IMPRISONED FOR A TRILLION YEARS, I WAS WORSHIPPED BY ALL GODS!

When Isaac uttered that jaw-dropping number, it was enough to leave anyone stunned.

Even Alan—who had long prided himself on being indifferent to matters of money—couldn’t help but shoot up from his seat in utter disbelief.

Thirty million?!

That was the value of the tier-diamond magic skill scroll—an amount roughly equivalent to three of his green gemstones, fifteen bottles of Evolution Potion, or ten full copies of the Tome of Necromancy!

The Third Princess reached out and gently pressed down on Alan’s shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. She gave a soft chuckle and said, “Why are you so worked up? When you casually tossed that scroll up to the Watchtower earlier, you didn’t seem the least bit cautious.”

“I… I didn’t know back then…” Alan mumbled in embarrassment.

The value of any item becomes truly apparent only through comparison, and the same applied to this skill scroll.

Before this, Alan had always assumed that a magic skill—no matter how prestigious the tier, even tier-diamond—couldn’t possibly be that precious. At most, he thought, it would simply give him one more offensive move in his arsenal.

But now, after seeing it compared against other high-value items, he finally understood the true weight behind the term “tier-diamond.”

That realization made him unconsciously tighten his grip around the green gemstone still in his hand.

He had tossed away thirty million like it was nothing earlier. Now that only ten million’s worth remained in his possession, he vowed to guard it with his life.

Unbeknownst to him, this subtle gesture had not escaped the Third Princess’s keen gaze.

Her eyes curved in satisfaction, clearly pleased with Alan’s sudden sense of caution.

“Forty-five hundred!”

“Five thousand!”

“Fifty-five hundred!”

“Six thousand!”

It was clear now—Alan wasn’t the only one who had realized just how invaluable this skill scroll truly was.

From the magic screen above, the voices of various bidders rang out, each one more determined than the last. The bidding war had grown intense, and the price of Permafrost World quickly soared, reaching a staggering sixty-five million in no time at all.

Suddenly, both Alan and the Third Princess heard muffled crashes and thuds coming from the church hall adjacent to the confessional room.

The Third Princess’s expression immediately darkened. Her brows furrowed as she muttered, “They’re really causing trouble on church grounds? Are they tired of living?”

But Alan, in stark contrast, suddenly acted with uncharacteristic urgency. He didn’t wait for her response—instead, he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and without a word, pulled her straight into the secret compartment of the confessional booth.

His instincts weren’t acting alone.

Just moments ago, the black-robed woman—whose voice had been silent for a long time—had suddenly issued a rare warning:

“Get out of here. It’s dangerous now.”

Alan wasn’t an idiot.

For the mysterious woman to use the word “dangerous”, it meant the church had truly become a hazardous place.

Not long after, several figures dressed in strange uniforms burst into the confessional room where Alan and the Third Princess had been just moments before.

Through the translucent veil of the secret chamber’s window, Alan could vaguely make out their forms—clearly, they were searching for something.

“Search every corner thoroughly. The entrance could be close by!” one who appeared to be the leader barked.

His subordinates immediately got to work, intensifying their efforts.

In mere moments, they had combed through every inch of the confessional—except for the central wall where the hidden chamber protruded slightly.

The leader stepped forward, gripping a blade in his hand. He gave two solid knocks against the wall of the secret room.

“Rip this thing open. I want to see if anyone’s hiding inside!”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, the subordinates readied their weapons, preparing to break down the wall by force.

But just then, both Alan and the Third Princess felt a violent tremor rise from beneath their feet.

Along with the tremor came a succession of explosive rumbles, growing louder with each passing moment.

…

Outside the church, the devout followers who had only just arrived to offer their prayers now turned pale.

From the depths of the holy site, waves of deafening booms shook the air.

They looked up, only to see the towering stone steeple—once a symbol of divinity and grandeur—collapse in an instant, reduced to nothing but rubble and dust.

And amidst that thick dust cloud, a figure slowly emerged.

An elderly man clad in a gray mage’s robe, with a long white beard flowing down his chest, stepped out from the smoke and ruin.

In his right hand, he clutched a scroll.

It was the very same tier-diamond magic scroll that had just been auctioned off.

The moment the surrounding believers saw him, their knees grew weak with fear, and many trembled like leaves in a storm.

The gray-robed elder merely let out a cold snort. He flicked his sleeve in disdain, clearly uninterested in engaging the frightened crowd, and turned to leave.

But before he could go far, a sharp wind blade suddenly tore through the air, flying directly toward him.

The old man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Then, without even chanting a spell, a dark, eerie mist enveloped his entire form, swallowing the incoming wind blade before it could make contact.

The scene was eerily silent—no mana fluctuation, no sound.

It was as if, in that fleeting instant, all traces of wind-element mana in his vicinity had been mysteriously erased.

This wasn’t ordinary magic.

This was reality-bending control of mana—something only a tier-diamond mage could hope to achieve.

“Stop right there!”

Following the failed wind attack, a middle-aged man with long, flowing hair suddenly appeared in front of the elder.

His expression was tense, and his gaze was full of suspicion and wariness.

“You’ve destroyed a structure belonging to the Church of Steam and Magic. That’s a serious offense. Who the hell are you?!”

The elder gave him a look of utter contempt and snorted.

“The Church of Steam and Magic? Is that supposed to be a big deal?”

“You—!”

Before the man could finish his retort, more black smoke began to rise from beneath the elder’s robe.

The dark mist twisted and writhed until it formed several serpent-like entities, each baring wide, gaping maws as they hissed and lunged toward the middle-aged mage.

Every fiber of his being screamed of imminent danger.

Acting on reflex, the man raised both arms and cast a powerful spell. A massive tornado materialized behind him, so fierce that it lifted debris from the ruined church into the air.

But the outcome was just as before.

The moment the tornado touched the black mist, it was instantly devoured—erased without a trace.

Before the middle-aged mage could react, the elder blurred, moving faster than the eye could follow.

In the blink of an eye, he was behind his opponent, and with a brutal roundhouse kick, he struck the man hard at the waist.

There was no time for defense. The man was thrown back as if struck by a cannonball, crashing through nine consecutive walls before finally embedding into a tenth.

The elder didn’t pursue further.

He turned back around and once again disappeared into the lingering smoke.

Moments later, the middle-aged mage struggled free from the shattered wall, now clearly understanding the threat he faced.

He would not hold back anymore.

A brilliant emerald rune shot into the sky, serving as a signal.

In response, the high-ranking members of the Church of Steam and Magic across Ironblood City mobilized.

Not long after, residents across the city heard thunderous, unnatural sounds echoing from beyond the city walls.

It was then that Alan and the Third Princess cautiously opened the door of the hidden chamber and stepped out.

Their eyes were filled with confusion as they gazed upon the scene before them—the once-sacred church now reduced to rubble.

“Your Highness!”

A familiar voice called out from nearby.

Covered in dust and out of breath, Isaac came running up to them. With guilt written all over his face, he turned to the Third Princess and said, “Forgive me, Your Highness. The tier-diamond magic scroll you entrusted to us… it was snatched away by an outsider!”

“But please rest assured. Within three days at most, the Church of Steam and Magic will retrieve the item intact and return it to you without fail!”

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