Chapter11-A Sword to Kill

"Not bad. You can indeed call yourself a fledgling magus now." 

A woman in a black robe had appeared at some point, her gaze on Alan approving.

Without any guidance, he had mastered control over the four elements, showing extraordinary talent and insight for a magus. 

Typically, one would first need to master multitasking, then move on to elemental control.

Alan had skipped straight to the latter step.

Though his control was still rough, he was indeed a true magus!

The woman examined Alan. 

"Magus are formidable, ranking above all other magic users not only because of their unique approach to manipulating elements, but also because they lack any elemental alignment, allowing them to control any element at will." 

Alan nodded thoughtfully. 

This trait meant that a magus could gain an advantage over any mage, exploiting elemental weaknesses and securing victory.

By nature, they stood undefeated!

"No wonder the magus path is so coveted by other mages!" 

The more Alan understood about magus, the more he appreciated their unique power.

Though he hadn't yet broken into the early bronze-tier, he felt certain he could now defeat any bronze-tier mage, possibly even facing multiple opponents at once!

After further practicing his mastery over the basic elements in hell, Alan returned to his room.

As soon as he appeared, his face changed. He sensed that Isabella, outside his door, had fainted.

A chaotic mental energy radiated from her brow, sharp and piercing, making Alan feel like his brain was being scrambled with pain.

His sister's strange illness had flared up again! 

Alan dashed to the door, instinctively reaching into his pocket for a mental potion, only to find the vial empty. 

It felt like the sky was crashing down.

He was gripped by guilt—over the past days, he'd been too consumed by his progress, too focused on mastering the elements to notice. 

Feeling regretful, he quickly gathered Isabella, pale-faced and biting her lip to suppress any sound, and brought her inside. 

"Hold on, sis. I'll go get your medicine."

...

Racing to the doors of the potion laboratory, Alan was about to enter when a sneering youth with dyed yellow hair blocked his way. 

"Well, if it isn't Alan! Rushing here, is it because your sickly sister is on her last legs?" 

"I told you before, marry her off to me, and I'd cover her potion expenses, but you wouldn't listen. Now look where that's gotten you!" The youth burst into laughter, preparing to continue his taunts.

A cold gust hit as Alan's fist flew toward him. 

Eric hadn't expected Alan to act so suddenly and couldn't react in time; his throat took the blow, blood spurting as his neck collapsed inward.

He gasped and writhed, clutching his throat, unable to make a sound as he twisted in pain.

Guards stationed around the lab rushed toward Alan, seeing Eric, their young master, injured.

Alan swept a cold gaze over them.

His staff sword appeared in his hand, gleaming with a sharp light.

Amid their terrified stares, he brought the sword down, beheading Eric in one stroke. 

"Anyone who stands in my way will meet the same fate!"

With no time for delay, Alan gripped his sword in one hand and Eric's head in the other, charging toward the lab's inner rooms.

His murderous aura sent a chill down the guards' spines, paralyzing even those battle-hardened.

Eric, the seneschal's nephew, had just been brutally killed.

As Alan advanced, the laboratory descended into chaos. 

"Master of Potions, where is my sister's mental potion?" 

A thin, jewelry-laden old man tried to slip away in the commotion, but Alan threw his sword, pinning it to the cabinet before the old man could escape.

The blade still dripped with blood, and the Master of Potions shivered, meeting Alan's icy glare. 

"This is no place for you to act as you please, Alan!" he retorted, trying to keep his voice steady.

Alan answered by tossing Eric's head at him.

The Master of Potions sidestepped, and the head hit the cabinet with a thud.

Alan closed in, fists flying like a storm.

The Master of Potions sneered and swung a fist of his own, earth-colored energy making his arm rock-like.

Known for his brutal strength, he feared no one's blows.

Bang! 

The impact exploded between them, and Alan remained unmoved, sturdy as a mountain.

The Master of Potions, however, coughed blood and flew backward, smashing into the cabinet, his arm limp as a noodle. 

"No… impossible! How did you become so terrifyingly strong?" 

Disbelief twisted the Master's expression as he stared at Alan. He was a tier-iron level 7 mage, specialized in fist techniques and a bearsaker, yet he had been crushed by Alan.

Alan looked at him coldly. 

Since childhood, he'd faced countless battles, and now, after breaking into tier-iron level 10, his body and mind had transcended.

Even a bronze-tier mage would struggle against him, let alone this old man!

Alan pulled his sword free, pointing its tip at the Master of Potions' brow. 

"Hand over the potion, or die!" 

Seeing Alan's growing bloodlust, the Master realized the young man was unhinged. Shaking, he retrieved a large glass jar from the cabinet. 

"This is all the mental potion we have. It's valuable—there's no more." 

Alan frowned, noting the limited supply would last only five doses. Each time his sister's illness flared up, the amount needed increased.

The Master trembled under Alan's gaze, 

"This is everything. The seneschal diverted all resources to William. Even if we wanted more, there isn't enough gold to buy it." 

"My sister's potion formulas have contributed greatly over the years. Consider this interest on her work." 

Alan sheathed his sword, grabbed the jar, and hurried out.

Though it wasn't much, the supply would last for now.

He had to join Lioncrest Academy as soon as possible.

As Alan exited the lab, the seneschal and a group of men stormed in, their faces twisted with fury.

Word of Alan's murderous rampage had just reached them.

After lying low for days, he dared act so brazenly again!

"Killing your own kin, Alan! Do you take House Roan for a playground?" 

The seneschal charged at him, his staff swinging down, trailing a streak of silver energy. 

Alan swung his sword in a crosscut, channeling raw power and surging magic through the blade, sending the seneschal flying.

Without a backward glance, he broke through the surrounding guards.

The seneschal steadied himself, stunned. This "waste" of a boy still possessed astonishing strength.

Recovering, he glared at Alan's fleeing figure, 

"Capture him!" 

The other elders snapped out of their shock from that terrifying blow and began to pursue.

But William appeared, saying calmly, 

"No need. Tomorrow, he faces a death duel; his end is certain. What's more important is inviting the Northern District's major forces." 

"I'll crush him underfoot as a warning to all, making my name known!"