Chapter 49: A DRAW?

The dust still hung in the air like a veil of silence. The stadium remained frozen. Two silhouettes knelt in the cracked arena—bleeding, breathing with difficulty, but both unyielding.

Morgan Benedict.

Zephyr Albrecht.

Both warriors had given everything. And both had fallen.

The referee stood stiffly, mouth open but voiceless. His hand trembled as he looked between the two, then toward the panel of judges hovering on the upper dais.

“Quarterfinal Match Three…” he began, then faltered. “…ends in a—”

He looked up, seeking direction. But none came.

Because even the judges were confused.

In the judge’s box, murmurs turned into sharp whispers. Some exchanged scrolls. Others argued quietly behind gloved hands.

“A draw? That’s impossible—this is a single elimination tournament.”

“We can’t eliminate both. That would be madness.”

“And letting both advance? That’s never been done.”

The air grew tense.

Until a voice—deep and sharp—cut through the silence like a blade.

“Enough.”

All eyes turned toward a man who had remained silent until now.

Clad in fine royal blue robes embroidered with storm sigils, Alek Albrecht, Lord of House Albrecht, rose from his seat.

“There is no need for this indecision. The answer is simple. Zephyr should be declared the winner.”

The noble stands rumbled with new energy.

“He is an Albrecht!”

“He fought with more finesse!”

“Look at Morgan—he’s barely conscious!”

“Zephyr is of noble blood. Should that not count for something?”

A wave of agreement surged through the elite balcony.

But from the commoners’ section, the reaction was immediate—and furious.

“Nonsense! Morgan stood toe-to-toe with him!”

“He blocked spells with sword and instinct! He isn’t nobility, but he damn well fought like one!”

“You want to disqualify him just because of his family name?!”

Voices shouted across tiers. The stadium buzzed with division. Even the arena floor echoed with tension.

Logan, still seated in the noble balcony, watched silently as the storm of opinions grew louder.

Lilith tilted her head slightly.

“Ah… there it is,” she muttered. “The good old noble privilege argument. But why don’t they just advance them both? They’re going to fight me anyway. That way it’ll be less boring.”

Noah’s brows furrowed.

“Tch… this daughter of mine… What should I do with her? When will her arrogant attitude change?”

“Ssshh, Lilith. Don’t say such things,” Emily said, embarrassed. Though Lilith was a prodigy, those presumptuous words could provoke anyone.

The Smith family members were all amused. Even Mirena couldn’t help but chuckle.

After Darius’s loss, it was the first time anyone had seen her teeth.

On the other side, Prince Rowan remained quiet, arms crossed.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he said coldly. “They both earned the right to advance.”

The referee looked to the head judge, a robed elder with silver-lined sleeves and deep scars across his brow.

“We need order!” the head judge finally barked. “We are not here to weigh bloodlines. We are here to judge merit.”

The crowd silenced for a beat.

His voice lowered—firm, deliberate.

“Both contestants reached their limits. Both remain standing. Both showed unmatched skill. In light of this—and with agreement from the board—a proposal is put forth.”

He raised a hand.

“Both Zephyr Albrecht and Morgan Benedict shall advance to the semifinals.”

Gasps rang out.

“However,” he continued, “to preserve the structure of the tournament, they shall not be placed in separate brackets.”

He paused—then dropped the final decision.

“Instead, they will face Lilith Starwind… together. In a three-way semifinal battle.”

The stadium exploded with noise.

“A battle royale?!”

“Lilith against both of them?!”

“Nope, stupid. It’s all of them against each other.”

The man who said it paused mid-sentence, then blinked.

“…Wait. What did I just say?”

“Damn! Nothing can surprise me anymore. First that Lilith kid—awakens four affinities before 14, already Tier 2. Then that Smith kid. Weird in the same way. Then there was Lira Wynn—only a Tier 2 mage but pulling off high-class spells. And now this. A mini battle royale. This year’s tournament is weird in every possible way.”

In the noble tier, Alek Albrecht’s face twitched. He opened his mouth to protest—

“This is unacceptable—!”

But the head judge raised a palm.

“The decision is final, Lord Alek. You may submit a formal protest after the tournament ends. But for now… the crowd has waited long enough.”

Alek seethed but remained silent. His fists clenched tight, knuckles pale.

“Tch…”

Lilith sat back in her seat, legs crossed, and slowly exhaled.

“Zephyr and Morgan,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Two toys at once. I’ll try not to break them too quickly.”

That’s what she wanted.

And now it was real.

A wicked grin flashed across her face—sharp, unsettling, almost possessed.

Noah could already guess what his daughter was thinking. She was almost like Zephyr’s younger, female version. But there was a key difference.

Zephyr was in control of his emotions.

Lilith wasn’t.

There’s a thin line between passion and madness.

Unfortunately, Lilith had crossed it.

Noah needed someone—badly—who could pull her back.

The magical panels flared again overhead, shifting once more.

Quarterfinal Match 4: Logan Smith vs. Rovan Yale

The crowd refocused instantly. Cheers erupted. Conversations reset like a spark had been thrown into dry grass.

While Noah was still lost in thought, the next match’s call rang out.

And suddenly—

A spark flashed in his eyes.

A memory echoed in his mind.

“Keep your eyes open. I don’t think we’ve seen even half of what he can really do.”

He returned to the present, eyes sharpened.

“I have my eyes locked on him this time.”

There was hope. Small, faint—but it was there.

His wife wasn’t just someone. Her intuition had almost always been right.

In the gallery:

“The underdog against the brawler prince!”

“Isn’t that the kid who fried a Tier 2 mage with lightning?!”

“Yeah, but Rovan’s a monster too. Earth and fire. Dude fights like a walking landslide!”

From one side of the arena, Logan stepped forward—calm, measured.

No exposure of mana. As if he didn’t have any.

From the opposite end, Rovan Yale cracked his neck. His flame-etched gauntlets sparked. Earth magic pulsed under his boots like a brewing quake.

The announcer’s voice boomed one final time.

Alice had her fists clenched slightly. Her breath, heavy.

Not just hers.

The entire Smith family sat beneath a cloud of pressure.

“Let the final quarterfinal… begin!”

To be continued…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep