As Zeva stepped into the fighters' waiting room, the energy shifted immediately.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she was surrounded.
"That was so insane!" Xain said, his voice riding the high of what he'd just seen. His eyes were wide, fixed on her like he was still trying to process the fight.
*Was Bram Blossom like her? Or was he even better?* he asked silently.
In his head, Ercale let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. *Better. Significantly better. You're comparing a dragonfly to a dragon right now.*
Xain visibly gulped at his words.
"How long have you been training?" Gurion asked, his fox ears twitching with genuine interest as his eyes drifted down to the sword still at Zeva's side.
"Since I was six years old," Zeva answered, calm and direct. "I'm thirty-one now. So—twenty-five years."
No one looked particularly surprised—being from a lineage of sword practitioners, it was expected. But the weight of twenty-five years wasn't lost on them. There was a visible, unspoken shift in the room: a quiet surge of respect.
"Twenty-five years…" Mae muttered, arms crossed. "That's a long time to dedicate to something, especially for a human. You don't live very long compared to us."
Zeva shrugged. "It's what our family does. It's what I wanted to do." She paused, eyes flicking to the floor. "Even if…" She caught herself. Shook her head. "Never mind."
"You know what?" Lexy cut in, pointing a thumb at Mae. "I think I would've preferred fighting you today and not her. I would've lost either way, sure—but you would've knocked me out. Not, you know, ripped me in half."
She swung around, narrowing her eyes at Mae. "Which you could've avoided doing, by the way! Could've!"
Mae gave a smirk and didn't bother denying it.
"Let's not forget Edluar," Ulrich said from the corner, arms folded. "As a man who also dual wields… I'll say it—he was better than me. In technique. If I'd tried what he did, I'd have gone down faster." He gave a short, self-aware chuckle. "And that's saying something, considering how fast he lost."
"Speaking of the half-elf, how is he doing?" Even asked, his tone light, but there was a faint crease between his brows. "He got cut up pretty bad."
"The doctors said he'll be fine," Zeva replied. "Concussion, and the cuts I gave him were superficial. Nothing serious."
"I hope he's not dreaming up delusions like I was when I lost," Amos muttered, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin.
Meanwhile, back in the arena, the crowd was still buzzing from the aftermath.
"Well, that was expected," Jefferey muttered from his seat in the middle rows, fishing a few coins from his pouch. With a reluctant sigh, he handed them over. "Here's your coin."
"Thanks," Drift replied with a grin, scooping them up with zero shame. He rolled one between his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "Now the real question—who should we bet on tomorrow?"
Jefferey slouched, rubbing his temples. "I don't think it matters anymore. I'm going to lose either way."
Somewhere else in the middle rows, Wolf laughed to himself. "That was great!" he said under his breath, arms casually crossed as he leaned back in his seat. "Not quite as good as I expected after all these years, but still great." His voice had the tone of a proud grandparent watching a grandchild thrive.
In one of the VIP stands, Samwell leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the arena. "That went exactly how I thought it would," he said flatly. "A no-name swordsman was never going to beat a Blossom in a fair duel."
Sitting beside him, Matthew turned with curious eyes. "Do you think I could beat her father someday?"
Samwell's gaze shifted to his son. He considered the question, then raised a brow. "Not now," he admitted. "But when you're older? You will."
In a different VIP stand, Zara let out a long breath, her arms resting on the railing.
"I wish I had spoken to her last night," she murmured, mostly to herself. "If only I hadn't wasted time talking to that knight…"
Prince Mark glanced over at her, his brow tightening. "Don't blame yourself for that," he said. "I'm the one who told you to talk to Calvinel."
Zara's head snapped toward him, eyes wide with panic. "No, no! It falls entirely on me. On him for rejecting me, not you, Mark. Never you."
Prince Mark let out a deep sigh and turned forward again. *This is a special kind of hell,* he thought bitterly.
In yet another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna leaned forward slightly, fingers stroking his chin.
"Well," he said, his voice rich with intrigue. "That fight certainly was… interesting."
"I told you, my Emperor," Tianteng said with a pleased smile. "You were in for a compelling match today."
She gave a satisfied hum, then added with a glint in her eye, "And I think it's only going to get better from here."
Up above them all, Quincy hovered high in the sky, her voice magically amplified as she addressed the entire coliseum.
"And that's it for today!" she announced, sweeping an arm out wide. "The matches were over so quickly, I didn't even get the chance to change the arena mid-battle!"
She gave a chipper laugh, spinning once midair.
"I hope everyone enjoyed themselves today! Thank you all for attending the third day of—The. Tournament. Of. Greatness! And don't forget to come back tomorrow… for a magical time!"