Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2802: Ripples in the Dark

Within one of Dawnstar City’s secluded high-class mansions, an oppressive silence hung in the air.

The room was wide and circular, its walls layered with soundproofing formations and privacy arrays. A long obsidian table stood at the center, surrounded by figures cloaked in expensive robes—men whose identities could shake entire districts if revealed.

A man slammed his fist onto the table.

”Someone just robbed our betting arena of two billion spirit stones!”

The words landed like thunder.

”What?!” another figure barked. ”How is that even possible?”

”You recovered the money, didn’t you?” a third voice demanded sharply.

The first man fell silent.

That silence stretched.

Slowly, he shook his head. ”That’s... exactly what I’m reporting here.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

”You lost that amount?” someone hissed. ”With our safeguards in place?!”

”With that kind of money on the line,” another snapped, ”you sent them, didn’t you?”

”I did...” the man swallowed. ”The trio was deployed.”

A beat.

”They’re all dead.”

The room exploded.

”Impossible!”

”How?!”

”The Trio wouldn’t recklessly attack a powerful Grand Magus!”

”It’s... complicated,” the man said hoarsely. ”You can see it for yourselves.”

He gestured.

A crystal tube was placed on the table. Inside it floated a fractured soul, faint and unstable, barely clinging to cohesion.

The surviving fragment of the trio.

A low murmur spread through the room.

One of the seated figures extended a finger and began tracing sigils in the air. His incantation was quiet, controlled. The crystal tube pulsed, and the soul within shuddered.

The world above the table blurred.

A vision unfolded.

The sealed street.The shadow formation.The golden-eyed man was standing calmly amid chaos.

The assembled figures watched in silence as the scene played out—the ambush, the failed retreat, the collapse of three Grand Magus in the span of mere moments.

The vision faded.

The room remained deathly still.

Finally, one man broke the silence, his voice tight with disbelief.

”That... that was only a Magus-realm cultivator.”

”And he defeated all three in seconds,” another added grimly.

”That level of suppression—he could be a Spirit Champion,” someone muttered. ”Who is he?”

A third leaned forward, eyes narrowed. ”Did you see that spell he used to pull?... Did he cast spatial manipulation?” He paused, then said slowly, ”Is he the same one who attacked the Brotherhood three months ago?”

At those words, every gaze in the chamber shifted toward a single figure seated near the edge of the table.

His jaw tightened.

Maldrin.

The eldest brother of the Midnight Brotherhood.

Maldrin’s expression darkened as he spoke, his tone sour.”I can’t be certain,” he said carefully. ”... but he didn’t have such a sword.”

”He could have acquired it recently,” someone countered.

Several of the others exchanged looks.

It was possible.

But tier 7 artifacts were not items one simply acquired. Many grand magus cultivators spent entire lifetimes searching for such weapons, only to die empty-handed.

The room fell silent again.

Finally, a man seated at the head of the table spoke. His voice was calm, but it carried unquestionable authority.

”He must be connected to the champion winner,” the leader said. ”No one wagers that amount for a nobody.”

Nods spread around the table.

Almost instinctively, a name surfaced in everyone’s mind.

Immortal Gladiator School.

They had discussed it recently—a rising organization that had suddenly established both Red Lotus Hall and a new gladiator school. Rumors spoke of a mysterious Three-Cosmos powerhouse operating from within its shadows.

If this man was connected to them...

Then everything made sense.

”Who is in charge of investigating this group?” the leader demanded.

”I am.”

A silver-haired elder stepped forward.

It was the same man who had sat beside the Dawnstar City Prefect during the tournament—Elder Hans, one of the authoritative figures within the Red Dawn Faction.

”At first, I wasn’t certain,” Hans said. ”But now...”

He gestured toward the vision and pointed to the woman standing beside the golden-eyed man.

”Seeing her confirms it. She is royalty of the Karat Faction.”

The name stirred the room.

The name Karat rippled through the chamber.

Though not among the supreme factions, Karat was a Grade Four power—ruler of the Golden City, one of the largest and wealthiest cities in the Beta Quadrant. Its influence was not inferior to that of Centauri’s Supreme King.

”What are they doing in Dawnstar?” someone muttered.

The leader snorted coldly.

”Investigate,” he ordered. ”If they dare make a move against us...”

His eyes hardened.

”...then we, the Syndicates, will crush them.”

####

Back at the Immortal Gladiator School, Emery had just finished interrogating his newest prisoners.

”So it was the Moonlight Syndicates after all...” he murmured. ”They still don’t know who we are,” Emery added quietly, a faint note of relief slipping into his voice.

He exhaled once, then turned and walked toward the school’s main hall.

The moment he stepped inside, a wave of sound washed over him.

Laughter.

Shouting.

The clash of mugs and plates.

The hall was packed wall to wall with gladiators—hundreds of them—celebrating the school’s victory with unrestrained enthusiasm. Long tables overflowed with roasted meats, spiced cuts of spirit beast, and heavy jugs of wine that glimmered with faint spiritual light.

For a school that had endured years of stagnation and ridicule, this night was more than a feast.

It was vindication.

As Emery entered, the noise softened—not silenced, but tempered by respect.

From among the crowd, Oeno, the school’s Grand Magus mentor, stepped forward and dropped to one knee.

”Master,” Oneno said solemnly, bowing his head. ”Thank you for restoring the school’s honor.”

He lifted his gaze, resolve burning in his eyes. ”I pledge to begin cultivating a new generation of gladiators—ones truly worthy of standing under your banner.”

Emery placed a steady hand on the man’s shoulder.

”In time,” he said calmly. ”You will.”

Oneno’s shoulders trembled slightly as he bowed deeper before rising.

As Emery moved toward the central tables, two familiar figures stepped forward in unison.

The twins—Yama and Yami—bowed deeply, their expressions respectful. Beside them stood Anpu, the hybrid Grand Magus, his presence quiet yet heavy with restrained power.

These three had remained at Thrax’s side in the frontline as part of his personal soldiers, and returned with him through blood and fire.

Another figure stood among them.

Kingrig—his student from Earth.

The once-brutish warrior had always been Thrax’s most devoted admirer, and years spent on the frontlines had clearly hardened him. His stance was steadier, his aura thicker, his presence far more mature than before.

...Or so Emery thought.

He shook his head as he spotted Kingrig standing on top of a table, mug raised high, leading the entire hall in a deafening chant.

”DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!”

The gladiators roared in unison.

Emery shook his head faintly.

His gaze shifted to the quieter VIP section.

There sat Gwen and Tessa speaking in low tones.

But one seat was empty.

”Where is Thrax?” Emery asked.

”The champion went directly to the training chamber since his return,” someone replied. ”He hasn’t come out since.”

Emery decided to visit the training chamber, only to find its massive doors sealed shut. Faint formation lights pulsed across their surface—clear evidence of intense, uninterrupted cultivation taking place within.

”He must have comprehended something new,” Emery murmured. ”Better not disturb him.”

He turned to leave.

Then—

His Divine Sense flared.

A scream rang out from within.

”Thrax!!!”