The Grand Akashic Arena stood as the pride of the Olympia Kingdom, a monumental structure that symbolized both the kingdom's commitment to magical excellence and its unyielding tradition of competition.

  Built centuries ago by the Founder of Akashic Magic Academy, it was a marvel of both magic and architecture, crafted with enchanted marble that never cracked, golden inscriptions that shimmered with arcane energy, and towering pillars that radiated the mana of generations of mages who had once stood upon its sacred grounds.

  It was first constructed during the founding years of the Akashic Magic Academy, intended as a place where scholars and warriors alike could demonstrate their prowess.

  Over the centuries, it had become the battleground of legends, where some of the greatest mages in history had once fought, earning their place in the annals of magical history.

  The arena was also a political stage, as the tournament it hosted was not merely for sport—it was a matter of prestige.

  The Four Academy Tournament, held every year, was an event where the four greatest magic academies of the empire—Akashic Magic Academy, St. Ardent Mage College, Zenith Arcane Institute, and Helios Magical Academy—competed to determine which academy would receive the largest share of funding and international recognition.

  The tournament was more than just competition—it was a proving ground.

  Many of the empire’s future leaders, generals, court magicians, and grand mages had once stood in this very arena, their victories shaping the political and magical landscape of the kingdom itself.

  Every year, when the Four Academy Tournament began, the city surrounding the Akashic Academy would transform into a festival of magic.

  Merchants would flood the streets, selling magical artifacts, enchanted foods, and memorabilia of the competing academies.

  Citizens and nobles alike would gather, placing wagers, debating strategies, and discussing which academy would reign supreme.

  For students, the tournament was the most anticipated event of the year. Every student, from first-years to fourth-years, gathered to witness the grand duels between their academy’s champions.

  Some watched with admiration, aspiring to one day take the stage themselves. Others watched with strategy in mind, analyzing the spells and techniques used by the competitors.

  The final round, in particular, was legendary. Unlike the earlier rounds, which consisted of team battles, the final match was a one-on-one duel—a clash between the strongest representatives of the remaining two academies.

  It was here that the greatest battles were fought, where the best mages of their generation proved their worth before thousands of spectators.

  The arena itself was colossal. It could seat over 100,000 spectators, arranged in enchanted viewing sections that allowed every spectator—no matter how far from the stage—to see the battle with crystal-clear precision.

  A massive barrier of magical energy surrounded the central battlefield, shielding the audience from stray spells while allowing them to feel the raw power of the magic being cast.

  The battlefield was adaptive—imbued with ancient magic, it could shift between different terrains at the will of the tournament’s overseers.

  One match could take place in a rocky mountain landscape, another in a frozen tundra, or even a battlefield of pure mana, where only the strongest spellcasters could endure.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Above the arena, a massive floating crystal orb hovered, acting as a magical recording device, broadcasting the fights to the entire empire.

  Even those who couldn’t attend in person could watch the duels through arcane projections in major cities, ensuring that the tournament was witnessed by millions.

  To stand in the final round was to prove oneself among the elite, to cement one's name in history.

  But for others, it was a place where dreams were crushed. Defeat in the arena could mean humiliation, the loss of prestige, and in some cases, the end of a career before it even began.

  Some had stood at the edge of victory, only to be overwhelmed at the last moment, their names forgotten while their opponents were immortalized in legend.

  As Marcus stepped into the massive Grand Akashic Arena, his golden eyes flickered with intrigue. A sight like this is something he had only seen on movies and anime in his past life.

  The deafening cheers of thousands of students rang in his ears. Massive banners of the four academies hung from the stadium walls, rippling in the wind.

  The magical barrier surrounding the battlefield hummed with raw arcane energy.

  Despite himself, Marcus felt something stir within him.

  Excitement?

  No, it wasn’t just excitement. It was anticipation.

  For the first time in a long while, Marcus felt something genuine. He wanted to see. To witness. To experience.

  'This is so much better than reading it on the novel!'

  A smirk tugged at his lips.

  "Hmph. I suppose this might not be a complete waste of my time after all."

  He had already given up on trying to control his speech.

  The Grand Akashic Arena roared with life as thousands of students, professors, nobles, and even foreign dignitaries gathered to witness the climax of the Four Academy Tournament Finals.

  The sky above shimmered with floating luminescent runes, casting a mystical glow upon the battlefield below.

  Gerald Fortold of Zenith Arcane Institute, a second-year prodigy, stood on the left side of the battlefield, his dark violet robe embroidered with golden constellations, a testament to his mastery of gravitational magic.

  His expression was calm, calculating—his right hand rested on a grimoire floating beside him, the pages turning as it gave off a mystical glow.

  On the other side stood Leon Brave of Akashic Magic Academy, a first-year student with an unwavering gaze, his blond hair tousled yet carrying an air of rugged determination.

  Unlike Gerald, who donned the robes of a noble scholar, Leon wore a simple combat vest over his academy uniform, emphasizing his practical approach to battle.

  A sheathed sword was strapped to his back, the blade humming with an unseen power, an artifact given to participants as a standard weapon.

  It is to make sure that students would compete with their own skills rather than rely on artifacts.

  Marcus’ gaze sharpened the moment he saw Leon Brave.

  He recognized him immediately.

  The protagonist of Tales of Heroes and Demons.

  The boy who defeated him.

  His fists clenched involuntarily, his nails digging into his palm as a wave of hatred that wasn’t entirely his own surged through his body.

  He could feel it—the lingering will of the original Marcus Rey Dimitri, the proud aristocrat, the prodigy of House Dimitri, the man whose pride had been shattered by this very boy.

  His rational mind knew better.

  He wasn’t truly Marcus Rey Dimitri. He was an earthling who had reincarnated into his body, a former reader of this very story.

  And yet…

  He felt it.

  A part of him wanted to crush Leon Brave.

  To prove his superiority.

  To rewrite fate itself.

  "Ah," Athena's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was observing him, her golden eyes glimmering with understanding. "I see."

  Marcus clicked his tongue, forcing himself to relax. "See what?"

  "You're already invested," she said, a slight curve appearing at the edge of her lips, almost as if she were amused.

  "Hmph. Don't be ridiculous," Marcus scoffed, crossing his arms. "That insignificant commoner means nothing to me."

  Athena didn’t reply.

  She merely watched as Marcus continued to stare at the battlefield, his golden eyes narrowing as the match finally began.

  'I didn't say anything about commoner.'

  "Let the Finals… Begin!"

  The moment the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, Gerald moved first.

  With a flick of his fingers, the mana around him responded.

  "Gravity press!"

  A surge of gravitational force crashed down on Leon like an invisible tidal wave, bending the space around him, the air itself warping under the sheer density of the spell.

  'Gravity magic, how rare.' Marcus crossed his arms.

  But Leon did not falter.

  A flash of light—his blade was drawn.

  And with a single step, he vanished from sight.

  Marcus' eyes narrowed slightly.

  The battle had begun.