Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!

"Dark mages?"

Only at this moment did a change flicker across Lizzie's otherwise impassive expression.

She gently set her teacup back on the table, her brows furrowing in contemplation. "Even within our kingdom, which holds more ancient ruins than most others, those capable of wielding forbidden magic are extremely rare."

"These kinds of spells bring immense harm not only to the body, but also to the soul. A single misstep could drag the caster into hell, damned for all eternity. Because of this, the dark mages—those who've mastered such forbidden arts—formed something akin to a mutual aid society, an organization designed to help newcomers navigate the risks associated with these powers."

"But maintaining an organization for the long term requires a massive financial foundation. It's not surprising, then, that the leader of the dark mages would accept the bounty from Lioncrest Academy in exchange for that hefty sum."

The middle-aged chief nodded in agreement. "Your Grace has summarized it precisely. When our intelligence division received the information, we came to the same conclusion. The concern now is whether this sudden influx of malicious forces might bring chaos to our kingdom's civilian life."

Lizzie smiled faintly. "As long as no one provokes these bastards, what they do to each other has nothing to do with us. Kent Kingdom opens up ancient ruins to the public every year, and countless people kill for profit and treasure. But in the end, hasn't our nation remained untouched?"

As she spoke, Lizzie cast the chief a sidelong glance. "Don't forget the foundation of our national policy—don't hear, don't see, don't speak. Even if there are more people this time than usual, the essence of the matter hasn't changed. They're here for Alan, not for you, me, or anyone else in Kent Kingdom."

The chief quickly nodded. "Apologies, that was my mistake."

Lizzie waved her hand dismissively. "No, compared to others, your thinking is still relatively clear. What truly disappoints me are those who feign ignorance despite knowing better—those who, fully aware they shouldn't get involved, still foolishly extend a helping hand to one side."

With a sharp thud, she slammed her palm onto the table, then turned to glare at the portrait of King Kent III that hung on the wall behind her.

That portrait hadn't been placed there out of any lingering affection for the monarchy. On the contrary, Lizzie had ordered it hung as a warning to herself—to never repeat his mistakes.

The chief let out a light sigh. "Forgive me, Your Grace. The royal family is careful in their actions, leaving no evidence. While we suspect their involvement, we have no concrete proof. Without it, we cannot act."

"There's no need," Lizzie said, waving her hand again. "If they're so desperate to die, why stop them? Let them do as they wish. Let's watch how the once-proud royal family of Kent destroys itself. In a way, it saves us the trouble."

On the other side of the city, Alan and his companions had just stepped off the station platform when they were quickly surrounded by a group of bounty hunters.

Unlike the imperial capital, Kent Kingdom turned a blind eye to the actions of outsiders. As long as no locals were harmed, no one cared even if someone was killed in broad daylight.

That was precisely why bounty hunters acted so brazenly here.

One of them—a muscular man with a ram's head tattoo on his arm—pulled out a wanted poster and kept comparing Alan's face to the image.

Eventually, he grinned viciously. "Old bounty and new combined, kid, your head's worth at least fifty million. We've been tight on cash lately... So what's it gonna be? Will you die yourself, or should we help you along?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Alan vanished.

The next second, a gaping hole appeared in the burly man's chest.

Alan stood before the others, clutching the man's still-beating heart. He raised it up like a trophy, showing it off to the bounty hunters who were already beginning to stir.

"Anyone who dares make a move… will end up like him."

With that, Alan clenched his fist.

The heart exploded, sending a spray of blood outward in every direction. Even his own face was splattered, giving him a feral, terrifying aura—and lending undeniable credibility to his words.

"Stop bluffing! He's just a kid whose voice hasn't even cracked yet. Besides, there's only four of them—we've got over forty! What are we afraid of?!"

Someone in the crowd shouted, snapping the rest out of their fear.

"Yeah! He's only one guy! Even if he's strong, we can overwhelm him with numbers! If nothing else, we'll tire him out!"

With that, the crowd grew noisy. Flames, frost, gusts of wind, and flying stones began to rain down like a storm. A barrage of offensive spells surged toward Alan.

But Alan didn't move.

He stood there as if rooted in place, not even trying to dodge.

"Ha! Look at this kid—he's frozen in fear!" someone jeered.

"Wait… something's wrong!" another exclaimed.

A moment later, the bounty hunters realized what was happening—every spell that neared Alan turned into harmless mist, evaporating into nothing the moment it got close.

Alan began to walk forward.

With each step, the space around him formed a vacuum zone, one into which no magic could enter.

The bounty hunters were paralyzed with fear.

They were mages. Yet Alan was like an anti-mana shell, immune to all their attacks. How were they supposed to fight that?

As doubt and panic began to take root, the group started preparing to flee.

But in the blink of an eye, Alan stepped past them—cutting off their escape.

"I'm only one person," he said, his tone almost playful. "Why are you all so afraid?"

Each step he took exuded the pressure of an army. Though alone, Alan radiated the momentum of ten thousand men.

By contrast, the forty or so bounty hunters—so bold moments ago—now retreated with trembling legs, afraid to even touch him.

Then Alan raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Suddenly, the bounty hunters at the front collapsed en masse.

Their eyes rolled back, foam spilled from their mouths, and their bodies went limp. Not a single trace of mana remained within them.

They were dead. Completely, utterly dead.

"No! He's not human—he's a demon!"

The terror reached its tipping point. The remaining hunters couldn't take it anymore. They screamed. They ran.

But Alan wasn't about to let them go.

In an instant, two elemental blades formed in his hands—twin swords forged of raging wind.

He leapt forward, whipping his arms through the air. The wind blades surged ahead like harvesting blades on a rampage, slicing down his enemies at terrifying speed.

In mere minutes, the battlefield fell into utter silence.

Nothing moved.

Life had been stripped from the area entirely.

Corpses lay scattered across the ground in grotesque poses. Blood from their mangled bodies had pooled into dark crimson puddles, forming small lakes of gore.