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

“You think you can hurt my brother? Not a chance!”

Just as the shadowy longsword was about to pierce Alan’s back, something strange happened—within a half-meter radius centered around the black shadow, the gravitational pull began to reverse in an eerie upward drift.

An instant later, countless pebbles and brittle branches were swept up from all directions and hurled toward the shadow like a hailstorm of debris.

Though the shadow itself had no tangible form, the Dark Mage hiding within it was very much a living person. And he couldn’t attack while simultaneously dodging this sudden burst of counterattack.

Whoosh!

The shadow melted back into black mist and vanished into the earth.

When he resurfaced again, he was already several dozen meters away from Alan.

Alan narrowed his eyes.

He could tell—this wasn’t teleportation. Nor was it any instant-move or blink-type spell.

Then how was this Dark Mage able to time his escapes so perfectly, slipping away just as the killing blow arrived?

A vague suspicion crept into Alan’s mind: unless he solved this mystery, he’d never be able to kill this elusive Dark Mage.

Watching from the sidelines, Francis, who had rushed over to assist, also found the encounter strange. He too was beginning to wonder—was there really a man hidden within that shadow?

To be able to shift forms in the blink of an eye, without even triggering mana fluctuations—could it be… he wasn’t truly alive?

“You again?” Alan turned to Francis, lowering his voice. “Didn’t I tell you? I can handle this alone.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Francis replied, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “You’re amazing. You’re on a different level. Everyone here combined couldn’t take you down. But hey, I’m your brother. How could I just sit back and watch while you’re out here risking your life?”

As he spoke, Francis casually strolled over to Alan’s side.

Alan chuckled and lightly bumped his fist against Francis’s shoulder.

“Didn’t you say just now your mana was completely drained?” Alan teased.

“Heheh, well, it turns out Fort and Senior Sis looted some low-grade mana potions from the attackers who fled earlier. They don’t restore much, but it’s enough to get me back in the fight.”

As the two bantered, the black shadow in the distance began shifting again—its form dissolving into black mist once more.

But this time, it didn’t dive into the earth like before.

Instead, it dispersed outward, slowly expanding and thinning like fog blown by the wind.

It almost looked like it was about to evaporate completely.

Francis rubbed his chin and raised an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s odd. We didn’t even make a move this time, so why’s he acting like he’s running away?”

Alan’s expression suddenly darkened.

“No. He’s really trying to escape this time!”

Though their encounter had been brief, Alan had already made one assumption—that the black mist form was just for tactical repositioning. He’d completely forgotten it could also be used to flee the battlefield.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to leave!”

Alan shouted and immediately summoned a Wind Elemental Blade, shooting forward like a hurricane.

At the same time, he activated True Death Eyes, forming a forbidden mana-severing field in the direction the black mist was escaping toward.

Sure enough, the moment the black mist touched the perimeter of the trap, the effect triggered.

With its mana ties severed, the Dark Mage’s body collapsed to the ground.

The strange mist faded from his form, revealing his true appearance.

“Damn it!” the Dark Mage cursed under his breath.

He hastily pulled out a miniature staff, barely the size of a hand. He held it up in front of him in a defensive stance.

Despite its size, the staff was forged from some unknown, incredibly durable material.

When Alan’s Wind Blade struck it, the clash created a small but concentrated mana shockwave.

The shockwave slammed into the Dark Mage head-on, flinging him away from Alan and out of the suppression zone, freeing him once more from True Death Eyes’ effect.

“Trying to run again?” Alan sneered.

But this time, Francis had already arrived at the scene.

He might not be an expert in direct combat, but when it came to control and support magic, no one at Sirius Academy dared claim to be better.

“Short legs but fast feet, huh? Not so fast now—get down!”

Francis slammed his palm downward.

Immediately, the Dark Mage’s movements slowed drastically. It was as if a tremendous invisible weight had pressed down on him.

Every step took ten times the effort.

“Nice one!” Alan grinned.

With that, he surged forward again, Wind Blade at the ready.

Whoosh!

A violent upward slash sliced through the air.

In the next second, a long, narrow gash tore across the ground—and the black shadow, along with over a dozen trees behind him, was cleanly split down the middle.

“Dark Mage? That’s it?” Francis walked up, kicked at the mangled corpse disdainfully, and shook his head.

Alan dissipated his Wind Blade and stepped beside him, letting out a small sigh.

“Legends are rarely reliable. And even if rumors claim these Dark Mages mastered forbidden magic, no one ever said forbidden magic had to be strong, right?”

“Phew… When you put it that way, it kinda makes sense!” Francis nodded.

“Well, I am me, after all,” Alan smirked. “If the Academy ever holds a test for intelligence, I might just scrape a 200.”

“Pfft, as if!” Francis laughed. “The test doesn’t even go that high! Strong, smart, charming—how are regular people like us supposed to survive around you?”

With the fight concluded, the two quickly returned to their usual banter, throwing jabs at one another like old friends.

But at that moment, a wisp of black mist drifted out from the corpse of the Dark Mage… and slipped into Alan’s body.

Oddly, Alan didn’t feel anything unusual.

Only a faint skull-shaped tattoo slowly surfaced on his upper arm—proof that the black mist hadn’t disappeared, but rather rooted itself inside him.

“What the hell? Disgusting!”

Alan rubbed at his arm with visible irritation, trying in vain to scrub the mark away.

Just then, Claude, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, walked up with a grim expression.

“That’s the Black Death Mark,” he said coldly. “Anyone branded by it becomes an enemy of the Dark Mage collective. Even if you flee to the ends of the earth—they’ll find you.”

“And they’ll kill you.”

Alan’s response?

A shrug.

“So what? If it’s just revenge they’re after… I’m always ready for a fight.”

Claude blinked in surprise at Alan’s nonchalant attitude.

But his voice dropped further, darker.

“Kid, don’t take this lightly. Sure, direct combat isn’t the Dark Mages’ strong suit—but their true weapons are curses, misfortune, and strange, invisible powers that defy explanation.”

“They’re subtle. Sinister. The kind of things that creep into your life and shatter it before you even know they’re there.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you—stay vigilant.”

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