Earth's Greatest Magus Chapter 2991: The Loss

Above the skies of Dravos,

Only seconds had passed since Emery’s three-pronged attack had shaken the heavens.

Then—

The defenders below saw Emery suddenly stagger in midair, both hands clutching his temples as dark purple smoke poured from his eyes, ears, and mouth like steam escaping a cracked furnace.

For one long, dreadful moment, he simply hung there, eyes squeezed shut, locked in a battle none of them could see.

No one knew what was happening.

No one dared interfere.

Then a psychic shockwave erupted from him.

The air rippled.

The dark smoke was shredded apart instantly, scattering into countless wisps before dissolving into the wind like fog beneath the morning sun.

Emery opened his eyes.

They were his own.

And across the battlefield, the corrupted reacted.

The thousands of yellow eyes scattered throughout the swarm did not go dark.

They went wild.

The hive mind had collapsed.

Infected Grand Magus froze mid-attack before suddenly lashing out in every direction. Some attacked nearby allies. Others swung blindly at empty air. Several simply stood motionless, as though they no longer understood where they were or what they were supposed to do.

The infected Magus upon the walls suffered the same fate. Their formations disintegrated instantly as discipline vanished, leaving behind only maddened creatures driven by instinct and corruption.

They were not cured.

They were not saved.

But they were no longer an army.

Across the city, the vast purple haze hanging over Dravos began to thin. Without the parasite’s will controlling it, the corruption lost its cohesion. The poisonous mist drifted apart under the natural winds, revealing patches of clear sky. Fresh air rolled across sections of the battlefield that had been smothered beneath corruption since the fighting began.

Only one true threat remained. Supreme Marc.

The corrupted Supreme still rampaged through the heavens, his phantom beasts tearing across the battlefield in blind fury. Yet without the parasite influence, his attacks had bee chaotic and unfocused. Around him, Queen Phyllis, Ayla, the Star Tower Lord, and other grand magus powerhouses managed to contain his movements.

Then a streak of icy blue light tore across the western horizon.

A Supreme aura descended upon the battlefield.

Supreme Dunadan had arrived.

Minutes later, the battle of Dravos was over.

The scourge had been broken.

When it was finally over, Emery hovered alone above the battered city, watching the survivors below.

Some cheered.

Some wept.

Others had already begun the long task of clearing debris, tending to the wounded.

For him personally, the Battle of Dravos had been relatively manageable.

He had not, in truth, been forced to reveal his full strength. Khaos had remained largely dormant throughout the battle.

But the battle itself had been anything but easy.

His gaze drifted across the city.

The walls were cracked and broken. Entire districts had been reduced to rubble. The great protective domes lay shattered across the landscape like broken glass. Long lines of refugees emerged from collapsed shelters, guided by exhausted insectoid warriors, Alliance soldiers, and the surviving defenders of Maren.

The cost of victory stretched before him like an endless ledger.

More than ten million civilians across the planet had perished.

Tens of millions more had lost their homes, their cities reduced to ruins and corruption. Tens of thousands of Magus had died in the fighting. Hundreds of Grand Magus—names respected across countless sects, kingdoms, and factions—would never return.

And one Supreme had fallen.

All because of a single parasitic creature.

Among the first reports to reach him, there were small mercies tucked between the larger horrors.

None of the Earth faction members had died. Nova Roma’s crew had e through battered but whole — Julian himself was already plotting how to spin his rescue of Cassian into political capital, which Emery took as proof of his recovery.

More surprising still, Archbishop Stephen had survived.

Apparently, the Nephilim Church possessed a secret resurrection technique reserved for its highest-ranking Saints. The corruption lingering within his body had delayed the revival by nearly an hour, but in the end, Stephen had opened his eyes once more. He was weakened, much diminished, and would need years before he stood at full strength once more — but he was alive.

Then came an even more shocking discovery.

Dozens of soul fragments had been recovered from individuals previously believed to be pletely consumed by the parasite.

The fragments were weak and inplete, little more than scattered remnants of consciousness, yet they undeniably belonged to the infected victims.

Emery thought of the hundreds of motes of light that had risen out of the dying sea of consciousness with him.

He wondered, briefly, if any of them had found their way back to the bodies left behind.

Then perhaps there was still hope for the dead Supreme as well.

But that was no longer his problem.

That belonged to the Alliance now.

As members of Group Nine, Emery was among the first summoned to the Alliance’s debriefing.

With most of his teammates still in recovery, only Hubert was there with him to confirm the story. The elegant man corroborated every detail with his usual unhurried smile, then leaned over the table afterward and gave Emery a small, lazy grin.

"As I said," he murmured, "you really are my lucky charm."

Emery did not bother to argue.

He could not help but feel satisfied with the oute.

The entire mission had taken less than four days.

As a member of the elite Group Nine, the main person in charge of creating the new resistance pills, and the person ultimately responsible for killing Parasite X, he was almost certain to receive an enormous amount of contribution points once the Alliance finished tallying the results.

He might even be one of the biggest contributors to the entire campaign.

Of course, the gains would never truly balance the lives lost.

But from a practical standpoint, Emery could not deny that the mission had been a tremendous success.

He only hoped the rewards would be enough to take a real bite out of the five-million-merit debt that had been hanging over him since his sentencing.

He stepped out of the debriefing room with the first quiet satisfaction he had felt in days.

And he saw Morgana waiting for him in the corridor.

The moment he saw her expression, his heart sank.

Something was wrong.

"What happened?"

Morgana opened her mouth.

"You need to return immediately," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated.

Then forced herself to continue.

"...It’s Gwen."

For a moment, Emery heard nothing else.

The corridor went very thin around him, the voices of nearby Alliance officials reduced to a strange muffled hum. His chest felt as if someone had pressed two fingers to his sternum and gently stopped it from beating.

He did not ask her to explain.

Some part of him already knew.

He used the Khaos gate.

Through Soltz’s waypoint, the distance between Dravos and Dawnstar collapsed into a single step. The old man was waiting for him on the other side and did not say a word as Emery stepped through.

No jokes.

No sharp remarks.

Emery walked past him without a word.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since the battle in Dawnstar’s Third District.

The scars were everywhere.

Half-collapsed buildings lined the streets. Soot-stained, shattered walls. The smell of smoke, blood, and lingering corruption hung over the city despite the cleanup efforts already underway. Volunteers in faction colors moved between the wreckage, hauling debris and lifting bodies that had been waiting hours for someone to find them.

Emery walks past the broken stone statue at the center of the plaza.

Tens of thousands of people had gathered, packed into every street radiating outward from a single half-destroyed building at the plaza’s far end. They were citizens — old, young, broken, weeping — and they were kneeling.

Many of them held candles.

Many of them were praying.

A low chant rose and fell across the entire crowd, layered with sobs, swelling and softening as more voices joined.

"...our lady, the Star Maiden... our Star Maiden..."

Emery stood still for a moment, listening.

Then he kept moving.

He climbed the broken steps.

The inside of the temple was very quiet.

Tall candles burned along the walls and the broken pillars. The roof had partially collapsed, and a single shaft of late afternoon light fell through the gap, illuminating the shrine at the center of the ruined hall.

She lies on the altar.

Her hair had been brushed. Her hands had been folded neatly across her chest. The faint sweetness of incense hung in the air around her.

Klea was there, beside the altar, dipping a clean cloth in a basin of warm water.

She looked up when he entered.

She did not say anything.

She simply put the cloth aside, stepped back from the altar, and gave him the space he needed.

Emery walked the last few steps alone.

He stopped beside her body.

And looked down at her face.

She looked peaceful.

The pain of her final battle was gone. The strain, the exhaustion, the burden—all of it had faded away, leaving only a quiet stillness behind.

He could almost picture her final hours.

Then her last words returned to him.

"You don’t always have to be the hero."

Emery’s hand slowly tightened around the edge of the altar.

Memories flooded back.

The girl who had captured his heart.

The friend who had shared his dreams,

The wild princess who never listened to anyone.

The wise queen beloved by her people.

And now—

That person was gone.

Gwen was gone.