Chapter 280

Chapter 280: The Enemy From the Textbook

This was no ordinary building.

The surrounding area wasn’t a typical residential neighborhood either.

The Haiming District, one of

the six districts in Tatsumi

City, was known for its age and

underdevelopment. It couldn’t

hold a candle to the more

modern Dawn District. Even

the residential buildings here

bore the weight of time,

appearing worn and

dilapidated.

As Alan stepped into this

forsaken area, he couldn’t

shake the ominous

atmosphere that seemed to

cling to the air. The strange

happenings around him only

amplified the gloom.

On the walls of countless old

buildings, he spotted crimson,

twisted symbols etched in

bizarre patterns. They looked

alive, like writhing creatures,

forming a spell that emanated

a unique and disturbing energy

field.

Alan narrowed his eyes,

piecing together the fragments

of knowledge provided by the

“Savior” and the “Profligate.”

He began to understand the

gravity of the situation.

“Could this be the ceremony to

summon Him?”

These crimson runes—they

were ancient and intricate,

perhaps even long-forgotten.

Alan, a skilled sorcerer, found

himself marveling at their

profound power. Even for him,

their complexity was daunting.

Taking a cautious step

forward, he surveyed the

building before him. It was the

focal point, the core of the

magical formation that

spanned the entire residential

area.

“So this is where the ritual

takes place,” he murmured. “If

we can seize control of this

point… But how many enemies

await inside?”

Alan hesitated. Rather than

rushing in, he chose

preparation over

recklessness. A skilled

sorcerer, after all, was always

well-prepared, resourceful, and

adaptable.

After ensuring he was ready,

Alan stepped into the

building’s dimly lit hallway. The

air was thick with tension, and

his every sense was on high

alert.

Then, everything shifted.

The residential building

vanished like smoke on the

wind, replaced by a sprawling

department store.

Alan froze, realization dawning

on him. “An illusion spell. So

this is its true form. They’ve

altered the entire area’s

appearance.”

The opponent was no ordinary

wizard. Such wide-scale

illusion magic was the

hallmark of someone

formidable, someone of his

caliber.

The department store loomed

eerily empty, yet Alan felt an

unseen pressure—a silent

menace suffused the air. Each

breath seemed heavier, as

though invisible hands sought

to drag him down into a

swamp of despair.

Suddenly, movement caught

his eye. A towering, four-meter

statue emerged from the

shadows. Its black stone body

glistened, skeletal white wings

extending unnaturally from its

back. Crimson eyes flared

open, their gaze dripping with

bloodlust.

Without warning, the statue

launched into the air, its speed

and power terrifying. With a

bone-crushing strike, it

shattered Alan into fragments

—inky black remnants

splattered onto the floor.

“Not bad,” came Alan’s voice

from outside the illusion.

The real Alan stood untouched,

flanked by an army of Night

Watchers he had conjured

from his preparations. These

“Night Watchers,” however,

were no ordinary allies—they

were mere puppets crafted by

Alan’s magic,

indistinguishable from living

beings.

“Spread out and find the

ritualist!” Alan ordered, his

voice booming with authority.

The eerie silence of the

department store shattered as

monsters poured in—stone

gargoyles, flame demons,

venomous slimes, and earth

elementals surged forward like

a nightmarish army.

The Night Watchers met their

assault, but the monsters tore

through them with ease. Yet

not a single scream rang out.

The puppets, after all, lacked

both life and pain.

Hidden within the walls, Alan

observed the chaos. His

presence was masked by

layers of spells, allowing him

to analyze the situation

without interference.

“So, this is the ritual’s heart,” he

muttered, realization dawning.

The department store, too, was

an illusion. Alan unraveled the

spell, revealing an empty

expanse at its core.

Standing in the center was an

elderly elf clad in an ornate

crimson robe. His frail frame

exuded an air of calm

authority.

“So, you’ve broken my illusion,”

the old man said, nodding in

approval. His voice was soft

yet commanding. “It’s been

over a century since anyone

has accomplished that. Tell

me, young one, what is your

name?”

Alan studied the figure before

him, recognition dawning. This

was Hals, the “Saint of Chaos,”

a legendary wizard and

trusted servant of the Head of

Destruction.

Years ago, Alan had read about

Hals in magic textbooks,

admiring the wizard’s

groundbreaking contributions

to the craft. Never had he

imagined they would meet as

enemies in a battle to the

death.

Hals surveyed Alan with a mix

of curiosity and regret. “You’ve

only just reached the Crown,

haven’t you? A commendable

achievement. But I’ve spent

nearly a century at this level,

striving for the Apocalypse. All

that remains for me is

obsession.”

Alan’s eyes hardened. “I’ll

destroy you, the ritual, and

save this world.”

Hals sighed, his expression

tinged with sadness. “Such

arrogance. You have potential,

but you’re blinded by youth. I

see no future where you

defeat me.”

The tension between them

erupted into an intense battle

of sorcery—spells clashed,

illusions twisted reality, and

the very fabric of magic was

tested. Alan fought valiantly,

using every ounce of his

cunning and skill to challenge

the legendary wizard.

As the battle raged on, Alan’s

determination burned brighter.

This wasn’t just a fight against

Hals—it was a confrontation

with the ideals and legends

that had shaped his path.

Victory or death, Alan vowed to

see this through.