Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!
Chapter 690 - Chapter246-Hell on Earth

Stephen knelt on the ground, his eyes devoid of light, pupils vacant, and his complexion gloomy and lifeless.

"It's over…"

That was the truest thought echoing in the depths of his heart.

The white-robed woman who had followed him loyally—even though she had fled thousands of miles away—had still been slain in an instant.

And the elite task force he had painstakingly assembled over weeks, composed entirely of Legendary mages, had been completely wiped out in one fell swoop.

He had considered, briefly, the possibility that someone powerful might be backing Alan.

But never in his worst nightmares had he imagined that the person behind Alan… was a King Magus. And not just any King Magus, but one so devastatingly powerful!

As this realization settled in his mind, Stephen couldn't help but glance with deep resentment at Alan, who lay unconscious on the ground nearby.

"No wonder you had the balls to act so arrogant… You little bastard had a King Magus watching your back this whole time!"

"If that were all, fine. But damn it, couldn't you have brought her out earlier?! If you had just revealed her from the beginning, would I have wasted all these people and resources trying to take you down?!"

"The only reason I've ended up in this miserable state today… is entirely because of you! Even if I die today, even if I go to hell, I'll make sure to drag you down with me!"

His words were little more than blind blame-shifting.

After all, Alan had never once claimed that he had someone so powerful behind him. Sure, he never denied it—but he never flaunted it either.

But even if Alan had brought out the black-robed woman and stated outright that she was a King Magus, would Stephen have believed him? Knowing his own temperament, absolutely not. He would've thought Alan was bluffing—blustering to save his own skin. He might have even intensified his attacks in retaliation.

King Magus…

What a distant and unfamiliar title.

In the thousand-year recorded history of the Kener Continent, the term "King Magus" was so rare it might as well have been mythical.

Every book in circulation across the continent claimed that the peak of magical cultivation was Legendary. Anything beyond that was considered a complete mystery.

While Stephen cursed fate and brooded in hatred, harboring delusions of turning into a vengeful spirit to torment Alan even from beyond the grave—

The red-haired woman moved.

She stepped forward slowly, removed the Sword of Damocles hovering above Stephen's head, and pressed its crimson tip gently against his forehead.

"Any last words?"

Her voice was cold. Her gaze even colder—as though mocking this pitiful, arrogant prey who'd once fancied himself a predator.

Stephen stared at her for a few seconds. Then, clenching his jaw tightly, he growled, "I am the Headmaster of Lioncrest Academy, one of the Four Grand Archmages of the Plantagenet Kingdom. I won't go down so eas—"

Schlkk!

Before he could finish, the red-haired woman drove the blade straight through his skull.

In that instant, Stephen's brain was obliterated, and his entire body was incinerated into a charred corpse.

But his consciousness didn't fade.

Or rather—it couldn't.

The red sword she held had somehow imprisoned his soul, reducing it to a glowing white wisp that now hovered along the edge of the sword's blade.

Stephen stared in disbelief at the red-haired woman. It was a long moment before he finally muttered, "H-How is this possible…? My physical body has clearly perished… and yet my soul remains intact? This isn't something even reality manipulation could achieve… Reality cannot affect the soul! You… What did you do to me?!"

The red-haired woman glanced at him dispassionately, but did not answer.

Instead, she turned away and walked over to Alan, who still lay on the ground, seemingly unconscious. She gave him a few light taps with her foot.

"Hey, lazybones. How long are you going to keep pretending? If you don't get up right now, I'm going to carve seven holes in your backside so that even your farts play a tune."

"No, no, no! I'm up—I'm up!"

Alan grinned as he sat up slowly.

He turned his head to look at her, his voice soft. "It's been a while… You seem even more beautiful than I remember."

The woman rolled her eyes at him. "That's your first line after all this time? Flattery? You've clearly been learning all the wrong things lately."

But then, she noticed Alan's gaze constantly drifting toward the bodies of his fallen companions nearby.

With a resigned sigh, she spread her hands. "Alright, alright. Go save your little buddies first. We'll talk business later."

"Thank you, Senior."

Alan gave a grateful nod before scrambling to his feet and hurrying toward the nearest body—Francis.

"Francis… Francis!"

He shouted as he knelt down and shook his friend, but Francis remained motionless, eyes closed, lying peacefully as though he were truly dead.

Alan's expression grew heavy.

"I'm sorry… I should've told you earlier. Remember when we first enrolled, and you kept looking for that stash of hometown snacks you'd brought with you? The truth is… I ate them all behind your back."

"…"

"And that time we went out shopping? You thought you lost some spare change from your coin pouch? It wasn't stolen. You dropped it when you were distracted at the counter. I picked it up for you quietly but never said anything."

"…"

"Oh, and there was that night I couldn't sleep. I was lying in bed and heard your bunk above me creaking rhythmically—and then these little, uh, muffled sounds—"

"Oi! Enough already!"

Francis shot upright, slapping a hand over Alan's mouth in horror. "Bro, you're my big bro, alright? I'm practically a dead man here. Can't you let me go out with a little dignity?"

Alan stepped back a few paces and gave him a sinister grin. "You've got the strength to plug my mouth, and you still call yourself a dying man? Your body seems just fine to me. You sure you weren't faking it?"

Francis scratched his head, sheepishly looking away.

With an embarrassed laugh, he muttered, "Heh… When did you figure it out?"

Alan shouted, "From the very beginning! You're usually so carefree and careless. And suddenly you're acting all dramatic and emotional? That's not the Francis I know!"

"The real Francis—if he had to die—would die standing, and wouldn't give up until the very last breath!"

"And look at you just now—whining and moaning like some weepy maiden. Anyone who didn't know better would think you were 'Francesca,' not Francis!"

"Okay, okay! Stop scolding me!"

Francis looked like he wanted to disappear into the ground, repeatedly bowing his head in apology.

Alan just glared at him one last time, then turned and strode toward where Fort and Blanche lay.

Unlike the ever-unserious Francis, these two had taken real damage.

Stephen hadn't killed them outright—not because he was merciful, but because he wanted to use them to torment Alan even further. That was the only reason they'd been left barely alive.

Alan focused, extending his mana to probe their condition. Sure enough, deep inside their bodies, there remained the faintest trace of life—tiny flickers of mana still pulsing weakly.

Without hesitation, Alan concentrated and channeled all the vital energy his Stone of Sage had managed to restore into their bodies.

"Cough… Cough-cough!"

Both Fort and Blanche stirred and rose slowly. As their eyes regained clarity, they turned simultaneously toward Alan.

"Am I dead…?" Fort asked, blinking.

"Is this Heaven… or Hell?" Blanche whispered.

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