In the fighters' waiting room, "That...was unexpected," Hittag muttered, arms crossed as he watched tournament staff carry Calvinel off toward the Healing Springs, while Bryanard—clutching his head—was escorted to the med bay, both men clearly having taken heavy damage.
"The fact that he opened his Soul Chamber," Annabel said, rubbing her chin, "I never thought someone would actually use that in the tournament."
"There aren't any rules against it," Even pointed out with a shrug. "So if you've got it, why not use it?"
"I just wonder what happened in there that made Sir Bryanard give up," Vilak said, brows furrowed. Once a Soul Chamber was opened, a veil concealed everything within—blocking sight, sound, smell, even magical perception.
"I'm more worried about how anyone's supposed to beat him now that we know he has one," Amos said, jabbing a thumb at the massive Hittag beside him. "And why didn't he use it against him?"
"Maybe he just awakened it?" Lexy offered, holding a finger up. "That's possible, right?"
"So...what is a Soul Chamber exactly?" Xain asked, clearly out of the loop.
*I haven't explained that yet?* Ercale asked in his head.
*If you have, it was vague,* Xain replied.
"Well," Ulrich began, motioning vaguely toward his chest, "imagine a chamber inside your soul...and then you pull it out."
That didn't help at all.
"It's complicated," Edluar cut in, adjusting his hat, "and it'll take a bit to explain properly. Let's talk about it back at the inn."
He glanced to the three magic users—Even, Vilak, and Annabel. They all nodded in agreement. They would have the least challenging time explaining it.
"By the way," Callum piped up, looking around, "Gurion and Zeva went to get ready real fast, huh?"
In the stands, "NOOOO! My winning streak!" Jefferey howled, collapsing dramatically on his seat in devastation.
Drift rolled his eyes and reached into his friend's pockets. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gimme my coins."
Jefferey stared up at the sky, pleading silently with the goddess herself, as Drift coolly counted his winnings.
"Anyway," Drift added, grinning, "I'm betting on Zeva Blossom for the next round."
Jefferey slowly turned to him, eyes wide with betrayal. "You! Is coin more valuable than our friendship!?"
Drift just laughed.
Elsewhere in the stands, "Here it comes! Here it comes! Zeva's fight is next!" Wolf practically vibrated with energy, bouncing in his seat. "I can't wait! Makes me wanna jump down and fight myself! But that'd be so unfair to these kiddos!"
Several people sitting nearby shifted uncomfortably, glancing at him with concern before inching away—even in the packed crowd.
In a VIP stand, "That knight actually opened his Soul Chamber, huh?" Samwell mused aloud, stroking his chin. "That's impressive."
The rare praise snapped Matthew out of his haze. He hadn't paid much attention until Calvinel activated his Soul Chamber—but now, hearing his father actually compliment someone, his focus locked in like a hammer striking steel.
In another VIP stand, "I never expected a Soul Chamber to be used in a the tournament," the Emperor of Aeruna remarked. "In fact, this may be my first time witnessing one."
"Most people go without ever witnessing one, my Emperor," Tianteng replied smoothly, fingers tapping lightly on the railing. "It is something that requires quite a bit of skill to use. A knight his age managing it is no small feat."
In yet another VIP stand, "Damn that little shitbag!" Zara snapped, slamming her fist down on the railing. "How the hell did he win!?"
"Calm yourself, Zara. You're not acting very noble-like," Prince Mark said coolly, casting a sideways glance at her.
Zara's eyes widened in panic. "S-Sorry, Mark! I lost control of myself—please don't be mad. It won't happen again, I swear."
Prince Mark stared at her in silence, hiding his disbelief behind a blank expression. "Don't worry. It's fine," he said flatly.
Zara sighed with relief and leaned against him affectionately, smiling. Mark didn't smile back. Instead, he stared forward, silently calculating the odds of surviving a jump off the balcony to escape his increasingly incestuous sister.
Then, above the arena.
"Alright everyone!" Quincy called out, wings fluttering, her voice magically amplified across the arena. "That was an amazing match with a very unexpected climax! But now—it's time for one I know a lot of you have been waiting for!"
She swooped down, slowing just above the ground. With a dramatic gesture, she flung her arms toward the arena's east and west walls. Stone grinding against stone as both walls slowly began to open up.
"On one side!" Quincy called. "The unexpected victor of the tournament's first round! The enigmatic demi-human who bested The Bandit Lord! Gurion Wing—The Martial Artist!"
From the east wall, Gurion stepped into the light. His chest tightened, heartbeat quick and heavy. He clenched his fists. "You don't stand much of a chance, but you still have to fight," he told himself. "You have to win, for the sake of the village. Don't let Ulrich and Edluar's training go to waste."
"And on the other side!" Quincy spun, pointing west. "Someone who needs little introduction! A swordswoman from a legendary bloodline! Who bested The Wandering Swordsman without breaking a sweat! Zeva Blossom—The Blade!"
From the west wall, Zeva emerged with calm, measured steps, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. She exhaled slowly.
"Let's see how you do... Gurion."
Quincy clapped her hands sharply. The arena shuddered beneath them—stone shifting, breaking, reshaping. The previous terrain sank away as the battleground morphed into something new: a rooftop-less dojo, square and spacious, with hardwood flooring, paper-screened walls, and open sliding doors that led to quiet gardens beyond. Weapon racks lined the walls, each one neatly arranged with wooden weapons: bo staves, bokken, spears, naginata, tonfa—even a few wooden shields. Tall, crimson columns supported the corners, and the scent of old lacquer and dust hung faintly in the air.
Quincy raised one hand high above her head.
"Alright!"
With a sharp sweep downward—
"BEGIN!"