Ethan smiled.
There was no reluctance in his smile, nor any pretense. It simply conveyed a direct, heartfelt certainty. “Deans, I know what I'm doing regarding these matters.”
Blood Fury and Dark Stream exchanged another look.
This time, the silence stretched longer.
Blood Fury was the first to look away, letting out a sigh. His sigh carried a hint of helplessness, mixed with the resigned acceptance of an elder watching a young man refuse to turn back until he hit a brick wall.
He had seen far too many young people like this.
Twenty-six years old, newly promoted to a First-Tier Wizard, a genius among geniuses—the way someone like him thought was completely different from old fogies like them who had lived for hundreds of years.
The higher their talent, the more confident they were, and the more confident they were, the more they believed they could weather any storm.
Only when that day actually arrived would they realize some things couldn't be weathered by talent and strength alone.
Blood Fury did not try to persuade him further.
Some detours had to be walked personally, and some pits had to be fallen into before one could climb out.
No matter how much others said, it was useless.
Besides, Ethan's confidence was not entirely without foundation.
To rise from nothing to a First-Tier Wizard within ten years was proof enough that Ethan was no ordinary genius.
“Fine,” Blood Fury said, waving his hand. “As long as you know what you're doing.”
Dark Stream did not sigh. He merely nodded. “The academy will keep an eye on your situation. If you ever find yourself facing something you can't figure out, come back and find us anytime. Don't force yourself to endure it alone.”
Ethan placed his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Deans.”
Blood Fury sneered. “Enough nonsense. Go back and spend time with your family. Oh, and keep quiet about those recording crystals for now. We'll deal with them after the academy finishes negotiating the compensation with the Sea Race.”
“Understood.”
Blood Fury and Dark Stream nodded. After exchanging a glance, their figures transformed into two streaks of light, sweeping toward the Imperial City.
Ethan withdrew his gaze and stepped into the vast ruins left behind by Boulder's self-detonation.
A soft sensation came from beneath his feet.
The crushed rock strata had lost their original dense structure. Stepping on them felt like walking on a beach of coarse sand and fine ash, kicking up a small cloud of dust with every step.
The closer he got to the center, the finer the debris became, and the softer the ground grew.
In some places, the layer of debris was several meters thick, swallowing his legs up to the knees with a single step.
Beneath the debris was the bedrock, compacted tightly by the shockwave. Its surface was as smooth as if it had been polished, yet it was webbed with countless cracks.
He walked for a long time, but the surrounding scenery did not change at all.
There were no trees, no grass, no stones—nothing rose above the ground.
There was only an endless plain of grayish-white debris, gleaming dully under the sunlight.
This was the uniform landscape across the entire hundred-kilometer radius.
The energy released by Boulder's self-detonation had radiated outward from the epicenter, decreasing in intensity.
The innermost dozens of kilometers had been completely pulverized into fine powder. Further out, the particles gradually grew coarser. By the time it reached the hundred-kilometer boundary, large chunks of rock and remnants of mounds overturned by the shockwave began to appear on the ground.
Then, Ethan reached the boundary.
It was a transition zone roughly several hundred meters wide.
The ground gradually shifted from fine, grayish-white debris to a hard layer of soil riddled with cracks, which were embedded with stones of various sizes.
Further ahead, withered, yellow shrubs reappeared in his field of vision. A few fallen, dead trees lay across the road, their roots sticking up from the fractured soil, with dried clumps of mud still clinging to their fibrous roots.
The dirt road was severed here, cut in half by a fissure in the ground that was half a meter wide.
The fissure was bottomless, and loose dirt still crumbled down from its edges from time to time.
Scattered on both sides of the fissure were stone fragments thrown from afar by the shockwave. Some were embedded in tree trunks, while others had smashed deep into the ground.
This was the scene beyond the hundred-kilometer mark.
The power of Boulder's self-detonation had completely dissipated by this point, but the aftershocks were still strong enough to tear open fissures in the ground, overturn trees, and fling debris hundreds of meters away.
On the other side of the fissure, a few mercenaries who had arrived first were crouching on the ground, panting.
Their clothes were caked with dust, as were their faces, leaving only their eyes moving.
A bald mercenary sat on the edge of the fissure, his legs dangling over the drop. He peered down into the depths and tossed a stone inside.
The stone fell, and only after a long time did a faint echo drift back up.
Further away, the crowd on the dirt road grew denser.
Some carried iron pickaxes, some bore bags of rations, and others clutched rusty woodcutters' axes.
An old farmer carrying a pale child on his back tried to bypass the side of the fissure. His foot stepped on a loose rock, and his body suddenly tilted. The child on his back screamed and grabbed onto him, nearly getting flung into the chasm.
The old farmer gripped his tattered clothes tightly and lunged forward a few steps before finally regaining his footing on solid ground.
Yet even so, still no one turned back.
Everyone was heading in the same direction—toward Horn Mountain.
Fissures, cave-ins, and collapsed ground could not stop them.
Or rather, compared to these visible dangers, they feared the three-year drought in the Imperial City, the complete lack of harvest, and the prospect of their entire families starving to death far more.
From the moment they set foot on this road, nothing could make them turn back.
As for anyone stopping to ask Ethan, who was standing right there?
Not a single person dared.
After all, they were ordinary people, but they were not fools.
Faced with someone who looked like a Knight, they wouldn't even stand a chance if they all fought him together.
Besides, even if he knew something, why would he tell you?
Who were you to him?
Would Ethan take the initiative to display his supernatural powers and warn them?
Tell them there was nothing inside?
How ridiculous. Ethan was no saint.
They could do whatever they pleased.
Furthermore, even if he did say something, would they believe him?
They would only think he wanted to keep everything inside for himself.
...
Meanwhile, in front of the Wizard Tower.
Two streaks of light flashed across the horizon, landing on the teleportation platform.
The light faded, revealing the figures of Blood Fury and Dark Stream.
Gal emerged from inside the tower to greet them. Before he could even bow, Blood Fury raised a hand to interrupt him.
“The teleportation array. Back to the academy.”
Gal did not dare to ask any questions and immediately activated the teleportation array.
The light flared once more, and the two figures vanished from the array.
At Blood Bone Tower.
The runic glow of the teleportation area had just faded when Blood Fury and Dark Stream stepped down from the platform.
The expressions of the two wizards were as calm as ever, their steps steady, no different from usual.
The Spirit Bone Guard on duty bowed to them.
Blood Fury nodded and continued forward.
Dark Stream followed half a step behind him.
The two walked through the corridor of the teleportation area, through the passages connecting the various departments, and down the long stone path outside the Academic Department.
Rate on N.U.
