The magical panels shimmered again above the roaring arena, and the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Quarterfinal Match 3: Zephyr Albrecht vs. Morgan Benedict
A wave of whispers swept through the stands.
"IT'S STARTING!"
"The Wind Phantom of the Albrechts… against the Sword Saint's disciple!"
"Dude, blink—and the floor might be gone. Just like that."
In the betting corner, a burly man stood on his seat, shouting above the noise.
"I'm tellin' you! Zephyr's got this! Tier Two in two elements, you hear me?! Wind AND water! Put my 15 gold on him!"
Another snapped back, waving a wooden betting slip.
"And Morgan's the dark horse, you fool! He doesn't need spells—he is a spell! 20 gold on Morgan for me!"
Albert's hands blurred as he dealt with coins, scrolls, and frantic gamblers. The whole corner buzzed like a live wire.
Even in the noble balcony, the atmosphere shifted.
Logan leaned forward, heart racing.
