The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Beyond the Midlands, indeed, there lay hidden powerful individuals.

Was Alavin worthy of challenging the Sacred Protégé of the Blessed Citadel?

The Citadel Protégés were relieved they had not challenged Alavin, knowing they would have suffered a terrible defea. They also felt a tinge of shame. Two Protégés from the inner halls of the Blessed Citadel had joined forces, yet they could not subdue the Organization Protégé from the Northlands. Was Alavin too strong, or had the entire Northlands grown stronger in recent years?

Marak's face was grim with concern. Alavin had bested Romarn, and now, after crushing Sveinn and Erica, it seemed as if Alavin had miraculously replicated his feat from The Clash of Eight Orders, with even greater ease and strength than before. He had defeated three opponents with effortless grace! If Alavin's performance in The Clash of Eight Orders had surprised Marak, his current display was enough to instil a sense of crisis in Marak. No, he could not allow Alavin to continue growing stronger. The lad was already immensely talented, and with the support of the Bloodlore, he could indeed pose a threat to many in the future.

That's right, Marak suddenly remembered that before he escorted the Citadel Protégés away from Lord Viperbane, he had seen members of Cobalt Strike seeking an audience with Neasilis. Why would Cobalt Strike want to speak with Neasilis? To seek peace, or perhaps to plot something else?

"Citadel Protégés, still underestimate the Northlands?" Eyla exclaimed, clapping her hands with a laugh. It was a thrilling sight indeed, and nothing warmed the heart quite like seeing the haughty Citadel Protégés taken down a notch. Ah, she mused, if there was a chance in the future, she must take Alavin for a tour around the Capital, to meet those arrogant so-called prodigies.

Lucan and his companions let out a long sigh of relief. That was close, and certainly thrilling!

The Citadel Protégés helped the siblings to their feet. One was severely injured, and the other's spirit was wounded, both slipping into semi-consciousness.

They were not content, wishing they could challenge Alavin to another fight. However, they took a careful look at Alavin and decisively abandoned the thought. No, this lad looked like he could indeed fight on! "Did I win?" Alavin faced the cold gazes of the Citadel Protégés.

They fell silent. Admitting defeat would mean acknowledging Alavin's title as the Shadowlord's Messenger and admitting that the Blessed Citadel's Inner Protégés were inferior to him. How could they utter such words? How would they face the other Inner Protégés once they returned to the Blessed Citadel?

"Can't accept defeat, can you?" Eyla stood beside Alavin, deliberately provoking them.

The faces of the three Elders darkened. The Blessed Citadel represented the Royal Realm's strongest Energy, and the Citadel Protégés were supposed to be the epitome of the new generation's strength. Their goal for the day had been to strip Alavin of the title of the Shadowlord's Messenger, indirectly humiliating the Eight Orders of the Northlands. Yet, not only had they failed to remove Alavin's title, but they had also tarnished the reputation of the Blessed Citadel.

"Cat got your tongues?" Eyla, indifferent to their disapproval, flashed a teasing smile. "How about I join in the fun? Two at a time! If that's not enough, three! And if you've got the gall, four is just fine, too."

Such arrogance! The Citadel Protégés were seething with humiliation and rage. A few Advanced Mage Stage II Protégés glared icyly at Eyla, contemplating a challenge. They clenched their fists, gathered their energy, and tensed their muscles, but in the end, they couldn't voice their desire to challenge her. Better not to fight. They had heard this woman was even fiercer and more ruthless. Alavin might hold back, and spare lives, but this dame would not care-she might just kill someone in her frenzy, and they couldn't seek revenge unless they were prepared to declare war on Bloodlore.

Suddenly, Eyla waved excitedly toward the front. "Grandfather! You're finally back!"

The people of the Blessed Citadel were shocked, instinctively looking in the direction she indicated. The Bloodlore Commander is a legend in his own right! The three Elders suppressed their displeasure, regained composure, and turned to greet him. Commander Jarad, it's been ages, do you still remember us..." But... Where was he?

Lucan and the others also looked around. The Bloodlore Commander? Where?

"Just kidding! Look at you all, so gullible!" Eyla burst into laughter, leaning on Alavin and beaming with delight.