Quincy soared high above the stadium, casting a proud gaze over the sight below. The stands were once again packed to the brim—roaring crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder, their cheers rising like a tide. Despite the sharp decrease in the number of competitors, the vast majority of spectators had returned. None of the VIPs had left either. Not that they ever would.
"Tch. Today's matches are going to be utterly worthless," muttered Samwell Mathers from his box seat, clicking his tongue as he leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand.
"But four legends are fighting today," replied Matthew beside him, more eager than his father. "We might still see something interesting, right?"
Samwell didn't answer. He scoffed and continued to stare coldly at the arena, eyes narrow with disinterest.
In another VIP stand, Prince Mark sat with one leg crossed over the other, one arm slung lazily over the side of his seat. "This should be one of the more interesting sets of matches," he mused aloud.
"Do you plan on trying to recruit any of them?" asked Zara, standing behind him with her arms crossed neatly behind her back.
Mark hummed thoughtfully. "Possibly." His eyes drifted from the arena to her, watching her for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe something will come out of you being here," he added under his breath, just low enough that she couldn't quite catch the words.
In another VIP podium, the Emperor of Aeruna leaned back in his cushioned seat, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "You know more about these people than I do, Tianteng," he said calmly. "Am I going to get a better show than yesterday?"
Beside him, Tianteng gave a faint, thin-lipped smile. "I am almost certain you will, my Emperor." She turned her gaze down toward the arena. "Everyone fighting today holds some degree of fame across Aetheria. These matches are among the most anticipated of the entire tournament."
High above it all, Quincy flared her wings wide, the sunlight outlining her silhouette. "I hope all of you are ready!" she shouted, voice amplified through the coliseum. "Because today we have some of the most thrilling matches of this year's Tournament of Greatness! Four legends! Two knights! A bounty hunter! And a reigning champion of multiple other tournaments!"
The crowd exploded in excitement, their cheers rolling over the stone like thunder.
Far below, buried in the ocean of spectators, two familiar men jostled through the mass. "Hey, where do you think that woman who interrogated us last night is?" one of them asked, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.
"Wherever she is, I'm just glad she's away from us," the other muttered, still bitter. "We had to switch inns just to get away from her."
Unbeknownst to them, Amara was much closer than they'd probably like.
High along the pale inner walls of the coliseum, two figures sat motionless, nearly invisible against the sun-bleached stone. Amara crouched with a scowl, her arms crossed tightly as her patience frayed. "Does it always take this long just to get the fights started?" she muttered under her breath, irritation bubbling behind each word.
Next to her, nearly indistinguishable from the paint itself, Crow lay flat against the stone, wrapped in a white cloak worn from his assassin days. The bone-white of his rifle's barrel barely peeked over the ledge as he peered down the scope. "Yes, it does," he answered coolly. "Anticipation builds excitement. She's going to drag it out."
He shifted the scope slightly, scanning the crowd and muttering, "Fuck, where the hell are any of them?"
Not knowing that two of their targets—Larkin and Zee—sat directly below their perch, hidden by angle and distance. Amara, meanwhile, tapped a finger against her jaw in thought, eyes flicking toward the line of VIP boxes. "Royals… and the mage family." Her tone turned distant, calculating. *I should ask Mistress before trying anything. But sowing a little chaos here... it would help definitely further our goals.*
Out in the air above the arena, Quincy flapped once, hovering smoothly over the battleground below. She grinned wide at the buzzing energy in the coliseum. "Alright everyone~!" she called, her voice booming throughout the coliseum. "I'm sure you're all dying for today's matches to get started—and don't worry, as we are~!"
She swooped down, her flight graceful and effortless, then came to a hover above the arena floor. "Starting now~!"
The crowd grew louder as Quincy spread her arms toward the walls on either side of the arena and motioned upward as the walls lifted.
"On one side, we have the veteran knight and warrior who bears no crest and serves under no one—he's fought in countless battles and earned his legend through strength alone! It's Sir Bryanard Temple, the Warhammer!"
From the west wall, Bryanard marched forward with heavy, measured steps. His well-worn full plate armor gleamed dully beneath the sunlight, every dent and scratch a badge of victories. His war hammer rested against one shoulder, its massive head swaying with each step. He said nothing, only narrowing his eyes in steady readiness—a warrior through and through.
"And on the other side!" Quincy continued. "We have a man who's hunted down bandits, cutthroats, killers, and the like! A bounty hunter with luck in one hand and death in the other—it's Amos Sears, the Gambler!"
From the east wall, Amos stepped out with a loose swagger, the tails of his long, weathered duster coat dragging in the breeze. His wide-brimmed hat was tipped just enough to shadow his gaze, though his hands hovered inches from the gleaming grips of his steam-revolvers. A bead of sweat slipped down his cheek as he eyed his opponent across the arena.
"Let's hope I lose gracefully," he muttered to himself with a grin.
Quincy clapped her hands once, sharply. The ground began to shift.
The arena floor rumbled as the sand was drawn downward and replaced with rising stone. Massive slabs of natural rock pushed upward and locked into place, forming clean-cut walls, sharp corners, and smooth battlements. Towers rose at regular intervals with open-top platforms, while wide stone steps and bridges connected each level. The central yard remained open and level—perfect for close combat—while upper walkways offered clear vantage points. The structure was solid and imposing, a full fortress built from earth and mineral, yet designed so that every stand in the coliseum still had a clear view of the action through carefully positioned openings and tiered elevations.
Quincy lifted one arm high above her head, holding it still for a heartbeat as the dust settled.
"Who will win? The veteran knight or the gambling bounty hunter?"
Then, with a sharp downward slash of her hand—
"BEGIN!"