The middle-aged man hurriedly chid in, "The Speaker is absolutely right. That Alan is reckless—utterly lacking in sense! According to our intelligence, he's a magus whose like hasn't been seen in the Plantagenet Kingdom for decades!"
"Not only that, he's reportedly on friendly terms with the renowned Duke of Roses. The two are almost equal in strength. If you give him a few more years to grow, even Alice might not be a match for him. If only he had learned patience, the destruction of Lioncrest Academy would've been all but guaranteed…"
"But no! He had to bare his fangs and claws before he'd matured. The old lion will tear him apart for sure!"
"You've said quite enough!"
Suddenly, the woman beside him—his wife—stepped forward to rebuke him. "You keep talking about patience. But when things really happen to you—when crisis strikes—how many people could actually endure?"
"Let's not even talk about Alan. Let's talk about us. Imagine this: if I were the one kidnapped by Lioncrest, wouldn't you, just like Alan, rush here to save —no matter how hopeless the odds, even if it might cost you your life?"
"I…"
The man faltered, unable to respond.
Seeing this, the woman angrily grabbed his ear and scolded, "See? That's the difference! Alan has guts—he'd throw everything away to save his sister. And you? You stand here criticizing him like a coward, talking big because you're not the one in danger!"
"In my opinion, if Alan really did what you suggested, then even if he one day becos a King Magus—or even a Mage Emperor—it still wouldn't make up for his mistake today. Sure, maybe his sister would survive… but the bond between them would be shattered. The two of them would never be as close as they once were."
The man rubbed his temple in frustration. "Wife… are you sure you're talking about Alan? Why do I feel like you're hinting at sothing else?"
"Hmph!"
She let go of his ear with a snort, flinging him aside as she pouted, "You know exactly what I an."
Just then, Lizzie finally spoke, interrupting the bickering couple.
"That's enough. I believe Madam riel is absolutely right. No matter how powerful our enemy is, we must never retreat. That is the creed Kent Kingdom has always upheld."
No sooner had she spoken than the intelligence chief stepped out from the shadows and bowed respectfully before reporting:
"Milady, Lioncrest Academy has issued their final warning. If we continue to maintain a neutral stance, they will officially designate Kent Kingdom as a hostile entity."
Lizzie's arm swung outward sharply. A powerful aura surged forth from her, her black cloak billowing despite the still air.
Her brows furrowed tightly as she growled, "Then let them co! In all our centuries since Kent's founding, we've never cowered before anyone!"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
The chief saluted and withdrew once more into the shadows.
———
"Hss…"
Having been engulfed by the portal's teleportation magic, Alan finally regained his senses from the dizzying sensation that followed.
He quickly scanned his surroundings, only to find himself standing in a vast, unfamiliar environnt.
He was on a sprawling plain, lush green grass beneath his feet, a boundless blue sky above. It was a peaceful, picturesque scene—far from the dark, oppressive atmosphere he had expected from a mage's ruin.
"This grand mage Jacob… turns out he had a sense of aesthetics. Must've fancied himself an interior decorator in his spare ti."
Alan let out a faint chuckle, but his expression soon turned serious.
He'd suddenly realized sothing alarming—Blanche and Fort, who had entered the ruins with him, were nowhere to be seen.
Even Francis, who had gone in ahead of them, was also missing.
After thinking for a mont, Alan speculated that there must be a unique chanism at the ruins' entrance—one that forcibly scattered all explorers upon entry.
Ti was short, and the stakes were high. Alan didn't linger. He picked a direction and broke into a sprint.
He now had four urgent objectives—rescue his sister, and regroup with Francis, Blanche, and Fort. What began as a rescue mission had turned into a full-scale operation.
And this ruin was no tourist destination—it was a land riddled with peril.
He hadn't run far when, suddenly, a figure materialized in front of him.
Without a word, the figure launched a direct attack.
Alan didn't waste ti with words either. He imdiately cranked his speed up to the limit and closed the distance in a heartbeat.
The attacker wielded a polearm-like staff, his movents wide and aggressive. His fighting style was wild and forceful—it was clear he was just another bounty hunter lured by the hefty reward.
Seeing Alan charge straight at him, the attacker tensed and leapt high into the air, adjusting the weapon's tip downward to thrust with explosive force.
This speed and strength… close to tier-platinum, but still tier-gold, Alan judged instantly.
He summoned Lun Sancta and aid the sword tip directly at the plunging staff.
But just then, from the attacker's free hand, a black-purple fla serpent burst forth, radiating blistering heat as it slithered toward Alan.
In tandem with the spear strike, it created a deadly pincer that left Alan almost no room to maneuver.
Playing dirty, huh?
Alan hadn't expected this guy to be a dual-elent mage, wielding both dark and fire elents.
But that didn't an Alan would back down.
In terms of elental control, no mage could outclass a magus.
With his off-hand, Alan conjured a swirling combination of light and water elents. The concentrated power clashed with the incoming fla serpent in mid-air.
A sharp hiss rang out as dense mist exploded from the impact, engulfing both combatants in a cloud of thick water vapor.
Their silhouettes vanished from sight.
Monts passed.
When the fog finally dispersed, Alan and his attacker stood back-to-back, neither speaking a word.
Then, Alan moved.
He dropped to one knee, exhaustion on his face. His sword hand—charged with light and water magic—was now bright pink, covered in bubbling blisters that burst open one by one. The pain stabbed into his nerves like countless knives slicing from within.
Behind him, the attacker turned slowly, his voice laced with malice.
"So you're the infamous Alan—the one who's humiliated bounty hunters left and right? You're not so tough after all—eh?"
But he froze.
A chill ran down his chest.
He looked down—and saw it.
A gaping hole had been torn through his chest. His heart… was gone.
"This… this can't be…"
The man let out a guttural scream, clutching the hole with trembling hands. But it was no use.
He collapsed to his knees. His eyes rolled back. His breathing faltered—then stopped.
He was dead. Utterly, irreversibly dead.
Alan grinned and slowly got to his feet. He walked toward the corpse with calm, asured steps…
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