Chapter 7: Tournament

The day of the tournament arrived sooner than expected. The academy grounds buzzed with energy as students, faculty, and spectators alike gathered to witness the annual event. I stood just outside the arena, surrounded by other participants, all clad in their combat gear. Some looked nervous, others excited, and a few even exuded arrogance. I kept my composure, my face an unreadable mask as I focused on my breathing, calming the storm of thoughts in my mind.

Today would be my first real battle in this world, one where my strength and knowledge would be tested. My opponent was a student named Elric—a second-year, if I recalled correctly. Word around the academy was that he had a green mana core, which, while impressive for someone his age, was no match for the power of my white core. Still, I couldn't afford to underestimate him. I'd learned long ago that arrogance often leads to defeat.

The announcer called my name, followed by Elric's, and we both stepped into the arena. The field was a large circular platform made of reinforced stone, etched with runes to contain the impact of magic and enhance durability. The crowd roared as we faced each other. Elric was tall, with a cocky grin plastered across his face, his confidence evident in his stance. He wielded a polished longsword, its blade faintly glowing with enchantments.

"Well, well, a first-year," Elric said, his tone dripping with condescension. "This should be quick."

I didn't respond, my grip tightening on the hilt of my own sword—a standard-issue weapon provided by the academy. Unlike him, I didn't need enchantments to prove my worth.

As the announcer began counting down, I reviewed what I knew about mana cores. A mana core was the heart of magical power, the essence that enhanced a person's physical and magical abilities. Most people had a basic core, which doubled their natural stats. Those with colored cores—green, blue, red—saw even greater amplification, often tied to specific affinities. A white core, however, was an anomaly, amplifying all stats tenfold and allowing for a level of versatility unmatched by any other.

But there was more to it than that. Advanced mages had discovered a technique called layering. By layering their mana core with additional "strata" of condensed mana, they could further amplify their abilities. Each layer required precise control and immense knowledge to create, and most students didn't even attempt it until their later years. I hadn't layered my core yet—it wasn't something I could rush.

The countdown ended, and the match began.

Elric charged forward with impressive speed, his longsword cutting through the air with a low hum. I met his advance head-on, our swords clashing in a burst of sparks. His strength was considerable, bolstered by his green core, but I could tell immediately that he was relying too heavily on it. His movements were predictable, his strikes powerful but lacking finesse.

I parried his next swing with ease, stepping to the side and delivering a quick counterstrike. He blocked it, his grin faltering slightly as he realized I wasn't the easy target he had expected.

"Not bad for a first-year," he muttered, stepping back to reassess.

I didn't reply, my focus entirely on the fight. As we circled each other, I activated a small portion of my mana, allowing it to flow through my body. The difference was immediate—my movements became sharper, my reactions faster. With a white core, even a fraction of my power was enough to overwhelm most opponents.

Elric lunged again, this time feinting to the left before swinging from the right. I sidestepped effortlessly, bringing my sword down in a controlled arc that forced him to retreat.

"You're stronger than you look," he admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "But I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Before I could respond, he raised his free hand, summoning a burst of wind magic that sent a gust hurtling toward me. I planted my feet firmly, channeling mana into my legs to anchor myself as the wind howled around me.

So, he was trying to catch me off guard with elemental magic. Predictable.

I countered with a basic fire spell, the flames slicing through the wind and dissipating it. The crowd erupted into cheers at the display, but I barely noticed. My focus was entirely on Elric, who looked slightly shaken by how easily I had neutralized his attack.

He charged again, but this time, I didn't wait for him to strike. I met him halfway, my sword colliding with his in a deafening clash. I pushed him back with raw strength, my white core amplifying every muscle in my body. His footing faltered, and I seized the opening, disarming him with a swift, precise strike.

Elric stumbled backward, his sword clattering to the ground. I pointed my blade at his chest, signaling the end of the match.

The crowd roared as the announcer declared my victory. Elric scowled, picking up his sword and muttering something under his breath as he left the arena. I didn't care. My focus was already shifting to the next challenge.

As I exited the arena, I couldn't help but reflect on the fight. This world's reliance on mana cores and magic was both fascinating and limiting. Most people, like Elric, depended entirely on their cores to amplify their abilities, neglecting the fundamentals of combat. In my past life, I had risen to power through skill, strategy, and determination. Here, I would do the same—but this time, I had the advantage of a white mana core to back me up.

The tournament had only just begun, and I intended to leave my mark.

As I made my way to the seating area, the cheers from the arena still echoed in my ears. The first round had gone as expected, but I knew this was just the beginning. Settling into a spot, I noticed Livia sitting nearby, giving me a small wave as I approached. I wasn't particularly interested in conversation, but it would have been rude to ignore her. With a slight nod, I sat beside her, keeping my attention on the ongoing matches.

"Not bad out there," she said, her tone light and friendly. "Elric's got quite the reputation, you know."

I glanced at her, offering a curt nod. "He wasn't as difficult as I expected."

She chuckled, clearly amused by my lack of enthusiasm. "You've got a way with words, Sylas."

I didn't respond, letting her talk while my focus shifted to the contestants in the arena. Each match revealed something new about the fighters—some relied heavily on brute strength, others on flashy magic, and a select few displayed a balance of skill and intellect. It was the latter group that caught my attention.

One fighter, a third-year named Serin, had just defeated his opponent with such precision that it left no room for doubt about his mastery of combat. He moved with calculated efficiency, wasting no energy. Rumor had it that he'd been offered a professor's seat at the academy last year, but he'd rejected it.

That got me thinking. If I were ever offered a professor or teacher position—an unlikely scenario at this stage—what would I do? The pros were obvious. It was a position of respect, a steady life, and an opportunity to wield influence. But then there was the most glaring con: talking to children. The mere thought made me grimace. Having to coddle and instruct the soft students of this world, many of whom relied too heavily on their mana cores instead of honing actual skill, seemed unbearable.

"Are you even listening?" Livia asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yes," I lied, glancing at her briefly before shifting my gaze back to the arena.

She sighed but didn't push the issue, instead turning her attention to the next match.

That's when I noticed Vinda, a second-year with a fiery reputation. Her orange mana core pulsed faintly as she prepared for her match. From what I'd heard, her specialty was speed-based combat. She was rumored to be one of the fastest in her year, and I could see why. Even during her warm-up, her movements were sharp and quick, like a striking serpent.

I narrowed my eyes, calculating. If her mana core amplified her natural speed by eight or ten times, how many machs—or meters per second—could she realistically move? My mind raced through rough estimates, considering both her physical limitations and the enhancements provided by her core. It wasn't just about raw speed, though. Speed alone wouldn't win battles; it had to be paired with control and the ability to read opponents.

"She's impressive, isn't she?" Livia said, following my gaze.

"Fast," I replied simply, my tone neutral.

"Fast isn't everything," she countered. "It's about how you use it."

I glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Exactly."

As Vinda's match began, I leaned forward slightly, watching intently as she darted across the arena with blinding speed. Her opponent barely had time to react before she closed the distance, delivering a series of rapid strikes that left him disarmed and on the defensive. It was over in less than a minute.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but my focus remained analytical. Her speed was impressive, but I could already see the cracks in her style—her movements were predictable, following a pattern that someone with enough observation skills could exploit. If I faced her, I'd have to rely on anticipation and precision.

"Think you could take her?" Livia asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

I didn't answer right away, my gaze still fixed on Vinda as she walked off the arena floor. Finally, I said, "Speed without strategy is just chaos. It wouldn't be difficult."

Livia raised an eyebrow, a small grin playing on her lips. "You're confident, aren't you?"

"Just honest," I replied, leaning back in my seat.

The tournament was proving to be more informative than I'd expected. Each fight revealed something new, not just about my potential opponents but also about this world's reliance on mana cores and how they shaped combat styles. It was a far cry from the battles of my old life, where skill and experience often outweighed raw power. But here, I would have to adapt—and I intended to do so better than anyone else.

The arena was loud with cheers, the voices of spectators blending into an almost deafening roar as I stepped onto the battlefield. The match had drawn a large crowd, mostly due to my opponent, Aishen, a third-year student who had built a reputation as one of the academy's most formidable fighters. His victories were decisive, and his strength was undeniable. It was no surprise that people were betting obscene amounts of money on this fight.

As I walked to my side of the arena, I studied the layout carefully. The battlefield was massive, at least 50 meters in diameter, with plenty of open space to maneuver but also areas where footing could be precarious if one wasn't careful. Loose gravel patches here and there, scattered obstacles designed to mimic combat in uneven terrain—it was clear the designers of the arena wanted to challenge not just strength but adaptability. I made a mental note of the positions where footing was weakest and where the terrain offered the best vantage points.

I looked across the arena to see Aishen standing there, his tall figure exuding confidence. He held a heavy iron broadsword, the edge glowing faintly with the energy of his blue mana core. I had observed him during previous matches—he was fast, strong, and precise, capable of closing gaps in an instant and delivering devastating blows. However, his confidence bordered on arrogance, a flaw I could exploit.

I clenched the hilt of my weapon, a standard-issue longsword for these tournament matches, its weight feeling light in my hands compared to the countless weapons I'd wielded in my past life. I reminded myself that mana cores were the great equalizer in this world. Even with my 55 years of battle experience, raw skill wouldn't guarantee victory against someone enhanced by a blue mana core. But that didn't mean I was helpless—I had already analyzed his movements and fighting style.

The referee called for the start of the match, and the arena fell silent. Aishen smirked, clearly expecting this to be another easy victory.

The moment the whistle blew, he charged forward, his speed faster than most people could react to. I had anticipated this. Watching his previous fights, I had noticed a pattern in his initial attacks—he always aimed to overwhelm his opponent with a quick, powerful strike to throw them off balance. I didn't move from my position, waiting until the last second before sidestepping his attack.

The broadsword came down hard, smashing into the ground where I had been standing. Dust and gravel kicked up into the air, but I was already moving, circling around him.

"Fast," he muttered, glancing at me with narrowed eyes.

"You're predictable," I replied calmly, raising my sword to a defensive position.

His expression darkened, and he lunged again, this time feinting to the left before aiming a diagonal slash at my right side. I caught his blade with mine, the impact sending vibrations up my arm. He was strong, stronger than I had anticipated, but his movements still lacked the finesse of someone who had truly mastered their weapon.

I parried his strike and countered with a quick thrust aimed at his torso. He sidestepped, but not fast enough to avoid the tip of my blade grazing his side. He hissed in pain, his hand briefly brushing against the tear in his uniform where the strike had landed.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but I paid them no mind. My focus was solely on him, analyzing every movement, every shift in his stance. He was angry now, his earlier smirk replaced by a grim determination.

"You think you can win just by dodging?" he growled, raising his sword high.

"No," I said flatly, stepping back as he brought his blade down in a powerful overhead slash. The ground cracked under the force of his attack, but I was already a few meters away.

He chased me relentlessly, each strike heavier and more forceful than the last. He was trying to wear me down, relying on the enhanced stamina provided by his mana core. But he didn't realize I was doing the same to him. Every time he overextended, every time he put too much force into a swing, he was using more energy than necessary.

After a particularly wide swing, I saw my opening. I stepped in close, too close for him to use his broadsword effectively, and delivered a hard elbow strike to his ribs. He staggered back, his balance momentarily compromised.

Seizing the opportunity, I pressed the attack, my strikes aimed not to defeat him outright but to force him into a defensive position. He blocked and parried, but his movements were becoming slower, less precise.

"You're reckless," I said, my voice calm despite the intensity of the fight. "Strength without strategy is useless."

"Shut up!" he roared, his blue mana core flaring brighter as he poured more energy into his body. His movements became faster, almost erratic, as he launched a series of wild strikes.

I dodged and blocked, letting him exhaust himself. Each swing left him more open, more vulnerable. Finally, as he overcommitted to a heavy downward slash, I sidestepped and brought my sword up in a precise strike, disarming him. His broadsword clattered to the ground, and I pointed my blade at his neck.

The referee's whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.

Aishen stood there, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with disbelief. I lowered my sword and turned away, walking back to my side of the arena without saying a word.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but I barely registered it. My mind was already analyzing the fight, thinking of what I could have done better and what I had learned about fighting opponents with mana cores. This was only the beginning, and I had no intention of stopping here.