Above the gladiatorial arena's dome.
A golden halo slowly rotated.
It was as though the Eye of Anubis watched over everything.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of spices and fresh blood. The ground was paved with black basalt, every stone brick engraved with ancient hieroglyphs that glimmered faintly.
At the center of the arena, Ian stood quietly. His black robes fluttered gently in the breeze, a wand grasped in his hand, though his gaze remained exceptionally calm. He looked around and realized this was no ordinary trial ground—it was more like a vessel of time, an illusion sealed away by gods, created specifically to test intruders.
This place could summon heroic spirits who had existed throughout history. Whether they had died or been reincarnated, the trial ground could summon them forth like projections from history.
Ian recalled an Occult Novel he had read that described a similar Supernatural Method. It did not summon the real person, but rather some traces they had left behind in history.
Though they certainly would not be as powerful as the real people, they still possessed their bearing and abilities. As Ian surveyed his surroundings, Anubis's voice sounded once more. He appeared in the referee's stand, draped in a golden cloak, his face concealed beneath a Jackal Head Mask, revealing only a pair of abyss-deep eyes.
"First trial: challenge the heroic souls of history."
"Second trial: challenge an immortal among wizards equal to yourself."
"Third trial—challenge my will."
"Now, your first trial officially begins... Good luck, child." Anubis's voice echoed through the arena, low and solemn, like a judge's hammer striking the soul. As his words fell, the black iron gate at the other end of the arena rose with a thunderous crash, and heavy chains rattled loudly.
From the depths of