Earth's Greatest Magus

After gathering valuable insights about the situation on Valaryn Planet, Emery led the group toward their final destination. However, rather than following the direct, recommended route, he chose a longer detour that brought them dangerously close to contested territory.

Sergeant Vorlax, noticing the shift in direction, couldn’t help but voice his concern again. ‘Sir, with all due respect… we’re a logistics team, and many people are waiting for the cargo.’

Emery replied with the same calm smile. ‘No need to worry, Sergeant. A delay of one or two days won’t kill them.’

“…Two days…”

Emery was determined to maximize the value of this mission, knowing that if they simply completed the cargo delivery as planned, they’d be ordered back to the space station—wasting precious hours from their limited time here.

His motivation came when he reviewed the academy’s latest rankings and saw their current standing:

[Top Hall Ranking – Day 2/30]

[5th Place: Hall 6 – 3,250 Points]

Despite actively engaging in skirmishes and killing well over a thousand orcs the previous day, their points were overshadowed by the higher-ranked halls.

Emery quickly identified several likely factors contributing to the point disparity. First, the orc population on Valaryn seemed to reproduce as rapidly as mushrooms, meaning that taking down thousands of them offered far fewer points compared to dispatching a handful of skilled elven soldiers.

Additionally, there was the question of equipment. Each hall was allowed to bring a variety of tools for their mission, and Emery could only imagine the high-grade artifacts that the wealthier factions had provided for their acolytes. He envisioned powerful relics, automated turrets, and perhaps even top-tier vehicles, all of which would enable them to accumulate points much more easily and efficiently than his own team.

Winning this group exam was far less important to him than his acolytes’ safety and growth. Still, he recognized the potential within his team. He sensed that they had more to offer, and he wanted to push them to draw on every bit of resilience and strength they held.

Just minutes after the sand boat had passed through the treacherous expanse of the dangerous zone, the group was abruptly halted by a formidable horde of orcs.

Unlike the previous encounters, these orcs were equipped with visibly superior gear, their bodies adorned with totems. Fire symbols blazed brightly on their banners, and intricate patterns of flame were painted across their skin.

“They are the Blaze Born Tribe!” exclaimed Sergeant Vorlax, his voice laced with urgency and unease.

The Blaze Born was one among the eighteen orc tribes that roamed Valaryn, each tribe consisting of tens of thousands of warriors, all trained in combat by the elves. Each warrior bore the signs of rigorous drills, their weapons honed to a razor’s edge, and their spirits ignited with the burning fervor of their tribe’s name.

A few dozen Blaze Born warriors stood defiantly in the path of the sand boat, muscles taut and weapons at the ready. Emery assessed the situation quickly, and said “We’ll evade them,” he commanded, his tone firm yet calm, eyes scanning for the safest route.

Sergeant Vorlax felt a rush of relief wash over him as he heard Emery’s directive. Avoiding confrontation was the best course of action. However, his relief was short-lived, as he realized that their ride steered deeper into Blaze Born territory.

The sand boat passed through several smaller orc groups, each group slightly more intimidating than the last. Soon enough, the landscape shifted, and they emerged at the edge of the Blaze Born main encampment—a massive sea of orcs that stretched as far as the eye could see, with nearly ten thousand warriors gathered in a tight formation.

Emery activated his divine sense, scanning the vast camp. He detected not only the formidable numbers but also the elite strength hidden within. Hundreds of orc champions stood out, among them loomed an orc warchief, exuding an intimidating aura of the Magus realm. At this point, it wasn’t just the sergeant voicing his concern. Magus Siiri took a step forward, voice edged with alarm. “Instructor Emery… this is madness… You’re sending them to their death!”

Emery’s gaze remained steady, his calm undisturbed by their protests. Turning to Hardy, he laid out tactics swiftly. The plan was set, roles designated, and every squad knew exactly what they had to do. The young warriors, although tense, caught the spark of determination in Emery’s words. Then, he moved to face his students, meeting each of their eyes in turn. His voice, brimming with conviction, cut through the silence.

“Give them hell!!”

“Yes, Master!” their voices echoing over the dunes.

Both Magus Siiri and Sergeant Vorlax stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of disbelief as they watched the scene unfold before them. The sight of the fifty acolytes charging headlong into the dense mass of orc warriors was an act of bravery that teetered on the edge of insanity.

As the acolytes surged forward, their battle cries mingling with the clamor of the orc camp, it became clear that their conviction to follow Emery’s orders was unwavering. Thousands of orcs roared in response, their presence a looming shadow over the small contingent of warriors. Within minutes, the young fighters found themselves engulfed, and surrounded, their initial momentum dissipating as they struggled to maintain their formation.

“Call them back! Now!!” Magus Siiri shouted in a panic. Sergeant Vorlax shared her alarm, already preparing to call his five men into action, ready to dive into the fray to extract the acolytes from the brink of disaster. Yet amid the rising tension, Emery remained unflinching.

HOOONKKKK

A thunderous warhorn shattered the air, a reverberating call echoing across the desert sands, signaling the arrival of a true threat.

The orc warchief had entered the fray, a massive figure clad in battle-worn armor, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

His voice boomed over the battlefield as he roared, “Lok’mogul Zug!” He raised his heavy war axe as he cut a brutal path toward the young fighters.

In that critical moment, Hardy’s voice rang out, slicing through the chaos “Now!!”

Without hesitation, each squad leader hurled a small, crimson liquid bottle into the thick of the orc ranks. The acolytes immediately ducked, and a tense second hung in the air, before

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A series of powerful explosions detonated in quick succession, creating a chain reaction of shockwaves that blasted through the orc horde. Flames and shrapnel ripped through the ranks, cutting down hundreds of orcs in an instant.

The warchief, caught off guard by the sudden assault, stumbled back, his massive frame engulfed in flames and scorched by the deadly blasts. Hardy rose above the fray, his voice carrying across the battlefield “Finish them all!!”