The crowd was still buzzing from the aftermath of the magical duel, their voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of excitement and disbelief. Everywhere, people gestured animatedly, recounting moments from the fight with wide eyes and louder-than-necessary enthusiasm.
"Time to pay up, Jefferey," Drift said, wearing a smug grin that radiated satisfaction. His tone carried mock pity, but it was clear he was enjoying this far too much.
"I hate my life," Jefferey muttered, expression deadpan as he reluctantly handed over a handful of coins. Drift snatched them up with no hesitation, counting them in plain view before tucking them away with a flourish.
"So," Drift continued, unfazed by his friend's misery, "who do you think's taking the next one?"
Jefferey sighed long and loud. "Doesn't matter. Whoever I say loses, whoever you say wins. So… Callum Duncan, I guess."
Drift's grin widened. "Vilak Sanguis just sounds more interesting—and dangerous. But sure, put your faith in Callum. I'll stick with the ominous one." He shrugged playfully, resting his arms behind his head.
Elsewhere in the stands, Amara stood silently as the arena slowly reverted to its natural form as Quincy used her magic. The ruined landscape was reshaping—stone receding, ice melting, and cracked earth smoothing back to sand.
"Annabel lost," she murmured, still watching with a faint frown. "Honestly… a surprise." She tilted her head slightly. "But who would've thought the unknown Mathers would be able to use blood magic?"
Somewhere else in the stands, Lia was practically vibrating in place.
"I'm going to celebrate so hard tonight," she declared to herself, then turned to Dirk beside her with a commanding look. "You and Even are joining. You don't get a choice. Oldest and raised-you privileges."
Dirk raised his hands in mock surrender. "You won't hear any complaints from me," he said with a small smile. "Even deserves it. After that victory…"
Lia's energy softened into something more heartfelt. "He really does."
In one of the VIP stands, Zara leaned slightly toward her brother.
"Well? What did you think of that fight, Mark?"
Prince Mark took a moment before answering, his gaze still fixed on the arena below. "It was a spectacle," he said finally. "One I don't think anyone will match—unless there's another magic user of that caliber hidden among the rest."
"I agree," Zara said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Though I do wonder how the Mathers are taking this… after trying to kill the very son who just proved himself like that."
In another VIP stand, Samwell Mathers sat unmoving, his jaw tight, knuckles white as he gripped the armrest. His expression was torn—rage simmered behind his eyes, a fury not for Even himself, but at the implications. That the one he deemed worthless, the stain of their name, had won. And not just won, but with their family's hereditary ability.
And yet… beneath that anger, a sliver of twisted pride festered. Not pride in Even—but in the bloodline. That even at its weakest… it was still strong enough to conquer.
Matthew, however, was quiet for an entirely different reason. Eyes fixed on his brother down below, being carried away by the medics, thoughts churned behind his calm exterior. His father wouldn't approve of the thoughts growing in his mind—but they were there all the same.
He wanted to know him.
The older brother he'd never been allowed to know about.
Across the coliseum, in yet another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna leaned back in his seat, folding his hands.
"That match," he said, voice rich and resonant, "was by far the most impressive I've witnessed so far. Even compared to the one between The Victorious and The Champion."
"Then let us hope the next can rise to the occasion," replied Tianteng, her tone level, lips curled into a thin, cryptic smile. "I am familiar with one of the fighters… and I believe he'll bring with him a rather interesting method of combat."
Back in the arena, the echo of celebration had just begun to fade when Quincy landed gracefully in the center, her wings giving a final flap before she hovered above the arena floor. With a wide sweep of her arms and a grin that promised more spectacle, she called out to the crowd.
"Alright, everyone! Let's not waste any time and get right into the second match of the day!"
She flicked her fingers toward the east and west walls, and with a deep groan, the massive stone walls began to slide open.
"On one side!" Quincy's voice rang out clear. "We have someone who may strike fear into the hearts of many watching today—a man who's walked this earth for over a hundred years and yet doesn't look a day over twenty-five!"
There was a sudden, sharp pause. A few murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Quincy's grin widened. "It's my fellow undead… Vilak Sanguis—the Necromancer!"
From the west wall, Vilak emerged slowly, his movements sluggish, almost reluctant. He leaned heavily on his twisted oak staff, the black gemstone at its head dull and opaque as it drank in the arena's light.
The moment he stepped into view, the audience quieted. Conversations halted. Cheers caught in throats. A hush settled over the arena like a shroud. It wasn't fear—yet—but something close. Fascination. Dread. Curiosity.
Then the murmuring returned, more intense now, as the reality sank in. A real necromancer. They would get to watch a real necromancer fight!
In the VIP stands, eyes sharpened. All of them now watching Vilak with a keen, sharpened gaze.
"Hah… all this attention's making me feel queasy," Vilak muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple and sighing.
Quincy continued on.
"And on the other side…" she said, her voice taking on a slightly more neutral tone. "We have… Callum Duncan."
There was a brief, awkward pause.
"He's… a soldier. Part of Arcadicia's local military. Callum Duncan, everyone!"
From the east wall, Callum stepped out, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere else. Dressed in his plain military gear, he scanned the crowd with visible discomfort. His face twitched slightly as he heard the lackluster response to his entrance. Aside from a few nods from fellow soldiers in the stands, most of the audience still had their eyes fixed squarely on Vilak.
"Yeah… that's about what I expected," he muttered to himself, adjusting his grip on his weapons.
Then, Quincy clapped her hands.
The arena shifted again.
The bright, open battlefield was swallowed by shadow. Gnarled trees erupted from the arena floor, reaching crooked limbs into the sky. Thick mist clung to the forest floor, weaving between tombstone-shaped rocks and twisted roots. Everything turned gray, muted, lifeless—like the land itself had been drained of color and breath.
A forest of the dead.
The perfect domain for a necromancer.
Quincy, now hovering high above, raised her arm once more—then brought it down like a guillotine.
"BEGIN!"