It was my turn at last. I padded forward out of the line, feeling dozens of eyes, from the stands and from my fellow competitors, all fixed on me. The air felt thick with anticipation.

As I approached the cube, I tilted my head up to peer at the display. The last registered score, 252, still hung in the air for a moment before fading away. I flexed my claws, considering my approach.

This artifact was clearly affected by physical and mana-based attacks; that much I had gathered from watching everyone else. But what about Qi? My power didn't stem from mana in the usual way.

A small part of me was curious how the cube might respond to something fundamentally different.

For my first attempt, I decided to keep things simple. Planting myself firmly before the block, I raised my right paw and channeled a focused stream of Qi through my limb. Then, I struck the cube with the broad, padded underside of my paw.

Even so, I felt the cube's heavy mass shudder slightly on impact.

A moment later, bright numerals blinked into existence above: 95.

A low murmur ran through the arena. There were a few polite claps, but also a smattering of confused and disappointed voices. To many onlookers, 95 was an underwhelming figure, especially given my size and reputation. I even caught a few derisive chuckles from somewhere in the stands.

I pulled my paw back, ears twitching at the whispers. On the sidelines, a couple of the remaining contestants exchanged surprised looks. It was true that 95 was only a middling score, barely passing by today's standards, and for someone of my size and current-reputation, it came across as distinctly unimpressive.

I felt a flicker of irritation in my chest.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my expression to remain neutral even as my tail gave an annoyed twitch behind me.

Stepping back, I put a good three-ish meters between myself and the cube. A confused susurration rippled through the stands; no one else had backed so far away for their hit.

Drawing in a deep breath, I channeled Qi from the pit of my stomach and let it flood through my claws. At the same time, I sharpened my intent, focusing all of that gathered energy into a single, razor-edged concept: severing.

With a swift swipe of my right paw through the empty air, it almost seemed like nothing happened.

For an instant, the arena was dead silent.

Then, with a sharp crack, four parallel gouges immediately appeared on the cube.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cries of astonishment. Several spectators jumped to their feet for a better view. Even the marshal stumbled back a step, eyes wide at the sight.

Almost immediately, the artifact began to repair itself, the deep gashes along its face knitting closed as if drawn together by invisible threads. I watched the display overhead. It flickered erratically, clearly attempting to compute a value for the strike, but after a few sputtering flashes, it showed 499 in bold, blocky letters.

A stunned silence hung in the air. I slowly lowered my paw.

That silence broke all at once into an uproar of excited noise. Cheers, shouts and babbling filled the arena.

I heard scattered exclamations from the stands: "Did you see that?!" one spectator hollered, practically bouncing in his seat.

Down on the arena floor, I caught a few of my fellow entrants murmuring to each other as well. Some looked impressed, even astonished, while a few wore sour, annoyed expressions.

A few claps broke out, and no one in the competitors' line dared object.

I gave a short nod and stepped back into my previous spot, satisfied enough.

As the remaining eight contestants took their turns, I let my shoulders relax. Whatever the outcome of their attempts, I was safely through to the next stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flurry of activity just beyond the arena rails: reporters and luminographers were scrambling to capture the moment. A cluster of clicks went off in my direction, causing me to squint and huff in dry amusement. I could already imagine the morning news: "Sunmire Godbeast Results: Highest This Year!" or some other sensational headline. They were going to have a field day with this little story.

I had made a good look for the front page without even winning a fight today, it seemed.

With a faint grin, I turned away from the still-smoking cube and looked up at the line of gonfanons overhead. My banner, along with those of all the other successful entrants, would remain flying proudly. For now, at least.

As the last few contestants stepped up to test their strength against the cube, I didn't really care much. But one figure in particular immediately drew my attention. Unlike the others brandishing weapons or posing as if they were someone strong, this young man carried no visible weapon.

He had a modest, almost scholarly profile, of average height and build, dressed in unadorned clothing that could have belonged to any commoner. A pair of glasses perched on his nose and, notably, a thick black book was tucked under one arm.

The book had no title or markings on its cover, just a plain, well-worn leather binding, but it was nearly as large as a dictionary. I couldn't sense anything from him. If anything, he felt like an ordinary, unawakened human.

Stolen novel; please report.

That in itself was unusual among the remaining contestants, and it made me curious.

Who was this unassuming fellow, and how had he made it this far?

When his turn came, the head marshal announced him simply as, "Number 4, Elysium." There were no guild titles, no accolades or family names attached. Just that single name. A few murmurs rustled through the crowd; clearly, no one had heard of him before.

Elysium stepped forward to face the cube, moving with a calm, unhurried confidence. Instead of drawing a weapon or settling into a fighting stance, he calmly flipped open his black book. In the silence of the arena, I could just make out the scratch of his fancy fountain pen, an elegant object that looked to have belonged to nobility.

As he began to write on the book's pages. The spectators exchanged baffled looks, and I found myself leaning forward, ears perked in anticipation.

Was he taking notes? Maybe casting a spell through writing? He didn't even glance at the massive testing cube in front of him; his full attention was on the flowing ink lines of whatever he was inscribing.

After a few moments, Elysium finished writing and gently closed the book with a soft thump.

Immediately, crimson numerals flared to life above the cube: 999.

The score appeared without Elysium ever laying a finger on the artifact. A collective gasp rippled through the arena.

I blinked, unsure I had seen correctly; 999 was an astronomically high score, far beyond anything any other contestant had achieved.

This mysterious man had somehow elicited a the highest result instantaneously.

Pandemonium erupted in the stands. A surge of excited chatter, shouts, and applause swelled like a wave. Any attention that had lingered on my earlier unusual feat, which had already been the talk of the arena minutes ago, was now completely eclipsed by Elysium's performance.

I saw reporters and luminographers pivoting their cameras toward him, the rapid flash of lights capturing his image as he stood calmly before the cube. The marshal on the stage was momentarily speechless.

Elysium snapped his book shut, gave a polite nod, and walked back to rejoin the line of contestants with the same mild expression he'd worn throughout. He looked for all the world like a student who had just finished presenting a thesis rather than someone who'd upended everyone's expectations.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My tail swished slowly behind me as I tried to process what I'd just witnessed.

How had he done that? There had been no visible attack, no burst of mana. Was it like my intent? But I hadn't sensed the slightest ripple of power from him or the book…

Another dark horse like this, coming out of nowhere with such an overwhelming display, was both intriguing and a little unnerving.

I caught myself baring a tiny grin; after the shock wore off, excitement bubbled up in me. This tournament was turning out to be far more interesting than I expected.

With Elysium's astounding turn, the morning's qualification trials slowly drew to a close, with the remaining 3 entrants not showing that much hurrah compared to us.

High above the arena, the colorful gonfanons, the personal banners of each contestant, fluttered in the breeze.

Moments after the last score was announced, I saw twenty of those banners descend gently, one after another. They drifted down like falling leaves, marking the elimination of twenty contestants who hadn't made the cut. Along with many others in the arena, I tilted my head up to watch the somber spectacle. Twenty competitors, dreams crushed for now, but still happy to have made it this far, slowly shuffled out with dejected and yet satisfied faces.

Meanwhile, my own banner remained aloft among the eighty still flying proudly, as did Elysium's. I wondered again who this man truly was. In any case, we eighty had earned our places in the next stage.

Now, we were granted a brief respite before the duels in the afternoon. As officials announced a three-hour lunch break, I padded off toward the assigned living quarters within the stadium to rest and refuel.

Each qualifying entrant was provided a private room bordering the arena: a small, modestly furnished space with a bed, wash basin, and a couple of chairs. The rooms were sized for humans, not Godbeasts, and indeed I found mine rather cramped.

With a soft huff of annoyance, I shrunk back to my black-furred form. In the span of a few seconds, I went from scrunching my body to fit in the room to easily hopping onto the room's bed as a relatively small black pug.

Much better.

The moment I curled up, relaxing my tired muscles, the door swung open without so much as a knock, and Sali, my ever-dedicated attendant/disciple, and provider of food, most importantly, came in.

Sali came bearing a towering cart overflowing with food. "I figured you'd be hungry," she said with a grin, gesturing at the veritable mountain of grilled meats, breads, and fruits she'd managed to pile up.

Within minutes, I was tearing into a juicy roast and devouring buttered rolls in between.

Halfway through my impromptu banquet, two familiar figures slipped into the room: Rinvara and Mira. Rinvara rolled in gracefully, seated in her wheelchair, which Mira was pushing from behind.

Seeing them, I paused my munching long enough to let out a friendly chuff of greeting. Rinvara smiled warmly and held up a small basket piled with sweet-smelling confections. "We brought some treats for dessert," she said, her voice gentle. Her silver hair was neatly braided, and for some reason, there were dark circles of lingering fatigue under her eyes.

Mira, on the other hand, parked the wheelchair and immediately fixed me with a stern, critical look. She got straight to business.

"You put on quite the show out there," Mira remarked, arms crossed. She nodded approvingly at me, but I could see the worry lines on her brow.

"However, the duels will be a different matter." Without further ado, she launched into a rapid assessment of the competition. As I continued to munch on the food, Mira listed off the names and fighting styles of several entrants who had scored above a certain number in the morning. "There's Sir Garrick, that sword wielder from the Ironclad Company. He scored 134 on the cube. And Celeste of the Azure Mages, her frostcraft is top-notch. Don't underestimate Karthus, either; he might look burly, but he's quick on his feet…" Mira's lecture went on, covering a handful of the most formidable-sounding entrants. I bobbed my head occasionally to show I was listening, though in truth my focus drifted in and out. The combination of a full stomach and Mira's droning voice was making my eyelids heavy.

I sprawled lazily on a plush cushion Rinvara had laid out for me, letting Mira's words wash over me.

I did perk up when Mira finally got to the topic I was most curious about: Elysium. "And then there's that fellow. The one with the book," she said, frowning slightly as if the very lack of information on him was a personal affront. "We have no details on him at all. No guild affiliation, no prior appearances in the registries. But a score of 999 speaks for itself. He's dangerous."

Mira leaned forward, wagging a finger at me. "You need to be careful. In a duel, who knows what he's capable of? Don't let your guard down."

I opened one eye and gave a low, rumbling huff to acknowledge her advice.

In truth, I agreed with her. Elysium was an unknown, and I had every intention of keeping my wits about me if we faced off. Still, Mira's fretting amused me. With a theatrical yawn, I rolled onto my side, eliciting a helpless smile from Rinvara. "I think he understands, Mira," Rinvara said softly. "Let him rest a little. He's had a long morning."

Mira sighed, again realizing the futility of trying to hold my attention when I was this comfortable and stubborn.

I then snatched a cream-filled pastry from Rinvara's basket and gobbed it down, a not-so-subtle indication of where my priorities lay at that moment.

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