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

“Bro, can I punch this guy? He’s really starting to piss me off!”

Francis gritted his teeth in frustration. Stephen showing up now just to throw fuel on the fire was beyond irritating.

Alan clenched his fists and shot him a sideways glance. “Of course you can—just set up a gravity field first.”

“Huh? Me? You want me to go first? And hit Stephen, the headmaster of Lioncrest Academy? Are you serious?”

Alan didn’t even bother responding. He simply raised his foot and kicked Francis squarely on the backside.

“Who said you’re hitting anyone? I just want you to lay down a gravity field so they can’t run. That’s it.”

“Ohhh, that’s what you meant. Man, you should’ve said that earlier.”

Grinning, Francis pulled an apple out of his pocket and casually began channeling gravity magic, preparing to pin down both Stephen and the white-robed woman beside him.

But Stephen hadn’t come here for a fight.

Now that he’d finished delivering his little speech, he stamped his foot against the ground, and a glowing teleportation array bloomed beneath him.

The next moment, he and the woman stepped into the portal.

Just before disappearing, he turned back and sneered at Alan.

“Enjoy what little time you have left, Alan. This is the end you brought upon yourself!”

With that, he vanished completely.

Alan stood motionless, his brows furrowed and eyes fixed on the place where Stephen had been, lost in thought.

After a long silence, he finally turned to his companions, his expression cold and unreadable.

“Forget him. Let’s get back to work. Blanche, how’s the looting going?”

Blanche wiped the sweat from her brow and answered softly, “We’re about a third of the way done. If you guys help, we can finish much faster.”

Alan glanced at the other two and gave them a silent nod. There was no need to explain what they should be doing next.

After all, looting after battle is just good practice.

There’s an old saying in the mage world:

“Kill without looting, and you might as well not have killed at all.”

Crude as it sounded, the truth behind it was anything but.

If an action doesn’t benefit you in some way, then what was the point of doing it in the first place?

“On it!”

Francis’s eyes lit up like stars. Looting was, by far, his favorite part of any fight.

He immediately cast a light gravity field across the area, causing the various valuables on the corpses to float up and scatter gently across the ground for easy collection.

With Alan and the others now helping out, their looting speed increased drastically.

In no time, every last corpse on the battlefield had been stripped clean.

And the results?

Plentiful, to say the least.

After all, these weren’t just any enemies—they were elite agents from the major powers of the Kener Continent, most of them at the peak of tier-gold. Alan would’ve been shocked not to find valuable gear on them.

Once the loot had been sorted and evaluated, the spoils spoke for themselves.

More than a dozen tier-gold magical items.

Several magical tools and enchanted trinkets of the same grade.

And as for mana stones—they were practically drowning in them. Alan did a quick mental count.

Just under a million.

And that wasn’t even including the bartered goods or valuables that could be easily converted into mana stones later.

Even more exciting—Alan found a true gem among them:

A magic satchel—a spatial item enchanted with a personal pocket dimension for carrying large quantities of gear.

And that was just Alan’s haul.

The other three didn’t find spatial items, but their total value of loot was nearly on par with Alan’s.

In a single battle, Sirius Academy had become ridiculously wealthy.

Tier-gold magical equipment could go for millions in the trading houses.

What was once a luxury craved by high-tier mages had now become commonplace for this humble group of academy students.

Francis even joked about wanting to grow more fingers and toes just so he could wear more mana-enhancing rings.

Alan chuckled and didn’t stop him. Instead, he pulled two of the nicer magical items from his share and walked over to Rosalia, who was sitting off to the side, quietly recovering.

After Alan had killed the Dark Mage, the strange black mist and web-like purple-black veins on her skin had vanished completely.

Now, she simply looked a little drained, but had no visible injuries.

“What’s this?”

Rosalia lifted her head, eyebrows raised as Alan approached.

Alan handed her the two items and smiled.

“You fought too. And you saved me. That makes you more than qualified for a share of the loot.”

Rosalia’s expression changed at once. She turned her head sharply and snorted.

“I knew you’d say something like that. Do you seriously think I care about these two scraps? You think I’m that easily bought?”

“Forget the royal vaults—even in Ironblood City, the treasure storerooms are full of gear better than this garbage. Why would I need your charity?”

Alan stood frozen, a little speechless.

“Wait… you don’t want it? But I really don’t have anything else I can give you…”

Before he could finish, Francis suddenly popped up beside him and smacked him on the head.

“Idiot! Just give yourself to the Third Princess already! Problem solved!”

WHAM!

Before Francis could bask in the cleverness of his own idea, Rosalia launched a savage kick straight into his gut.

His body folded like a shrimp as he dropped to the ground, gagging and retching as he pounded the dirt with his fists.

“If you can’t speak like a human being,” Rosalia said coolly as she sat back down, “then shut your damn mouth.”

Blanche and Fort, who had wandered over to see what the commotion was about, paused mid-step.

Then, realizing what had just happened, they both broke into spontaneous applause.

“Well done! Beautifully done, Your Highness!” Blanche laughed.

“Seriously,” Fort added with a wicked grin. “We’ve been wanting to shut this loudmouth up for ages. Thank you for doing it for us.”

As Francis curled up in the fetal position, groaning in pain, Fort continued to deliver psychological jabs.

But Blanche suddenly stopped clapping midway and turned to Alan with a puzzled expression.

“What is it?” Alan asked, confused. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, it’s not that…”

Blanche narrowed her eyes. “Alan, I seem to recall you once told me that you weren’t interested in women. That instead… you had a special fondness for well-built, masculine men—those who exude strong, testosterone-filled energy. Isn’t that right?”

The moment the words left her mouth, everyone turned to look at her in shock.

Especially Rosalia, who looked so stunned her jaw practically hit the floor. You could probably fit a whole egg in her mouth.