Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods! - Chapter 611

Chapter 611: Chapter167-Tier-Silver Magus!
Fort’s shout sent a shockwave through the academy.

Those who had been peacefully napping jerked awake in alarm, and none more violently than old Gayle, who accidentally knocked over the cauldron he’d been using to brew fruit wine—a rare sight that spoke volumes about his panic.

“Fort, calm down and speak slowly,” Blanche said, trying to keep a level head. Her face appeared composed, but her hands betrayed her—both were clenched tightly around the hilt of her Twin-Blade Scissors. The tension in her grip was so fierce, the knuckles had turned white.

Francis, in stark contrast, stretched lazily from his seat like someone rudely awakened from a pleasant dream. He gave Fort a mocking glance and drawled, “Fort, did you eat a box of nails and knock your brains loose? I mean seriously, out of everyone here, any of us might lose it and jump off a tower—but Alan? That guy’s the last person I’d worry about.”

Fort didn’t respond.

Instead, he turned to old Gayle, his eyes full of silent desperation.

Gayle waved a hand, cutting off Francis. “Whether it’s true or not, we should check. Fort isn’t someone who panics over nothing. Where exactly did you see Alan?”

Fort took a deep breath, his expression grave. “Just now, when I came back from buying nails, I passed by the clock tower. That’s when I saw Alan standing on the edge, looking like he was… ready to abandon everything.”

“I swear, he looked like he had already made peace with death.”

“Then… then I saw him…”

Fort began to hyperventilate, his breath catching in his throat.

Francis rolled his eyes. “Then what, huh? Can you stop gasping like a grandma and just spit it out already?”

Fort bit his lip and barked, “I saw him lean halfway out of the clock tower, like he was about to jump!”

BOOM!

Just as the words left his mouth, a deafening crash echoed from outside the building.

“Holy shit!” Francis exclaimed, springing to his feet.

Everyone else followed suit, no longer able to sit still. They rushed out of the main hall in a frenzy.

Down below, beneath the towering clock structure, a cloud of thick dust had already begun to rise.

Francis was the first to arrive. The moment he caught sight of what lay at the base of the tower, he dropped to his knees and burst into tears.

“My brother, my dear brother… why would you do this? Didn’t we promise to face everything together? I never once blamed you, not even when things went wrong…”

Blanche and Fort both lowered their heads in guilt.

They began to wonder—had they really been neglecting Alan’s feelings all this time?

After being rejected by Lioncrest Academy, after enduring their relentless pursuit, after carrying the burden of his sister’s illness… Had Alan finally cracked?

From his perspective, none of them could honestly say they’d have done better in his shoes.

Old Gayle stood silently, lost in thought. He blamed himself more than anyone. If only he had spoken up sooner, maybe Alan wouldn’t have felt so alone.

No one understood better than him how overwhelming it was to resist a behemoth like Lioncrest Academy, especially for someone so young.

“Ah…” Gayle let out a deep sigh and waved his hand.

A gust of wind dispersed the dust cloud in an instant.

At the center of the clearing, a deep crater—taller than a man—had been carved into the earth.

Upon seeing this, Francis wailed even louder. “My poor brother! Not even a body left behind! You fell so hard that you… you…”

He choked on his tears. “The pit’s so narrow… it’s like you got torn in half mid-air. Alan, you died so miserably…”

“Why are you crying like someone just cursed your ancestors in broad daylight?”

The voice came from above.

Familiar. Clear. Alive.

Francis froze mid-wail. Slowly, he turned his head and blinked in confusion.

“Did… did anyone else hear that? Alan’s… Alan’s spirit is speaking to me!”

But no one answered him. They were all already staring upward in unison.

Confused, Francis followed their gaze—

And then he saw him.

Alan.

Alive. Wearing a white robe. Floating in mid-air.

Like a ghost from a legend.

“WAHHHH!”

Francis let out a shriek and stumbled back. The others stood frozen, their eyes locked on the airborne Alan.

If he really had died and returned as a spirit, then as mages, it was their duty to help him pass on peacefully.

An untethered soul—if left unchecked—would suffer. And ultimately, all such spirits were dragged into Hell, forced to endure its eternal fires.

But then…

“Wait a minute—something’s not right!” Gayle squinted.

The experienced headmaster extended his senses toward the floating figure. Moments later, his eyes widened in astonishment.

“Alan’s not a ghost. He’s alive—and more than that, he’s using mana to hold himself up in midair!”

“M-Mana? To suspend himself?” Fort and Francis looked at each other, clearly confused.

Only Blanche immediately caught the implication.

“Wait… you mean to say that Alan has achieved a level of control where he can precisely shape and output his mana in real time? To the point where he can mold it around himself and sustain flight?”

“Are you saying he’s already—?”

“That’s right,” Gayle said with admiration in his eyes. “He is now, without a doubt, a tier-silver magus.”

Tier-silver!

That phrase echoed in their minds.

For an average mage, achieving tier-silver might not make waves. In fact, given Alan’s age, one could argue he was a little behind.

The prodigies in the imperial capital had broken into the silver tier during their early teens. Now in their youth, many were reinforcing their gold tier foundations, with some even eyeing platinum.

But Alan was no ordinary mage.

He inherited an exceedingly rare—nearly extinct—magus advancement path, one nearly erased from the history books of the Plantagenet Kingdom.

Not even old Gayle knew how to ascend through such a system.

Alan, through sheer trial and error, had forged his own way forward—and now, he’d reached tier-silver entirely through self-discovery.

Gayle couldn’t say for certain how powerful a tier-silver magus truly was. But based on Alan’s past feats, he knew one thing for sure:

Alan wasn’t weak.

Not even close.

With talent, determination, and a rapidly growing strength, Alan was becoming the trump card Sirius Academy needed.

In Gayle’s mind, the outcome of their struggle with Lioncrest Academy was all but decided.

Sirius would win.

“Wait a sec! Something doesn’t add up!” Francis suddenly exclaimed.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“If Alan didn’t fall, then what the hell caused that crater down there?!”

Alan scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

Then, with a flick of his hand, he summoned a shape using mana.

From within the pit, a large, rusted clock hammer slowly floated up into the air, gripped by a transparent mana-formed hand.

“Oh, you mean this thing?” Alan said, chuckling nervously. “I might’ve gone a bit overboard while testing my mana control. Accidentally knocked it loose. It… uh… didn’t hit anyone, did it?”