Max didn’t want to wait until the last minute, so he headed straight for the building across from the town commons where the announcement had been made. A long line already stretched out the door, goblins of all shapes and sizes grumbling as they waited their turn. Max slipped into place near the back, ignoring the stares he drew, and passed the time by listening in on the conversations around him.

  “How many fighters do you think will sign up?” the goblin in front of Max asked the one ahead of him.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to take them all out and earn the title of Champion. Then the Elders will recognize me,” a brutish goblin boasted, his voice like gravel.

  “So sure of ourselves, are we, Grok?” the first goblin shot back.

  “I’m stronger than anyone in this city. Why shouldn’t I win?” Grok scowled, folding his thick arms.

  Behind Max, another group chattered greedily about payouts. They speculated about prizes, side bets, and sponsorships for the top contenders. One piece of gossip stood out to Max: apparently, this tournament wasn’t a rare event. It happened every year across the goblin cities.

  The Champion, he overheard, not only received a hefty reward but also prestige. Trainees lined up to learn under them, setting the victor up with steady work, status, and influence. More surprising still, the Elder fights weren’t required. Any Champion could challenge an Elder — but if they did, it was always a duel to the death, no surrender allowed. Unlike the standard tournament matches, which ended when one fighter yielded or was incapacitated.

  I’m starting to think Elder is just what they call the best fighter in the city, Max mused as the line inched forward.

  When at last he stepped into the town hall, he found himself in a large lobby filled with chaos. Partitioned desks lined the walls, goblins hunched over piles of parchment while runners darted between them with stacks of files. Max frowned. With magic and the System, why in the world is there still this much paperwork?

  At the counter, a small goblin clerk with oversized black eyes peered up at him. Max leaned forward, offering a hand. “I’m here to sign up for the tournament.”

  The goblin’s jaw dropped. “A… a… a human!” he stammered. “I–I don’t know if I can process this. I’ll need to get my supervisor!” He scrambled off, leaving Max standing awkwardly.

  Of course, Max thought. A human entering a goblin tournament was bound to raise questions. But then why would the System give me the quest if I couldn’t even compete?

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  Before he could dwell further, a stout goblin with broad shoulders and a sour frown approached. “How did you get into this city?”

  “I walked,” Max said dryly, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, deciding to test something, he added, “The System teleported me here to kill the Elders so I can complete my tutorial.”

  The goblin stared at him blankly.

  “The nearest human settlement is a month’s journey from here,” the goblin replied finally, “and you’d have to take the river into the city. No, you didn’t just walk here.”

  “Does it matter?” Max pressed. “The town crier said anyone in the city can compete. I’m here, and I’d like to sign up.”

  The stout goblin grunted, then pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Fine. Sign here.” He tapped a small X near the bottom.

  Max took the paper. “Wait. I’m reading this first.”

  It was simple enough. The tournament would host the best sixteen warriors from each city. Each entrant would have to complete qualifying matches to determine seeding. Only equipment carried into the arena was permitted — no spatial storage. Healers would be on standby, but their services came at a cost.

  Entry fee: 250 credits.

  Max frowned. “What do I sign with?”

  “Your blood.”

  The goblin produced a dagger. Max sighed, nicked the tip of his finger, and scrawled his name. The moment he lifted his hand, the parchment vanished in a flash of light.

  “What just happened?”

  “I processed your paperwork. Proceed to the qualifying arena for your placement match.” Without another word, the clerk turned to the next fighter.

  Max followed the stream of warriors through a side corridor that emptied into a broad courtyard. The din of clashing steel and shouting crowds washed over him at once. Training rings filled the space, goblins sparring under the eyes of scarred veterans in crimson cloaks.

  Near the largest archway sat a hulking goblin behind a stone desk, easily seven feet tall with scarred skin and broken tusks. A massive greataxe leaned casually at his side. His yellow eyes fixed on Max as he stepped forward.

  “Name,” the goblin growled.

  “Max Elion.”

  The goblin scribbled something on a slate with a squealing bit of chalk. He studied Max for a long moment, then smirked. “A human. Haven’t seen one of those in the tournament before. Doesn’t matter. You signed, you fight.”

  Max squared his shoulders. “When?”

  “Today. Late afternoon.” The goblin leaned back, tusks flashing in a crooked grin. “Too many contenders to waste time. You’ll get your first qualifying bout before sundown.”

  “That fast?” Max muttered.

  “Opponent’ll be revealed when you step into the pit,” the goblin said, almost laughing. “You survive, you advance. You fall; you’re just another stain on the dirt.”

  He shoved the slate toward Max. Glowing runes shimmered faintly across its surface. “Touch it. Marks you as registered.”

  Max pressed his palm against the stone. The runes flared before fading away.

  [System Prompt]

  Qualifying Match Assigned

  Opponent: Unknown

  Time: Today — Before Sundown

  Location: Arena District, City of Krazhul

  The hulking goblin snorted, jerking his thumb toward a row of stone arches across the courtyard. “Arena’s that way. Don’t be late. Enforcers don’t like cleaning up cowards.”

  Max turned, heart steady even as adrenaline surged through him. He hadn’t expected to be thrown in this quickly, but maybe that was for the best. No time to overthink.

  Five days until the tournament, and it started now.