NOVPUBWhen Fort explained the reason for his delay, Alan couldn't help but picture a comical scene in his mind—Fort, that indestructible golden warrior, pinned helplessly to a magnetic cliffside, flailing his limbs in vain as the rocks clung to his body like iron shackles. The image was so absurd that Alan had to bite his lip to suppress a laugh.
"Pffft… cough cough," Alan cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Well, they say good things are worth waiting for—and you, my friend, arrived at just the right time."
He then clapped Fort on the shoulder with enthusiasm. "So, my brother-in-arms… how many of them are you planning to take on?"
Fort gave the surrounding attackers a quick, measured glance. Then, he subtly pointed to a smaller group of enemies armed with close-combat weapons. He knew his own limits—buying time was one thing, but breaking through this kind of siege head-on? Pure fantasy.
He had no illusions of grandeur. He would target the weapon-based mages—his metal-enhanced body gave him the best chance there.
But Alan seemed to misinterpret Fort's intention—deliberately or not, Fort couldn't be sure.
"What? You mean aside from those few, the rest are all yours? Amazing! I knew I wasn't wrong about you!"
"???"
Fort froze, dumbfounded. Was it me who didn't explain properly? Or is this brat deliberately trying to throw me under the mana-bus?
Before he could protest, the two of them were already locked in one of Sirius Academy's infamous signature exchanges—friendly backstabbing, competitive bickering, and chaotic brotherhood.
Meanwhile, off to the side, both Claude and Holmes turned their heads in perfect unison, their eyes narrowing toward the same distant point.
It was the edge of the rainforest—the transition zone where jungle met open plains. Though nothing seemed out of place, their wary gazes made it clear: someone was standing there.
Neither of them could see him directly, but they felt him—like a shadow draped across their instincts, sending ripples of tension through the air.
After a long pause, Claude slowly rose from where he'd been leaning on his greatsword and muttered, "He came too?"
Holmes' expression darkened in an instant. He said nothing, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed everything.
"Damn it," he thought, "Of all the times… Why him? If this lunatic's here, then my investment's as good as dead. I was barely getting started, and now the entire operation's going to be stillborn…"
At that exact moment—outside the Jacob Ruins—Stephen was watching the scene unfold through a mana projection. Upon seeing the vague silhouette at the edge of the forest, his laughter erupted like a storm.
"HAHAHAHAHA… Hahahahahaha!!"
"Fate set your death at three o'clock, Alan! Who the hell dares keep you alive till five?! So what if you're tough? So what if you've beaten the odds? Hell itself sent someone to collect you today! A personal escort, just for you!" 𝓷ℴ𝓿𝓹𝓾𝒷.𝓬𝓸𝓂
He wasn't the only one watching. In the parliament hall far from the ruins, others were monitoring the battle through the same arcane surveillance.
Among them was Lizzie, the Speaker, accompanied by her advisors.
From the shadows at the edge of the room, a young intelligence officer emerged, landing on one knee before Lizzie with urgency.
"Madam Speaker!" the woman blurted, speaking rapidly, "We've confirmed the man's identity—he's from the British Empire. His name is Bruce. And like the others, his goal is to eliminate Alan."
"Bruce?" Lizzie's brow furrowed slightly. A glimmer of uncertainty crossed her otherwise composed face.
But the middle-aged couple flanking her—the Defense Chair and his wife—looked utterly shocked.
The intelligence agent inhaled deeply, speaking with conviction. "We're certain, Madam Speaker. I'm willing to stake my life on it!"
Lizzie's hesitation vanished. She turned inward, letting her mind sift through her knowledge of this man.
Bruce… Bruce Wayne.
A name well-known across the British Empire. A legend in his own right.
What made him infamous wasn't just his strength or his placement in the New Star Rankings—number ten, with a bounty of seventy million.
No—his reputation was forged through cruelty. He never killed his targets outright. Instead, he crippled them, leaving them broken and writhing in agony, their fates worse than death.
But that alone wouldn't have brought him to Lizzie's attention. Many brutal talents prowled the rankings.
What truly set Bruce apart was something else.
Years ago, he had only been a rising tier-gold mage, still cutting his teeth on local challenges and street duels. His favorite pastime? Crashing training halls and picking fights with anyone who dared stand against him.
Eventually, his antics angered the wrong people. Losers—too proud to accept defeat—started calling in their elders for revenge.
Bruce? He didn't care.
One day, he faced off against a tier-diamond master—an elder summoned by a sore loser who thought to crush Bruce under real power.
To everyone's astonishment… Bruce didn't lose.
No, he didn't win either—but he survived. He fought the tier-diamond expert to a draw. The elder, holding back to avoid causing real harm, had gone easy on Bruce. Bruce, on the other hand, had poured out everything, leaving himself nearly powerless afterward.
Still, a draw was a draw.
For a tier-gold mage to come out alive—let alone even—against a tier-diamond? Unheard of.
Most dismissed it as propaganda, a tale spun by the British aristocracy to inflate their image. But Lizzie was not so easily deceived.
She believed that even a lie was rooted in some truth.
They must have seen something—heard whispers, witnessed sparks. There's no smoke without fire.
Turning away from the room, Lizzie stepped toward a tall glass window and gazed out toward the Jacob Ruins.
Without turning her head, she asked coldly, "If Bruce were to fight Alan… who do you think would win?"
The husband of the couple beside her answered first.
"If what Alan has shown so far is truly all he's capable of, then… I believe Bruce will win, without question."
"Oh?" Lizzie murmured, her tone unreadable.
Back at the rear cliffs overlooking the Jacob Ruins, Emperor Denken ground his teeth. His expression was thunderous.
"That damned lunatic actually summoned Bruce?! He's insane! Doesn't he realize that once Bruce goes berserk, he won't distinguish friend from foe? When that happens, no one inside those ruins will make it out alive!"
Daniel, standing nearby, placed a calming hand on the Emperor's arm. "Your Majesty, please… don't forget your station. A ruler must not let emotions cloud his presence."
Denken turned, scowling. His gaze sharpened as it fell on Daniel.
"You don't look surprised at all. Did you know Bruce would be here?"
Daniel shook his head. "No. The Church received no word of this. I'm as surprised as you are."
"Is that so?" Denken narrowed his eyes further, studying Daniel intently. "You sure don't look surprised."
Daniel chuckled softly. "To become a High Priest of the Church, the first lesson is mastering your face. A man who wears his emotions is a man easily manipulated. In our world, that's fatal."
"…Are you mocking me for losing my temper?" the Emperor asked coldly.
"Not at all," Daniel replied quickly. "I simply meant—"
He pointed down at the ruins, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "The real show is about to begin."
