Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2627: Forgotten Dreams

Magus Academy — One Millennium Ago

”You have an S-rank aptitude?! Thatʼs unfair! All of us barely reached A-rank!”

”Iʼm Achilles,” he introduced himself.

”Achilles?” one echoed, raising a brow. ”Thatʼs a Greek name—but you donʼt look Greek…”

That was true. He was the son of a Greek king and an Eastern princess, born of two worlds and belonging fully to neither.

Among the five second-generation Earth warriors, Achilles quickly became their senior, their leader. They trained side by side, honed their abilities through countless duels, and forged bonds that felt unbreakable.

When they graduated, they did not return to quiet lives. Instead, they became the vanguard of a new era—heroes under the banner of the Xia Dynasty, marching out to unite a fractured world under Earthʼs banner.

And they succeeded. Nation after nation joined or fell before them. Their might reached across continents, until finally, they stood at the borders of the Greek cities—the last bastion of the old gods.

It was there that Achillesʼ heart began to tremble.

Though his brothers saw only conquest, Achilles saw his ancestral home, its temples still standing proud against time. The will of his late father echoed in his heart—protect the legacy of the gods.

Torn between loyalty to his brothers and the whispers of his bloodline, he knelt in prayer at a temple. Seeking guidance. Clarity.

And an answer came.

Descending from the clouds with thunder in his footsteps, Zeus—a young, radiant lightning magus—appeared before him.

”I know who you are, Achilles. Swear fealty to the gods,” Zeus said, voice like a storm contained in flesh.

Achilles stood silent, torn. He knew now that these ʼgodsʼ were not the holy deities of myth, but powerful magus claiming divinity—arrogant beings with ancient names, drunk on control. He was ready to refuse.

But the moment he turned to walk away, a ghost from his past emerged.

His father.

The old king appeared, eyes filled with sorrow and authority. He begged Achilles to remember his lineage, to protect what their family had built. His voice cracked with emotion. ”You are my son. A Greek. Remember your oath.”

It broke him.

And so, heart heavy and vision clouded, Achilles made his fateful choice.

He turned on his brothers.

The betrayal was swift and devastating. Once brothers-in-arms, they became enemies overnight. Their battles scarred the Earth, their flames lighting the skies, their sorrow spilling across continents. Cities fell. Forests pivoted to ash. Seas boiled. 𝑅А₦ȎβƐⱾ

But in time, Achilles awakened.

The memory of his father—the words that haunted him—were false. A spiritual illusion. A masterstroke of deception cast not by his father, but Zeusʼ sister, Hera—the cunning spirit master who had manipulated him from the shadows.

Realization came too late.

By the time the truth unraveled, the war had left the world in ruins. Civilization crumbled. The survivors called it the beginning of the Dark Ages.

And the price paid by the Earth Warriors was grave.

The Caretakers of Earth condemned the five warriors for their recklessness. They were labeled irresponsible, dangerous. As punishment, they were banished—cut off from the Magus Universe. Forbidden from accessing the higher planes of cultivation.

Burdened with guilt, Achilles cast aside his name and sword. He abandoned his title, donning instead the robes of a monk. He wandered east once more, seeking redemption.

In time, he became Ashaka.

His brothers followed.

Together, they vanished into the shadows of history, retreating to the Bodhi Temple beneath the Light Tree—an ancient sacred site. There, they meditated. They purified their minds. For decades, they trained in silence.

But the punishment endured.

They could not break through; they could not ascend into the magus realms.

One by one, Ashaka watched his brothers age. Their once-powerful bodies withered. Their dreams decayed. The fire in their eyes dimmed until only embers remained.

###

Now, in the arena, surrounded by the echoes of battle and the feathers of an ancient goddess, Ashaka—formerly Achilles—stood once more at the edge of his past.

Face to face with Hera.

And the ghosts she had summoned.

His breath was shallow as four familiar figures emerged from the spectral feathers now glowing with divine essence.

They were his brothers.

The first was Arjuna, graceful and focused, holding a long, ornate bow with glowing arrows notched and ready.

To his left was Bima, the towering juggernaut. His heavy mace—etched with Sanskrit prayers—hung loosely in his grip.

Then came the twins—Nakula and Sadewa—identical in face, but each wielding a pair of short daggers glowing with lunar and solar energy.

Ashakaʼs hands trembled as he took a step back. He could feel it. These were not mere phantoms. These were manifestations born of Heraʼs spirit mastery, pulled from the depths of his own soul. They carried not just the likeness of his brothers—but their fighting spirit.

And Hera knew it.

She chuckled from her position, ”They look amazing, donʼt they?” she cooed. ”Consider this… our gift to you. A small thank-you for what you did to Earth… for us.”

Before he could respond, Bima charged, roaring like a beast of war. The arena trembled as the giant brought down his mace with devastating force. Ashaka leapt back just in time—but even midair, Arjuna released a barrage of arrows, each glowing with golden runes.

Ashaka twisted his body, deflecting the first two with the bracers on his forearms, but a third grazed his shoulder. A fourth struck his thigh. Pain flared through his body.

Then came the twins.

Nakula from the left. Sadewa from the right. Their movements were a blur—one blade slicing across his back before he could fully react.

”URGHH!!”

Blood splattered across the arena floor.

His defensive technique flared. The Golden Bell Divine Technique pulsed with brilliance, erupting in a shockwave of divine force. The four figures were thrown back—but only for a second, they reformed their battle stance and surrounded him once again.

They moved in perfect formation.

Like they used to.

Ashakaʼs breath caught.

The once serene and stoic Abbott—the one revered for his unwavering clarity—was now unraveling. His past was being weaponized against him.