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

If not for his quick reflexes—his split-second decision to counter the attacker’s magic with two opposing elemental forces—Alan knew the consequences would’ve been far more severe than just a burned arm.

At best, he would’ve been paralyzed; at worst, he might’ve died on the spot.

Even more concerning was that the spear-tip of the attacker’s polearm had been charged with mana Overpressure comparable to tier-platinum levels. The strike itself wasn’t a simple thrust either—it had been imbued with a skill whose destructive power nearly rivaled that of a tier-platinum technique.

Had the attacker chosen to focus all his energy on executing that one strike, he might have posed a serious threat to Alan.

But unfortunately for him, he’d tried to get clever. And cleverness, when overused, often becomes its own downfall.

In terms of raw spell power, Alan—whose mana levels currently sat at tier-silver—might’ve been at a slight disadvantage.

But when it came to elemental control, even ten opponents of this caliber combined couldn’t match him.

After stabilizing the injury with the Stone of Sage’s vital energy, Alan crouched beside the fallen enemy and began to loot his belongings with practiced efficiency.

His eyes then drifted toward the polearm gripped tightly in the attacker’s hand. A vivid memory of that weapon lancing toward his chest flashed through Alan’s mind—so sharp, so fast, he could still feel the chill that had run down his spine.

If, in that crucial moment, the attacker had not used a dirty trick but instead poured all his might into the spear technique, Alan might not be alive to ponder the “what-ifs.”

Vital energy could mend wounds in the blink of an eye, but it couldn’t reverse death. If struck fatally, even the Stone of Sage would be useless.

That thought sobered him.

The enemies hunting him inside the ruin were evidently leagues above the bounty hunters he had dealt with back in the capital.

Within minutes, he had searched the attacker’s body from head to toe. Aside from a single vial of high-grade mana recovery potion, he found nothing of value.

“So poor…” Alan muttered with a frown, then downed the potion in one swift gulp.

This pocket dimension was unlike the real world. Most of the ambient mana was being used to stabilize the fabric of space itself. As a result, anyone entering would experience drastically reduced mana regeneration.

Though the potion he’d just consumed could easily fetch tens—or even hundreds—of thousands of gold coins in the imperial capital, Alan knew now wasn’t the time to think about profit. Without mana, he would be helpless in this ruin. And helplessness here meant death.

After draining the last drop, Alan casually tossed the empty vial aside and bent to wrest the attacker’s weapon free.

A weapon capable of channeling tier-platinum level abilities couldn’t possibly be ordinary.

He focused his senses—and as expected, the staff-polearm hybrid was infused with Origin Mana. It was a high-grade mage staff in disguise.

No way was he leaving such a treasure behind.

However, carrying a long, flashy polearm through hostile territory was too conspicuous. After some thought, Alan decided to deposit it directly into Hell—his inner dimension.

There, the inanimate weapon wouldn’t fear being consumed by hellfire. On the contrary, exposure to the flames would burn away its impurities, refining the weapon and concentrating the Origin Mana within it—both utility and nourishment in one move.

With that taken care of, Alan set off once more. His pace had increased significantly, driven by the rising pressure in his heart.

That earlier ambush had made it clear: the dangers in this ruin were real and escalating.

He could take care of himself. But what about the others?

What about Isabella?

She was still just a child.

Before long, Alan arrived at the edge of a steep cliff. A swaying wooden suspension bridge stretched across the chasm.

It looked ancient, rickety—barely held together.

Without hesitation, Alan stepped onto it. Every plank beneath his feet groaned with sharp, high-pitched creaks that sent shivers up his spine.

Halfway across, Alan abruptly summoned a wind-element light sword spell and launched a barrage of wind blades at the chasm below.

Crack. Snap. Crash.

The already fragile bridge snapped apart with a thunderous crack. As it collapsed, Alan leapt across, landing gracefully on the opposite cliff’s edge.

Just then, a shadow darted from the canyon below. The sharp tang of blood began to taint the air.

Whoever it was, their momentum faltered. Their movements grew sluggish, stumbling as they emerged atop the opposite cliff—where the bridge had once begun.

Clutching a wound on their right arm, the attacker glared murderously at Alan.

“This cliff is nearly a kilometer deep! A normal person wouldn’t be able to see anything down there without magic tools. How did you know I was hiding below?!”

Alan gave a faint smile. “And what made you think I’m a normal person?”

He had honed his senses during his days fighting for House Roan. He could recognize danger in even the subtlest cues.

A bottomless gorge, a decaying bridge, and an unnaturally silent environment?

That wasn’t just a trap—it was a giant red flag.

These attackers were so obsessed with hiding, they’d forgotten the truth: perfect concealment is the most obvious kind of exposure.

“You arrogant little brat… I’ll make sure that smug mouth of yours never speaks again—huh?!”

Before he could finish, Alan suddenly charged.

He stomped hard on the rocky ground, launching himself into the air and adjusting mid-flight. He shot toward the enemy like a bolt of lightning.

But the attacker didn’t panic.

Clearly no amateur, he flung a stream of silver-gray liquid at Alan.

At first glance, Alan assumed it was just a basic water-element spell. He didn’t even bother to react—until the liquid latched onto his elemental sword.

That’s when he realized something was wrong.

This wasn’t ordinary water magic.

It was a rare hybrid element—a blend of water and metal, designed to behave like mercury.

In the attacker’s hands, it had flowed smoothly. But the moment it touched Alan’s wind-element sword, it hardened instantly, becoming heavy as iron.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” the attacker sneered.

“This mercury magic is a family secret. Ordinary mages haven’t even heard of it, let alone seen—”

Crack!

Before he could finish, his words caught in his throat.

He stared in disbelief as cracks spread across the mercury spell now coating Alan’s sword.

Impossible! he thought.

Once fully formed, his mercury magic was as hard as any tier-platinum metal-element spell. It shouldn’t shatter—especially not this easily!

Panicking, he prepared to cast a second mercury spell, but Alan didn’t give him the chance.

With his wind-element sword now free again, Alan slashed forward—unstoppable.

And in that instant, without warning or command, the sword-shaped staff Lumen Sancta, which had remained dormant within Alan’s body, surged forth from his chest.

It glowed with divine light as it rocketed downward—toward something below the cliff Alan hadn’t even noticed yet…