Earth's Greatest Magus

The central fortress was said to be among the best-defended military bastions in the realm, armed with centuries-old detection arrays and a dozen layers of magical fortification.

When the danger was still a thousand miles away, the warning was already sounded.

A low, harmonic hum swept through the entire fortress like a ripple in water—then came the thunderclap of the first defense array activating. In the blink of an eye, a translucent blue dome burst into life, enveloping the stronghold in a shimmering barrier. The air crackled with the raw taste of mana. At that exact moment, Emery was only a few steps away from slipping through the outer gate.

The sudden wall of energy flared right in front of him, locking him out.

A stern voice barked from the tower above. “Master Alchemist! Please step back—it’s dangerous out here!”

A tall guard captain clad in obsidian scale armor dropped down beside him; the man gestured firmly toward the interior courtyard.

Behind him, Emery saw the real movement begin. Formation experts—cloaked in robes—rushed into the crystal towers, their hands already weaving sigils mid-air to feed the formation core. Giant crystal pylons pulsed as they drew power from reservoirs deep underground, their energy veins growing brighter with every second.

At the same time, four figures descended onto the four corners of the walls—each one emitting pressure that could bend air. Cosmic experts. Guardians of the stronghold, their mere presence bolstered the enchantments of the entire wall.

Emery’s mind raced. He hadn’t planned for this—but perhaps, just perhaps—this chaos could work in his favor.

Instead of moving toward safety, he tactfully approached the outer post’s base. “Are we in danger?” he asked in a voice laced with just enough panic to sound believable.

The guard captain gave him a brief glance, clearly torn between his duty and the need to reassure someone important.

“You don’t need to worry, Master Alchemist. We’ll keep them at bay.”

From the scrying crystal at the post, projections flickered to life. Red dots—thousands of them—moved toward the fortress like a swarm. Emery watched closely, eyes narrowing. Over four thousand enemies. And every tenth one pulsed with the aura of a cosmic expert.

Then ten dots turned black, flashing red around their edges. The alarm rune lit up in sickly gold. This was an indication of figures at the peak of the cosmic realm, or even worse, a supreme level being.

“This is bad…” the formation mage muttered.

The captain’s confidence faltered, color draining from his face. “Send a priority message to the Supreme Commander and all allied strongholds—NOW!”

Emery didn’t need to hear more. He made his own quick calculations.

The stronghold housed roughly 3,000 Magus-realm warriors and over 200 cosmic experts. Its towering obsidian walls were reinforced with ancient defensive runes—wards that shimmered faintly in the midday light, humming with protective energy drawn from a buried leyline. Despite these defenses, the true vulnerability lay elsewhere: in the lack of supreme experts.

Besides Lord Airel, the vice commander, only four peak cosmic experts remained to protect the stronghold. The Supreme Commander, who alone might have turned the tide with his mere presence, was away on a critical mission.

As tension thickened in the air, the guard captain stepped in front of him, armor clanking, his expression strained.

“Master Alchemist, you must take shelter in the main keep.”

“No… Tell me the situation; I want to help.”

The guard hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “The enemy will reach us in two, maybe three hours. Our reinforcements are already summoned, but even through the teleportation gate, they won’t arrive for at least six hours.”

Emery frowned. That was too late.

“Don’t worry, master,” the captain added, trying to sound confident. “The stronghold’s Arcane Shield will hold.”

But Emery heard the doubt in his tone.

Closing his eyes, Emery activated his divine sense. His spirit surged outward in waves, stretching across the stronghold like a spectral tide. He saw the frantic mobilization—hundreds of warriors rushing to man the outer battlements, magus chanting to awaken slumbering guardian runes embedded in the walls, elemental spirits being summoned to reinforce the wards.

In the center of the stronghold, Lord Ariel stood in a war chamber surrounded by dozens of the top cosmic experts, strategizing for the impending battle.

Emery glanced toward the gate again. He was still looking for a way to escape this mess, but as he began looking for gaps in the guard patterns, his divine sense suddenly flared with danger.

Ten powerful auras—fierce and malicious—rushed toward the fortress from the north at breakneck speed. No… they’re already here?!

These weren’t ordinary warriors—they were peak cosmic experts, charging ahead of their main force. Their power flared like black comets across the sky, bearing down on the north gate like judgment itself.

A moment later, Lord Airel exploded out from the command hall, his golden battle robes fluttering behind him as he soared into the air, light-infused wings unfurling at his back. Ten elite cosmic experts followed in his wake, each summoning weapons and elements as they shot into formation.

The high elf voice did not merely shout; it resonated—a booming command imbued with the enchantments, one that echoed through the minds and hearts of every defender within the fortress walls.

“Elar’vayen na’rethiel! Tir’vala thandor!”

“Stand proud, warriors! Shield the sacred lands!”

The moment the chant rang out, a soft golden aura wrapped around the stronghold’s defensive formations. Etched elven glyphs along the towers and walls burst into vibrant light, activating layers of defensive wards.

Seconds later, the sky darkened—not from clouds, but from the arrival of the enemy.

They descended like a roaring tornado wrapped in flames. Six of them were clad in heavy fur and iron-bound armor, their bodies massive and scarred. Barbarian warriors from the far north, their eyes gleamed with bloodlust. Behind them were four dark figures wrapped in ethereal cloaks that billowed without wind, their faces hidden beneath shadowy hoods.

One figure stood out among the group—a famous barbarian warlord who dwarfed even his kin. Rendra, the Stonebreaker. Half-human, half-giant, a supreme being whose sheer presence made the battlefield tremble.

His beard braided with bones, his voice boomed like thunder across the valley.

“This stronghold will fall today!”

His words weren’t just noise—they were power. The very air quivered, and snow shook loose from the cliffs above, avalanching in his wake. The mountain seemed to groan in response.

Opposing him, Lord Ariel stood firm. His voice wasn’t loud, but it stilled the chaos around the area, each word weaving into the mana-rich air, silencing even the wind.

“Not on my watch.”