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

“No problem!”

Now fully aware of the heavy responsibility on his shoulders, Francis was no longer the carefree slacker he used to be.

Alan then turned to the other two, his tone growing solemn. “Although we’ve destroyed Lioncrest Academy, it’s only revealed even more enemies lurking behind the curtain—NK Kingdom, the black mages, and those hidden factions lying in the shadows, ready to strike at any moment. Don’t think that just because Lioncrest has fallen, we can start slacking off.”

“While we’re here holding a celebration feast, they’re training relentlessly. They’re cultivating even greater power, learning destructive spells far more devastating than before—spells strong enough to plunge Sirius into ruin once again. That’s why we have to work harder than them. Grow stronger than them. Only by doing so can we ensure that we’re never again suppressed, never again forced into submission.”

“Of course, if any of you feel too worn out or need a break, I won’t stop you. But don’t forget—the Gayle Dome always has a pit with your name on it, waiting to be filled.”

His words made Francis feel ashamed. Among the four of them, his performance in battle had always been the least reliable. There had been several times where, if he had just pushed a little harder…

Francis turned his head to the side, voice low and filled with guilt. “I… I’ve got something to take care of. I’m heading out.”

Fort tried to follow, but Alan stopped him.

“Let him be. He needs some time alone. If he wants to wash away his shame and guilt, it’s something only he can do. No matter how much we want to help, this is his path to walk.”

Fort said nothing. He simply watched as Francis’s figure disappeared into the distance, shoulders slumped in solitude. After a few moments, he turned to Blanche. “I need to double my training too. Senior, would you help me?”

“Of course,” Blanche replied without hesitation.

Fort’s training regime was different from most. As someone with a sharp metal-element physique, he could only temper his body under the pressure of real attacks. Accidents were almost inevitable in such training, which was why Blanche had always been on standby in the past to treat him afterward.

This also gave Blanche the chance to refine her healing magic—a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Seeing his companions break off into smaller groups, each setting off to further hone their strength, Alan had no intention of wasting time either.

During his recent fight with Kelin, he had become painfully aware of a critical issue—his mastery over spiritual perception, or what some called his “mind’s eye,” was still too immature.

Otherwise, he never would have been caught off guard by that suicidal final strike.

Had the allied forces not held back a number of Lioncrest students, Alan—already drained and weary—might’ve been placed in mortal danger.

Refining the mind’s eye, discovering new applications for it, and regaining the strength he once had in his prime—these were now Alan’s foremost priorities.

He crossed his legs and sat down where he was, beginning to quietly feel the flow of mana around him.

Opening the mind’s eye wasn’t actually all that difficult.

He’d done it many times before—sensing mana, controlling elements—all of it required one to rely not on physical vision, but on inner awareness.

But how to enhance it—that was the real challenge.

By human physiology alone, it wasn’t possible to grow an actual “mana eye” in the middle of one’s chest that could see the world.

And yet, gathering and filtering the world’s myriad complex signals without a visual input would be impossible.

Currently, Alan could only perceive vague outlines and the mana within them. That was sufficient in small-scale skirmishes, but when the battlefield became crowded, and countless outlines and mana signatures mixed together, it became nearly impossible to distinguish friend from foe.

That was a critical flaw—one he had to fix.

“What if I could detach my soul from my body?”

Alan recalled the technique taught to him by that flame-haired woman—Judgment of Soul.

The method behind the spell was ingenious. Under ordinary circumstances, separating one’s soul from their body was immensely difficult.

But Judgment of Soul used a form of mana shaping to morph the caster’s soul into chain-like structures. Because the soul no longer retained its humanoid form, it naturally detached itself from the body.

What was even more fascinating was that these chain-shaped soul fragments still carried the caster’s intent. In the previous battle, Alan’s determination to rip Kelin’s soul from his body was what made the Judgment of Soul spell successfully manifest.

And at that moment, when his soul had taken on that chained form, Alan had glimpsed—if only for a fleeting second—the true nature of the world.

That was the reason he wanted to attempt it again now.

Though his physical eyes remained sealed, his soul’s sight was intact.

“Slower… just a little slower… yes, like that.”

He focused intently on the strange sensation of his soul peeling away from his physical body.

Alan was filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

At last, his soul transformed into its chained form and completely detached from his body. Suspended in midair, he floated like a ghost from myth and legend.

“This is…?!”

In the haze, a towering shadow emerged before him.

Alan concentrated. Only then did he realize—the shadow was none other than the great hall of Sirius Academy.

From this soul-state perspective, he had indeed regained vision—and not just vision, but a clarity far beyond that of the physical eye!

“This… is incredible!”

Alan excitedly tested the boundaries of this new form.

At times he soared into the sky, at other times he dove beneath the earth.

When he broke through layers of resistance and submerged into the dark soil, Alan was amazed to discover he was no longer bound by spatial constraints—he could go wherever he pleased!

It made sense—he no longer possessed a physical form, only a soul. Mountains, trees, walls—all barriers to the body—meant nothing to the ethereal spirit.

However, the soul form wasn’t without its weaknesses.

Distance, for instance.

He made a simple experiment: he continued drifting in a single direction.

Once he reached a few hundred meters away from his body, he began to feel the toll.

His thoughts grew sluggish. His mind dulled.

It was as though someone had poured thick glue into his brain—or worse, that awful hangover state where you’d just passed out and then been forced awake hours later.

It was dreadful.

Quickly, he returned to his physical form and cradled his head, deep in thought.

“This won’t work. A few hundred meters? That’s barely better than what the eyes can see.”

“Sure, the ability to pass through solid matter is amazing. But in high-level battles, that kind of edge is negligible. No high-tier mage is going to run around hiding during a real fight.”

“Is there some way to—wait! That’s it!”

A sudden spark lit up Alan’s mind.

The root of the issue was that his soul couldn’t stray too far because his mana was limited—he could only influence a few hundred meters around him.

And his soul could only safely exist within that mana-influenced range. Beyond that, it would be vulnerable—easily assimilated by ambient mana and the countless elemental spirits lingering in nature.

But what if he used Mana Compression—a technique he had long since mastered—to compress his internal mana and bring it along with his soul?

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