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Trenk soon covered himself with a hood, put on a mask, and drifted along with the crowd. The aisles were pretty active as it was the intermission and now was the time to get anything or stretch before the next round began.

Before Trenk made his way to the fighting floor to visit his resting brother, he made a quick detour.

The cause for hiding his face was simple. He wanted to better hide his red eyes and make it easier to tail someone else amidst the crowd. It took Trenk a moment to catch up, but he eventually caught up to his target. However, his target was now near the lower levels and had pulled someone aside in a room even Trenk didn’t know had existed under the amphitheater seats. This only allowed Trenk to pass by and catch a glimpse of the people inside before the door closed.

Smirking, Trenk chuckled. “So he does know the masked man... What are you up to, Master?”

With his curiosity satiated, Trenk removed his disguise and briefly returned to the contestant area. Spotting his brother with ease, Trenk shook his head and teasingly grinned. “I thought I told you not to lose?”

“Yeah... well, we were planning on me fighting her,” argued Trantor.

.....

“I guess not.” Trenk shrugged and nodded respectfully to his soon-to-be sister-in-law. “You’d better win this in his place.”

“Of course I am! This idiot was too stupid so I’ll have to do it myself.”

“Hey... I can hear you.”

“That’s why I said it.”

Glad to see them getting along, Trenk turned to leave. “Then I’ll leave you to it. You’ll be fine this round, but watch yourself in the semis. Those underdogs are all the real deal.”

“Enough to merit your praise?” asked Trantor, surprised to see his brother acting so serious.

Trenk nodded and looked back at them through the corner of his eye. “That Burttin character could likely fight us head-on. I feel he’s still hiding something up his sleeve and that’s why he’s so confident.

“The other two may be tougher opponents. With one coming from Master Hurman’s recommendation and the other showing mastery of Practor swordsmanship, they can’t be underestimated. I think they’ve both been cruising without letting loose. So be careful.”

“Wait... then–”

Freele meant to ask more but Trantor reached out and stopped her. He let his younger brother walk off back toward the stands without bothering him anymore. “Be careful, okay?”

“You believe him?” asked Freele.

Nodding, Trantor replied, “If there’s anyone’s opinion I’d believe right now, it’s Trenk’s. He has a knack for understanding opponents just by watching them. With multiple fights, Trenk should have already created some calculated assumptions about each of them. But it’s rare for him to regard someone so highly. I’m curious what brought that out of him...”

Seeing Trantor adopting the same serious tone Trenk had shown, Freele sighed and grabbed her man’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I won’t be losing to anyone, not after both you and Trenk have been disqualified.”

“Interesting... He regards no-names so highly. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Freele looked to the side while Trantor chuckled lightly, “What’s wrong Fulkar? Finally getting excited?”

“I was hoping to get a rematch with that brother of yours but I guess even he’s rattled by those newcomers,” replied Fulkar, sitting not too far away. “Since you’re too much of a fool to seriously fight, I thought I’d be left without a challenge or any fun. But maybe not...”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” laughed Trantor. “There’s still Freele, so don’t act like you’ve got it easy.”

“No kidding... She get’s an easy pass each round while I have to deal with the trash of the Dursdul Family. She’s quite lucky.”

“Good luck with that, though you’ll probably be fine if you stay on your toes,” commented Freele.

Getting up and giving a slight nod, Fulkar responded, “You too. Depending on your opponent next round, you might need it more than me.”

Fulkar walked off, taking a stroll around the area while he occasionally shot glances at the remaining competitors. Sometimes he would look to the audience, either at Trenk returning to his seat or those from Libarn.

The rest of the intermission passed as expected. Hurman eventually visited Oli for everyone to see, but it lasted only a few seconds at best and they didn’t talk about anything special. Bets were placed by most of the crowd and the public opinion of potential victors was growing more divided each round. Contestants were being more cautious than ever, examining their competition at every moment possible. The masked man had vanished for most of the intermission but returned shortly before the intermission reached its end. Also, something most people had paid little attention to, a hawk had descended and perched itself on Dean Jarrit’s staff.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time! Finally, we’ve reached the quarterfinals and it’s unlike anything we had anticipated!”

The announcer did his job as the hype man, readying the audience for the battles of growing intensity. “Two of the favorites to win it all have already fallen while three unknown cultivators have already started making a name for themselves. With three of our top five seeds remaining along with many entrants with surprising strength and ability, it’s time we moved on with the tournament. Now, we begin round three!”

“I forfeit!”

By then no one was surprised to see the young man assessed as the fifteenth seed forfeit against the second seed. But it still wasn’t to their tastes.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” asked the ref, still holding the cone to his mouth. “Given your abilities, you can still put up a fight and show your strength to the hosts.”