Earth's Greatest Magus

Loud horns echoed across the vast desert as a sea of orcs surged toward the citadel from every direction. The rhythmic pounding of their war drums blended with the guttural roars of their warriors, creating a menacing cacophony that reverberated across the sand dunes.

This was no ordinary assault. Millions of orcs marched in unison, flanked by tens of thousands of dark elf warriors clad in blackened armor. Looming above them were hundreds of two-headed ogres, their grotesque frames adorned with jagged weapons crafted for devastation.

The enemy’s numbers weren’t the only thing that had multiplied; they had brought with them instruments of war designed to crush any resistance.

Among the ranks of dark elves were ten colossal war machines known as Wrathwalkers. These towering constructs, ten meters tall, strode on four mechanical legs that dug deep into the earth with every step. Each was armed with twin thermal lancers mounted on its back, capable of unleashing destructive high-temperature beams that could reduce even the strongest defenses to rubble.

From the Citadel walls, the defenders watched with grim determination, their breaths caught in their throats as the Wrathwalkers unleashed their fury. Blazing beams of concentrated thermal energy streaked across the battlefield, colliding with the Citadel’s shimmering outer barrier. The impact rippled across the magical shield, cracking its surface like fragile glass.

“Raise the shield to the maximum!” barked General Wyne, his voice steady despite the chaos. From the central tower, he watched the battle unfold, his sharp eyes scanning every detail. His orders were swiftly relayed, and the barrier flickered as more energy surged into it, sealing the cracks.

But the reprieve was short-lived. A second volley from the Wrathwalkers tore through the air, slamming into the barrier with even greater force.

General Wyne clenched his fists, his mind racing. He needed to bide his time, observing the enemy’s tactics before committing to a counterstrike. Reports flooded in from his subordinates stationed across the fortress, painting a grim picture of the enemy’s overwhelming might.

The elven forces were unlike anything they had faced before. Their ranks boasted over five million orcs, 25,000 elite warriors, 1,000 magus-level combatants, and eight grand magus commanders who coordinated the assault from strategic vantage points.

Among them, the infamous Agis the Red Demon surveyed the battlefield from the back of his fearsome crimson dragon. Agis was not alone. Two more, two cosmos-level grand magus stood out among the elven leadership.

Draven, a hulking figure even among dark elves, was a warrior-mage hybrid whose sheer presence instilled dread. His dark gray skin bore the scars of countless battles, and his crimson eyes blazed with a predatory hunger. His braided hair, streaked with blood-red dye, marked his status as one of the dark elves’ fiercest leaders.

Zeryntha, in contrast, radiated an ethereal, almost unearthly aura. Her porcelain skin shimmered with blue undertones, and her silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight. Her shifting sapphire-violet eyes exuded both beauty and menace. But beneath her graceful exterior lay a cunning strategist and a formidable mage.

In comparison, the human forces were outnumbered and outmatched in raw power. They comprised over a million warriors drawn from the Valaryn militia of the Earth realm and the elite Valaryn Knights in the Sky realm stage. Additionally, the Magus Alliance had 20,000 saint-level soldiers, 500 magus, and 18 grand magus. General Wyne, a three-cosmos figure, stood as their strongest champion, supported by four two-cosmos commanders and Valaryn’s mightiest grand magus, Archie.

Despite the disparity in strength, the humans had one significant advantage: the fortress. The Citadel’s high walls, reinforced by triple energy barriers, were nearly impregnable. Two dozen high-energy beam turrets mounted on the ramparts provided unparalleled firepower, capable of cutting through enemy ranks like a scythe through wheat.

The battle raged on as the Wrathwalkers continued their bombardment. The elven siege weapons eventually overheated, their assault halting temporarily. But their mission had already succeeded in draining a significant portion of the Citadel’s energy reserves. Then came the second stage of the assault.

A deafening horn blast echoed across the battlefield, followed by the synchronized roar of millions of orcs.

“CHIWIKK!! CHIWIKK!! CHIWIKK!!”

Dozens of orc war chiefs stepped forward, barking orders to their troops. The orcs surged toward the walls like a living tide, their numbers darkening the sands.

“FIRE!” General Wyne commanded.

The fortress responded with ruthless efficiency. The turrets roared to life, unleashing devastating volleys of energy that tore through the orc ranks.

BOOMM!! BOOMM!! BOOMM!! Each explosion was accompanied by the gruesome sight of bodies being obliterated, limbs and viscera scattering across the desert. Thousands fell with every passing second, yet the orcs pressed on undeterred, their ferocity unmatched.

Magus stationed at 40 defensive posts atop the walls, joined the fray, casting powerful spells that rained down destruction upon the enemy. Soldiers armed with energy weapons opened fire, while archers unleashed volleys of arrows that blotted out the sun. Yet, despite their heroic efforts, the sheer mass of the orc horde overwhelmed sections of the barrier, causing it to falter once again.

Then, an unsettling anomaly occurred at the south gate. Unlike the rest of the battlefield, no orc forces attacked the walls there. Instead, they seemed to hold back, some even glancing over their shoulders as if awaiting further instructions. The sight sent a jolt of anxiety through General Wyne.

The tense atmosphere in the Citadel’s command center grew heavier as a scout rushed in, his face pale and breathless from delivering urgent news. His voice cracked as he relayed the report.

Major Zoller, who had previously volunteered to escort the last batch of civilians, was now stranded at the first checkpoint. Both the ninth and tenth batches were surrounded by enemy forces, leaving them with no way out.

Gasps of disbelief echoed through the room as the enormity of the situation set in. The map table at the center of the command chamber lit up, displaying the layout of the surrounding desert and the first checkpoint. General Wyne’s expression darkened as he processed the information. He leaned over the table, his sharp eyes scanning the enemy’s formation. With a practiced calm, he connected the report with the unusual troop movements of the elven southern units, which had been advancing erratically for the past two days.

“It’s a trap,” he said, his voice cutting through the room’s rising murmur.

The officers turned toward him in shock, but he continued, his tone grim. “The elves are using the civilians as bait. They expect us to open the gates and send reinforcements to save them.”

With the lives of innocent civilians on the line, the general couldn’t help but curse, “Those damn elven bastards!”