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

“If only I had just a little bit more vital energy left…”

Looking at the sorry state his companions were in, Alan couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his heart.

But Fort quickly noticed his expression and hastily said, “This has nothing to do with you. I chose to block those attackers on my own. You don’t need to blame yourself.”

“And besides… the Headmaster once told me: tempered steel is made through endless forging. While activating my metal element bloodline, I must take as many hits as I can. The more punishment I endure, the more solid and dense both my body and mana will become. It’s actually beneficial for my bloodline.”

Just then, Francis strolled over, grinning mischievously with a handful of pebble-sized stones.

“Taking more punishment, huh? That’s my specialty. Fort, just stand right there—I promise I’ll keep you under attack from morning till night. Ever heard of a stone rain technique?”

“Oh come on, knock it off already!”

Senior Blanche crossed her arms and glared at the two of them.

Then, with practiced efficiency, she began rummaging through her pack and pulled out a considerable number of healing and mana-restoration potions, distributing them among the group.

Say what you will, but women always notice the things men overlook.

Whereas Alan and the others were already itching to rush off to the next fight after the battle ended, Blanche had stayed behind and diligently looted the corpses of the fallen attackers, collecting anything of value. The scene now, with everyone being handed recovery items, was the result of her foresight.

She knew that none of these hot-blooded boys had thought about their recovery or follow-up plans. Since they wouldn’t think of it themselves, she’d make herself their contingency.

Alan didn’t accept any of the recovery potions. Despite having exerted himself the most in the fight, his own injuries and mana depletion were still within manageable limits. Compared to Francis and Fort, his condition was far better.

Instead, he opened his bag and began sorting through the spoils he had managed to gather throughout their time in the ruins.

The first thing that caught his eye was the ebony undercoat worn by the Sixth Prince. The thing had remarkable defensive properties—despite taking multiple hits from Alan, it only had a few light surface scratches.

It was a tier-platinum magical item. Granted, its current appearance was a bit worn and would fetch a lower price. But if he brought it back to the capital and found a skilled artisan to patch it up, he might be able to sell it at a good price by passing it off as good as new.

With that in mind, Alan casually pulled out the undercoat and tossed it to Fort.

“Wear this for now—it should offer decent protection.”

Fort, a native of the Mist Woods, knew exactly how valuable ebony was. That region was known for its abundance of the material, so he immediately recognized the coat’s worth.

He shook his head and stood up, placing the undercoat respectfully back into Alan’s hands.

“I don’t need it. And if I wore something like this, it would completely interfere with the growth of my metal bloodline. It would do more harm than good.”

“Tch, quit trying to act all noble,” Francis interjected, swaggering over.

With exaggerated flair, he snatched the undercoat out of Fort’s hands.

“Hehehe. If you really feel bad about it, Fort, I’d be happy to hold on to it for you,” he said, already unclasping the coat and preparing to put it on.

But as he was halfway into the process, Francis froze in place, as if struck by a sudden realization.

Then he looked up at Alan with wide, puppy-dog eyes and said pitifully, “Bro, you’re my actual brother, right? Please, can I have it? Let me wear it, please?”

Alan nearly burst into laughter. Honestly, Francis really had no shame when he wanted something—but Alan didn’t blame him. As someone who manipulated gravity, Francis’s only real defense was reversing gravitational fields.

If an enemy managed to break through that outer defense and get in close, Francis would be in serious trouble. With the ebony undercoat as a last resort, he might not guarantee a win, but at least he wouldn’t be one-shotted.

Alan waved his hand nonchalantly. “If you want it, take it. No need to ask.”

Francis scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, I was just worried you or Fort might be upset. And I didn’t know if you were planning to keep it yourself. What if you needed it more than I did?”

Clearly, he had underestimated Alan’s capabilities.

With the Stone of Sage, mana Overpressure, and True Death Eyes, Alan had already reached the peak of what his tier allowed—both offensively and defensively. While the undercoat might offer him some marginal benefit, it would do far more good in Francis’s hands.

Once Alan gave his approval, Francis eagerly pulled the coat on and spun around twice with glee, practically beaming.

“Alan, you’re the best! No, seriously—you’re not just my brother at this point, you’re practically my dad! When we get back, let’s find a quiet place and I’ll kneel down and call you ‘Godfather’!”

“Sigh…”

“This idiot is beyond saving,” Blanche and Fort muttered at once, turning their backs on Francis as if pretending they didn’t know him.

But just then, their expressions grew serious.

Two figures appeared in the distance.

Alan turned as well—and instantly recognized the newcomers.

Stephen, the headmaster of Lioncrest Academy.

And the white-robed woman who had once kidnapped his sister.

Stephen curled his lips into a sneer.

“Well, well, Alan. You’re truly something. With just this ragtag bunch of misfits, you actually managed to stand your ground against the elite agents of so many major powers from the Kener Continent…”

His voice trailed off.

He glanced around at the corpses littering the field, including those who had been killed by Bruce’s blood arrow.

His grin widened.

“Ahem, I take it back. This wasn’t a stalemate, was it? Judging by the aftermath… you slaughtered them. Good. Very good.”

But then—his smile vanished.

His eyes turned cold as he stared at Alan, the way a hunter watches a beast caught in his trap.

Stephen had never expected that this one battle, or the ambush in these ruins, would be enough to kill Alan.

On the contrary—this was all part of his plan.

He wanted Alan to go on a killing spree here in the ruins.

The more Alan killed, the more enemies he made.

And Alan was, after all, a student of Sirius Academy.

That affiliation painted a big, glowing target.

All those elite agents Alan had just killed? They didn’t act on their own. They represented powerful forces from across the continent.

Now that they were dead, someone would have to answer.

And that “someone” would most certainly be Sirius Academy.

Forget the smaller nations. Just two nearby superpowers—the British Empire and the Dark Mage Alliance—were enough to destroy Sirius in an instant.

To offend either one of them alone was already suicidal.

But Alan?

He had managed to offend both.

As if he had no idea what the word death even meant.

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