"Congratulations."
Looking to his side, Tilgron shook his head. "This means nothing. Congratulate us in two years, that is, if you won't be too disappointed at your own loss."
Oli recognized the tiger's playful tone. "Why can't we all go?"
"Ahhh… Kraz, explain it."
The wyrm nodded and sighed, "Oliver… Only three candidates can be chosen at the regional level. We'll have to fight and see who comes out on top."
Not saying anything, Oli blinked and took a moment to think.
"Each prefecture can send up to five people, which will then have a chance to fight in the real tournament," continued Kraz. "We all have about two and a half years to train before then. After that, we'll fight any young elder entering the qualifier."
"Any elder?"
"Any young elder, or any elder that has only been living for less than 35 years."
"Hmm… I see."
