Earth's Greatest Magus

Emery had been absent when the first 47 participants did their challenge.

When he emerged, he found himself unaware of the crowd’s reactions, their faces reflecting awe and disbelief. He believed he had performed well in the last challenge, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he might have done this well.

“You pass the challenge… You are first place.”

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The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Emery thought he had misheard. The examinee’s tone and expression left no doubt—this result had shocked even them. As Emery scanned the crowd, he noticed a sea of astonished faces, each bearing the same expression of incredulity.

“Oh… did I do too much?” Emery murmured to himself, his mind racing.

Until now, he had been a nobody—a nameless participant with no reputation to his name.

Without status or connections, he had struggled even to gain entry to this prestigious palace. Now, standing at the center of attention, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. Recognition might be a double-edged sword, and he feared it could come back to haunt him.

With a quiet resolve, Emery decided to remain silent. He suppressed any outward signs of emotion and followed the examiner’s instructions as they announced the names of the top five alchemists. These were the ones who would advance to the grand Alchemist of Heaven and Earth event.

One by one, the names were called out, accompanied by cheers and applause from the audience. As the other four stepped forward, Emery took mental notes.

The first was a towering figure from the giant race; his name was Graknar Blueflame. His broad frame exuded raw power, and the way he carried himself hinted at immense skill honed over years of rigorous practice.

Next came a graceful wood elf, then two humans followed: a stern, middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and a demeanor that screamed discipline, and then a strikingly beautiful young woman introduced as Kaelynn Silverleaf.

When Emery’s gaze fell upon Kaelynn, something unexpected happened. Their eyes met, and a ripple of familiarity coursed through him. His divine sense flared instinctively, and a puzzle piece seemed to shift into place.

“She’s… a beastman?” Emery mused silently. “What is she?”

The question lingered in his mind as the five of them were presented to the spectators. The announcement of their selection elicited thunderous applause. The crowd’s excitement was palpable, a reflection of the significance of this rare event.

Their recognition earned them a coveted invitation to enter the Skyroot estate, where they would be housed until the main event began in three days.

As the crowd began to disperse, Emery’s curiosity tugged at him. He wanted to approach Kaelynn, to unravel the enigma surrounding her. However, just as he started to make his move, one of the examiners intercepted him.

“Alchemist, the patriarch would like to see you.”

The patriarch of the Skyroot faction—a Grade 9 master of alchemy—wanted to meet him? This was an unexpected turn of events, one that immediately shifted his priorities. Without hesitation, Emery abandoned his plan to speak with Kaelynn and followed the examiner.

He was led into an ornate building nearby, its grand architecture radiating both elegance and power. Inside, seated upon a throne-like chair, was an elderly man with silvery hair that seemed to shimmer under the light. This was Grand Master Calidorne, a figure whose presence exuded the weight of centuries of wisdom and mastery.

As the patriarch’s piercing gaze fell upon him, Emery felt the undeniable aura of someone nearing the pinnacle of Supreme-level power.

“You are a beastman,” the patriarch stated, his voice calm but laden with authority. “Which clan are you from? Who is your master?”

The questions were delivered with the precision of a blade, cutting straight to the heart of Emery’s identity. He remained composed, giving the same carefully crafted explanation he had used before: the secluded clan he came from and a traveling alchemist master whose name he promised not to share. The same one he had used successfully with the Azure Cloud patriarch. However, this time, it was clear his words would not suffice.

The Alchemist Master before him was no fool; they understood that such mastery in alchemy could not be acquired through mere instruction in the wilderness.

The air in the chamber was tense, filled with unspoken questions and suspicion. Emery could feel the weight of the stares from the other alchemists present, their eyes dissecting every word and gesture.

He knew their interest was not in his origins or training but in the remarkable feat he had just achieved. Lighting up 92 runes on the Heaven and Earth scales was a monumental accomplishment, and they were desperate for answers.

To offer them some clarification—without revealing too much—Emery casually raised his hands. A spell ignited on each arm: one enveloped in dark, shadowy energy, the other radiating a brilliant, golden light.

“I was born with this dual affinity,” he said, his voice steady and composed. “Perhaps this unique nature gave me an advantage with the scales.”

The room fell silent as the display of contrasting energies drew every eye. The explanation seemed to appease most of the onlookers. Many nodded thoughtfully as if the demonstration had answered their doubts. But Emery’s sharp instincts told him the patriarch was not entirely convinced.

The elderly alchemist studied him intently, his piercing gaze searching for any sign of deceit. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his tone measured and formal.

“Your talent is undeniable,” the patriarch said. “I look forward to seeing more of your abilities in the upcoming event. You may go.”

Emery gave a respectful nod and turned to leave, his expression calm, though his mind raced. He could feel the weight of their lingering stares as he exited the chamber.

As soon as the door closed behind him, murmurs erupted among the remaining alchemists.

“A dual affinity that could light up 92 runes…” one whispered, his voice tinged with awe. “He could be the inheritor of the Heaven and Earth Reversal techniques.”

The claim sparked immediate debate.

“That’s preposterous,” another countered. “He must have cheated,” someone muttered, though the doubt in their voice betrayed their lack of conviction.

The patriarch’s voice cut through the noise, silencing the room.

“That’s Enough,” he said firmly. “Even if he possesses the talent, he cannot inherit the technique… Don’t you see what he truly is?”

The others exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of his meaning.

The patriarch’s eyes narrowed, as he said “He is a Fey.”

A silence filled the room as the weight of that revelation sank in.