The staging ground was exactly as ridiculous as Theodore had expected. Thousands of competitors milling around like ants, all pretending they weren't sizing each other up. The space itself was massive—had to be, to hold this many people—with different sections cordoned off by glowing barriers that probably cost more mana to maintain than Theodore's entire refrigeration project.

Theodore found a spot near the edge of the crowd with Freya. Far enough from the main clusters to avoid conversation, close enough to hear when they called for instance assignments. Perfect.

He started playing with his mana while they waited. It was oddly soothing. Like a fidget spinner, but magical.

"Show off," Freya muttered.

"This is literally the opposite of showing off. Look at that guy." Theodore nodded toward someone who'd decided to demonstrate their lightning spells.

In the middle of the crowd.

Because that was safe and not at all obnoxious.

"Fair point."

Around them, the natural sorting had already started. The academy students clustered together in their matching uniforms, probably discussing strategy like this was some kind of team sport. The noble houses had their own little circles, each one maintaining careful distance from the others. And then there were the lone wolves—mercenaries, adventurers, random people who thought they were hot stuff.

Theodore wondered which category he fell into. Technically noble, but sitting apart from them. Not quite a lone wolf since Freya was here. Maybe they were their own category. The 'please leave us alone' category.

They sat there for a while, watching the crowd. People getting nervous, excited, ready to prove themselves. Theodore mostly felt tired. How long was this thing going to take?

"His Majesty will now address the competitors!"

Oh good. A speech. Theodore's favorite thing.

The crowd turned toward the main platform, where his father had appeared. King Alexander Lockheart, looking properly regal and commanding and all the things a king should look. Theodore tried to pay attention, he really did, but his mind kept drifting to the mana he was playing with, and what his clones were up to.

Back in Holden, he was focused on pipes.

If they increased the pipe diameter by just fifteen percent at the junction points...

"—glory and honor—"

But that would require custom fittings, which would increase cost by approximately thirty percent...

"—prove your worth—"

Maybe they could use a hybrid system? Standard pipes for the main lines, custom only where necessary?

"—may fortune favor the bold!"

Everyone cheered. Theodore clapped because Freya elbowed him.

"Did you listen to any of that?"

"There were words about glory."

"Your father specifically mentioned you."

"He did?"

"Something about house pride and living up to expectations."

"Great. No pressure or anything."

"He did that deliberately, didn't he?"

"Knowing where Maximillian got his penchant for pranks and cheekiness, yes."

"Wow."

"Well, it seems like father dearest wants a good show."

Freya shrugged and wandered off to find them something to eat from the vendor stalls, which left him alone with his thoughts. Not ideal, really. His thoughts kept circling back to what was about to happen.

The first event was a basic culling event, and by the end of it there would only be a few people left. It would take place inside arenas of sorts. Virtual ones, maintained by someone of a high Rank. Theodore had no idea how it worked, but basically there would be several "instances" of that space running at the same time. He wondered if it was a pocket dimension, something the high Rank person made themself, but then how would the virtual aspect of it function? People couldn't die in there after all.

And he was going to take full advantage of that fact.

Regardless, there would be thousands of people per instance. Everyone would start with one bracelet, and everyone would need ten to pass. Well, not everyone, but those that wanted to pass.

Simple math, really. If everyone played nice and distributed evenly, a lot of people could pass. Which they wouldn't. Because people were people, and people in competitions were especially people-ish in all the worst ways.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The coordinators started moving through the crowd, and magical boards lit up overhead showing instance assignments.

"INSTANCE ASSIGNMENTS WILL BE DISTRIBUTED BASED ON PRELIMINARY RANKINGS," one of them announced. "PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR DESIGNATED COORDINATOR WHEN YOUR NAME IS CALLED."

Wait what? Preliminary rankings? What was that? Why was he not made aware of them? What instance would he be getting assigned to?

Theodore watched the boards light up. Instance 1 got all the big names—the known quantities, the academy stars, the noble heirs everyone expected to win. Instance 2 got the next tier down. And so on.

Theodore wasn't on any of them.

When they finally got to Instance 7, the last one, Theodore wasn't surprised to see his name there. Late registrant, no formal combat record, generally considered useless until very recently.

Maximillian…

Theodore wanted to groan.

This was a declaration of war.

He would have his revenge.

He'd been assigned to Instance 7, according to the bracelet they'd handed him. One instance batch that'd run two days later. The coordinator who'd given it to him had this look. Instance 7 was where they dumped all the late registrants and unknowns. The leftover bracket. The fodder pool.

A prince in the fodder pool. Yeah, that probably was entertaining for the organizers.

"Theodore Lockheart? In Instance 7?"

Someone nearby was talking, loud enough that they clearly wanted to be overheard. Theodore didn't turn to look. Better to pretend he hadn't noticed.

"That's where they put all the nobodies, isn't it?"

"And the prince, apparently."

"How could they put a prince there? Outrageous!"

Theodore examined his bracelet. Silver metal, a few simple enchantments on them. It'd track eliminations, apparently. Glow when someone had enough to pass. Pretty straightforward for magical standardization, though he could think of seventeen ways to improve the efficiency of the—

"Prince Theodore?"

Different voice and far too close. Theodore looked up to find three people standing there—two guys and a girl, all wearing matching insignia from some combat academy he vaguely recognized.

"Yes?"

"We were wondering," the girl said, clearly the spokesperson, "if you'd be interested in an alliance. For the first round."

Huh. Theodore kept his expression neutral while his brain immediately started calculating angles. They wanted his bracelet, obviously. Probably figured a recently-awakened prince would be easy pickings. Get him to trust them, then turn on him when he wasn't expecting it. Plus, they'd make a name for themselves "defeating" a prince.

"An alliance," he repeated.

"For mutual protection. Instance 7 is going to be chaos. Better to work together, right?" one of the guys added quickly.

Sure. Work together. That was definitely their plan.

"What would this alliance involve?" Theodore asked innocently

"We help each other collect bracelets," the girl explained. "Share information. Watch each other's backs. Then we all pass together."

"That's very generous of you," Theodore said slowly. "But won't protecting me slow you down?"

They exchanged glances. Apparently that wasn't the response they'd expected.

"Not at all. "We're all in this together, right?" The girl said

"I'll think about it," he said.

"The event starts—"

"I'll think about it," he repeated.

They hesitated, probably trying to figure out if they should push harder, then moved off to find other potential marks. Theodore watched them go, already dismissing them from his mind. They'd probably try to ambush him early, thinking they had his trust. He'd deal with that when it happened.

"Making friends already?" Freya had returned with meat skewers.

"They wanted an alliance."

"Let me guess—protect the poor helpless prince?"

"Something like that." Theodore took one of the skewers. "Thanks."

"You're going to play along, aren't you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you're bored and it'll be funny."

No way. Who did she think he was? He definitely was not planning on going with them, and he definitely was fooled by their nervous newbie act. And he definitely wasn't going to enjoy their despair when they finally tried something on him and failed!

"I'm not bored," he lied.

"You've been here twenty minutes and you're already plotting."

"I'm strategizing."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not."

Freya just gave him a look. The 'I know exactly what you're thinking and you're not as clever as you think you are' look. Oh wow, the meat looked delicious! Theodore looked at it and took a bite.

The staging ground was getting crowded—thousands of people, all sorted into their various instances. Not all instances would run today, obviously. Most of them would leave and come later today or tomorrow depending on the schedule.

"You know what's funny?" Freya said suddenly.

"Your pottery skills?"

She elbowed him. Hard. "Everyone here thinks you're weak."

"I am weak. Relatively speaking."

"You maintained some few hundred mana spheres while thinking about pipes."

"That's not combat magic."

"It's mana control."

"Different skill set."

"I've fought you. You're strong. You're being deliberately obtuse."

Was he? Maybe. Theodore had learned pretty early that managing expectations was important. If people thought you were weak, they didn't pay attention to you. If they didn't pay attention to you, you could do whatever you wanted.

Like revolutionize infrastructure while everyone was focused on who could throw the biggest fireball.

"They're all going to target you," Freya pointed out. "The prince in the weak bracket? That and the king's very encouraging words. You're going to have a giant target on your back."

"Probably."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?"

"Most people would be concerned about hundreds of people trying to eliminate them."

Theodore shrugged. He'd dealt with worse, honestly.

Actually, wait.

"Hey, what instance are you in?" he asked.

"Four."

"The mid-tier bracket?"

"Apparently." Freya didn't sound particularly bothered. "Your brother has a sense of humor."

"That he does."

"Should be interesting."

"You'll probably burn down half the arena."

"Only half? I'm insulted."

They sat there for a while, watching the crowd.

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