Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!
Chapter 695 - Chapter251-The Emergence of a King Magus Shakes the Realm!

When the burly, dark-skinned man saw the familiar crimson sword aura, he was instantly startled. His eyes widened in realization, and he blurted out, "I remember now! I remember everything! It's you—you're the legendary figure who once rampaged through the Astla Sacred Realm. They called you the Crimson—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the flame-haired woman lashed out with another flash of sword energy, slicing off his tongue in one swift motion.

Coldly, she stared him down, her voice sharp and deliberate: "Nobody thinks you're mute just because you're not talking."

And with that, the burly man with the square face found himself brutally tormented by her, his body writhing in agony.

Screams and howls echoed throughout the scene.

Daniel, witnessing the savage scene unfold, instinctively shrank his neck and quietly slipped into a corner, crouching down as unobtrusively as possible. He was terrified of somehow stepping out of line and drawing the flame-haired woman's wrath upon himself by accident.

"Sigh…" Daniel let out a soft breath, and his mind drifted back to when Alan had first arrived in the imperial capital.

He remembered that scene aboard the magic train—those short-sighted fools from the Church had kept provoking Alan again and again.

And in the end? They'd managed to push a King Magus out into the open.

Daniel's gaze then shifted toward the mangled corpse of the armored man, now lying on the ground with only his lower half intact.

He realized now why the flame-haired woman had provoked the man earlier, why she had taunted him into calling for backup.

It wasn't because she was afraid.

No—she had simply wanted more people to kill.

Too bad the muscle-brained fool hadn't understood the unspoken message. He really did call for reinforcements—and now look where that got them.

The armored man was dead, and the dark-skinned brute wasn't likely to last much longer either.

After a while, the flame-haired woman—perhaps tired of swinging her sword—shook her wrist and lazily said, "Tch, at your level, your damn hide really is tough as nails. Alright, I won't waste more time. Tell me where this so-called NK Kingdom of yours is, and I'll let you go. Sound fair?"

"For real?!"

The black man looked as if he'd just been pardoned by the gods. He dropped to his knees, kowtowing repeatedly to the flame-haired woman.

He couldn't bear the agony any longer. He could still handle flesh wounds, but her sword strikes didn't just cut his body—they went straight for the soul.

The pain was beyond comprehension.

"For real. I never lie," she replied smoothly.

"Then... alright. NK Kingdom is... about 8000 kilometers southwest of the Plantagenet Kingdom."

The words had barely left his mouth when the flame-haired woman moved.

In a blur, she sliced off all four of his limbs and, like skewering a roast, threaded his body parts onto the shaft of her crimson longsword.

Then, whispering an incantation in an ancient tongue, she summoned a force that lifted the severed limbs and head into the air, pinning them onto the sword. With terrifying speed, the enchanted staff launched itself toward NK Kingdom, ferrying its gruesome cargo across the skies.

Alan stood frozen in place, his jaw slack with disbelief. He stumbled forward and asked, dazed, "Senior... didn't you say you'd let him go? You even said you never lie..."

The flame-haired woman paused, then replied with a straight face, "And I didn't lie. Tell me, did I not release his head? His hands? His feet?"

"But… but…" Alan pointed at the grotesque husk left on the ground—a body without limbs or a head—and exclaimed, "You can't just leave only the torso behind!"

The woman let out a light chuckle. "That thick, pig-like hide of his was too heavy. My staff couldn't carry it. Hmph. Wait—since when did you start telling me how to do things? Who are you to give me orders? I'll send him back however I damn well please—got a problem with that?"

"No, no, absolutely not." Alan shook his head like a rattle drum. He was convinced his senior was still in a foul mood from earlier, because her temper today was clearly much worse than usual.

…

Meanwhile, in the distant NK Kingdom, it was a warm and peaceful afternoon. Nobles sipped tea, commoners basked in the sun, and the capital buzzed with quiet comfort.

Then, out of nowhere, a blazing crimson meteor tore through the sky like divine retribution.

Its speed was unimaginable—mere mortals couldn't even register it. Only those at the Legendary level and above could barely sense its trajectory.

Even then, their focus couldn't keep up with the speed of the crimson staff.

Suddenly, within a gathering of Legendary mages, an old man screamed in shock, "It's a sword-shaped staff… by the heavens! Is another reclusive King Magus emerging from hiding?!"

The words fell like a thunderclap.

Everyone around him gasped in unison.

What was a King Magus?

That was a figure who stood not just above Legendary mages, but several whole tiers beyond—a being of myth, of legend!

And if this crimson sword staff was the work of a King Magus, how could anyone not be shaken?

Even though NK Kingdom proudly ranked in the top three for global influence, their so-called "top-tier" experts had only just begun to break past the Legendary threshold. They were merely scratching the surface of power that had previously been far out of reach.

To make matters worse, the NK Kingdom's strongest mages were nearly all concentrated in the royal bloodline. It didn't matter how distant or diluted the relation—if you had a drop of royal blood in your veins, you could refine your mana to terrifying levels in a short time.

But moving beyond Legendary—that had always been the real hurdle.

Since the founding of the NK Kingdom, not a single true King Magus had ever emerged.

So who was the owner of this longsword staff? Why was it flying toward NK Kingdom?

Was this a warning? A message? A declaration of war?

The many Legendary mages of the NK Kingdom were left bewildered.

Unable to divine its meaning, they resorted to the only plan they had—following the sword.

Perhaps if they tracked its path, they might understand its purpose.

…

Some time later, within the majestic palace of NK Kingdom, the king himself sat upon the Iron Throne.

Without warning, he felt a chill between his brows—a premonition of danger.

He instinctively turned his head—

And there it was.

The crimson longsword slammed into the stone floor beside his ear, embedding itself mere inches from his skull.

Blood dripped from the blade. Around it, chunks of stone cracked and crumbled, the air still quivering with residual energy.

The great monarch nearly vomited on the spot.

"An assassin! Guards—an assassin!"

The attending servants froze at the sight of the sword, pale as ghosts and shaking like leaves.

Just then, the Legendary mages who had followed the crimson trail arrived at the throne room.

Seeing the sword embedded beside the king's head, they exchanged uneasy glances.

One of them hesitantly asked, "Your Majesty… was this sword meant for you?"

"OUT! GET OUT, ALL OF YOU!"

The king erupted in fury. "I was nearly slain by an unknown enemy, and you have the audacity to ask me where the sword came from?!"

"We've spent a fortune training you lot into Legendary mages, and this is how you repay the crown? Standing around to watch me die?!"

"No, Your Majesty, please—it's not like that. I, uh… I don't even know how to explain…"

As the palace descended into chaos—arguments, accusations, and panic—a spatial rift silently opened behind the Iron Throne.

A lazy, feminine voice drifted through the air.

"So this is the NK Kingdom? Hmph. Doesn't look like much."

"Well, whatever. I've delivered the package. Whether you want revenge, retaliation, or a manhunt, that's your problem. Doesn't matter."

"None of you could beat me anyway."

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