Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2800: Legend

Thrax was not merely a veteran warrior.

He was a gladiator in the truest sense of the word—one who understood the arena not just as a battlefield, but as a stage. He knew how to read the crowd, how to ignite their blood, how to transform mockery into frenzy. Victory alone was never enough. To truly succeed, one had to seize the audience’s heart and refuse to let go.

And nothing stirred emotion more violently than arrogance.

A newcomer—barely victorious against the Tenth Rank—challenging Karn Blackmaw.

To many, it was laughable.

To others, insulting.

To Dawnstar Arena, it was irresistible.

Laughter rippled through the stands. Jeers followed. Some spectators openly mocked Thrax, calling him a reckless fool courting a spectacular death. Yet beneath the ridicule, excitement festered like an exposed nerve. The arena roared, not in support, but anticipation.

Irritated by the disruption, the towering veteran finally turned toward the VIP platform.

Karn Blackmaw growled as he bowed his head slightly toward the prefect’s table.

The prefect paused mid-bite, amusement glinting in his eyes. ”What do you think?” he asked lazily.

The silver-haired man beside him narrowed his gaze and turned toward Gwen, his expression sharp with disapproval.

”I think this gladiator needs to learn manners,” he said coldly, ”and gain a proper understanding of his own strength.”

Gwen responded immediately.

Years of navigating noble egos had refined her instincts. She rose smoothly, her voice gentle, apologetic, yet impeccably composed.

”My deepest apologies,” she said, bowing slightly. ”My gladiator’s behavior reflects my own lack of discipline.”

Then she turned toward the prefect, a faint smile touching her lips.

”I hope my man may serve as a fitting tribute for you, my lord...”

She paused deliberately.

”...However,” Gwen continued, shifting her gaze back toward the silver-haired man, ”if—by some small chance—my gladiator were to win... I would humbly request a single favor.”

The audacity of the request was absurd.

The charm with which it was delivered was deadly.

The prefect laughed aloud. ”Very well!” he declared. ”I accept.”

The silver-haired man’s expression darkened.

With a casual wave of the prefect’s hand, the challenge was granted.

The arena erupted.

Karn Blackmaw was an entirely different breed of gladiator.

For many years, his name had remained entrenched within Dawnstar Arena’s top five rankings—a feat that alone spoke of countless victories and rivers of blood. He was a Peak Full Moon Magus, standing on the very threshold of the Grand Magus Realm. Many believed it was only a matter of time before he broke through, and once he did, the arena would no longer be able to contain him.

As he stepped onto the sands, he dragged his massive greatsword behind him.

The blade was absurdly large, its edge chipped and darkened by dried blood, the metal groaning faintly against the stone floor. Each step Karn took carried crushing pressure, his aura rolling outward like an incoming tide. The weaker spectators instinctively held their breath.

His eyes locked onto Thrax.

They burned—not with excitement, but with absolute certainty.

”I will take you to the afterlife,” Karn said coldly.

The signal was given.

The battle began.

Karn moved instantly.

A domineering aura exploded from his body, dense and oppressive, brushing dangerously close to the power of a Grand Magus. The air itself seemed to tremble as he lifted his massive sword with terrifying ease. Muscles bulged, veins glowing faintly as spirit energy surged through his frame, and a massive purplish energy blade formed high into the sky.

”DIE!!”

The greatsword crashed down like a falling mountain.

BAMMM!!!

The impact detonated across the arena. A violent shockwave erupted outward, tearing through the sand and hurling dust high into the air. The ground cracked beneath the force, fragments of stone skittering across the arena floor.

All eyes were fixed on the impact zone.

Many spectators shook their heads, already convinced the challenger had been crushed into pulp. Laughter and jeers began to rise—mockery aimed at Thrax’s supposed arrogance and foolishness.

”Idiot—”

”He couldnt even dodge—”

Then the dust began to settle.

Silence fell.

There—beneath the massive blade—stood Thrax.

His feet were planted deep into the sand, the ground around him spiderwebbed with cracks. His arms were raised high, bare hands gripping the flat of the greatsword itself.

He had stopped it.

With raw physical strength.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze.

Then something far more terrifying emerged.

A dense, crimson-tinged aura surged from Thrax’s body—thick, violent, suffocating.

It was a killing intent

Slaughter.

[Blood Rage].

It erupted outward like a tidal wave, instantly devouring Karn’s dominating aura. The pressure flipped—hunter became prey.

Karn’s expression changed.

Fear flashed across his face as Thrax’s grip tightened, veins bulging along his scarred arms.

”How...” Karn whispered hoarsely. ”How many people... have you killed...?”

He tried to pull back.

Failed.

The greatsword was locked in place, as if bound by invisible chains. Karn’s movements slowed, his body resisting him, crushed beneath the overwhelming law of slaughter pressing down upon his soul.

Before he could react—

Thrax moved.

His spear thrust forward in a single, merciless motion.

The strike detonated.

BAMMM!!!

The spear blasted straight through Karn’s chest, armor shattering as if it were paper. Flesh, bone, and organs were obliterated in an instant, leaving a gaping hole where his heart had been.

Blood sprayed across the sands.

Karn Blackmaw staggered once—then collapsed.

Dead.

One exchange.

One decisive strike.

The legendary gladiator was defeated before he could even mount a second attack.

The arena stood frozen, unable to process what it had just witnessed.

Then chaos erupted.

Every spectator rose to their feet as a deafening roar shook Dawnstar to its foundations.

”THRAX!”

”THRAX!!”

”THRAX!!!”

The name echoed endlessly, thunderous and unstoppable.

Recognition spread like wildfire.

Whispers turned into shouts.

”Thrax... from the Immortal Gladiator School...”

”He defeated Karn Blackmaw!”

”He’s the new Third Rank!”

####

While the arena drowned in celebration, one man was conspicuously absent.

Emery was not watching from the stands.

He stood within one of Dawnstar Arena’s most heavily guarded inner facilities.

The betting hall.

Layered wards pulsed faintly along the walls, suppressing violence and sealing fate itself behind contract arrays. Clerks moved with rigid precision behind reinforced counters, their eyes flicking constantly between rune-lit ledgers and fluctuating odds that shifted with every roar from the colosseum above.

This had always been part of the plan.

Emery never doubted Thrax.

Twenty years ago, Thrax had defeated Ares—a Grand Magus veteran. Since then, years of relentless warfare at the frontlines had only sharpened his instincts, tempering raw strength into something far deadlier. Among all magus beneath the Grand Realm, Thrax stood near the pinnacle.

With precise coordination and calculated performances, Emery had turned bloodshed into profit.

The first match—odds three to four.

Emery wagered three hundred million spirit stones.

Profit: one hundred million.

The second match—against the Tenth Rank—odds two to three.

All four hundred million reinvested.

Profit: two hundred million.

The third match.

No one believed Thrax could win.

Odds: one to four.

Emery bet all six hundred million.

Return: two point four billion.

In a single day, Emery became two billion spirit stones richer.

He allowed himself a quiet chuckle.

His five hundred million spirit stone investment into the Immortal Gladiator School had already reaped profits.

And Dawnstar had just crowned a new legend.