The holographic image of the four-armed Nexus official faded, leaving the main room of their apartment quiet once more. The city-wide announcement about the Centennial Galactic Tournament still seemed to echo in the air.

Sera looked up from the complex, three-dimensional game board, her eyes shining with excitement. "A tournament, Papa? A big fight? Are you going to enter?"

Rhys looked out the crystalline window at the impossibly tall spires of the Nexus city. He had come here seeking knowledge, a place to understand the new, unsealed universe. He had planned to observe, to learn from the shadows. But the announcement had presented a different, more direct path. An audience with the Architect, the mysterious ruler of this galactic crossroads. That was an opportunity too valuable to ignore. And besides… a small, almost forgotten part of him, the part that had been forged in the brutal trials of the Labyrinth, felt a flicker of interest. A challenge.

"Yes," he said, a small smile touching his lips. "I think I will."

"Yay!" Sera jumped up, her form flickering for a second into a tiny, excited silver blur before solidifying back into her human shape. "Will you win? Are you the strongest?"

"We'll see," Rhys replied, ruffling her brown hair. He truly didn't know. He was a god in a world of mortals, but here? He was an unknown.

Emma, who had been quietly reading a data slate downloaded from the library, looked up. "The Centennial Tournament," she said, her voice thoughtful. "My mother's notes mentioned it. It happens only once every hundred standard years. It attracts participants from hundreds of star systems. The scale is… immense. The preliminary trials alone are said to involve millions of contestants."

"Millions?" Rhys raised an eyebrow.

"The Nexus is a crossroads," she explained. "And the Architect is one of the most powerful and enigmatic beings in this sector of the galaxy. An audience with them is a prize that many would risk everything for." Her green eyes held a spark of scholarly excitement. "Participating would be an unparalleled opportunity to gather information about the various powers and cultivation systems in this region."

"And an unparalleled opportunity to cause some amusing chaos," Yuki added, stretching languidly on the soft couch she had claimed as her own. She had been feigning sleep, but her ears had clearly been open. "A tournament full of arrogant young masters and power-hungry warriors? It sounds delightfully predictable. And potentially profitable."

"I am not entering to cause chaos," Rhys said firmly, giving Yuki a warning look. "I am entering to gather information and, if possible, to win an audience with the Architect. I will compete as Rhys, the traveler. My true identity must remain hidden."

"Of course, of course," Yuki purred, though her eyes danced with mischief. "Subtlety. My favorite."

The next day, Rhys went to register. The registration center was not a simple office. It was located in a colossal, dome-shaped structure near the center of the city, a building so large it made the grandest temples of his old world look like small huts. The entrance plaza was a swirling vortex of a thousand different species, all pushing and shoving their way towards the registration gates. The air crackled with a chaotic mix of anticipation, arrogance, and raw power.

He saw beings of every shape and size. Hulking, four-armed brutes covered in thick, rocky hides argued with slender, graceful beings whose skin shimmered like moonlight on water. Small, furry creatures with large, intelligent eyes darted through the crowd, while imposing, reptilian warriors stood like statues, their scaled hands resting on the hilts of strange, energy-based weapons.

He queued, just another unremarkable face in the galactic crowd. The line moved slowly. When he finally reached the front, he found himself facing not a person, but a smooth, floating, silver orb that hummed with a low energy.

"State your name, planet of origin, and registered combat discipline," a calm, synthesized voice emanated from the orb.

"Rhys," he replied, keeping his voice even. "Origin: Unregistered Territory 734. Discipline: Unspecialized Energy Manipulation." He used the designation for the former Wastelands he had found in Emma's library data, a place so insignificant it barely registered on galactic charts. 'Unspecialized Energy Manipulation' was a vague enough term to cover almost anything.

The orb emitted a soft, blue scanning light that passed over his body. Rhys felt it probe his energy levels, his physical structure, his very life signature. He kept his power tightly controlled, allowing the scanner to register only the equivalent of a mid-level Tier 4 cultivator – strong enough to qualify, but not strong enough to attract undue attention. He had learned from his experience in the Azure Sky Palace; blending in was the key.

"Registration confirmed," the orb stated. "Rhys, Unregistered Territory 734. Your combatant identification number is 7,842,912. The preliminary trials will be held in the Sector Gamma Arenas in one standard month. Report to Gate 17 at dawn. Failure to appear will result in disqualification. Next."

Rhys took the small, metallic data chip the orb dispensed and stepped aside. Seven million, eight hundred forty-two thousand, nine hundred and twelve. He was just one among millions. The sheer scale of the competition was staggering.

He spent some time observing the crowd, his senses subtly scanning the other participants. He saw powerful auras, flashes of controlled energy that spoke of cultivation levels far exceeding his own registered strength. He saw beings whose very presence seemed to warp the space around them, beings who were clearly the equivalent of Tier 5 or even Tier 6 masters. The arrogance he had seen in cultivators like Jaxon or Leeroy Crimson seemed almost quaint compared to the cold, confident power radiating from some of these individuals. This tournament would be far more dangerous than any trial he had faced before.

He saw minor conflicts break out in the crowd – a shove, an insult, a brief flare of energy as two participants tested each other's strength before the Nexus Peacekeepers, imposing robotic figures, intervened with calm, overwhelming force. The Nexus maintained order, but the underlying tension, the fierce competitiveness, was palpable.

He returned to the apartment later that day. Emma had already gathered a mountain of data from the library archives about the tournament's history and format.

"The preliminary trials are brutal," she explained, projecting a holographic map of the Sector Gamma Arenas – a vast complex of hundreds of interconnected battle zones. "They use a mass elimination format. All participants are divided into groups of a thousand and dropped into a simulated environment. Only the last ten survivors from each group advance to the next round."

"A thousand-person battle royale," Rhys murmured. Simple, brutal, and efficient.

"The environments are varied," Emma continued, showing him images of past trial zones: dense jungles, active volcanoes, zero-gravity asteroid fields, even simulations of ancient, forgotten battlefields. "And they often introduce environmental hazards or powerful simulated beasts to increase the chaos."

"Survival depends not just on strength, but on strategy and adaptability," Rhys noted.

"Exactly," Emma agreed. "There are also rumors of powerful factions and guilds using the preliminaries to scout for talent, or to eliminate rivals before the main tournament even begins. Alliances form and break constantly within the trial zones."

"So, it's not just a free-for-all," Rhys mused. "There's politics involved even at this stage."

"Always," Yuki commented lazily from the couch, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. "Mortals and their little games of power. So predictable." She opened one eye and looked at Rhys. "My advice? Find the strongest group, pretend to join them, let them do all the hard work clearing out the weaklings, and then betray them at the last moment. It's the most efficient way."

Rhys ignored her cynical, though likely effective, advice. "I'll handle it my own way," he said.

He spent the next month in quiet preparation. He didn't need intense physical training, but he focused on refining his control over the powers he intended to use. He practiced shaping his Twilight Edge blades into different forms – shields, projectiles, even short-lived constructs. He worked on controlling the output of his Spark Fist, making it appear like a common, if powerful, fire-based technique. He needed a believable arsenal for Rhys, the unremarkable traveler. His Void powers, his Ashen Marionettes, his true, divine nature – all of it had to remain hidden.

Emma spent her time devouring information, becoming his strategist. She compiled detailed profiles on the major known participants, the powerful young masters from prominent galactic families, the rising stars from famous mercenary guilds, the enigmatic disciples from hidden sects. She analyzed their known techniques, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Yuki occasionally offered surprisingly insightful commentary on the political landscape of the Nexus, pointing out hidden rivalries and potential alliances that Emma's purely academic research might miss. Sera, disappointed that she couldn't fight alongside him ("But Papa, I'm strong now!"), spent her time practicing her own shapeshifting, determined to be ready if he ever needed her help.

Finally, the day of the preliminary trials arrived. The three suns of the Nexus rose over the city, casting long shadows from the impossibly tall spires. Rhys stood at the door of their apartment, dressed in simple, durable traveler's clothes, the small metallic data chip identifying him as Combatant 7,842,912 clipped to his belt.

Sera hugged his leg tightly. "Be careful, Papa."

Emma placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember the strategies. Avoid unnecessary conflicts. Observe. Survive."

Yuki just gave him a lazy smirk. "Try not to be too boring, Rhys."

He nodded to them, then turned and walked out the door. He headed towards the Sector Gamma Arenas, just another face in the vast river of hopefuls flowing towards the first great culling of the Centennial Galactic Tournament. He was ready.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.