SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

The treasure realm stretched endlessly.

Kent rose higher into the air, his figure like a lone ink stroke against the vast canvas of the sky. On his shoulder crouched the strange beast—the One-Eyed Bandit—its single golden iris gleaming, its long nose twitching as it drew in the scents of spirit energy from miles away.

The beast’s head suddenly jerked toward the east. Sniff… sniff…

Kent’s eyes followed the direction and a faint smile curved on his lips. “You lead, I’ll follow. More treasures for us!”

With a thought, the sword beneath his feet surged forward, slicing through drifting clouds like a silver dragon. Soon they descended into a shallow valley where the earth pulsed faintly, as if it held a heartbeat.

The Bandit leapt down, pawing the soil eagerly.

Kent knelt and brushed away the top layer of dirt, revealing thick, twisting roots that radiated cool mist. Frost Jade Ginseng—three hundred years old, each root capable of calming inner fire and enhancing spiritual perception.

“First harvest,” Kent murmured, placing the treasure into his storage ring.

They moved again, weaving through the realm with uncanny precision. The Bandit’s nose never faltered—pointing to clumps of Azure Spirit Grass nestled in the crevices of a cliff, to Flamevine Blossoms curling around a cracked boulder, to Moonlight Dew Orchids blooming in a hidden glade where silver motes drifted in the air.

Every time Kent appeared, the land was left bare of treasures within minutes.

Outside the realm, chaos brewed.

The Aurora Glasses showed Kent bending to pick herbs while his beast sniffed the wind like an emperor surveying his domain.

“He’s not even fighting! Just digging plants like a farmer!”

“What’s so great about this? Without that beast, he’d be crawling on his knees begging for scraps!”

“Coward! Afraid to meet anyone head-on!”

Some voices were tinged with envy, others with open malice. The fact that Kent had such a rare treasure-finding pet was enough to burn holes of jealousy into countless hearts.

“Relying on a beast—pathetic.”

“Hmph! Let’s see how long his luck lasts.”

In the private pavilions of the gambling syndicates, darker plans unfolded.

—

Inside the Scarlet Jade Gambling House, a sharp-eyed elder leaned over a jade communication plate. “Pass the word inside—he’s moving east, toward the Sunburst Hills. Tell our men to close in from the ridge.”

Messages flowed through enchanted talismans and hidden sound-transmission stones, slipping past the realm’s restrictive wards. Each hint of Kent’s location was sold or traded to disciples who had already taken the syndicates’ gold in exchange for one task—end Kent’s run.

Inside the realm, the hired hunters began to converge. They moved in silence, eyes like knives, their presence hidden beneath cloaking spells.

But Kent’s path was never straight. The Bandit would suddenly tap his shoulder, changing direction just before a trap was sprung. Sometimes they would dip into a gorge moments before a patrol arrived above; other times, Kent would pause to pluck a rare herb and then vanish seconds before a group rounded the bend.

It was infuriating for those who hunted him.

The crowd outside didn’t know the full picture—they only saw Kent’s calm harvesting and constant evasion. To them, it looked like cowardice wrapped in outrageous luck.

“This is disgusting. If that beast finds everything for him, what skill is that?”

“Mark my words, the moment he’s separated from it, he’s done for.”

“Hah! He’s just fattening himself before the slaughter.”

And yet… behind the ridicule, a seed of fear grew. Because no matter how many times his hunters moved in, Kent was never there when they arrived.

Some began to wonder if it was luck… or something far more dangerous.

Kent, meanwhile, said nothing. With every herb collected, with every rare mineral stored, he knew the gamblers’ rage would deepen—and so would the bets against him. That was exactly what he wanted.

As for the hunters? Let them chase shadows.

The One-Eyed Bandit sniffed again, its golden eye narrowing toward the distant horizon where a faint purple mist curled above the trees. Kent’s smile deepened. “Another treasure, is it? Then let’s go.”

Sword light flared, and they vanished into the depths, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.

The Bandit suddenly froze. Its golden eye snapped to the west, its fur standing on end.

Kent’s gaze sharpened. Killing intent.

From the shadows of a broken ridge, a streak of black and crimson shot forward. A woman landed on the ground below him, her bare feet silent on the grass. She wore a long coat of stitched beast pelts, each hide taken from some fierce spirit creature. A jagged scar crossed her left cheek, and her eyes—yellow and cold—were locked on him like a predator finding prey.

“So… you’re Kent King,” she said, her voice low and edged with frost.

Kent’s sword slid into his hand, the blade humming softly. “And you are?”

“They call me Viperclaw. You can call me the one who will take your head.”

Without another word, she lunged. Her figure blurred, her beast-hide coat snapping like the wings of a hawk. Clawed gauntlets appeared over her fingers, each tip gleaming with faint poison light.

Her first strike was like a whirlwind—two claws crossing for his neck while her knee shot toward his ribs. Kent met her head-on, steel ringing against steel, their clash sending a shockwave through the surrounding stones.

Outside the realm, the spectators erupted.

“She found him! The beast-clothed witch found him!”

“Finally! Let’s see him survive without his pet doing the fighting.”

“Rip him apart!”

The gamblers leaned forward in their seats, eyes glittering.

—

Inside, the fight raged. Viperclaw moved like a shadow, her steps unpredictable, her strikes weaving between feints and real killing blows. Kent parried calmly, his movements clean, his blade arcs so precise that sparks fell in neat showers with every clash.

The Bandit didn’t interfere—its golden eye simply followed the woman’s movements, tail twitching.

Viperclaw’s claws nicked his sleeve, tearing the fabric, but found no flesh. Kent’s sword-tip grazed her shoulder, drawing a line of crimson, but he didn’t press to kill.