Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2622: Warriors

The Earth faction had seized yet another point from the mighty Kronos.

Earth 3, Kronos 2.

But the true damage wasn’t just in numbers.

Klea’s victory hadn’t merely added a point to Earth’s tally. It had denied Kronos a vital one.

According to the arena’s rules, each individual could participate in a maximum of two matches per faction. Now, with Klea having fought—and triumphed—twice, she was officially retired from the tournament. Her victories had carved both a triumph and a wall. Kronos had missed their chance to earn any points from her. Their total possible score of ten was now reduced to nine.

And even more chilling—it was Earth that reached three first. Earth, the so-called ”lesser faction.”

Whispers swirled in the divine balconies. The murmurs of the audience rose like storm winds, astonished and wild.

In the Kronos delegation’s box, silence reigned. Not the calm of confidence—but the frozen stillness of disbelief.

They were supposed to dominate this coliseum. They were the gods among earthlings. And now... they’d lost two matches to a woman who wasn’t even in the grand magus realm.

It wasn’t just a loss. It was humiliation.

Meanwhile, cheers erupted from the Earth faction’s side of the arena. The stands shook with stomping feet and bellowing cries, hailing Klea not only as a victor but as a miracle—but the heroine herself could barely stand.

Klea stood draped in blood and sweat, her breaths ragged, her eyes dim. Victory had come at a terrible cost. All six of her summons had perished in the clash. Among them was Tivali—her bonded tiger companion of over ten years. Their souls had been willingly sacrificed to sustain her Six-Layer Body Formation.

That was the reason she’d been able to cast such a powerful spell. A calculated, intentional sacrifice.

A single tear slid down her cheek—not just for the loss of her beloved companion, but for the cruelty of her own decision.

Her knees buckled slightly.

Thrax caught her before she collapsed, feeling the tremble in her hands. Her fingers were ice cold.

”You did what you had to,” he said, his voice low, eyes burning with a mix of fury and admiration. ”I swear—I won’t let this victory go to waste.”

Then, without another word, Thrax turned toward the arena.

It was his turn now.

The battlefield seemed to stretch before him like a grand stage waiting for blood to be spilled. He walked with heavy, deliberate steps—his boots thudding against the marble floor of the coliseum. The arena sensors responded to his presence, amplifying his entrance with a low, resonant hum.

With a fluid motion, Thrax unslung his weapon from his back.

Gealbog—his war spear—gleamed in the light. Its shaft pulsed with a dark crimson glow, runes etched deep into the metal humming with barely restrained power. He raised it high above his head, the tip aimed directly at one target in the Kronos delegation. 𝐑Ἀ₦ΟᛒËŠ

”ARES!! His voice cracked through the air like a war horn.

”I CHALLENGE YOU!”

The entire arena froze.

Ares, the God of War, stirred.

With the previous match concluded and Kronos now behind in points, they had no choice but to send in one of their best. The Earth faction’s momentum was growing too dangerous to ignore. And so, Kronos relented—to Ares’ burning desire for war.

The God of War rose without hesitation.

With a thunderous clang, Ares donned his dark gold battle helmet, its curved horns catching the arena’s light. In one arm, he lifted his obsidian-bladed battle-axe. In the other, he gripped a buckler inscribed with the war runes of Olympus. His expression was pure fire—feral, eager, unshakably confident.

He stepped into the arena like a storm given form.

The air thickened with the collision of two overwhelming auras as Thrax met his gaze across the field. Both warriors stood tall, their frames near-mirrors of each other—broad-shouldered, muscle-bound, radiating battle-tested experience. The sheer pressure from their clashing energies caused the audience to fall silent, breath held in reverent awe.

Thrax smiled faintly. Not with arrogance, but with something deeper. Recognition.

Before him stood the very god his Thracian ancestors once worshipped—Ares, the patron of conquest, blood, and strength. Thrax knew better than to revere that legend blindly. Ares was no divine savior, but a symbol—a myth used by the Kronos to justify the slaughter and conquest of Earth.

And yet... Thrax also knew this much to be true: Ares was a warrior of terrifying caliber.

The man before him had led armies into over a thousand battles. Ares had earned his fame. A commander, a killer, a god of war in every sense.

So Thrax gave him the only thing he could.

A final nod of respect—not for the myth, but for the warrior.

Then, without another word, Thrax spun his spear Gealbog in a fluid arc, the runes along its shaft igniting with a crimson glow. He sank into his stance, legs steady, spear aimed forward like a drawn arrow.

Across the arena, Ares slammed his axe into his shield with a roar.

Iris raised her hand.

”Let the battle begin!!” she declared, voice ringing like a war bell.

The arena erupted.

The moment Iris signaled the start, Ares released a guttural roar that thundered through the coliseum like a divine cannon—[Titan Warcry], a legendary strength-enhancing technique said to surpass even what Heracles had mastered. His muscles surged unnaturally, tendons bulging and veins glowing gold. His presence became overwhelming—a war god incarnate, pulsing with primal might.

But Thrax did not flinch.

He knew this level of power. Ares had already broken into the Grand Magus realm, albeit recently. A warrior standing at the dawn of a new threshold—powerful, but not yet at their peak. Still, he knew one misstep could be fatal.

No hesitation. No fear.

With a sharp breath, Thrax summoned his trump card—[Immortal Gate: Stage Nine]—the full mastery of the divine technique. As he activated it, an aura of invincibility radiated from his frame, and then he whisper.

”Gealbog... this is it. Give me everything.”

The artifact responded instantly. The spear vibrated in his grasp, runes igniting with a dark crimson glow. Armor erupted from its core, crawling up his arms and wrapping around his body like liquid steel—dense, shadow-colored plating that fortified his form. It was not simply a weapon—it was a war bond.

With a burst of force, Thrax lunged forward, spear poised, wind parting at his back.

One strike.

One focused, devastating thrust—so pure in intent and so loaded with energy that the very wind screamed behind it. The audience held their breath.

BOOM!

Ares raised his buckler just in time.

The impact rang like a hammer against a mountain, forcing Ares back a single step. A rare sight. A mortal had made the God of War shift his footing.

But the response was instant.

With a guttural growl, Ares swung his massive axe in a clean horizontal arc—fast and brutal.

BANG!!

Thrax blocked with Gealbog, but the sheer force blasted him sideways. He skidded back three paces, boots carving trenches in the divine arena floor. The difference in physical strength was clear.

Still, he smiled.

It wasn’t arrogance—it was hunger. Thrax surged forward again, unleashing a torrent of spear techniques that flowed like a violent river. Jabs, sweeps, arcs of power—refined movements honed through years in brutal warzones.

Ares met every strike with matching fervor.

He grinned, not out of mockery but appreciation.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A dozen blows collided in rapid succession. The crowd roared with each exchange. Sparks flew from every clash, and shockwaves rippled through the arena, rattling the barriers that protected the spectators.

Two masters of combat. But both were warriors through and through.

Though Thrax was being pushed back more often, his momentum never faltered. He adapted. Improved. Each move became tighter, more deliberate. His spear, now an extension of his will, weaved through Ares’ defense like a striking serpent.

And then—a blink of an opening.

Ares swung wide, just slightly overcommitted.

Thrax seized the chance. His body twisted, footwork immaculate, and Gealbog launched forward in a blur.

SWISSHHH!!

The spear tip scraped past Ares’ cheek—so close it drew blood.

A single drop trickled down the war god’s face.

Silence followed.

Then Ares let out a low, appreciative laugh. ”I see you’ve been training to counter me.”

Thrax’s eyes burned with determination. ”Of course. I came prepared. Now stop holding back. Show me your real strength.”

The crowd roared again, sensing the tides shifting. The warm-up was over.

And the real battle was just beginning.