting paid for winning the tournament or what?"

Quincy blinked at him, caught off guard. "Of course you are. Why would that change?"

The man scratched his head, unimpressed. "Well, considering the incompetence of the coliseum's owner, I had a few doubts."

Quincy visibly winced.

"You don't have to be rude to her," Gurion snapped, glaring at the man.

"I'm just calling it like I see it," the competitor shrugged, unbothered.

"Well, stop doing that. It's not helping," Bryanard interjected, stepping forward with a quiet authority that made the man instinctively take a step back.

*His voice… it's kind of familiar.* Xain's brow furrowed as he rubbed the back of his head staring at the man with shaggy hair. *Where have I heard it before?*

"I have an idea," Even spoke up, drawing everyone's attention. He turned to Quincy. "Why don't you use that high earth affinity of yours to reshape the arena?"

Quincy blinked. "I always reshape the battlefield before every match. That's nothing new."

Even shook his head. "No, I mean during the fights. Every minute or two, the arena shifts, forcing us to adapt. That'd make things more interesting."

Quincy's eyes lit up. "That… is a really good idea! That would keep things exciting even with fewer competitors!" She drove her fist into her palm. "Thank you for the suggestion, Even Mathers."

Even flinched slightly. It had been a long time since someone other than Lia or Kirk had spoken to him using that name. "Uh… thanks," he muttered.

"But that still leaves the issue of how many matches we'll need to stretch this over a whole week," Quincy pointed out.

Xain, who had been listening intently, quickly ran the numbers in his head. After a moment, he raised his hand. "I have an idea on how to handle that."

As he explained, Quincy and the others nodded along, their skepticism fading.

"That's perfect!" Quincy beamed. "It'll be a little weird for the audience since we usually have more fights, but with this number of competitors, it's the best option. Thank you!"

She stepped up and grasped Xain's hand in a firm shake. As she did, Xain's sharp eyes caught something—fangs. Barely visible when she spoke, but unmistakable. They weren't just similar to a vampire's. They were exactly like a vampire's.

But before he could say anything, Quincy turned to the rest of the group, her posture straightening with renewed energy.

"Alright! Now that that's sorted—thanks to you guys—are you all ready?"

Around the room, competitors nodded. Some adjusted their grips on their weapons. Others took deep, steadying breaths. A few murmured quiet prayers.

Quincy clasped her hands together.

"Then let's start the Tournament of Greatness!"