Earth's Greatest Magus

Glita. Gwen. Octavius. Brandt.

Among them, Glita was the strongest—not by sheer magical cultivation, but by blood. Her lineage bore the mark of ancient power, A fey-born hybrid of legendary wolves.

In the lower realms, her bloodline had been dormant, like a gem caked in centuries of dirt. But once Earth’s qualification for the duel was secured, everything changed.

Merlin Apothecary took personal charge of her evolution. They spent all their efforts on advanced gene serums for blood-essence purification. Her blood, once muddled by generations of dilution, was reforged into something closer to its primeval origin.

[Gene Classification – Legendary Bloodline]

[Bloodline Limit: Rank 6]

[Current Rank: Rank 5]

[Fey Wolf Gene Essence – 30%]

[Frost Wolf Gene Essence – 12%]

With these enhancements, Glita stood on equal footing with a full-fledged Magus Realm cultivator. Her unmatched battle potential, elemental affinity, and innate magic resistance made her the ideal vanguard for Earth’s first duel.

A low snarl escaped her lips.

Then—

HOOOWWWLLL!!

The air cracked.

Frost bloomed across the coliseum floor as her body erupted in a storm of runes and ancestral power. Shaman transformation overtook her mortal form, replacing skin and flesh with crystallized blue fur, etched in living glyphs. Glita towered taller, limbs lengthening, muscles coiling beneath ancient enchantment.

Her shaman state granted her an absurd level of magic resistance, allowing her to tear through the oppressive force field like a beast snapping chains

The crushing gravitational field Hades had unleashed moments ago—meant to pin her, crush her, humiliate her—shattered like glass against her transformation.

“NO!! YOU FILTHY DOGS!! HOW DARE YOU!!”

Hades’ eyes glowed with fury as memories of the past returned to haunt him—Emery, in his own shaman form, humiliating him two decades ago at the battle of Camelot. His grip tightened on the twin-pronged bident, and he charged.

BAAAAM!!

Steel met claw. Glita didn’t flinch.

With one arm raised, she caught the bident mid-swing. Her crystallized claws crackled with raw power as she snarled in his face. Then she countered, slashing forward, carving sparks into the air, forcing Hades back a step.

She pushed back.

The two locked in a furious struggle, and the coliseum roared with energy.

Spectators stood from their seats, gasping at the intensity. Banter flew between the two combatants, and yet neither gave an inch. Each clash sent shockwaves, each strike carved furrows into the sacred arena.

On the sidelines, Kronos himself scowled. His cold eyes narrowed at the display.

“Pathetic,” the King of Titans muttered under his breath. “All these years, and he’s still wallowing in mediocrity… A disgrace!”

The Earth faction, by contrast, brimmed with quiet confidence. Jinkan’s intelligence had been accurate—Hades had spent years hunting for the perfect physical body. One with aesthetic appeal and a match to his unique law comprehension. But vanity had its cost. He had wasted too many years swapping vessels, endlessly restarting cultivation cycles.

As a result, Hades had failed to break through to the Half-Moon Realm. He was the weakest among Kronos’ magus.

The fight dragged on.

Every time Hades struck, his blows were either absorbed or countered. His divine spells glanced off her rune-armed armor. His gravitational fields bent around her enchanted body like rivers around stone.

Panic began to settle in. Realizing his father’s expression, he decided to give it all.

He leapt backward, creating distance between them, and let out a chilling laugh.

“Fine! Let me show you what you’re up against.”

From within his storage rings, he summoned a set of ominous relics—ten wooden coffins, arranged in a precise arc around him. They landed with heavy thuds, sending ripples through the ground.

“This ends here!” Hades shouted.

He raised his hand, fingers weaving ancient symbols, and unleashed a forbidden spell:

[Reanimation]

Dark glyphs etched into the coffins blazed to life. One by one, the lids creaked open, and from within stepped ten armored figures—corpses.

But not just any corpses.

Each one radiated a terrifying presence—Magus Realm cultivators, clad in enchanted armor, their eyes glowing with unnatural green fire. Warriors from ages past, claimed by Hades and repurposed as weapons.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience.

Sensing the crowd’s reaction, Iris, floating high in the air beside Hermes, called out in a playful tone, “Is this allowed, Hermes!?”

Hermes replied dryly, “Corpses are classified as magical constructs. As long as the caster can control them without external help, it’s permitted under duel regulations.”

In an instant, the fight became eleven versus one.

The corpses struck first.

Flashes of lightning, bolts of fire, and concussive force spells rained down on Glita from every direction. She leapt, twisted, clawed, and blocked—but each move came at a cost. Her crystallized arms chipped. Her fur smoldered. Blood began to seep through cracked skin.

Even though the undead warriors only possessed New Moon-level power—Hades’ maximum limit—their numbers and coordination pushed her to the brink.

Minutes passed like hours as Glita fought against the relentless tide of undead. Her crystalline fur, once gleaming and smooth, had begun to crack under the weight of the assault. Glowing fractures spiderwebbed across her arms and shoulders, and blood seeped from the breaks, dripping down her sides in dark, glistening trails.

Her breathing grew heavy, ragged. But still—she refused to yield.

The fey blood in her veins stirred with primal fury. Regeneration kicked in, her muscles twitching with new energy, wounds starting to close even as fresh ones opened. She slashed forward with renewed desperation, trying to carve her way through the undead wall between her and Hades.

But Hades had learned his lesson. He stayed at a distance, a smug grin plastered across his face, watching his minions wear her down.

“You can’t win!!” he shrieked, wild with glee. “Die! Die!!”

The bident-wielding godling was ecstatic.

Glita’s condition told him all he needed to know—his victory was moments away. His plan was working flawlessly. With a triumphant scoff, he turned his head toward the Earth faction’s viewing platform, hoping to see expressions of horror, defeat, or despair.

Instead, he found calm, watchful faces.

His grin faltered. “What…? Why aren’t they panicking?”