Max woke up the next morning to shouts from the street. Glancing out the small window, he could see a cart toppled over with various fruits spread across the road. Another goblin stood nearby with a frightened expression on its face, probably worried about how it was going to pay for its mistake. He quickly got dressed and packed up his gear into his spatial ring and headed out of the inn to see what the city had in store.

  Max spent the morning drifting through the city streets, testing the limits of his new language skill. He chatted with vendors over baskets of produce, watched smiths hammer crude blades in open-air forges, even lingered near the aqueduct where goblins filled buckets from flowing water. The city felt alive in every way that mattered: noisy, crowded, vibrant.

  When he eased into conversation, the goblins responded naturally enough. They talked about food shortages, about the price of steel, about how the enforcers had doubled patrols after another merchant failed to pay tribute. Some even laughed at jokes or shared rumors of nearby rivalries between districts.

  But when Max pushed a little further — when he asked about things that mattered — the illusion cracked.

  “So,” he asked a merchant after buying a cup of something that tasted vaguely like bitter coffee, “how long has your city been here? Was it built after the Tutorial Island was formed?”

  The goblin blinked at him, brow furrowing. Silence stretched between them until Max tried again.

  “What about the System? Do you know why the barrier opened? Why the Elders rule?”

  The merchant tilted his head, staring blankly as though the words meant nothing. Then, after a beat, he simply asked, “Will you be buying another cup?”

  Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  It wasn’t just him. Every time he tried, the pattern repeated. He asked a smith about the Elders — silence. A group of goblin guards about the barrier — nothing. A barkeep about the System — blank stares, followed by a quick return to whatever mundane topic they’d been on before.

  It was like they didn’t even hear him, as if the system completely stopped them from understanding him in anyway.

  As the day wore on, Max grew more unsettled. They were real enough to bleed, to argue, to laugh, to live. But when he pushed outside the narrow script of their existence, they froze, empty-eyed, until he returned to safer ground. Then they carried on as if nothing had happened.

  By the time he returned to the inn that evening, he knew one thing for certain.

  The goblins weren’t going to give him answers. Not about the island, not about the System, and certainly not about the Elders.

  If he wanted the truth, he’d have to dig deeper.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Two more days passed without anything eventful. Max wandered the city streets, curious about every detail. He stopped at pot shops for meals, spent his nights in overpriced inns, and tried to blend in with the constant churn of goblin life.

  Four times he saw fights break out for petty reasons — over food, spilled drinks, or insults shouted too loudly. Each time, the enforcers descended in force. They ended the brawls quickly and mercilessly: broken bones, split skulls, bodies hauled off without ceremony. It wasn’t justice. It was efficiency.

  The fifth time, Max was part of it.

  He was halfway through a steaming bowl of noodles when a tug at his hip made his hand snap down. His potion pouch was gone. The thief sprinted only three steps before Solaris Edge sang free of its sheath. One clean strike ended the goblin’s career before it began.

  Max froze, eyes sweeping the market. Enforcers were already on the way, boots pounding on the cobbles. He tightened his grip on the bloody blade, ready for trouble.

  Instead, the squad leader glanced at the corpse, then at Max. “Throw him in the cart with the other trash,” he ordered flatly. He turned to Max, voice like gravel. “What happened here?”

  “He stole my stuff, so I stole his life,” Max said before the words fully registered. It sounded cold. Evil, even.

  The enforcer only grunted and waved his squad onward.

  Max blinked. “Wait. Why am I not under arrest? Is it because of the tutorial?”

  The goblin stared at him for a long moment — empty, uncomprehending. Then he turned away without answering.

  Max let out a slow breath. “Never mind. Have a good day.”

  The enforcer didn’t respond.

  The enforcers dragged the thief’s corpse away without a second glance. Max sheathed Solaris Edge, the unease in his chest growing heavier with every beat. The goblins didn’t care. Not about the thief, not about him, not even about the words he spoke when he pressed against the System. It was all hollow, scripted, like they only lived inside the boundaries of their city.

  Before he could dwell further, a booming horn cut through the noise of the marketplace. Heads turned. A hush rippled outward as a figure in lacquered armor strode into the central plaza, a scroll clutched in his clawed hand.

  A town crier.

  The goblin unrolled the parchment and his voice carried across the square with unnatural clarity, echoing as though the System itself wanted every ear to hear.

  “By decree of the Elders! The Tournament of Champions has been called!”

  The crowd stirred, muttering. Max edged closer, pulse quickening.

  “All who believe themselves worthy are to report to the town hall before sundown tomorrow to register. The tournament will commence in five days’ time. Rules and rewards shall be revealed upon sign-up.”

  A cheer erupted from part of the crowd — warriors eager for glory, merchants shouting odds, children climbing onto crates for a better view. Others muttered nervously, already calculating what this would cost them.

  Max stood frozen in the press of bodies. A tournament. An open call for the strongest. He didn’t need the System prompt to tell him this wasn’t just spectacle. This was the next step.

  And if the prize was access to the Elders… then it was exactly where he needed to be.

  But then, the prompt came anyway.

  New Quest Unlocked: Tournament of Champions

  Objective: Register for the Tournament of Champions and defeat all opponents for the chance to face The Elders.

  Reward: Unknown

  A chill rippled down Max’s spine. The System had never been this blunt before. No veiled hints. No side paths. Just one directive. One door.

  He exhaled slowly, gripping the strap of his pack tighter. “Guess I don’t really have a choice.”

  Around him, goblins rushed to spread the news, some shouting in excitement, others already preparing to line up for registration. For them, it was a chance at glory. For Max, it was a trap disguised as an opportunity. A crucible.

  And he had five days to be ready.