Earth's Greatest Magus
Chapter 1251: Underdog

The applause and cheers that Immortal Gladiator received for his victory were far greater and livelier than anyone else who had participated in the tournament so far.

Such reactions were not just because people love to see blood washed out by steel better than magic, but also because Thrax with his abundant experience being a gladiator had given a good show, interacting with the crowds and such

"Thrax! Thrax! Thrax! Thrax!"

Another thing that put his name as most of the crowds' favorite was none other than the fact Thrax was the last acolyte hailing from the elite class. Simply put, he was the underdog in the eyes of the general populace.

Thanks to that, his journey from day one until now, blazing through all odds stacked against him, and eventually made it through top.

"Thrax! Thrax! Thrax! Thrax!"

In spite of the serious wounds visible all over his body, the Thracian still put an effort to embrace the enthusiasm of the audience, raising his hand into the air and clenching his fist tightly, which was quickly met by passionate cheers from the crowd once again.

"Thrax! Thrax! Thrax! Thrax!"

Shortly after, the tournament's medical staff rushed into the arena. Half of them went to help his opponent, while the others approached Thrax offering medical assistance. He however refused and got off the arena, calmly making his way towards the terrace area where his friends were.

The moment the Thracian entered the terrace, Emery immediately rushed over and cast his spells, healing the wounded gladiator off his numerous wounds.

"You're truly crazy, Thrax, to still be able to fight in this kind of condition."

Hearing the remark, Thrax just responded with a grunt.

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"You know.. If you didn't nick my glaive, this probably wouldn't have happened."

Instead of rebuking his Thracian friend for his recklessness, Emery was given a counter argument that he couldn't help but feel guilty about. After all, he had indeed damaged the former's beloved weapon.

"I know, I understand. I will buy you a new one. How about that?"

"He will need one soon for his next fight. I will go find one!" Chumo said before he disappeared from the terrace area. He volunteered himself because he was the only one who didn't fight today or was injured like Julian.

Thinking of the next match, the group was silent for a while as they all knew who Thrax would have to fight next without even checking who would win in the match that was going to take place soon.

Loud cheers once again shook the Grand Hall Assembly as the audience saw the match after Thrax's was over so quickly. The victor stood gallantly in the center of the arena, the renowned Dragon Prince, Zach Talon.

As his [Nature's Blessing] spell seeped into his friend's wounded body and began the healing process, Emery said, "Don't worry. I'll make sure to get you back to one hundred percent before your next match starts!"

Thrax was silent at those words, but Emery could tell from how the former's muscles spasmed that his Thracian friend couldn't wait to fight his upcoming opponent.

With his win over Python Forge, Thrax became the ninth acolyte to enter the top 16, while Zach became the tenth.

The winner of the next match was Lyndell [Rank 17], the female fighter and healer under Harlight family, and the twelfth was Anzi Tamasi the Inhuman that Emery had fought in the past.

After twelve exciting, brutal matches for the spectators to see, it was now finally the time for one of the Earth acolytes to step into the arena once again.

"Kleopatra versus Olivier Arkaland!"

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Hearing her name being called, Klea turned her head and said to Emery with a sweet smile. "Wish me luck, Emery."

Emery hugged his girlfriend and whispered good luck. He also told her that she just needed to do her best and not force anything. However, what surprised as well as puzzled him was the particular mysterious smile she gave before she walked out and towards the arena.

There, a dark-haired acolyte with a stunning appearance, wearing a white robe that fluttered in the air over his privileged acolyte uniform, was waiting for her.

Olivier Arkaland a.k.a the Sword Saint.

Another young genius from a Grade 5 faction, Arkaland Faction, stood confidently as his eyes watching a black-haired beauty approach the arena he was in.

Screams and cheers erupted from the crowd as the two finally faced each other.

Ignoring the crowd's reaction, with a sharp gaze, Olivier looked at Klea and said, "Surrender now. I don't like to hurt women. There's no shame in giving up against me."

The moment she heard those words, Klea showed a faint smile and heaved a long breath of relief.

"Hufff.. you're not only strong and handsome, you're a gentleman too…"

Hearing that, Olivier's gaze instead turned even sharper as he still spoke calmly.

"Are you mocking me?"

"No, of course not," replied Klea quickly. "I spoke the truth. Well, you could call yourself a gentleman, are you?"

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This time, Olivier fell silent and didn't answer right away, probably wondering what kind of trick his opponent was trying to do with all this talk.

When she saw his response, Klea slowly raised both of her hands and said,

"Actually I'm ready to give up this match. However, I'm curious and really want to know if my skills can have any effect to a great man like you."

A frown gradually appeared on Olivier's face hearing that. He didn't really care about flattery or praise, even somewhat resented them.

Before the Sword Saint could say anything, Klea beat him to it and said with a smile,

"What if… you let me cast one spell on you, and if you can resist it, I will immediately declare my surrender. This way, you don't have to hurt me and you also give me, a girl, some respect… like a gentleman you are."

Whether it was because of her charming words or Olivier's immense – bordering over – confidence, the Sword Saint accepted the offer Klea proposed.

"One spell." Olivier affirmed.

Klea smiled cheerfully. "Thank you!"

Olivier prepared himself for the incoming spell. But then to his surprise, the girl didn't cast the spell right away. Instead, he took out his sword and walked over and started scratching the arena floor, drawing line after line where he was standing.

"Don't move please. You promised." Klea scolded when Olivier tried to move away.

Taken aback by the unconventional action, the Sword Saint suddenly became anxious.

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"What are you actually doing?.

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