I awaken and roll off of bed, pulling my thin sheet along, caught on a pointy horn. ...I’m sure you get used to these blasted things eventually.

  As I get ready, I start replying to the steady influx of messages I receive every day, slightly more numerous on this particular occasion. I wonder why?

  Elisa asked for an update every minute, but after five, she gave up real quick, choosing to trust my alert system. I wouldn’t have minded. though. The elf got a very cute blush when I shared my thoughts on that particular matter.

  Making my way downstairs, I start hearing the voices of the many other guests staying at this inn. Breakfast appears to be on the lighter side, mostly various sandwiches. A good half of the selection spicy.

  While munching on one, I catch the telltale sign of using a neural interface—at least for those that can’t yet make a conscious effort to suppress it—unfocused and wandering eyes. There are also a fair number of tablets being utilized. No autocratic approach for this king.

  Before I know it, distracted by the people around me, I’ve inhaled three more of the spicy ones and my mouth feels like it’s on fire.

  Let’s get to it, then. I buy two more sandwiches for later and depart. The moment I exit the inn, I am immediately swept away by an unstoppable flow of people. My only choice is to get carried along. Fortunately, we have the same destination.

  An expansive building comes into view. White stone visible above all others, not isolated but clearly demarcated, its purpose integral.

  The closer I get, the bigger it grows, and the more people join in. Most are demons, but there is the occasional not. Rarely.

  Even with the journey made longer, there isn’t a lot to complain about, though. Sparse clouds provide shade, and the nibble of the air is far too gentle to be called a chill.

  But, soon enough, the smooth white walls are looming above me. With great effort, I extricate myself from the crowd, choosing a different, smaller entrance.

  “Closing up registration soon!” a lone demon sitting behind a lonely table addresses me loudly. “Are you entering?”

  My distracted looking around is focused on him. I make an apologetic expression and swiftly jog closer. “Yes, sir. Sorry about that.”

  “No trouble at all.” He smiles at me. “Nerves?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I remember my first and only time. Barely held my meal in.” He senses my rising dread and adds an encouragement, “You’ll do great.” He then pulls out a form and finds his place. “Let’s get you quickly squared away so you aren’t late.” I eagerly nod. “Name?”

  “Lucius.”

  His eyes leave the form and settle on mine. He blinks once. “Pardon?”

  “Name’s Lucius. Technically don’t have any others, but you can add ‘of Earth’ or ‘of Harthes’. Whatever’s clearest.”

  The demon audibly gulps. “You better not be playing a funny on this old-timer, son.” I send him proof. Eyes focus back on me. The seconds tick away. Finally, he makes a decision. “I can fill in the rest. You’re number 1,681.” I am given an armband denoting so, affixed in place. “Go on.” As I start to leave, he speaks up again, “But... have to use... you know.”

  “Of course.”

  “Son—” He winces and tries again, “Lucius, our king’s a good man. Whatever’s got the world in a hissy fit, you can work it out. Right?”

  “That’s what I’m here to do.”

  “Will you... If it comes to it.”

  “You’ve read about me, seen what I’ve done. What do you think?”

  The demon takes in a deep breath, his body relaxing. He slowly lets it out. “Good luck.” He adds with a grin, “But I’ll still be pulling for His Majesty.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I give him a grin back and go on my way. A winding corridor spits me out at a fairly spacious and windowless lobby, divided into sections with temporary seating neatly arranged and filled with demons. Mostly demons. There are the occasional other again.

  An official clocks my head-in-the-clouds demeanor and shoos me to the rest of the stragglers. Registration was open for a while, but it doesn’t close until the very start.

  The person sitting to my right appears to be meditating, eyes closed and breathing steady. The person to my left seems to be evaluating everyone else, keeping her gaze locked on a person and then moving it to the next in line. I get a failing grade. At least she has the decency to not smirk at me.

  Let’s do some evaluating of my own while I wait. Looks like fun. You have the people that are going to use this as an interesting story for years to come. Not so interesting for anyone else, though. Then you have the people that are here to have some fun. And the people that are taking this way too seriously, but maybe that’s the correct approach. Finally, you have the real contenders. Those that keep the tradition alive, those that ensure its purity.

  A moderate wait later, things are getting started, as a voice of authority commands, “First group.” Fifty people are blinked away.

  Fifteen minutes later, the voice commands again, “Second group.” Fifty more depart in a flare of mana.

  There are advantages and disadvantages to registering late. You know beforehand when you’ll be called, but you also know that it will be at the end. And as many people have said, I do dabble in the dramatic.

  While the next group is being called and ferried, I pull out a sandwich and unwrap it, settling in for a long wait.

  Ten minutes after group thirty-three was called, it’s the remaining stragglers’ turn. “Thirty-fourth group.”

  I am whisked away. Fine sand rests beneath my feet. A thunderous cheer crashes on top of me. I look up. The sun has moved across the sky, now hidden behind the tall wall of the stadium. The inside of the circular building is lined with occupied seats, starting from around ten meters up. The people that were in the stragglers group are interspersed in regular intervals around the arena. The demon that is directly in front of me is almost a hundred meters away. Both demons to my sides are a lot closer.

  A booming voice sounds out, “For those watching, observe intently, for our future monarch may be among them. For those fighting, give your heart and soul, for you fight for everyone that is watching and everyone that is not, you fight for your people. May the Thirty-fourth, and last, qualifying round of the Selection Tournament... commence!”

  The barrier enclosing the arena momentarily shimmers, additionally reinforced. I look at a particular spot in the stands, a balcony up high, containing five individuals I recognize personally.

  A screaming chunk of rock is sidestepped. The projectile explodes against the protective barrier behind me, causing only a slight shimmer to ripple through.

  A blurring punch is ducked. The demon that threw it is himself heaved and tossed at the other one that’s coming for us. The incoming makes use of the same and the two clash in an exchange of force.

  Flames fill the space, countered by ice and water.

  Spells fly and crash against barriers, both small and one large.

  Two officials blink in and pull a demon that’s missing a large part of their leg away from the match.

  I am slowly walking toward the center of the arena, dodging and blocking spells that find me.

  One of the few elves aims a hand at my chest. A ray of light passes through empty space. The elf decides that I am not the best opponent to go after.

  A demon finds my body is an illusion, striking at nothing. The sand comes alive under him and propels him away.

  Two officials remove a demon with a sizeable hole through their abdomen. That’s gonna be a pain to heal.

  The demon that was carefully evaluating others has changed her opinion of me. Giving her a smile through the chaos of battle even more so.

  I lean to the side. A large blade cuts the air. The blade changes direction like it thinks physics are merely suggestions. A hop takes care of the cleaving stroke.

  Someone decides to go all out. My armed opponent uses my metal barrier to avoid the blast of impenetrable darkness. In the aftermath, black miasma clings to my magic, eating it away, and everything else.

  Lightning wreaths my body, discharging into the sand, and turning the spots arcs connect to into scorched glass. A measured strike launches my sword-wielding opponent into the enclosing barrier.

  A zap moves me to the caster preparing to unleash a second wave of darkness. She doesn’t.

  My evaluation has risen once again, now us two the only ones remaining.

  Reality unravels around me, into kaleidoscopic possibilities, all undesirable. There’s no choice but to pick one. Or make myself known a little earlier. Is that even a choice?

  A good chunk of my neck is removed. A green glow does not allow more blood to spill, only what’s dyeing her hand red. Lightning connects my pointed finger to her barrier. It goes through, burning the magic away. It strikes her chest. My precisely controlled spell stops her heart without inflicting further damage.

  In the few seconds it’s taken the arena to clear up, the officials that whisked her off to recovery have got her awake and responsive. The response being mild disgruntlement with her performance and mild, but gracious, disgruntlement against me.

  I look toward the cheering audience, turning my gaze to brush along the entire circumference of the giant stadium.

  “And so, we have our final qualifying round’s decisive winner... Number 1,681! Lu—” The enhanced voice barely whispers out, still heard by all through their own roars, “Lucius.”

  My current shell inverts, replaced by my regular one.