Earth's Greatest Magus

With Emery’s request approved, a specialized unit was swiftly assembled to escort him toward the central stronghold—the largest of the seven fortresses guarding the northern territories of Tartarus Realm.

Among the five alchemists, only Ivaris joined the journey. Horus chose to remain with the main expedition group and the Warmaster, citing safety concerns, while Ada was deep into her research on developing parasite detection methods. Gelael, the Ember Sage, decided to accompany them as well, claiming interest in examining the captured prisoners, though Emery suspected his motives ran deeper.

The warship prepared for the journey was nothing short of a flying fortress. Nearly one hundred meters long, reinforced with formidable hulls and layered energy shields, it cut through the sky like a blade. Fifty elite warriors stood aboard. Five of them were cosmic experts and seasoned captains, and they were led by a stern commander and supported by a Grand Magus-ranked spirit master—an indication of just how valuable the alchemists were to the kingdom.

The seven strongholds formed a protective ring around the planet’s northern hemisphere, each positioned to provide overlapping defensive coverage. Despite their advanced vessels, the distance between strongholds remained significant. At maximum speed, the warship would need at least two days to reach its destination.

As the ship ascended and picked up speed, Emery moved to the open bow. The cold, biting winds howled around him as the vessel soared high above jagged cliffs and blackened forests.

But Emery’s gaze wasn’t fixed on the horizon. His thoughts were far away—back through the realms, to the Fey planet. To his daughter.

Still no word from Shinta.

The Khaos Gate remained sealed, silent as a tomb. Worse still, the magical structure had begun to show signs of decay. Strange fractures glimmered faintly across its surface—unstable veins of energy that threatened to break it entirely.

He exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away. He had come too far to be distracted now. The clues he sought—answers to the parasites and the way home—were within reach. Once he secured the knowledge he needed, Emery planned to excuse himself from the expedition and find a path back to the fey planet. But time was against him. The Kronos duel drew closer with each passing day. Less than a month remained.

The longer he stayed in this realm, the slimmer his chances became.

There were hours of silence before the grand magus spirit master announced. “Unidentified figure ahead!”

A rune on his brow pulsed to life as he activated a powerful divination spell. His eyes glowed with silvery light, gazing beyond ordinary sight.

A tense silence gripped the ship as everyone waited.

“It’s… one of ours… a pardera captain…” the spirit master finally announced.

The commander narrowed his eyes. “Slow to approach. Maintain high alert.”

As they neared, the figure came into focus—a dark elf clad in torn, bloodstained armor. His helmet was missing, revealing a bruised and battered face. The man ahead wore the kingdom’s standard uniform, but appearances alone weren’t enough to guarantee safety.

The commander kept his vigilance until the spirit master gave the confirmation he needed: “No signs of parasites.”

Then, as they came close, the injured captain said,

“I am Captain Syrill of the 76th Corps!” he shouted, his voice ragged with pain. “Our company was ambushed— we need reinforcements immediately!”

The commander held firm. “We are on a high-priority mission. We cannot assist.”

Desperation cracked the elf’s voice. “Please! My commander is dying!”

The commander remained unmoved. “We cannot help. Step aside.”

Captain Syrill’s expression twisted in anguish. “Is this because of my race? The Dark Elf battalions have bled for this kingdom, and this is how you repay our loyalty?!”

The accusation stung, causing unease among the crew. But before anyone could react, Gelael stepped forward. The Ember Sage’s hand ignited in black flames as he raised it calmly.

Without hesitation, he unleashed his cosmic flame.

The searing inferno engulfed the captain. Screams echoed across the frozen winds as the elf writhed and twisted in agony.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the spirit master roared, lunging toward Gelael.

The alchemist remained composed, even smiling faintly. Emery raised a hand to stop the commander from interfering. “Wait. Look closely.”

From the ashes of the dark elf’s burning body, something grotesque emerged—a twitching, fleshy parasite that squirmed and hissed before turning to dust in the cold wind.

The spirit master’s eyes widened. “Impossible… my scan showed nothing.”

Before the spirit master could utter another word, Gelael’s flaming hand clamped around his throat, smoke rising as the searing heat scorched through the man’s cloak.

“Perhaps you’re infected too,” the Ember Sage said coldly, black flames flickering in his palm like a death sentence.

“N–No! I am not!” The spirit master gasped, struggling against the searing grip. “I swear it!”

Gelael didn’t loosen his hold.

It was a known fact that high-ranking alchemists possessed exceptional divine sense—and Gelael, one of the top in his field, had just revealed a hidden parasite that even a spirit master couldn’t detect.

This gives a plausible reason for the situation.

Still, his methods were brutal, and his hostility stoked immediate tension.

“Stand down!” The commander barked, stepping forward. One hand raised.

Swords were drawn. Energy surged across the deck as magus prepared for combat. Dozens of spells formed midair, the ship buzzing with violent potential.

Emery stepped in, ready to intervene.

But before he could speak, a sudden flare erupted in the distant sky—a blinding flash that painted the clouds in crimson, hundreds of miles away.

It wasn’t natural.

Everyone felt it. The pressure. The magical frequency. It pulsed like a warning—an enemy signal.

“They’re marking our location,” Emery muttered, eyes narrowing. “We can’t stay here… We need to move—now.”

The Ember Sage narrowed his eyes but finally released the choking magus. The man collapsed to his knees, coughing violently, the imprint of burned fingers seared into his neck.

He pulled a small, silver capsule from his robe—a suppression pill, one powerful enough to restrict a Grand Magus. Without waiting for approval, he shoved it into the spirit master’s mouth and forced him to swallow.

The spirit master resisted weakly, eyes filled with humiliation, but the pill was taken.

With the matter forcibly resolved, the commander wasted no time.

“Full speed!” he shouted.

The ship lurched forward, propelling through the freezing winds of Tartarus. Its defensive shields flared as they pushed into higher altitude, the cold air howling around them.

Emery closed his eyes briefly and extended his divine sense outward and found more and more powerful figures closing in on them.

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