‘Achoo!’ The Old Dean of Tianjin Anding Hospital suddenly sneezed, goosebumps rising all over his body. He muttered in confusion, “Who’s talking about me?”

　　The whole day was very peaceful. The only thing worth mentioning was that many villagers had learned that Achilles was the ‘Great Prophet’, and they crowded at Henry Clark’s doorstep, hoping Henry Clark could check if they had the potential to become a Great Prophet. Since it was a talent, it meant anyone could possibly not have it.

　　Lord Achilles generously agreed to the villagers’ request, and the testing began:

　　Henry Clark said, “I am Erlang Shen!”

　　The villagers followed and chanted, “I am Erlang Shen!!”

　　Henry Clark rolled his eyes. “There’s only one Erlang Shen!”

　　The villagers were dumbfounded, looking at each other in confusion. After a while, they all laughed and said, “Well... you are, you are, we’re not.”

　　“Sigh, what a pity, none of you have inherited the Great Prophet’s talent…”

　　Before noon, the peaceful mountain village was once again shattered by the rumble of hooves. Todd’s direct superior, the Chief of Security of the Sunset Mountains in the Northwestern Administrative Province of the Empire, Viscount Ivan, personally led a team to Horseshoe Village. Whether it was capturing Walter Reed, or the emergence of a powerful psychic mage, both were events shocking enough to shake the entire nation. As soon as Lord Ivan received Todd’s secret report, he immediately brought his guards and rushed over.

　　Lord Ivan was already an old man, his career prospects long gone. He had only hoped to retire peacefully, and with the wealth he had accumulated over the years and the generous imperial pension after retirement, he could enjoy a luxurious and comfortable old age. Unexpectedly, this little mountain village under his jurisdiction, whose name he could barely remember, ended up bringing him a stroke of great fortune at the very end.

　　With Todd’s introduction, Henry Clark soon met this energetic, bald old man. Henry Clark instinctively frowned, because at Anding Hospital, the director and all four deputy directors were bald old men.

　　When Viscount Ivan saw Henry Clark, he was slightly taken aback and shot Todd a dissatisfied glance. In his secret report, Todd had praised Achilles as being incredibly powerful, so Ivan had expected a middle-aged or elderly mage. To his surprise, the person before him was a young man with yellow skin. Aside from his bright eyes, Ivan couldn’t see anything remarkable about Henry Clark’s face.

　　A middle-aged man in a red robe stood behind Ivan. He was the magical advisor assigned to Viscount Ivan by the Security Department, a mid-level fire mage. Human mages were so rare that, regardless of rank, they were considered high-level military assets of the Empire. Local agencies had no right to employ mages; instead, the state assigned and dispatched them to important local departments.

　　The fire mage leaned close to Ivan’s ear and whispered, “My lord Viscount, this yellow-skinned kid has no elemental fluctuations at all—he’s definitely not a mage. The pale-faced one behind him has some traces of magic, but his level can’t be high, at most a junior mage.” The “pale-faced one” referred to the necromancer Little Beckham standing behind Henry Clark.

　　Viscount Ivan forced a smile, nodded at Henry Clark as a gesture of respect, and said cheerfully, “Achilles, I saw in Todd’s report that you captured the Empire’s most wanted criminal, the necromancer Walter Reed, and that you used a long-lost psychic secret art.”

　　Henry Clark nodded modestly and said nothing.

　　Only then did Old Ivan’s smile become more genuine. Whether or not this yellow-skinned, black-eyed youth was a psychic mage, just the feat of capturing a necromancer was enough for him to claim credit with the Empire’s Security Department. “Good! Truly, heroes come from the young! Well then, Achilles... sir, please take us to see the prisoner now.”

　　Henry Clark chuckled, looking a bit embarrassed. “As for the prisoner, well, he suddenly escaped last night.” In fact, the real Walter Reed was standing right behind him.

　　Old Ivan’s smile froze on his wrinkled face. After a moment, he grunted heavily and turned to ask the stiffly standing Todd, “Sir Todd, please give me an explanation!”

　　“Reporting to Lord Viscount!” Todd pounded his chest with his fist in a standard knight’s salute before continuing, “That necromancer did indeed escape! He was rescued by an accomplice—a powerful dark elf! Lord Achilles was greatly exhausted from fighting the necromancer during the day, so…”

　　The fire mage standing behind Ivan sneered and mocked Henry Clark in a disdainful tone, “Oh? So, Master Achilles, I’ve heard that dark elves are very promiscuous. When she rescued her accomplice, did she and you…” The fire mage was in a foul mood—he’d been dragged out of bed from between a pair of twin sisters by the Chief of Security, rushed all night to Horseshoe, and now it seemed he’d been played for a fool.

　　But before he could finish, suddenly everything went black before his eyes. Black, and then black again.

　　The fire mage thought he was under sudden attack. With a yelp, without thinking, he pulled a scroll from his robe and hurled it out blindly.