Earth's Greatest Magus

Emery emerged from the swirling darkness of the Khaos domain, his feet finding familiar ground as he stepped through the Famine gate. Before him, the dragon’s majestic form towered, its serpentine eyes watching him intently. 

“I am thinking about moving you someplace else,” Emery began, his voice firm yet carrying a hint of uncertainty.

The dragon tilted its head slightly, the golden hues of its eyes reflecting the curious spark within. “Do you have a place in mind?” 

Emery shook his head, “Not at this instant. But with the dark elf now aware of who I truly am, it’s only a matter of time before they probe deeper. Your presence here only endangers my home. I’d feel better if you were constantly on the move, with me.”

A deep, throaty chuckle emanated from the dragon, its massive body vibrating with amusement. “What happened to that naive youth I once knew?”

Emery’s face darkened, shadows playing across his features. He turned his gaze to a spot nearby, where remnants of his past life lay. “He’s dead”

The weight of his own words seemed to hang heavy in the air. Emery gracefully moved his fingers, tracing intricate patterns in the air. A shimmering portal formed, waiting for him to step through.

Moments later, Emery found himself standing amidst the stone formation he had built. The hills surrounding him trembled as if in mourning. The very stones he had placed with such care, now crumbled apart. They served as a somber monument to a part of him that had been forever lost.

“May you rest in peace”  he murmured, a silent tribute to his past.

Just as he was about to take his leave, the distant sound of hooves reached his ears. Rapidly closing in, a group of Roman guards on horseback approached, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. They had obviously been drawn by the disturbances he had inadvertently caused.

“Heus… te!!” one of them shouted.

Another soldier, possibly their leader given his ornate armor, raised a hand as he demanded,

“Identify yourself! What transpired here?”

Emery met the Roman guards’ eyes, and the captain’s face paled as realization struck him. He reined his horse back a step, eyes wide with a mix of recognition. “Brown hair, green eye… By the Gods, you’re him, aren’t you?”

But Emery, unfazed by the sudden recognition, subtly shifted his fingers in an intricate pattern, murmuring softly under his breath. “You are mistaken, I am merely passing through.”

In response, the Roman guards’ expressions grew vacant, their previously tense postures relaxing. The weight of the revelation seemingly lifted from their shoulders as the captain mechanically responded, “Our apologies. We were clearly in error.”

Given Emery’s current strenght, it took only a meager portion of his spirit energy to manipulate their memories. Seeing an opportunity to glean more about the current state of affairs, he inquired about the situation on the land.

From their answers, Emery pieced together a picture of the current times: Rome had extended its dominion over most of Britannia, with Julian Kaesar at its helm. These soldiers were stationed in this region to monitor and report any unusual occurrences to the place. Regrettably, their rank was not significant enough to be privy to the more intricate details concerning Rome’s or Britannia’s leadership.

With a wave of his hand, Emery dismissed the soldiers. “Carry on with your duties,” he instructed, ensuring they would have no memory of their encounter with him.

Watching their retreating forms, a weight pressed on Emery’s chest. The mention of Julian’s name resurrected old memories and worries. He felt an urge to delve deeper into the situation. To ensure he wouldn’t draw undue attention, he whispered an incantation, wrapping himself in a spirit defense camouflage. One that even if people see him soaring in the sky, they would not take notice and at the same time hide his power. 

Without further delay, he levitated off the ground, allowing the wind currents to guide him gracefully toward the nearby settlement: Venta city.

As Emery descended from the sky, the townsfolk paused in their daily tasks to watch. It was a sight worthy of legend, yet the spell Emery had cast worked wonders. While they gazed upon his descent, no sense of alarm registered on their faces. After a fleeting moment of curiosity, the inhabitants of Venta resumed their routines as though nothing unusual happened.

With each step on Venta’s cobblestone streets, memories flooded back to Emery. The cityscape may have changed with the conspicuous presence of Roman soldiers patrolling every corner, but the heart of Venta, with its vibrant marketplaces and chatter of townsfolk, remained unchanged. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked meat pies wafted from a familiar stall, pulling at Emery’s senses. The same pie vendor from years ago still hawked his goods, shouting out the day’s specials.

A pang of desire hit him, the longing for a taste of a simpler time. But his pockets were devoid of earthly currency, and the pies lay just beyond his grasp. As he contemplated resorting to magic, inner voices began their bickering.

said another voice.

Emery was poised to make a decision when the clamor from the town square reached his ears. He wandered towards the noise and was met with a distressing sight: a Roman soldier was forcefully holding down a bleeding, struggling middle-aged man, preparing to nail him to the poles.

it was an all-too-familiar scene, reminiscent of the punishments meted out to rebels and gladiators in Rome a decade prior.

Anguish and anger emanated from the gathered crowd. Shouts of defiance filled the air, punctuated by the occasional stone or coin hurled at the Romans.

“Be gone, invaders! We don’t need you or your tainted gold!”

Intrigued, Emery retrieve one of the thrown coins. His fingers traced the etched profile of a man he knew all too well, accompanied by the inscription ‘Roman dictator Julian Kaesar.’

The town square was consumed with an oppressive silence, broken only by the cruel crack of a whip that sang through the air. This was no ordinary whip; its sharp steel edges gleamed malevolently, ensuring every strike was not just a mere sting but a mutilating cut. The poor man, hung up for public punishment, bore the brunt of each lash, his flesh parting and painting the ground with splatters of his blood.

Onlookers watched with a mix of horror and helplessness. Their clenched fists and gritted teeth indicated their shared rage, yet the suffocating presence of the Roman soldiers ensured that their anger remained a silent one. Fear held them in its grip, and none found the courage to intervene.

“May this be a reminder, not to defy the rule of Rome,” barked the Roman Officer, his voice echoing with authority and disdain in the town square.

Emery had pledged himself to transcend beyond mortal matters, hence he had no plan to get involved, However before he could turn away, amidst the jeers and angry whispers, the man being punished managed to lift his head. Defiance glinting in his eyes, he croaked out,

“I am Gregory the giant! I may be bound and beaten, but I won’t bow to invaders like you!”

Emery froze in place. The name, the voice, the very essence of the man called back a flood of memories from when he first stepped into this city.

Driven by an impulse, the aura around Emery flared. In a mere breath, the dynamics of the square shifted. There was a blur of motion, an almost inaudible incantation, and then a deafening silence.

The oppressive atmosphere that once dominated the square lifted almost instantly. All stunned in confusion, their memories slightly fogged, unable to recall the recent events. But the silent testimony of the blood-soaked wood plank in the center of the square spoke of a dark tale.