Earth's Greatest Magus

The dark elf captain felt his blood surge with anger. He could sense that this female magus, standing calm before him, was no ordinary, yet his pride as a half-moon dark elf made him believe he could best any human below the grand magus realm.

Raising both hands, he began to chant an elvish incantation and two blazing wheels of flame spun into existence, orbiting his hands, and hurled them toward Klea.

“Die! Die! Die!” he shouted, the flames cutting through the air with blistering speed.

But Klea was unfazed. She calmly lifted her hands, and with a quiet incantation, swirling waves materialized before her, forming rotating barriers of water that met each flaming wheel head-on.

The clash of fire and water produced hissing clouds of steam, obscuring them briefly in mist, but Klea’s defense held firm. “This is good. I’ve been meaning to spar with a flame user,” Klea said, tauntingly calm.

Enraged, the dark elf captain’s flames grew fiercer, the color shifting to a more intense, blinding orange. He poured more of his power into the spell, each blast of flame larger and more forceful, determined to overwhelm her. The sky became a battlefield of opposing elements as fire and water collided, bursts of steam swirling in dramatic clouds around them. From a distance, Magus Sirri watched, her gaze darting between the violent exchange and Emery, her composure slipped as she asked, “Instructor… are you not going to help?”

Emery gave a slight shake of his head, fully trusting that Klea could dominate the dark elf captain. His greater concern was for Magus Vorlax and his team, as they faced the pair of dark elves. When Magus Sirri suggested lending aid to the sergeant, Emery shook his head. “Vorlex and his team are veterans. They won’t fall easily… Just focus on the acolytes,” casting a watchful eye over the battleground below.

The battle on the ground had reached a critical point. Twenty dark elf warriors, survivors of Klea’s initial assault, had now joined the fray. The orc warriors, bred and imprinted to obey any elf as their superior, instantly recognized the dark elves as their leaders. They moved in unison, adding a new level of coordination that escalated the danger.

“Do not falter!!” Hardy shouted to rally the platoon. Recognizing the heightened threat, he deployed their best fighters—Ha Ron, King Rig, Blaine, and Evalice—to face the dark elves directly, while the rest maintained their defensive line against the orcs.

Despite their best efforts, the acolytes were sustaining injuries. More and more fell with severe wounds, and the healing team, led by Bellana, was struggling to keep up.

As Hardy surveyed the field, a thought tugged at him. “Should I use more of the bombs?”

In his hesitation, a dark elf warrior—sharp enough to identify Hardy as the platoon’s leader—lunged forward in a silent, deadly leap. Hardy’s instincts flared, and he quickly cast a time spell to slow the elf’s advance, hoping it would buy him a critical second to dodge. But his heart sank as he realized the elf moved with an uncanny resistance to his magic, shrugging off the spell’s effects almost effortlessly.

Hardy barely managed to evade, but as he shifted his stance, he caught sight of a second dark elf lying in wait, poised to strike the moment he exposed himself.

“No!” Hardy gasped, bracing for what he thought might be his end.

But before the fatal blow could land, a massive figure charged in, intercepting the attack with a thunderous impact. Ulong, in his mighty palace-boar form, barreled into the dark elves, his body encased in a thick metallic aura. He rammed into the attacker with the force of a battering ram, sending the elf sprawling to the ground.

“You’re not hurting my bro!!” Ulong roared. His boar-like form seemed to possess a demonic power, and he began pummeling the fallen elf, each strike smashing deeper into the ground until his opponent was little more than a broken, lifeless form.

Meanwhile, the second dark elf attempted to intervene, but before he could reach Ulong, a swift shadow darted in—Chikokoko, the young chizpur, who lunged in with surprising force.

“KU KU!!”

The chizpur’s hard formidable body absorbed the elf’s slashing strike, and with a fierce, he retaliated with an unexpected headbutt.

BAMMM!!

The impact sent the dark elf staggering backward, momentarily stunned by Chikokoko’s unexpected strength. The acolytes’ morale surged at the sight of their comrades’ heroics, reinvigorating their defense as they began to push back with renewed determination.

Emery watched from the sidelines, his lips curving into a proud smile as his acolytes and chizpurs moved with remarkable coordination. Each second he held back from joining the fray only confirmed the strength and resilience his team had developed. This battle was no accident; Emery had initiated it to toughen them, to push them to their limits and carve battle experience into their souls.

He turned toward Magus Sirri with a grin. “You see how well they’re doing? Please count the points correctly.”

Magus Sirri gave a small nod, observing the intense battle unfolding below, her surprise evident. She had underestimated these young acolytes.

Minutes turned into a fierce melee, yet to Emery’s pride, the acolytes didn’t just hold their ground—they began to overpower the dark elf warriors. Hardy took advantage of the confusion among the orcs, capitalizing on their divided loyalties and scattered commands to spot an opening. With decisive signals, he directed an attack path straight toward the orc warchief.

King Rig leapt into action, his powerful dark lightning attacks blasting through the orc defenses, stunning several in his path. Blaine followed close behind, his form shifting into his ant transformation, now an armored juggernaut tearing through the orcs like a force of nature. He bulldozed his way toward the warchief, whose injuries made him easy prey, and finished the orc leader with a final, crushing blow.

“Your chief is dead!” Blaine’s voice thundered across the battlefield. The remaining orcs staggered at the sight, their morale crumbling as they saw their leader fall. Panic spread like wildfire through their ranks, and soon, hundreds of orcs turned to flee, abandoning the field in defeat. Even the dark elves, despite all their imprints meant to bind the orcs in loyalty, could do nothing to rally them back. The loss of their leader had broken the orcs beyond repair, and they fled in the hundreds, deserting their once-fierce charge.

The dark elf magus captain realized the tide had turned against him. Despite his efforts, he had been unable to gain the upper hand against Klea. As he assessed the situation, it became clear that victory was slipping from his grasp. Reluctantly, he decided to sound a retreat.

Emery watched the unfolding chaos with a sly smile spread across his face. “Trying to flee? Not on my watch”