Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2638: Cost of Peace

"Please—help him! Help my friend!!"

Klea’s voice cracked with desperation as she raced behind the stretcher team. Chumo’s limp body was cradled by a shimmering field of gravity magic, suspended between life and death, or perhaps already beyond. Every step she took echoed like a drumbeat of panic against the cold marble floors of the Olympian medical sanctum.

The room they entered was silent, sterile, and bathed in a dim celestial glow. Three specialists awaited them. One was a master of body reconstruction, another a soul specialist, and the last a grand master alchemist. Each was experienced, but none of them held hope.

The healers moved quickly, slipping Chumo’s ravaged body into a suspended crystal healing tube. Runes flared. The liquid around him shimmered into motion. A full diagnostic began.

The monitors blinked. Then fell flat.

No heartbeat.

No soul resonance.

No life force detected.

"...He’s gone," muttered the physique specialist. "Everything’s shut down. His body temperature is dropping rapidly. Zero cellular regeneration."

The soul specialist shook his head. "His soul has dissipated. His life force burned out. Likely due to a forbidden technique."

"No," Klea shouted, "please, scan again!"

The alchemist gave her a pitying look. "I’m sorry. He’s beyond saving."

"You’re wrong!" she snapped, stepping toward the capsule. "I sensed a flicker of consciousness. He is still in there!"

A tense silence followed.

Reluctantly, they activated the stasis array’s deep scan protocol. The tube glowed brighter, mana filters amplifying the soul field... But for the first minute, there was nothing but silence and disappointment. Chumo’s pale figure floated, still and lifeless, hair stark white, wrinkles all over his body.

Klea stood motionless, her heart pounding. She turned toward the other healing capsules. Thrax floated in one, stable but still unconscious. In the far corner—Aashaka’s cold, sealed body.

She couldn’t lose another.

For a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder if winning the duel was worth all these sacrifices. Is it worth the cost?

A whisper escaped her lips.

"Emery... Where are you? We need you..."

It was at that moment that a sudden, miraculous thing happened

A pulse.

The monitor blinked once.

A faint, singular thud.

All experts morphed from confusion to stunned realization.

After an intense analysis, a startling hypothesis began to take form.

It was the nightwalker affliction—the very curse Chumo had long resisted—that had become his salvation. The parasitic blood magic within him had refused to let its host die so easily.

The last bit of blood, Poseidon blood, that he devoured in his final moments made it all possible. It provided enough of a tether to keep him clinging to the edge of existence. He was not alive in the conventional sense, but neither was he fully dead. He hovered in a dangerous, unnatural in-between, his body cold yet refusing to decay, his soul absent but not annihilated. ȓἈΝȰΒΕS

It was a fragile miracle.

Though uncertain how much Chumo might recover—or whether he would ever be the same—the healers agreed unanimously: the slimmest chance of revival was worth fighting for. With renewed urgency, they activated every available recovery protocol.

Klea, who had stood tensely through it all, finally released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. With heartfelt gratitude, she implored the healers to give Chumo the best care possible.

She took one last glance at the pale, unconscious figure within before turning and leaving the sanctum, her footsteps quickening with every step toward the arena. The duel outside had not paused for her grief—another was about to begin.

The arena trembled beneath the roar of the crowd, a tidal wave of cheers and cries echoing from all directions. Tensions were at their peak. For the first time in the tournament, the Earth faction—once dismissed as underdogs—was drawing immense support. Their fighters had fought tooth and nail, and the spectacle of Chumo’s battle had stirred something profound in the hearts of the audience. Even among neutral spectators, respect had blossomed into open admiration.

But the Olympian loyalists, those devoted to the ancient gods, responded just as fiercely. Their chants for Kronos thundered like war drums, desperate to drown out the rising tide of Earth’s growing influence.

Klea returned to the Earth faction’s corner, her steps swift, her face still pale from the ordeal. Her eyes scanned the field—and then she noticed.

Poseidon was gone.

"Where’s Poseidon?"

Hardy stepped in. "He collapsed seconds after you left. His wounds were too much. He won’t be fighting again."

That single sentence struck with finality. Poseidon, Kronos’ indomitable sea god, had fallen. The judges had ruled it a draw—neither side victorious, yet neither defeated.

The score was Earth 7, Kronos 6.

In the center of the arena stood two figures—pillars of their respective realms. Julian and Zeus. They faced each other in intense conversation.

"I must admit," Zeus’s voice was regal but tinged with a smirk, "you and your companions have done wonders. We... greatly underestimated you."

Julian, ever the diplomat, gave a gracious nod. "It’s only natural. Our cause is worth every drop of effort. Earth is our home—it deserves to be under its people’s care once more."

Zeus studied him. "A noble sentiment. Unfortunately, reclaiming what’s been ours for centuries... won’t come easily. My father. My people—they won’t allow it."

Julian’s expression sharpened. "Then let this final duel decide it."

Yet Zeus wasn’t finished. He chuckled softly, the sound laced with amusement and menace. "You don’t actually believe you’ll win, do you? Even if, by some miracle, you and that woman defeat me... My father still waits at the end of your path. And that missing friend of yours... Emery, was it? I hate to break it to you... but he’s not coming."

It was a calculated blow—Zeus had studied Julian well. Doubt, uncertainty, and mind games—tools just as potent as blades.

But Julian didn’t flinch. This wasn’t his first political war. His eyes stayed steady. "You don’t know that. Besides, look at the scoreboard. We don’t need Emery to beat you."

Zeus’s gaze flickered. He tilted his head, intrigued. "My daughter Athena believes you’re a remarkable man. You are bold indeed; you gained the respect of the Nephilim... your name is spreading across the stars."

He paused. "Which is why I’ve come to offer you peace."

Julian blinked, cautious. "I’m listening."

Zeus extended a hand. "Marry my daughter. Join the Kronos bloodline. In return, I’ll appoint you official steward of Earth. You’ll have full authority over the planet, backed by our legions. Together, we could reshape this entire quadrant."

Klea and several others nearby overheard the words, and tension rippled through them. They knew of Athena and Julian’s complex past. The weight of Zeus’s next words hung like thunderclouds.

The arena seemed to hold its breath.

Julian was silent. He turned his gaze to the stands, to the Earth faction. Then, calmly, he looked back at Zeus.

"It’s a generous offer," he said at last. "Peace is something I truly desire."

"But..."

He stepped forward.

"I have a much better idea of peace..." With confidence he added, "You, your daughter, and your faction... I’ll take you all.... You all can join me instead."

Zeus’s smile vanished.

To suggest such a thing was a direct insult to his pride, and with it, the duel began.