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

“When you’re able to consciously connect to these spiritual energies,” the red-haired woman continued, her voice calm but forceful, “you’ve taken your first step into Origin Mana. Observe—like this.”

She raised her crimson longsword-staff and suddenly thrust it forward with incredible precision.

The blade pierced directly into Stephen’s soul.

In that instant, a pure white flame ignited from within the depths of Stephen’s already faint and wavering spirit. The moment it flared to life, he let out an agonizing scream so intense, so harrowing, it far surpassed even the cries he made while his physical body had been burned alive.

Slowly, his soul began to disintegrate, breaking apart into countless motes of shimmering white light—embers of consciousness fading into nothingness. Within seconds, there was not a trace left. No ashes. No residue. Not even an echo.

The scene was so terrifying that both Daniel, the archbishop, and Emperor Denken stood frozen in place, utterly stunned.

They knew very well that while a Legendary mage’s physical form was powerful, it was their soul that was nearly indestructible. In fact, many of the so-called “minor realms” that floated independently across the Kener Continent had come into existence because Legendary mages had pushed their mana to such extremes that their souls had detached from reality, unable to fully reintegrate with the physical world.

Such mages, through their mind power alone, were capable of forging entire pocket dimensions—entire realities—distinct from the material plane.

Yet, this red-haired woman had utterly obliterated such a soul with a single strike.

As they were still processing this incomprehensible feat, the woman’s gaze slowly turned toward them.

Then she began to walk over, sword in hand.

The two men were so terrified they didn’t dare move a single muscle. Alan quickly rushed to intervene, calling out in a panic, “Wait, Senior! They’re not enemies—they came to help!”

The red-haired woman turned her head slightly and gave a faint, knowing smile. “Relax. I already know they’re on your side.”

“She… she knows?!” Daniel and Denken looked at each other, stunned.

This woman had never appeared before, yet she seemed to understand everything about what had transpired—as if she had been watching for a long time.

Which, they realized with a chill, was likely true.

She had been observing Alan’s journey, and perhaps even the broader movements within the kingdom itself, for far longer than any of them had known. And yet, even Daniel—an archbishop of the Church—and Denken, a former emperor, had remained utterly unaware of her presence.

The two old men exchanged looks of awe and quiet fear. They were in the presence of someone utterly beyond them.

“At least she doesn’t seem like the type to kill without cause,” Daniel muttered under his breath. “Old Denken, if she asks us anything, answer truthfully. Hide nothing. Our lives depend on it.”

Denken scoffed. “Do I look like an idiot? You think I don’t understand diplomacy? How do you think I snatched the throne during that chaotic era if I didn’t know how to read a room?”

He leaned in closer and added, “Just don’t start preaching your Church nonsense like you always do. Right now, our fate isn’t in the hands of some imaginary god—it’s her who decides if we live or die.”

Daniel’s face turned red. “You can insult me all you want, but leave my faith out of it!”

The two men began to bicker like old hens, almost forgetting the dire circumstances.

A moment later, the red-haired woman reached them.

She sighed, “You done squabbling?”

They fell instantly silent, straightening up like two schoolboys caught gossiping during a lecture.

Then she raised her left hand and formed two streams of soft golden mana. She gently pressed the glowing energy into each of their chests.

“These are streams of Origin Mana,” she explained. “They’ll accelerate your energy absorption and stabilize your previously accumulated power. With discipline, in less than a year, you might finally break free from this Legendary bottleneck you’ve been stuck in for decades.”

Daniel and Denken exchanged glances again, their expressions full of disbelief.

Less than a year?

To surpass Legendary in that short time was a feat so outrageous that, had anyone else said it, they would’ve laughed. But from her, it carried real weight.

After all, her own power clearly resided beyond the realm of Legendary.

In the next moment, these two men—pillars of the Plantagenet Kingdom—fell to their knees with a loud thump, bowing deeply in gratitude.

“Senior… your generosity in bestowing us with such a gift—it’s more than we could ever repay…”

The red-haired woman waved her hand dismissively. “Enough with the formalities. I hate all that bureaucratic flattery. Just focus on cultivating your mana. Alan’s going to run into trouble again, and I won’t always be around to save the day. Understood?”

“Understood!” the two men said in unison. They then pressed their foreheads firmly to the ground, a solemn gesture to swear their loyalty and commitment to supporting Alan in the future.

The woman gave a small, satisfied smile and turned to walk back toward Alan.

But before she could take a step—

Boom!

The roof of the monastery was suddenly torn open, and a suffocating wave of powerful mana blanketed the area.

Above, a dark magic circle appeared in mid-air. Space fractured like shattered glass, and through the fissure stepped a towering man clad in black armor, his presence oppressive and overwhelming.

His helmeted gaze fell instantly upon the remains of the elderly man in dark blue robes—Stephen, whose soul had just been erased from existence.

The armored man clenched his fists tightly.

A deep, rumbling voice boomed from within his helm, shaking the very air.

“Who… killed him?!”

He pointed toward Stephen’s remains and, with a flick of his hand, summoned the sigil of honor from the man’s chest. It flew into his grip like a drawn magnet.

“Who dares kill a Royal Mentor of the NK Kingdom?!”

“I did. So what?”

The red-haired woman raised a lazy hand in response.

In the very next instant, the armored man vanished from midair—only to reappear right in front of her, towering over her with menacing authority.

“You?” he scoffed. “You think you’re worthy?”

The woman’s face immediately darkened. She turned her head slightly toward the still-kneeling Daniel and Denken.

“Tell me,” she said coldly, “is everyone from this NK Kingdom so eager to die?”

“Pffft…”

From the sidelines, Francis couldn’t help but laugh aloud.

Blanche quickly pulled him back and whispered, “What are you doing?! Be serious!”

“But… but this new guy’s hilarious! Did he seriously not notice that aside from that blue-robed old man, there’s a pile of dead bodies around here?!”

“Still, you can’t laugh! What if he targets you next?!”

“I don’t care. That red-haired big sister is protecting us. Let them come—I’m not scared!”

But while Francis was joking around, Daniel and Denken felt no such levity.

Their expressions were grim, their eyes cautious.

From the man’s armor and bearing, they could tell he was no ordinary soldier. He was likely a noble of significant standing—perhaps even royalty—from the NK Kingdom.

And that was no small matter.

In terms of power and political standing, the NK Kingdom was among the strongest nations on the Kener Continent. In contrast, the Plantagenet Kingdom—thanks to its long-standing conflicts with the Barton Empire—had been drained of resources and talent for generations. Its waning strength and influence were visible in every sector.

Compared to the NK Kingdom’s elites, even the finest mages of Plantagenet looked like weaklings.

To the NK aristocracy, Charlie—capital of Plantagenet—was little more than a remote, backward country town. Its strongest mages likely didn’t even match the weakest apprentices of NK.

This was the cruel reality. The contrast between a rooster’s head and a phoenix’s tail.

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