Seeing the situation, the third princess sighed helplessly.
Without ceremony, she hoisted Alan onto her shoulder like cargo and swiftly carried him back to her small palace in Ironblood City.
To call it a "palace" might be a stretch—it was more like a residence.
Its interior was modest, with only the most essential furnishings for daily living. There was no trace of luxury or opulence.
In that sense, it reflected the third princess's personality perfectly.
She was a staunch minimalist. If sothing served no practical purpose, she discarded it without hesitation.
Her attendants had been waiting respectfully by the entrance for so ti.
But the third princess didn't even spare them a glance.
With a simple wave of her hand, she said, "Go fetch Aileen. I need her."
Soon, a figure appeared at the palace gates—an old crone wearing a crooked wizard hat, her face covered in warts.
She looked like the archetypal wicked witch straight out of a fairy tale.
In her hand, she held a rotting poisoned apple, and her expression was anything but friendly.
The third princess casually dismissed the other attendants, then smiled at the witch and said, "There's no one else here. You can drop the act."
"Yes, Your Highness," the old woman replied.
As soon as she spoke, a strange magical aura enveloped her.
Dark purple mist swirled around her body.
From within the haze stepped out a tall, enchanting woman with striking features.
She wore a silk dress of the sa dark purple hue, which clung to her figure in all the right ways, hinting at her curves beneath the fabric.
On closer inspection, the mist hadn't vanished—it had been absorbed into the very fibers of her gown.
The third princess could only shake her head.
This royal apothecary, who had watched her grow up, never appeared without making a scene.
After so many years, the princess had grown numb to her dramatic flair.
"He…" the third princess gestured toward Alan, who lay unconscious on the bed.
Aileen imdiately stepped forward and released a gentle wave of magical energy, scanning Alan from head to toe.
No words were needed.
She already understood what the princess wanted.
It was a silent understanding born from years of companionship.
"Elental backlash caused by elental imbalance," Aileen clicked her tongue. "This is going to be tricky."
The princess's face darkened slightly. "Even you can't fix it?"
Aileen waved her hand. "Fixing the imdiate symptoms isn't hard. The problem is restoring his chaotic elental flow to its original state. That'll take ti—or a specially crafted potion to neutralize the backlash."
She paused, then added, "But as you know, Your Highness, potion prices in the kingdom have always been sky-high…"
The third princess clenched her jaw and thought for a mont. "Since I joined the military, hasn't Father been sending potions in secret? Use my stockpile to prepare sothing appropriate."
Aileen looked at the princess in disbelief.
"Your Highness, those potions are worth a fortune. And you already used up quite a bit during the last battle. The next shipnt isn't due for so ti. If we use the rest now, then—"
"Enough with the whining. Use them," the third princess cut her off. "I'm not so fragile porcelain doll."
Hearing the resolve in her voice, Aileen said no more. She could tell the princess had made up her mind.
"Very well, then. I'll start preparing the potion right away."
With a graceful bow, Aileen turned and swiftly exited the princess's private chambers.
Left alone, the third princess glanced wistfully at Alan, still lying unconscious, then shook her head and walked into the adjacent hall.
Once she had made sure the servants were gone, she sat at one end of the long table and slowly took out the tier-diamond magic scroll.
The reason Permafrost World had drawn so much attention from every major power wasn't just because of its high rank—it was also because of its rarity.
The mages who had poured their life's knowledge into the scroll had also imbued it with unique rune-based seals.
Only two kinds of people in the entire world could break those seals: the mage who created it, and their direct bloodline.
In other words, until the scroll was fully unsealed, no one else in the world could ever wield a second Permafrost World.
Such a rare and priceless skill, if put on the market, would undoubtedly cause a massive economic upheaval throughout the kingdom.
And yet, Alan had tossed it to her—casually, carelessly, as if it were nothing more than a chew toy for a dog—when she had been standing atop the watchtower.
This simple gesture revealed sothing important: Alan didn't care all that much about this tier-diamond magic skill.
At last, the third princess understood Alan's firm stance when he had demanded the scroll back in the secret realm.
He hadn't wanted to keep it for himself.
Rather, he'd used it as bait, deliberately luring away all the factions trying to seize it—just to give her a chance to escape.
And at that ti, she had completely misunderstood Alan's good intentions.
With a trace of guilt, she turned her head to look toward her sleeping chambers, where Alan still lay resting.
After what seed like an eternity of unconsciousness, Alan finally woke up.
He sat up slowly, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling for a long mont.
Then, like a tidal wave, mories ca rushing back—everything that had happened before the elental backlash struck.
He flung off the covers and touched his face.
Strangely enough, the frost that had once covered his body had vanished completely. His skin had returned to a normal, healthy temperature.
He quickly closed his eyes and focused on the mana flow within his body.
To his surprise, the fire and light elents that had been forced into fusion and had gone wild were now as ta as kittens.
Even more astonishing, the two elents now seed on the verge of true fusion.
Once they did, it would mark his ascension from a tier-bronze magus to a tier-gold magus—a real breakthrough that would allow him to fully integrate elental magic into every aspect of combat.
Unfortunately, he still wasn't ready to fuse the two elents completely.
Although the holy fla produced by intertwining fire and light was powerful, separating the elents gave him greater flexibility.
So far, Alan had mastered five elental types: wind, fire, water, earth, and light. He had also obtained the Divine Oakstaff, a weapon that amplified light magic to its peak potential.
But just as he reached for it, intending to examine its condition, Alan was stunned.
The Divine Oakstaff—which had once been attuned to his very soul—was gone.
Panic surged through him. He searched frantically before finally spotting a faint trace of the staff's magical imprint… on his own longsword-staff.
It looked as if his sword-staff had completely absorbed the Divine Oakstaff.
"Is that… good or bad?" Alan muttered.
He suspected that the intense battle with the elder under the full moon—Duke Mogan—hadn't just triggered his elental fusion. It had also catalyzed a fusion between his two weapons.
This ant he now had a brand-new staff. And naturally, it needed a new na.
After a mont of thought, he decided, "Holyblade Staff!"
According to legend, there was once a king who wielded a holy sword and, alongside his loyal knights, repelled every invading enemy.
Alan swore to beco a hero just like that king. One day, he too would set foot in the Sacred Realm, and follow in Alice's footsteps.
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