The qualifying matches began with controlled chaos that somehow maintained order through Oziel's meticulous planning. Multiple fighting spaces activated simultaneously, referees positioned at each one while healers stood ready nearby. The Novice division warriors stepped forward first, their nervous energy evident as they faced opponents whose capabilities were unknown.

Raze watched from the observation area as matches unfolded across the arena floor. Most qualifying fights concluded quickly, three minute time limits forcing competitors to demonstrate their abilities without extended tactical maneuvering. Some showed promise despite their low rank, fundamental techniques executed with precision that suggested proper training. Others flailed desperately, hoping enthusiasm would compensate for lack of skill.

The Apprentice division followed a similar pattern, though the overall quality improved noticeably. Warriors at this rank had moved beyond pure basics, their techniques showing refinement that came from dedicated practice. Still, the qualifying format's brutal efficiency eliminated approximately half of each division's participants within the first few hours.

Fedora observed everything with sharp attention, her blue eyes tracking across multiple matches simultaneously. "The talent level varies dramatically. Some of these warriors have clearly received professional instruction, others are self taught with all the gaps that implies."

"That's what Oziel's evaluating," Raze replied. "Not just current capability but potential for growth with proper training."

Mariabel was focused on the Apprentice matches, golden eyes showing particular interest when competitors used fire based techniques. "Several of them have decent mana control for their rank. Raw power without finesse, but the foundation exists."

The morning progressed steadily, Logan's scheduling proving accurate as divisions moved through preliminary rounds with efficiency that kept the crowd engaged without excessive delays between matches. Spectators cheered for competitors they recognized or simply those who demonstrated entertaining technique.

By midday, both Novice and Apprentice divisions had completed qualifying rounds. Sixty four warriors remained in each, brackets posted near the main entrance showing who would face whom when elimination matches began the following day. Prize money suddenly seemed more attainable to those who'd survived the initial culling.

"The Expert division begins after lunch break," Logan informed Raze. "Ninety eight competitors means thirty four need elimination through qualifying rounds. Oziel's planning to run those matches more carefully since the skill level requires closer evaluation."

The break allowed spectators to obtain food from vendors throughout the arena, conversations flowing about matches they'd witnessed and predictions about who might advance through brackets. The atmosphere remained energetic despite hours of continuous combat, people recognizing they were witnessing something unusual.

When matches resumed, the Expert division warriors took their positions with noticeably different bearing than lower ranks had displayed. These were experienced fighters, their movements showing confidence that came from genuine capability rather than false bravado. Their cultivation auras were stronger, techniques more refined, the overall impression one of competence that made even qualifying matches worth watching closely.

Raze's attention sharpened as he observed these fights. Expert rank was where genuine skill began separating from simple power accumulation. Warriors at this level had developed personal fighting styles, adapted techniques to suit their strengths, learned through experience what worked in actual combat versus theoretical training.

Several matches caught his eye immediately. A swordsman whose blade work showed exceptional precision, each strike flowing into the next with an economy of motion that wasted no energy. A spear user who maintained perfect distance control, keeping opponents exactly where her weapon's reach provided maximum advantage. A cultivator who'd specialized in defensive techniques, barriers manifesting so quickly they seemed to anticipate attacks before they occurred.

"That one," Oziel said quietly, gesturing toward the defensive specialist. "Expert Peak rank but his fundamentals are so solid he could probably hold against Master Low for an extended period. Definite recruitment consideration."

The qualifying matches continued, warriors demonstrating why they'd achieved Expert rank through combinations of power and skill that made even brief three minute fights engaging. The crowd's energy remained high, people recognizing the quality had increased substantially from earlier divisions.

Then a name was called that made Raze's attention focus completely.

"Berth, Expert Low, versus Garren, Expert Mid. Fighting space three."

A young woman stepped forward from the competitors' section, her appearance immediately distinctive. White hair fell to mid back with striking red tips, the coloring natural rather than dyed based on how it caught the light. Her eyes were red, vivid color that seemed almost to glow with internal fire. She wore white martial attire, sleeveless top and loose pants bound at ankles, black trim accenting the outfit with red belt secured at her waist.

Her physique was that of a dedicated martial artist, lean muscle evident in shoulders and arms from training that prioritized speed and precision over raw power. She moved with fluid grace toward the designated fighting space, footwork so smooth it seemed she was gliding rather than walking.

Berth's opponent was a larger man, his cultivation aura marking him as Expert Mid. He carried no weapon, apparently preferring unarmed combat, though his style seemed to rely on overwhelming force rather than technical refinement.

The referee positioned himself at the fighting space's edge, verifying both competitors were ready before signaling the match's start.

Garren moved first, charging forward with speed augmented by cultivation technique. His fist drove toward Berth's center mass, strike carrying enough force to cave in ribs if it connected cleanly.

Berth's response was pure flowing motion. She pivoted slightly, body angling just enough that the punch passed harmlessly past her shoulder. Her own strike came simultaneously, palm thrust targeting Garren's extended arm at the elbow joint.

Crack!

The impact hyperextended his arm, not breaking it but compromising the limb enough that he pulled back instinctively. Berth didn't pursue, instead resetting to a neutral stance with hands raised in guard position.

Her breathing was a distinctive, controlled pattern that seemed deliberately rhythmic. Inhale through nose for precise count, exhale through mouth with similar timing. The pattern repeated consistently, each breath cycle apparently timed to her movements.

Garren attacked again, this time attempting to grapple rather than strike. His superior size and rank should have given him advantage in close quarters combat.

Should have.

Berth's footwork carried her away from his grab with minimal wasted motion, body positioning itself where his reach fell short by inches. Her counter strike targeted his knee, kick delivered with precision that suggested she understood anatomy thoroughly.

Thump!

Garren's leg buckled slightly, the joint compromised enough to affect his mobility without causing serious injury. He was already handicapped two exchanges into the match, facing an opponent who'd barely exerted herself.

The crowd noise increased, spectators recognizing they were watching something beyond typical qualifying match. Berth's technique was exceptional, movements flowing with economy that made fighting seem effortless.

Raze leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes tracking every detail of her movement. Something about her style triggered recognition in the back of his mind, game knowledge stirring with familiarity he couldn't quite place yet. The breathing pattern, the footwork, the way she struck with such precision at vulnerable points rather than simply hitting hard.

Her cultivation aura carried a distinctive quality too, the energy surrounding her body shifting in subtle ways that corresponded to her breath cycles. Each inhale seemed to draw power inward, each exhale released it in controlled bursts that enhanced her strikes beyond what Expert Low rank should normally produce.

On the arena floor, Garren attempted several more attacks, each one countered with that same flowing precision. Berth's strikes continued targeting specific points, joints and pressure zones that accumulated damage without creating dramatic visible injuries. Her breathing never wavered, that controlled rhythm maintained throughout regardless of what her opponent attempted.

A particularly aggressive combination from Garren forced her to retreat several steps, his cultivation technique finally breaking through her initial defensive positioning. But even in retreat, her movements remained controlled, footwork carrying her backward while maintaining perfect balance.

Then she countered.

Her body shifted forward with explosive speed that seemed impossible given how calm her previous movements had been. Three strikes landed in rapid succession, each one targeting different vulnerable point on Garren's body. His shoulder, his ribs, his thigh. The impacts weren't devastating individually, but together they compromised his ability to continue fighting effectively.

And her aura. As she struck, the cultivation energy surrounding her body changed. The shade shifted subtly, taking on quality that made the air around her shimmer with heat distortion. Not actual fire, but something close. Energy that felt warm even from a distance, that left faint afterimages in the wake of her movements.

The red tint to her white hair seemed to glow slightly during those strikes, catching light in ways that made the color appear almost luminous. Her red eyes blazed with intensity that transcended simple determination, focus so complete it was almost frightening.

Raze's recognition solidified completely. He knew this style, had seen it in the game. The breathing technique that enhanced every aspect of combat, the footwork patterns that made movement seem effortless, the way cultivation energy manifested with that distinctive quality during strikes.

But he said nothing, expression remaining carefully neutral despite the shock of recognition. This wasn't information to share publicly, particularly when he didn't understand how or why someone in this world possessed techniques that should only exist in game lore he'd studied.

Finally, after perhaps two and a half minutes of one sided technical dismantling, Garren yielded. His body was covered in impacts that hadn't broken anything but had compromised enough joints and pressure points that continuing would be pointless.

"Yield," he said clearly, voice carrying resignation at being so thoroughly outclassed.

Berth stopped immediately, stepping back to neutral position before bowing respectfully to her opponent. The gesture was formal, traditional courtesy that suggested proper martial training rather than street fighting background. Her breathing had already returned to normal rhythm, that distinctive pattern continuing but without the enhanced quality it had carried during active combat.

The referee declared her the winner, directing both competitors toward healers for post match evaluation. Garren would need treatment for the accumulated joint damage, though nothing appeared serious enough to require extensive healing.

Berth departed the fighting space with the same fluid grace she'd displayed throughout, white and red hair swaying with her movement. She returned to the competitors' section without visible sign of exhaustion despite having just defeated Expert Mid opponent while being only Expert Low herself.

The crowd's reaction was enthusiastic, spectators recognizing they'd witnessed exceptional technical skill. Conversations erupted about her technique, people debating how someone of lower rank had dominated so completely.

In the observation area, Fedora was studying where Berth had disappeared into the competitors' section. "That was impressive. Her fundamentals are perfect, every movement optimized. Who trained her?"

"Good question," Raze replied, keeping his tone neutral despite the recognition still processing in his mind.

Mariabel's golden eyes had tracked Berth's entire match with clear interest. "Did you notice her breathing? It wasn't just controlling exertion, it was integrated into her fighting style. Each breath cycle corresponded to her movements, and her aura shifted with them."

"I noticed," Raze confirmed quietly.

Oziel had been observing silently, his scarred face showing clear approval. "That one's definitely recruitment material. Expert Low who can defeat Expert Mid through pure technical superiority will be formidable once her cultivation advances. I'll want to speak with her personally after the tournament concludes."

The qualifying matches continued, other Expert division warriors demonstrating their capabilities. Several showed promise, though none quite matched the technical perfection Berth had displayed. The overall quality remained high, warriors at this rank having moved beyond basics into genuine martial competence.

But Raze's attention kept returning to where Berth sat among other competitors, her distinctive white and red hair visible even from a distance. She appeared calm, expression showing neither pride at her victory nor concern about upcoming bracket matches.

He recognized the style now. Knew what it meant, understood the implications of seeing it manifested in this world by someone who shouldn't exist according to the game's storyline he remembered.

But for now, he would watch and wait

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