Earth's Greatest Magus

The scorching sun beat down on the desert as Hall 33 and Hall 22 acolytes faced off across the shifting yellow sands. The dry, crackling wind carried with it a palpable tension as both groups stood still, watching each other like predators sizing up their prey.

Hall 22, comprised of twenty Nephilim acolytes, stood with an air of superiority. They were the second-layer elites, groomed from powerful families within the Nephilim faction. Their posture exuded arrogance and stood in a perfect formation as if daring Hall 33 to make the first move.

The twelve acolytes of Hall 33, though outnumbered, didn’t flinch. Dust swirled around them as they stood their ground, Hardy, stood at the front, observing and calculating.

From Hall 22, a familiar figure stepped forward. Hans, the Nephilim acolyte that came to challenge Hall 33 last year, and though he had advanced from his previous third layer Hall 68, his overall rank within the academy had barely improved—still lingering around 90th. Despite that, his arrogance was as strong as ever.

“Why are you all here?” Hardy asked, his voice calm but his gaze sharp.

Hans chuckled, his tone filled with disdain. “We came to take over this hunting ground,” he said lazily, his hand waving them off like they were nothing but pests. “Shoo! Go elsewhere.”

The insult hung in the air like a spark. King Rig’s face flushed with anger, “You want to fight?!” King Rig roared, his voice booming across the desert. “I dare you!!”

Hans’s smirk widened. “It seems a dog is barking.” The rest of Hall 22 chuckled arrogantly, clearly enjoying the thought of an easy fight.

It was clear that a clash was imminent, the desert was about to become a battlefield. But just as the first flickers of energy began to surge, Hardy stepped forward, raising a hand. His voice cut through the tense air, calm but commanding. “Stand down,” he ordered.

King Rig’s rage-filled gaze shot toward Hardy, disbelief flickering across his face. “What?! We can take them—”

But Hardy’s decision was final. He called for a retreat, and the acolytes of Hall 33 hesitated for a moment, their battle-ready stances still tense with the adrenaline of the confrontation. One by one, however, they followed Hardy’s lead, albeit reluctantly.

Hans crossed his arms, a smug grin never leaving his face. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, clearly pleased with himself. “Run along now.”

As Hall 33 retreated from the confrontation with Hall 22, frustration simmered beneath the surface. The tension was especially palpable with King Rig, the Mayan warrior, who was visibly fuming as they marched away from the Nephilim group.

“Huh!! Why are we leaving?!” King Rig growled, his powerful voice booming through the desert. His hand clenched around the hilt of his axe, itching for a fight. “We can beat all those bastards!”

A few of the other acolytes shared his sentiment, casting uneasy glances toward Hardy, clearly questioning his decision. Even Blaine, normally calm and composed, muttered under his breath, casting a backward glance at the receding figures of Hall 22.

Hardy, however, remained collected. He turned to the group, his voice level and unyielding. “Look, I understand your anger, but think. Fighting them here would only waste our energy and time. They came to slow us down, to provoke us. Our goal is points, not pointless fights.”

His calm explanation didn’t immediately quell their frustration, but it started to sink in.

As they moved 100 miles further into the desert, Hardy had already calculated their next steps, finding a new hunting ground. The environment was harsher here—larger dunes, more dangerous beasts, but also the promise of higher rewards. Hall 33 quickly set to work, focusing on recovering their lost momentum.

But just when things were beginning to settle, the unmistakable figures of Hall 22 appeared on the horizon again.

Hans and his Nephilim acolytes had followed them. This time, they actively interfered with Hall 33’s hunts. Spells were cast to divert beasts toward Hall 33 acolytes at the worst possible moments, creating chaos in the middle of their carefully coordinated attacks.

One particular incident nearly cost Bellana her life when a massive sand wyrm—one they had been fighting for nearly an hour—was suddenly enraged by an unseen magical disruption, sending the creature into a frenzied state. The massive beast thrashed violently, its thick, segmented body nearly crushing the female half-blood before she barely dodged out of the way. Blaine had to rush in and shield her just in time.

“This has gone far enough!” King Rig, his face red with fury, stormed over, his voice filled with uncontained rage. “I say we beat them up! Teach them a lesson they won’t forget!”

A few others rallied behind King Rig. “Yes!! Beat them up!!” voices shouted in agreement.

This time, Hardy didn’t intervene. He knew it was no longer just about pride. Allowing the bully to continue disrupting their progress would only hinder their efficiency, and they had already gathered enough justification to explain their actions to the academy later.

King Rig cracked his knuckles, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Finally. Let’s show them what happens when you mess with Hall 33.”

The battle between the two Halls erupted with explosive force. The golden sands of the Veloria Prime desert became a whirlwind of clashing spells, weapons, and power. Blaine, King Rig, and Ha Ron, the three golden-ranked acolytes of Hall 33, led the charge, their combined might wreaking havoc on the Nephilim acolytes. Hardy stood at the back, eyes calm yet sharp, his orders cutting through the chaos. “Focus on their weak member first,” he commanded, his strategic mind analyzing the flow of battle. His leadership turned the tide, making their smaller numbers an advantage rather than a hindrance. Hans, the Nephilim leader, had started the fight with a smug grin, but as he watched his supposedly elite acolytes being beaten down by a group of lower realm acolytes, his face drained of color. The arrogance he had flaunted earlier was replaced by disbelief, and then fear. He had underestimated them. Badly.

Hardy, noticing Hans’ growing panic, gave a cold smile. “Let’s wrap this up,”  He was about to signal for the final move, ready to restrain the Nephilim acolytes and put an end to their arrogance when Armenius, came rushing with a warning.

“Another group is approaching!”

“What! Who!?”

A group of twenty acolytes rushed in—it was Hall 38, unfortunately, they were known as strong allies of the Nephilim factions.

Their sudden appearance wasn’t a mere coincidence; it was clear they had come to reinforce Hall 22 and disrupt Hall 33’s progress.

There was no hesitation, no attempt at diplomacy. As soon as they spotted the ongoing battle, they immediately sided with Hall 22, their spells flaring in unison with their Nephilim comrades.

The once evenly matched battle quickly spiraled out of control. It was now Hall 33 against two powerful halls, and the odds were turning grim.

“Haha! You’re trapped now!” Hans shouted with renewed confidence. His earlier panic had vanished “Let’s break their bones and crush their cores!” His voice echoed through the battlefield, dripping with malice.