Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2575: Investigate

The encounter with Rosin Karat had bestowed Emery clarity, but it was far from the solution he had hoped for. Answers only led to more questions. The name ”Vayerel” reverberated in his thoughts—a cosmic figure mentioned as part of Karatʼs group—but when Emery scoured the strongholdʼs prisoner records, he found no one under that name. He hit wall after wall: sealed files, redacted details, and missing names that only deepened the mystery.

Another day slipped by without progress, and Emery found himself once again buried in the alchemistʼs quarter of the stronghold, sleeves rolled up, grinding powders and boiling herbs to produce more of the Expira Draught. It was essential for the war effort, yes—but it consumed time he didnʼt have.

Thankfully, someone stepped in.

”I will gladly help,” said Ivaris with a grin.

Emery had hesitated at first—sharing such an important recipe wasnʼt a small gesture—but he was desperate. Unlike most alchemists, who would hoard knowledge for profit, Emery handed it over freely, earning Ivarisʼs respect and freeing himself with alchemy works to continue his investigations.

”Youʼre a good bro,” he said, eyes wide with admiration. ”Iʼll never forget this.”

With the burden of alchemy off his shoulders, Emery threw himself back into his investigation.

That very morning, however, chaos erupted across the stronghold.

Thousands of warriors were lined up and subjected to rigorous tests. What followed was nothing short of a nightmare—one in ten was found to be infected, dark spots appaer on their bodies as the pill works as intended. Some collapsed and surrendered quietly; others panicked, attempting to flee, triggering brutal clashes throughout the grounds.

Then, as things escalated, another revelation broke through the chaos.

Gelael, the Ember Sage, stepped forward.

With all the pride of a man unveiling a masterpiece, he introduced what he claimed to be a cure. Emery watched the first trials, and the sight was burned into his memory forever.

The so-called cure was brutal.

Infected prisoners were laid on stone slabs, trembling as high-grade recovery pills were force-fed to strengthen their physical resistance. Then Gealel would summon his cosmic flame—a dark fire that danced unnaturally, like it had a will of its own. The flames did not burn the flesh… not at first. Instead, they pierced straight to the soul.

The parasites screamed as they were torn apart, their spiritual anchors consumed.

Unfortunately, so did the hosts.

Two out of every three subjects died writhing, their soul shattered into dust. The ones who survived… they were husks, their cultivation destroyed, minds damaged. They would need years to recover—if ever.

But Gelael? He wore a smile through it all.

The more prisoners he got to practice on, the better he became. Hence, he was grateful for Emeryʼs pill, which provided him with more test subjects to improve his success rate.

”You find them, and Iʼll cure them,” he said to Emery with a chuckle, his eyes glittering with morbid excitement. ”We make a good team.”

There was something in the sageʼs eyes that disturbed Emery. A pleasure taken in the suffering he inflicted—a detachment that bordered on cruelty.

During the next command briefing, Lord Ariel, the vice commander of the stronghold, publicly recognized their efforts. He extended a rare offer: one reward of their choosing.

Emery wasted no time. He requested access to classified prisoner data. It was a risky reward, one that could risk suspicion, but Emery was running out of time.

Hours later, he was hunched over the encrypted documents in a secluded war chamber. He flipped through reports—some heavily redacted—but among the blacked-out lines and sealed names, he found what he was looking for.

It appeared Rosin Karat had indeed joined the northern forces shortly before surrendering himself. However, during his surrender, an unexpected ambush broke out. Dozens of cosmic-level experts were caught in the chaos, and many perished. Only a handful escaped—and one of them was the very man Emery sought: Vayerel.

The report gave Vayerelʼs last known location—a small northern city just two daysʼ travel away.

His heart surged with hope.

At last, a real lead.

But there was no time to waste. In just a few days, Emery was supposed to join the upcoming joint expedition. He knew there would be no chance of getting formal approval to leave the stronghold now, not with the heightened alerts and quarantine protocols. So he made a decision. 𐍂Ãɴ∅βЁＳ

He would sneak out.

That night, while Ivaris slept soundly in their shared chamber, Emery quietly packed his gear. He stood by the door, muttering to himself.

”Spatial magic would be really useful right about now...”

Unfortunately, stealth and timing were all he had.

Navigating the strongholdʼs labyrinthine halls, Emery slipped through the lesser-used routes and maintenance passages. The corridors were dimly lit, the occasional flickering light crystal humming overhead. His every footstep reverberated faintly against the cold stone walls, but no one seemed to be paying attention. It helped that his recent contributions had earned him a level of respect. Alchemists werenʼt typically expected to sneak around at night, so the guards didnʼt give him a second glance.

At the third checkpoint, a pair of tired sentries looked up at him and gave a lazy salute. Emery returned the gesture with a calm nod and pressed forward. The tension in his chest only grew heavier with each gate he passed.

Only one gate remained

It was the outermost checkpoint, manned by a seasoned cosmic-ranked officer with a sharp gaze. Emeryʼs pulse quickened. If he were discovered, heʼd have to fight his way out.

He was only a few steps away from the gate when suddenly a piercing alarm echoed through the air.

His heart dropped. They found me?

But as Emery turned, he felt a tremor in the ground—followed by a sense of dread washing over him through his spirit sense.

No... the alarm wasnʼt for him.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of hostile signatures surged toward the stronghold like a dark tide crashing down from the north.

The central stronghold was under attack.