“My dear Glenn, we have already arrived at Bert’s place. He welcomed Richie and me with great warmth. Thank God—Bert’s business is flourishing. He has even opened a second factory, something to do with manufacturing components for certain instruments. I do not truly understand the specifics, but he has arranged everything for us. I believe Richie and I will live quite well here, so you need not worry about us.”

  “Bert dotes on Richie. Whenever he has a free moment, he takes the boy to play at the Cathedral Square in the city, where the missionaries of Saint Savier host all sorts of lively events. Anyone who visits that place is reluctant to leave. You must come see it yourself someday.”

  “I told Bert about your situation. At first, he did not believe me—he thought I was lying. I had to explain at length before he finally accepted it. He asked me to tell you that becoming a mage is something far greater than anything he has achieved, and that you must never give up. Walk that path boldly. If you ever face difficulties, he will support you with everything he has. And if your business ever becomes too much to bear, you can give it up; he can afford to support all of us siblings.”

  “Sangis and the others also wrote to say that life has been treating them well recently. It seems everything is moving toward a brighter future. I wish I could end my letter on that note, but Bert told me he has been investigating the one who murdered our parents. Though he has found no substantial leads, the culprit seems to have sensed his inquiry and has taken certain actions. After that, Bert no longer dared to pursue the matter. He asked me to warn you as well—do not touch this affair.”

  “That is all for now. —With love, Dani.”

  Putting the letter away, Glenn rubbed his chin in thought.

  The death of the original body’s parents was deeply suspicious, and the police had concluded the case with remarkable haste—clear signs that the murderer possessed power far beyond the ordinary. Most likely a business rival. The original father had been an extraordinary merchant, almost a tycoon. To eliminate such a man so easily… that would have required High-Tier supernatural force. Glenn considered this as he glanced at the workers toiling nearby.

  “Mr. Glenn, a few of the elves were working with incredible efficiency just now. I believe they have potential—perhaps we can cultivate them further.” Kael had lingered, waiting for the right moment to speak.

  “If you think it is workable, then try it.” Glenn waved casually, allowing him to handle it.

  The matter of the murderer could wait. If the opportunity came, he would avenge the original owner; and if the culprit came knocking, all the better—it would save him trouble. He would simply pull the roots out from the source.

  “Alright, I will speak with them now.” Kael was about to leave when Glenn suddenly stopped him.

  “Wait.”

  “What is it?” Kael asked, puzzled.

  Glenn’s gaze swept over him from head to toe, making him visibly uneasy.

  Just as Kael opened his mouth, Glenn spoke first: “These Forest Elves should be your kin, yes? Why did not I see you interacting with them when they first arrived?”

  As though struck in a tender place, Kael stiffened in discomfort. Yet he did not dare provoke Glenn and finally forced out, face reddening:

  “We elves value our dignity above all… In front of them, I… cannot lift my head.”

  Understanding dawned on Glenn—the burn scars on Kael’s face were indeed severe, a complete and tragic disfigurement.

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  “Then why do you seem to get along with them now?” he asked.

  “I do not know. They… approached me on their own. Perhaps… your charm conquered them…” The last line was pure survival instinct.

  Strange. Did these elves intend to stay long-term? Glenn dismissed the thought and, after giving a few more instructions, left.

  …

  In a plain carriage bound for Duder, an elderly man with a shock of fluffy white hair and dressed in an antiquated gentleman’s suit slowly closed a storybook he had read countless times. His clouded eyes looked toward the road ahead as he murmured:

  “Glenn… you must be a genius, just like me…”

  …

  When Glenn returned home, he ate a little, brushed off Tia’s reminder about his manuscript, and plunged straight into studying magic.

  Perhaps due to the enhancement granted by the giant in the ruins, he mastered all theoretical knowledge of cleansing magic in a single day—not merely memorizing it, but truly understanding it. Only repetition remained. The realization filled him with genuine joy. He was now, in truth, a First-Tier Mage.

  Under normal circumstances, this would have left him unable to sleep from excitement. And yet, not long afterward, drowsiness overtook him. Without overthinking, he went straight to bed.

  Though his eyelids fell shut, his mind churned uncontrollably—his first glimpse of the sky upon transmigrating; the two werewolves he had slain; the visions he had witnessed during meditation… Scenes flickered past one after another, until one particular moment made him uneasy.

  It was that stone-tablet-like object beneath the writhing mass of the Fallen God. He couldn’t explain why—but something about it felt profoundly wrong. He had only glanced at it once before his eyeballs burst apart. Even recalling it now, in memory, brought a sickening discomfort.

  “Mr. Glenn…”

  “Mr. Glenn… Mr. Glenn…”

  “Mr. Glenn!”

  Glenn jolted awake to find himself standing in a desolate wilderness—familiar, unmistakably so. Ahead lay the same vast sinkhole.

  Behind him, Miss Gortaya clung to his hand with all her strength, repeatedly calling his name, her face flushed from the effort. Feeling him finally stop, she tentatively called out again until Glenn responded:

  “I am fine now.”

  The elf girl collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, sitting on the ground with lingering fear. “Mr. Glenn, you were terrifying just now. It felt like you might transform into a monster at any moment. If the Will of the Forest had not warned me, I never would have known you suddenly ran out here.”

  Glenn barely heard her anxious rambling. His expression had darkened—he had been controlled without noticing it at all.

  For someone with absolute command over himself, this was intolerable.

  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to jump down, unleash more of his potential, transform into an Eighth- or Ninth-Tier werewolf, and tear that so-called Fallen God into shreds.

  But the price would be too high—he would lose a valuable trump card.

  “Mr. Glenn, what are you thinking? What happened just now? Why did you suddenly become like that?” Gortaya stepped closer.

  “It is nothing. That abomination down there is playing tricks—I seem to have been left with an aftereffect. And right now, I very much want to destroy that thing.”

  Glenn spoke with calm restraint, yet only he knew how much killing intent surged beneath the surface.