Chương 108: 175 - Registration

With an identity in hand and a collection of nifty swords ready to be tested, Vivi could finally begin her research in earnest. As much as she knew participating in a tournament might not be the perfectly ideal or most efficient way to go about gathering data, there really were practical reasons to observe how void energy interfaced with the rest of the world. She'd seen how magic held up against voidglass's nullifying effects, but magic only accounted for a subset of the many flavors of powers around her.

The fact that she was the Sorceress and that her personal strengths lay in manipulating mana could, sometimes, make it seem like everything revolved around magic. Yet that wasn't true. Void. The divine. Primordial powers, like the Fires of Creation. Even System-based skills, particularly martial ones, made up the single largest category of energy that Titled used to reshape the world, and yet those were totally inscrutable to her eye. Obfuscated on purpose.

The System might be a magical construct, but it could also be of divine origin, or something else entirely. She leaned toward the last, though she had little to support the theory. Given that her new home faced potentially imminent void invasion, there were extremely good reasons to study how local powers—of all varieties—interacted with this foreign one. Something being an excuse didn't make it not valid.

"Can't believe I'm famous enough that I have to dye my hair," Saffra muttered at Vivi's side, running a hand backward through the short tresses, which an illusion had changed from red to black.

"At least you don't have to change your face and body," Vivi replied dryly. She already missed the days when hiding her tattoos had been enough to walk around Meridian unnoticed.

"Small mercies," Saffra said with a sigh.

"It looks like that's it, coming up?" Ahead, a large banner erected on twin poles announced ' Qualification Bouts - Open Division'. Adventurers teemed around a wide field, a section of a local park that had been repurposed into proving grounds. Vivi and Saffra had been pointed this way by the nearby Adventurer's Guild branch, which had served as their first step in this newest quest of theirs. Or rather, all the signage posted around had led them.

Vivi had felt bad for the receptionist, who had been in the middle of a long-winded explanation to a clueless-looking man who, despite the almost redundantly common posters plastered nearly everywhere, had been asking where to go and how qualifications worked. Much to Vivi's admiration, the young woman had persisted with only a marginally desperate smile. She would've been in the right to simply point at the board directly next to her in response. But I suppose not everyone can read, Vivi realized.

Literacy is pretty high, all things considered, but not as universal as I'm used to. Either way, she sympathized with the poor service staff of the Adventurer's Guild. Vanguard had dumped a gargantuan workload onto them. Much like at the guild, signs and posters told Vivi and Saffra where to go. They lined up at a table labeled Open Division Registration, and Vivi gazed out across the grounds and watched some of the fights taking place. There had to be hundreds of adventurers in the field.

And this is only one of these events, she thought. There were dozens spread throughout Meridian, and at least one per city across the Kingdoms. She shivered to imagine the logistics. Rafael really set all of this up in such a short time? She gave the man a lot of credit already, but maybe she wasn't giving him enough. Crowds circled each of the referee-led sparring rings, mostly adventurers but also civilians mixed in—citizens of Meridian who had come to watch the oldest and most respected sport.

The majority of the arenas were crudely constructed, little more than a flimsy barricade and a dirt floor. Budget constraints remained a reality, and there truly were a ton of applicants to sift through. Vivi couldn't help but feel like civilians standing so close to an ongoing fight was rather dangerous. What if a weapon goes flying into the crowd? I guess that's a risk they're willing to take. Optimistically, she could assume there were safeties in place, but she didn't sense any enchantments.

Intrigued by all the surrounding activity, Vivi barely noticed the line in front of her evaporating, and soon their turn had arrived.

"Good afternoon, miss," the bored, spectacled man greeted them in that rote way of someone who'd spent all day repeating himself.

"If you're here to register for the Tournament of the Second Age's Open Division, then you are in the right place. If you are seeking the age- or rank-restricted divisions however"—his eyes flicked to Saffra—"then I apologize for the inconvenience, but you'll need to head to the registration desks on the east or north side of the grounds respectively."

"We're in the right place," Vivi replied. Saffra would also be fighting. The girl would be competing more heavily in the youth bracket, but she'd wanted to check out the Open Division Qualifiers alongside Vivi.

'It'll be a good warmup for the fights I want to take seriously,' she had said with a shrug.

"Excellent. Are both of you registered with the Guild?"

"No, neither of us. We intend to participate without." The man didn't bat an eye.

"Registration with the Guild allows for alternate means of qualification that you may find more forgiving, and moreover, a strong performance can aid with progression toward your next badge. But if that is your decision, it is fully permissible. Even if you do not wish to associate with the Guild, however, verifying your level ensures swifter placements. Do you agree to an assessment, or will you be starting from bronze and working your way up?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"You agree to an assessment? Or you are prepared to work your way through the ranks?"

"We'll start from the beginning." The man glanced at Saffra, and she nodded in agreement.

"Very well." A short exchange followed in which he queried them for basic information. Vivi provided her fake credentials, and Saffra used an invented name. The Sorceress's apprentice wasn't famous, but a redheaded cat beastkin had been seen around the world's most powerful mage often enough for her to be a known quantity. Saffra's name was out there too, if less openly. Hence the secrecy.

"Keep these on hand," the worker said, passing them small, durable-feeling papers similar to Guild identification cards.

"They verify your registration and win-loss record should the originals be lost or damaged. Ensure every match is recorded accurately. Discrepancies will cause problems that may be difficult to resolve." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

"All right."

"You will need to win eight matches with at least an eight-out-of-ten win rate to progress to the next stage of the qualifiers." His tone became even more monotonous as he clearly recited a script.

"This means sixteen out of twenty will also suffice, twenty-four out of thirty, and so on, should you struggle in your initial fights. A loss is a setback, not a disqualification. You may participate as long as you wish. Losses may be forgiven at the evaluator's discretion, for example, during unfair matchups with a two-rank difference or higher. With you at bronze, that means an opponent who is obviously gold. Particularly this early into the tournament's sorting, there will be a lot of variation in the matches.

But all decisions are final. Attempts to intimidate or otherwise influence an evaluator will be met with zero tolerance by the Guild or City Guard. Do you have any questions?"

"No, I don't." He nodded.

"Head to ring seven to begin. Hand the evaluator your card so that you can be put into the queue. Pairings are randomized. Expect short waits; they go quickly. Best of luck, misses." She thanked him and stepped aside, allowing the next in line to take her place. After scanning the grounds and finding a flag bearing the symbol of a seven fluttering from a pole, she set off with Saffra at her side. That was fast, she thought, already impressed by the efficiency of the event.

"Eight out of ten to advance," Saffra commented.

"That's lenient."

"You think so?"

"You don't?" She considered.

"I didn't think about it much."

"A silver should win against a bronze nine out of ten times. Easily eight. So yeah, I'd call that lenient."

"Probably because of that variance he mentioned." Saffra looked at Vivi from the corner of her eye, a small smirk playing at her lips.

"Like mysterious elves with void-swords appearing out of nowhere?"

"Like those. Then again, if lopsided bouts can get forgiven by the referee…" She shrugged.

"Maybe the higher brackets will have stricter criteria for advancing. This is just the first stage. Bronze rank."

"Suppose so. Maybe a few slip through who shouldn't, but that's life." Vivi nodded. It made sense as a quick-and-easy way to filter people. There were undoubtedly better methods, like, say, a full ranking system accounting for difficulty of matchups, but they would also be way more complex. Win eight out of ten, move up. Simple but effective. Her musings faded as she and Saffra neared sparring ring seven. Something seemed immediately off with the crowd, enough to make her furrow her brow.

"Now what's going on here?" Saffra muttered, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Vivi picked up on the atmosphere a second later than her apprentice. Indeed, most other rings were cheering, laughing, and sometimes less graciously jeering at their respective fighters—the behaviors you'd expect to find in a competitive environment. But ring seven was silent. Vivi couldn't see over the shoulders of the wall of people, but the expressions she could catch were tight-jawed. Disgust? she realized. Anger?

Suddenly wary, she thought, That doesn't bode well. Her good mood evaporated as she moved sideways so that she could see the fight inside the ring. The first participant was a barrel of a man. Well-built physical fighters were nothing to give her pause, especially after having spent an evening among dragons, but this man's bulk didn't lean statuesque. Lumpy was the unfortunate word that came to mind, though that wasn't to say he was fat. All muscle, none of it pleasantly arranged.

His waist was nearly as wide as his shoulders, and his arms and face were covered in black ink with a sinister design. A thick scar twisted his mouth, not complementing his already unpleasant features. He looked like a thug, frankly. All of those uncharitable impressions of his appearance were, perhaps, influenced by what he was actually doing inside the ring. That was—tossing a fifteen-year-old girl around, sneering as he delivered punches, kicks, and mocking laughs.

The image was so jarring that Vivi slammed to a stop and stared. She had to fight herself to keep from reflexively intervening. The teenager in leather armor seemed to be doing her best despite being clearly outmatched. The man had to at least be gold with how easily he was outmaneuvering her, all but batting her sword aside with his bare hands. One of the girl's eyes had swollen shut, and she looked exhausted. The fight had been going on for a while.

She tried raising her shield as he advanced, but the huge man swatted it away and kneed her in the stomach. When she doubled over, an elbow to the side of the skull sent her crashing to the ground. He stepped back, a grin splitting his face, and he waited for her to stagger to her feet again. What in the world is happening here? Shouldn't someone call the match? But the teenager didn't seem disoriented to the point of being incapable of forfeiting, and that was surely how matches were settled.

Not by a referee's call. No, the real issue was that the muscular man was explicitly choosing to drag the fight out to humiliate his opponent. Or because he was enjoying hurting the girl for its own sake. She understood, suddenly, why everyone had looked disgusted. There was an occasional boo and some insults being thrown his way, but maybe as one would expect from a person who would behave in such a manner, the bulky man only seemed to relish his audience's reactions.

"This is why we're here, isn't it?" He laughed, dodged a feeble sword thrust, and backhanded the girl, sending her stumbling backward.

"To fight? Is it my fault I got one so weak? Give me someone worth my effort next time." Vivi knew she'd come to see combat, and not friendly spars but serious brawls that would involve blood, yet she hadn't expected this. It was such a difference from the last bout she'd watched—Vulkarius and Zael—that she felt physically jarred by the contrast. There was also, besides the violence itself, the matter that it was a grown man twice the size of a teenage girl showing no mercy to his opponent.

It was so cartoonishly villainous that she almost couldn't believe her eyes.

"Wonderful," Saffra muttered.

"What an asshole." Vivi might've said something about the profanity, but figured that it was deserved. The fight lasted a minute longer, and she nearly took matters into her own hands. The only reason she didn't was that no rules had been broken, and as much as the man had bullied the far younger, obviously low-rank teenager around the arena, being a gigantic jerk wasn't technically illegal. She was still clenching her jaw by the end and had resolved to figure out the man's name. To do what, she wasn't sure yet.

But something. Vivi began walking toward the referee, but movement caught her eye—and most others', including the thug's. A woman had vaulted the wooden barricades serving as the sparring ring's wall. Unlike most of the spectators clad in armor, she wore simple clothes: trousers and a billowy shirt. A sword hung at her hip, the only sign she was an adventurer rather than a civilian. She walked with the natural grace of a cat, something Vivi couldn't help but notice. She smiled at the teenager.

It didn't seem like the expression came naturally to her.

"Good effort. An indomitable spirit will take you far." The words failed to cheer the loser of the match much, though maybe that was because of how badly she'd been knocked around. She mumbled something and staggered for the exit. To the referee-slash-evaluator seated at the front of the arena, the woman bowed deeply.

"This humble disciple apologizes for the interruption. I know the fights are selected at random, but if I am scheduled against this man, may ours be held now?" She turned and bowed to the audience as well.

"I apologize for the audacity of the request. My bout should not take precedence over your own." There was a short pause from the thug, then a grin stretched across his lips.

"Ruffled your feathers, did I? Even if his answer is no, we can settle this somewhere else, little bird." Vivi twitched. She was really struggling not to correct his attitude. The woman paid him no mind, however, having merely turned back to face the evaluator. She held her bow deep, waiting for his decision. And while the referee hadn't intervened, Vivi sensed it had been for the same reason that she hadn't. Technically, all rules had been followed.

He hesitated, referenced some document in front of him, and straightened with a satisfied expression.

"The two of you do have a match scheduled. And if both participants are willing, and there are no objections, then I see no reason I cannot reshuffle the ordering." He looked at the bulky man with a deliberately neutral gaze, but his distaste was clear. Like before, the thug seemed to take enjoyment in the fact he'd earned everyone's ire.

"I accept." His grin widened.

"This one's going to be a lot more fun to play with. I can already tell."