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

“You still have time to space out? Looks like you’re not taking me seriously at all!”

Alan’s voice rang out sharply—right behind Kelin.

The vice headmaster’s entire body jolted as he spun around to counter, but it was already too late.

With a sharp swish, the holy blade Lumen Sancta tore through the air and slashed across Kelin’s body, carving out a wound nearly half a meter long.

But Alan wasn’t finished.

His hands moved like lightning, a blur of motion as another elemental sword condensed in his off-hand. The twin swords danced, slicing through Kelin’s robes until they were nothing more than tattered scraps fluttering in the air. Beneath them, his flesh was a mess of bloody gashes—barely an inch of skin was left intact.

“You little bastard… how dare you—”

Though the injuries were grievous, they weren’t fatal. Kelin still had the strength to roar in defiance. But that roar was cut short the very next moment.

Alan unleashed Judgement of Soul once more. Invisible chains of divine power wrapped around Kelin’s spirit, locking him in place. His body froze; he couldn’t even twitch.

And now, he could feel it—an icy fear, not of the body, but of the soul itself. It crept into him like poison, paralyzing his will.

“From this day forward,” Alan declared, raising the radiant Lumen Sancta high above his head, “Lioncrest Academy will be nothing but history!”

The blade gleamed, preparing to fall and purge Kelin’s soul for good.

But just then, something unexpected happened.

Kelin’s expression shifted. Gone was the defiant scowl—replaced by a pitiful, trembling smile. His voice cracked with desperation.

“W-Wait! Please—Alan, it was my fault! I never should have rejected your application to Lioncrest Academy! That… that was the biggest mistake of my life. I truly regret it. Please, give me one more chance!”

“The attacks on you—they were all ordered by the headmaster! I was just a pawn, just a lowly vice headmaster. I don’t even have as much authority as Tyrande! If you kill me now, you’re wasting your energy!”

“I swear, I’ll leave Lioncrest this instant—cut off all ties with them, forever! Or… or if you want, I can join Sirius! I heard you’re rebuilding, right? I can help. You need manpower, don’t you? I’ll work harder than anyone. Just spare me this once, please!”

As he finished, the glow of Lumen Sancta began to fade. Alan slowly lowered the sword.

Kelin felt the pressure of death ease. Relief flooded him like a tidal wave. He had made it.

Or so he thought.

“So that’s your final speech?” Alan suddenly asked, lifting his eyes with a look of dark amusement.

Kelin’s heart skipped a beat. Something wasn’t right.

Then, he felt it—an icy chill in his chest. He looked down.

Somehow, Alan’s elemental sword—once in his other hand—had circled around behind him. It now pierced straight through his torso, exiting clean from his back.

“Urgh… aghhh!”

Already soaked in blood, Kelin now vomited another mouthful of it. His eyes burned with fury as he stared at Alan.

“I apologized! What more do you want from me?! Do you really have to kill me?!”

Alan gave a calm nod. “Exactly. I came here today for one reason: to wipe Lioncrest off the face of the earth.”

“Fine… fine!” Kelin growled, his voice twisted by hate. “If that’s how it is, then I’ve got nothing left to lose. You think a tier-diamond mage is just some pushover you can toy with?”

“If you want my life, then you’d better be ready to trade yours for it!”

As the words left his mouth, Alan’s eyes narrowed.

He could sense it—Kelin’s mana was surging unnaturally, funneling toward a single point. It resembled Mana Compression, but with one key difference: this wasn’t ambient mana being compressed. Kelin was compressing all of his own internal mana.

What was he planning?

Then it hit him.

Kelin was turning himself into a bomb.

The condensed mana was turning volatile—unstable, deadly. A ticking time bomb in human form.

Alan realized it, but it was too late to escape.

With a crazed grin, Kelin lunged forward and clamped his hand tightly around Alan’s ankle, locking them together.

“If I die, you’re coming with me! Burn in hell, Alan!”

“You damn lunatic—get off me!” Alan snarled, trying to kick him away.

But the moment his foot touched Kelin’s body—

BOOM!

A thunderous explosion ripped through the great hall of Lioncrest, shattering the domed ceiling above. The shockwave rocked the ground, sending people stumbling as the air itself seemed to tremble.

Those unlucky enough to be near the epicenter didn’t even have time to scream. They were vaporized instantly, reduced to nothing—not even bones remained.

“Alan!” Francis shouted in horror.

He and the others immediately abandoned their fight with the white-robed undead, dashing toward the source of the blast.

“Cough… cough…”

A rasping cough came from the billowing smoke. It was Alan.

Francis let out a sigh of relief and was just about to rush forward to help him out of the debris when Alan’s hoarse voice rang out:

“Don’t come any closer. I… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Francis gave a strained laugh. “Come on, my brother. After everything we’ve been through, you think I haven’t seen you at your worst? Get out here—we’ve still got Lioncrest stragglers to finish off!”

“Francis!”

“Watch out!”

Blanche and Fort shouted in unison.

But it was too late. From the side, a white-robed undead launched itself toward Francis like a rabid beast. Its gaping maw, split grotesquely down the middle of its stomach, looked ready to devour him whole.

Suddenly, a blur burst out from the smoke.

With a mighty kick, Alan sent the abomination flying.

He looked a mess. Covered in soot and blood, his clothes had been almost entirely shredded. Most notably, his pants had been blown apart—only a strip of tattered cloth remained around his thighs, resembling an absurdly revealing pair of denim hotpants.

No wonder he didn’t want to be seen.

“Bro… you made it! You—pffft—hahaha!” Francis couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sight.

With a scowl, Alan stomped over and smacked him on the head.

“What the hell are you laughing at?! If I hadn’t shown up just now, you’d be dead meat!”

But oddly enough, Francis didn’t retort.

Instead, he swiftly pulled out his apple-shaped magic device and a magical jug, placing them behind Alan. With a flash of light, an ultra-dense gravity field was deployed—its weight dozens of times stronger than normal.

A sickening crunch followed.

Alan turned his head and saw the white-robed undead from earlier being crushed. Its skull warped and collapsed under the intense pressure, exploding in a spray of gore and brain matter that splattered across the floor like rotten stew.

“See?” Francis finally replied, casually dusting his hands. “Told you—I can take care of myself.”

The two exchanged a knowing look and bumped fists—battle-worn, bloodstained, and smiling through it all.

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