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Finally, the eight remaining contestants took turns filling in the gaps of the bracket.

The first wild card instantly regretted his pull, getting placed in the final fight with Freele. Even he knew he was giving her a free pass. He was already contemplating whether he should fight at all or surrender on the spot.

Things went similarly for the next two wild cards but there was something different about the fourth contestant. He wore a white mask that covered his whole face and had poorly cut, light brown hair. His attire was simple, as was the sword at his side. And the moment he drew his lot, Jezza shouted with joy.

“Yes! ~Lucky!~”

But the masked, young man turned to offer Jezza a silent bow before stepping off the stage with haste. It was something easily overlooked by the excited Jezza, but Oli, along with other experienced competitors, could recognize the humble, unspoken confidence.

Just before the final person went, the man that had caught Oli’s eye from the get-go pulled his stick and pumped his fist into the air with excitement.

.....

“Read it and weep!” Burt shouted, pointing the stick toward Worrik instead of the announcer. “You’re mine, you cocky ape!”

Oli clutched his fist out of reflex from the comment but Worrik was the most offended, by far.

“What did you say, you pompous pleb! You dare disregard my station as a representative of the Libarn Guild? I’ll have to teach you the manners your no good parents never taught!” yelled Worrik, anxious to fight then and there.

“Enough! Move on so we can finish the lottery! Save the taunts for the fight!” the announcer shouted, leaking out some of his elder-grade essence for all the competitors to feel. “As the announcer and referee, I’ll have no misconduct interrupt the event. Is that clear?”

“Clear as day, Mister!” Burt called back with a smiling salute. As Burt hopped off the platform instead of using any of the four stairways leading up to it, he gave Oli a light wave. He also sent a teasing wink and a kiss to the man sitting beside Oli.

“That fool... I can’t wait to cripple you...” Worrik mumbled, trying to calm himself down.

The last wild card drew his lot but no one seemed to care. With a few commotions already caused and some unexpected match-ups, how could the audience be excited for the last of the unknown and supposedly weak wild card entrants?

“Now’s the time to place your bets!” The announcer was already cheery and enthusiastic again, calling out to the audience, “Grab the attention of one of our many bookies and they’ll offer you our updated odds for each fight, as well as accept any and all bets you wish to place! You’ve got fifteen minutes!”

Dozens of people in grey robes with white sashes flooded the aisles of the stands. Everyone turned to them as half of them were in the smaller, reserved section alone. News and rumors of the nobles’ bets would surely spark bets from those in the higher seats.

“Excuse me!” Hurman called out, grabbing the attention of a woman. “Here.”

“Thank you...” The woman graciously bowed her head and accepted the small, wrapped-up scroll. Upon unfurling it, she caught the ring that fell out and hesitantly grinned. “Patriarch Hurman... Are you certain that–”

“Yes. That will be all.”

“Um... Very well. The Institute thanks you for your patronage.”

But as the bookie finished her required departure statement, Reginol and Graent both raised their hands in wait. Graent spoke first, “I’d like to place two hundred gold on Fulkar, Worrik, and Jezza each.”

“Very well, Master Graent.” Having had memorized all the important faces of her assigned section, the bookie was ready to greet anyone on the fly.

“Only two hundred... how cowardly!” laughed Reginol. But he stole a look at Hurman’s silent, solemn face and scoffed, “I’ll place five hundred on Oliver, Hurman’s chosen combatant.”

“What?!” both Keldon and Graent shouted together.

Unblinking, Reginol shrugged and kept staring at Hurman’s unmoving expression. “Had I no respect for Hurman’s skills and judgment, would I have ever tried working with him in the first place? It’s only natural that I’d test the waters on the first round when a man of his caliber shows such confidence in his choice.

“Also, I’ll be betting five hundred on Trenk, Fulkar, and Jezza.”

“What about–”

Before Graent could ask about Worrik, Reginol tossed up a void ring and added, “Finally, I’ll be placing one thousand on wild card number 31, Burttin. That will be all. I expect to have my ring back and fully-loaded before the second round.”

“O-of course, Master Reginol...” Taken aback and confused, the bookie accepted the ring and noted down the amounts as she stored the ring. “Master Graent, your payment?”

“U-uh... Reginol, why–”

“If you’re going to change your bet, then do it now.”

Getting nothing else out of his fellow manager, apart from a cheeky grin, Graent took out a void ring. “I’ll be betting on that wild card as well, in place of Worrik. But there are no other changes.”

‘Bet on the wild card.’ Before Hurman could reply, Vloz stated, ‘Consider this bet mine and Oli’s, so you’ll take no loss should he lose, unless you add to our previously agreed amount. That’s what Oli would want and I agree with that man’s judgment.’

“What are Oliver’s odds, by the way?” Keldon asked, beating Graent to the punch.

The bookie replied, “His odds are currently +100 while his opponent’s odds are -50.”

“Well, I’ll be betting five hundred on Oliver either way.”

“Same!” Jonon added his bet to Keldon’s, catching those from Libarn slightly off guard.

As the bookie took their void rings and noted their surprising bets, Hurman coughed to get her attention.

“Yes, Patriarch Hurman?” But he only motioned for her to come closer. He passed her a void ring and whispered softly into her ear. Immediately, the bookie asked, “Patriarch, are you–”

“I’m certain. Thank you for your help.”

“Yes... Are there any more bets?” Getting no response, she bowed and began moving to the next rows. “The Institute thanks you for your patronage.”