Earth's Greatest Magus

The true spectacle began only after the blood of the exhibition had soaked deep into the sand.

With the slaughter complete, the arena’s runes flared anew, reinforcing barriers and restoring the battlefield. This was no longer a show of mass carnage. This was the main event-the duels that defined reputations, shattered legends, and decided who would rise or vanish beneath Dawnstar’s unforgiving gaze.

Gladiator against gladiator.

Not every match was a simple duel. Some were arranged two-on-two engagements, alliances forged through quiet agreements and mutual benefit. On rare occasions, a three-against-one was granted-a brutal test meant to humiliate the lone fighter or elevate them to legendary status if they survived. Most participants were Full Moon Magus, veterans tempered by years of combat. Half Moon Magus were rare, but not unheard of-some driven by overconfidence, others offered up by their schools as expendable tributes, sacrifices disguised as opportunity.

Match followed match.

Steel rang. Spells detonated. Blood splattered across restored sand once more.

The crowd roared with every clash, their hunger far from sated.

By the fifth match, a name finally echoed through the colosseum.

“Thrax of the Immortal Gladiator School-enter the arena!”

There was no immediate reaction.

No surge of cheers. No wave of recognition.

Though Thrax was a veteran, most of his reputation had been forged decades ago in the Beta Quadrants-far from Dawnstar’s central spotlight. To the majority of spectators, he was simply another challenger stepping onto the sands.

Thrax entered without flourish.

Broad-shouldered and bare-armed, his spear rested lightly in his grasp as he surveyed the arena with calm indifference. Across from him, his opponent strode forward to far louder acclaim.

The combat magus was enormous-nearly a head taller than Thrax, his frame wrapped in reinforced armor. In each hand he wielded a massive mace, the enchanted heads humming with destructive force.

The dwarf master of ceremonies raised his voice.

“Let the fight begin!”

The giant moved first.

Both maces crashed down in sweeping arcs, each strike shaking the ground hard enough to rattle the lower stands. The sand exploded upward with every impact, craters forming where Thrax had stood moments before.

But Thrax was already gone.

He moved with precise efficiency, slipping between shockwaves and leaping over collapsing ground. His eyes never left his opponent, every movement measured, every breath controlled.

He waited.

When the opening came, Thrax struck without hesitation.

His spear flashed forward, driving straight toward the man’s chest.

The crowd gasped-

Only for the blow to clang uselessly against metal.

The combat magus roared in triumph as his defensive spell activated fully, his skin transforming into darkened steel. The spear slid aside, sparks flying, and a counterblow followed immediately.

A mace struck Thrax squarely, launching him several meters across the arena. He hit the ground hard, skidding through sand as the crowd erupted in cheers for raw power.

The giant charged, eager to press his advantage.

That was when the air changed.

Flames ignited around Thrax’s body-not wild, uncontrolled fire, but a focused aura that wrapped tightly around his form. Heat distorted the air as he rose, movements suddenly sharper, faster.

The charging magus swung again.

Thrax vanished from the strike’s path.

He reappeared inside the giant’s guard.

His spear moved.

Once. Twice. Ten times.

A vicious onslaught erupted-precise thrusts hammering against joints, spell nodes, and weak points in the metallic defense. The giant wavered backward under the relentless assault, metal skin creaking under stress.

Then it cracked.

With a decisive sweep, Thrax severed one of the magus’s arms at the shoulder.

The crowd screamed.

Before the man could even hit the ground, Thrax drove a brutal kick into his chest, slamming him flat onto his back. His spear followed instantly, pinning the

man’s neck to the sand.

The arena fell silent.

“Winner-Thrax of the Immortal Gladiator School!”

Cheers followed, but they were muted. To most spectators, it had been a

flawless victory over an unknown opponent. Impressive, yes-but not

memorable.

The prefect barely glanced up from his meal.

“Well done, Lady Gwen,” he said casually, already distracted as he resumed flirting with the noblewomen beside him.

The games continued.

Despite protective runes and vigilant guards, many duels ended with grievous injuries. Death among gladiators was uncommon, but not unheard of-souls occasionally tearing free from broken bodies before healers could intervene.

Then Thrax’s name was called again.

This time, the arena stirred.

“Thrax versus Vargos Stonehide-the Tenth Rank of Dawnstar!”

Vargos entered to thunderous applause.

He was a seasoned champion, his iron gauntlets gleaming with high-grade enchantments capable of nullifying most Magus-level attacks. Confidence radiated from him as he cracked his knuckles, eyes locked onto Thrax with professional disdain.

The fight was brutal from the start.

Blow met blow. Spell met steel.

Thrax’s spear bombardments were blocked effortlessly, deflected by Vargos’s

gauntlets with contemptuous ease. Each counterstrike carried crushing force,

forcing Thrax back step by step.

For the first time, Thrax was truly pressured.

His eyes narrowed.

“Gaelbog.”

The spear vibrated violently in his grasp, dark crimson light igniting along its

shaft and crawling up his arms. The aura wrapped his body fully now, heavy

with killing intent.

The collision escalated instantly.

Both fighters pushed beyond restraint. Blood spilled from wounds on both

sides, staining the sand as the crowd rose to its feet. Every exchange drew

gasps, every collision thundered through the arena.

Slowly, realization spread.

Thrax was fighting evenly with the Tenth Rank.

More than evenly. With a final surge, Thrax forced Vargos back, overwhelming him in a decisive

exchange that left the champion broken and unable to rise.

The arena exploded.

Cheers shook the stands as a new name carved its way into Dawnstar’s

hierarchy.

Lord Gregory finally leaned forward, interest gleaming in his eyes. “Impressive,”

he said, offering Gwen a nod of approval.

But the shock had not ended.

Instead of leaving the arena, Thrax remained standing.

Blood streamed down his arm as he lifted his spear high.

“Is this the best Dawnstar can offer?” he roared.

The words slammed into the crowd like a challenge hurled at the city itself.

Then Thrax leveled his spear toward one figure in particular.

Karn Blackmaw, Dawnstar’s Third Rank.

Chaos erupted.

A direct challenge.

And the arena had just been set ablaze.