Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods! - Chapter 626

Chapter 626: Chapter182-Execution of the Professor
“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Francis shouted furiously. “Alan can’t even form his Elemental Sword anymore—he clearly burned through all his mana in the last battle! If you’re not going to help him, fine! But why the hell are you stopping me?!”

Fort shook his head slightly. “Who told you he’s out of mana? Just shut up and watch.”

Francis was still anxious, but Fort was too strong for him to force his way past. Left with no choice, he could only grit his teeth and keep watching from the sidelines.

High in the air, Alan stood motionless. Even as the old professor’s deadly attack came hurtling toward him, Alan didn’t dodge or raise a barrier. Instead, he clenched his right fist and pulled it to his side, as if storing power.

The professor, his view blocked by thick cloud walls, couldn’t see what Alan was doing.

But the others below saw everything.

“What’s this kid doing now? Striking a cool pose to look good while dying?”

“Hah, at least he knows his place. That old professor isn’t just some regular instructor—he’s one of the top consultants they brought with them into Kent Kingdom. His strength is easily on par with a vice headmaster.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised Alan even lasted this long.”

As the crowd murmured, the black spikes descended like death from above, just moments away from striking Alan.

But in that same instant, Alan completed his preparation—he had gathered all of his mana overpressure into his right fist.

He had finally understood something critical.

Mana overpressure wasn’t just a way to enhance magical attacks—it was more like a bomb: a compressed surge of pure force unleashed in a single, devastating burst.

Back when he had first started learning it from Gayle, he’d also just discovered mana shaping, and he had confused the two concepts. But now, he saw it clearly.

“Break!”

Alan roared, swinging his fist directly at the incoming spikes.

A blast of overwhelming mana overpressure erupted from his hand, smashing into the black spikes with unstoppable force and shattering them instantly.

The professor, feeling his magic suddenly severed, frowned in confusion and cautiously peeked past the cloud barrier.

What he saw stunned him.

A visible torrent of mana—a tangible force—was hurtling toward him like a spear of pure destruction.

Panic gripped him. He frantically pulled more clouds into his defense, layering his barrier with all the water mana he could muster.

But no matter how many clouds he summoned, it was useless.

The mana overpressure Alan had just released—painstakingly compressed and focused—was far beyond what a typical mage could imagine.

It lived up to its name: mana rupture.

The moment it struck the cloud wall, a fist-sized hole was torn open in the center.

The professor tried to repair it, pulling in more mana, summoning more clouds, but the gap only grew.

His confidence wavered. Fear crept in. He lost focus.

And with that mental lapse, the force of Alan’s overpressure surged even more violently.

Then came the final blow.

With a wet squelch, the mana blast punched through the professor’s chest, bursting straight through him.

Everyone below watched in shock as the old man plummeted like a broken kite, spinning downward until he crashed into the ground.

He didn’t get back up.

Silence gripped the street.

The students from Lioncrest Academy stood frozen, dumbfounded.

Their professor—a man whose strength was said to rival even the academy’s vice headmasters—had been killed in mere moments?

What kind of sick joke was this?

Even if he was old, he was still a bona fide tier-platinum mage! And yet Alan had dismantled him so easily, and so quickly, it barely qualified as a duel.

There had been no give and take. No clash of equals. Just brute force ripping through defense, ending with a hole through the professor’s heart.

Francis, too, was stunned. Sure, they’d guessed that Alan might be able to stand toe-to-toe with a tier-platinum mage by now.

But no one expected this—a clean, overwhelming kill.

There was only one word Francis could think of to describe what he’d seen:

Domination.

And it didn’t look like Alan was done.

His eyes burned crimson as he stared at the remaining Lioncrest students. The wind element surged around him again, and the very clouds above began to spiral into a vortex.

The students panicked.

Even after their most powerful escort had fallen, this monster was still ready to kill?!

They lost their nerve.

Fear overtook them.

Screaming, they turned and fled in all directions.

But Alan didn’t hesitate—he bolted after them.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!”

Francis and Fort rushed forward, one from each side. They tackled Alan and pinned him to the ground.

“Brother,” Francis said, struggling to hold him down. “That’s enough! My dad always told me—don’t chase a dog into a dead end!”

Fort didn’t say anything.

He could feel the furious resentment radiating off Alan, like a wildfire barely contained.

This hate… it was fueling everything. It was the source of Alan’s strength—but also his madness.

Whether that was a good thing or not, Fort couldn’t say.

But he knew this much: Alan couldn’t be allowed to keep killing like this.

Blanche ran over too, kneeling beside them and cradling Alan’s face in her hands.

“Alan, please… calm down. We came to Kent Kingdom to rescue your sister Isabella—not to slaughter everyone.”

“Sister… Isabella…”

Alan’s bloodshot eyes softened. His rage flickered and dimmed. The wind swirling around him began to slow.

After a few seconds, his arms went limp, and his head drooped like his strength had been completely drained.

Francis blinked. “Oh crap. Don’t tell me he passed out?!”

He suddenly remembered something.

“Wait—didn’t Old Man Gayle teach us what to do in situations like this? Right! CPR!”

Without missing a beat, Francis flipped Alan over so he was lying on his back.

He pointed at Fort. “You do chest compressions. I’ll do mouth-to-mouth!”

Grim-faced and determined, he pinched Alan’s cheeks like a noble knight preparing for battle.

Blanche, worried but flustered by the scene, awkwardly turned around to avoid watching.

Then suddenly—

“WHAT THE HELL, YOU PERVERT?!”

Alan’s voice exploded behind her.

Blanche whipped around in shock.

Francis and Fort were on the ground, groaning in pain, faces bruised and utterly humiliated.

Alan had already gotten to his feet and was straightening his clothes, glowering at them.

“I thought we were brothers,” he grumbled. “I didn’t realize you two were lusting after my body! That’s disgusting!”

Blanche quickly stepped forward to smooth things over. “Alan, wait—it’s not what you think!”

She explained everything—how they thought he’d fainted, how Francis panicked, how it all got out of hand.

Alan blinked, then scratched his head sheepishly.

“Oh. Uh… my bad.”

He crouched beside Francis and offered a sheepish grin.

“Eheh… sorry, man. I might’ve overreacted just now. That punch… it didn’t hurt too bad, right?”

Francis glared at him but said nothing.

Fort, ever the optimist, grinned. “It’s fine. My refined metal-element body’s good for exactly two things—getting hit, and looking shiny.”

Laughter followed.

For now, they had survived another ordeal. Though the battle had been bloody and the tension high, the team had emerged intact.

And more importantly, they were drawing closer to their destination—the hidden ruins of Grand Mage Jacob, deep within Kent Kingdom.