Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!-Chapter 574 - 130-The Kingdom’s Support

The white-robed mage said nothing more. He simply bowed his head and departed, heading off to carry out Stephen's latest order.

Although to Stephen, that order had merely been spoken in passing—just a few casual words—once it was time for the white-robed mages to actually execute it, the complexity of the task became immediately apparent.

Why? Because the scope of Stephen's bounty was simply too vast.

Even ignoring the neighboring countries of Charlie, Barton, and Kent, there were nearly a hundred nations of varying sizes within the Kener Continent, such as the Jiner Kingdom.

And beyond these established kingdoms, there existed secluded families and hidden cults that rarely revealed themselves to the outside world. These reclusive powers hardly ever surfaced, but the moment an event with enough profit potential occurred, they would descend like sharks catching the scent of blood—one after another, emerging from the shadows.

And clearly, the anonymous bounty issued by Lioncrest Academy was exactly that kind of lucrative opportunity.

Just look at what Stephen was offering in his vendetta against Sirius Academy:

Scrolls containing high-grade spells—some gold-tier, others even tier-platinum. Over a million mana stones—not the cheap, impure level-1 or level-2 varieties, but high-purity tier-3 mana stones.

A famous bounty hunter had once said:

If there's a 10% profit margin, low-level bounty hunters will start to appear everywhere.

If there's a 20% margin, mid-tier bounty hunters will eagerly join the fray.

And if there's a 50% profit margin, even the most powerful bounty hunters will risk their lives to compete.

Stephen's offer far exceeded that—it wasn't a 50% profit, but a staggering 300% return.

As a result, those money-obsessed "hyenas" would now charge into the imperial capital of the Plantagenet Kingdom with reckless abandon, doing everything in their power to take the lives of Sirius Academy's students.

And that was exactly what Stephen wanted to see.

Meanwhile, back in the imperial capital, Alan and the others had returned to Sirius Academy under Old Gayle's protection to rest and recover.

But the stories surrounding Alan were spreading through the capital like wildfire.

Some claimed that Alan had defeated Lioncrest Academy's top student, Eisen, only through sheer dumb luck.

Others speculated that Sirius Academy's aggressive actions were a sign of their impending rise and a declaration of war.

One artist had even sketched the scene of Alan standing before the gates of Lioncrest, having drawn a massive blood-red lion insignia on the ground using the corpses of students.

When he displayed his work, the artist humbly admitted that his drawing only captured the barest sliver of the real horror—witnesses swore the actual scene had been ten times more terrifying.

For a time, everyone in the capital was talking.

And no matter where the conversations started, they all eventually circled back to one name—Alan.

So young, yet already powerful enough to utterly dominate every single student at Lioncrest Academy.

And more than that—rumors now swirled that Alan was one of the rare, mythical mages who could wield all elemental forces.

From this day forward, no one dared look down on Sirius Academy.

After today's battle, everyone silently equated Sirius with Lioncrest—and in many minds, Sirius had already surpassed them.

"Brother… Brother's back!"

At the front gates of Sirius Academy, Isabella had been waiting anxiously for what felt like an eternity. The moment she saw Alan's figure appear, she bolted toward him, throwing herself into his arms and burying her head in his chest.

Alan let out a helpless chuckle, squatting down and gently lifting his sister up.

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"Relax," he said with a smile. "I'm not going anywhere. Didn't I promise you I'd come back alive?"

Isabella didn't say a word—she just wept.

Seeing this, Alan didn't try to say more. The poor girl had been frightened far too much this time. Letting her cry would do her good—it would ease the emotional tension inside her.

After all, crying was fundamentally a form of the body's self-protection.

If someone was afraid of embarrassment and forced themselves not to cry, that would only do more harm.

Alan stood up, stepping past Isabella and walking toward the blindfolded noblewoman. He gave her a deep, respectful bow.

"Thank you so much for your help. I still don't know your name."

The blind noblewoman waved her hand and replied gently, "You may call me Catherine."

"Truly grateful, Lady Catherine."

Catherine gave him a faint smile and tapped Alan's waist with her mana-sensing staff, saying with meaningful weight,

"To serve the Duke is our sworn duty."

"Rest assured—if things ever reach a truly irreversible point, the kingdom will stand behind you."

"So… she's from the kingdom?"

Alan looked at her thoughtfully, as if trying to imprint her appearance in his memory.

But strangely, the more he tried to focus on her features, the blurrier the image became.

It seemed Catherine had deliberately obscured her appearance using mana.

By the time Alan regained clarity, the blind noblewoman was already gone—disappeared without a trace.

Isabella peeked out from behind Alan's back, her small head tilting curiously. "Brother, are you tired? Come on, let me take you back to your room to rest!"

Just then, Francis limped over, putting on a dramatically weak expression as he croaked, "Cough… cough… Isabella, I was injured badly protecting your brother. Don't you care about me at all?"

Before he could continue, Fort walked up and delivered a solid kick to his rear.

"Shameless," he said coldly.

Unexpectedly, Isabella giggled. She reached out her little hand to ruffle Francis's hair, then took Fort's hand and said earnestly, "Thank you, Brother Francis, Brother Fort. You helped my brother so much—thank you!"

Her sincerity made even Francis feel a bit sheepish. He waved his hand quickly, saying, "Really, it wasn't a big deal. I'm super strong, you know? These little injuries—I'll recover in no time."

"Oh? That so?"

Old Gayle's voice rang out behind him.

Without warning, he appeared and struck Francis squarely in the chest with a burst of mana.

Francis immediately coughed violently. His whole body shook, his face turned pale as a ghost, and he collapsed like a man with a terminal illness.

Then Old Fort came over and poured a bunch of pitch-black potions straight into his mouth.

Only then did some color return to Francis's face.

"Heh," Old Gayle said with a smirk. "Doesn't seem like such a minor injury now, does it? Here—catch."

He tossed two more vials of that dark potion toward Fort and Alan.

Alan didn't say much. He caught the vial and took Isabella back to their room.

Francis, meanwhile, struggled to his feet and looked pleadingly at Old Gayle. "You've had these awesome potions all along? Why didn't you bring them out earlier?"

Old Gayle rolled his eyes and was about to respond when Francis bent down and picked up the empty potion bottle from the ground, muttering to himself, "The packaging's nice too… wonder how much it'd sell for."

"Old man, how about giving me a few more of these? We can sell them on the market and use the profits to renovate the academy. You don't even know—yesterday when I got out of bed, a chunk of plaster fell right on my face!"

Old Gayle went silent for a long moment. Then he gave Francis a sidelong glance and said dryly, "Is that your final statement?"

"What—wait, NO! Not the face—!"