Internal conflict? Clearly impossible.
Although the fox, having just successfully broken through her limits, was eager to teach Allen a lesson with her newfound power, this was definitely not the time.
Given that those lazy bastards had been lying in their graves pretending to be dead for so long, Allen and the fox had no choice but to go back and drag them out—you're neither mummies nor zombies, so why hide underground?
Of course, while retrieving them, it was only fair and righteous to reclaim the treasure that rightfully belonged to them. After all, they were family.
After making breakfast from the firewood Allen had collected, the two tidied themselves briefly and set out.
They had no idea why the others had stayed hidden for so long, but one thing was certain: the sooner they left, the better. Any delay could risk consuming or losing the precious magical artifacts—the last person to "eat" one was still fresh in Allen's mind.
The first time is awkward, the second time is familiar. Although their last exit had been rushed, Allen effortlessly retraced their steps with the fox in tow. He briefly explained about the elder they'd encountered whose name he still didn't know, then returned to the main tomb's gate.
The sturdy stone walls sealed the entrance completely, showing no sign of weakening. Unless the others had burrowed out like rats, everyone should still be inside.
Though the chance of an ambush or someone waiting behind the door was low, the two prepared for battle anyway. Allen waved his wand, and the once-impenetrable stone began to dissolve, finally collapsing to reveal the sealed entrance.
There was no attack—only a deathly silence, as if they were truly in a graveyard.
Allen stepped forward and scattered some seeds. The instant they touched the ground, magic stimulated them to grow into a lush green patch.
"Let's prepare—I don't want anyone cutting off our retreat," Allen said, turning to the fox while casting an illusion spell toward her. But a suddenly appearing orb blocked it—a very familiar orb: the one the fox had swallowed last night.
Allen shrugged, took a few steps forward, and faded from view. Invisibility is king for trickery!
"Hey! Allen, your illusion looks completely useless! How am I supposed to follow you like this?" the fox complained after casting her own illusion—almost driving Allen crazy. He spun around and smacked her on the head hard—he would never admit he had just gotten used to acting alone and forgot a teammate existed.
"Ah! How did you see me?" the fox squeaked in pain, prompting Allen to feel a sudden urge to leave her behind. Did I really hit her stupid? Yesterday she was fine—today her IQ is like a first-day student in the magical world, asking everything!
Not wanting to explain that Valor had real vision and he could share it, Allen grabbed the fox's hand and headed straight for the shrine. No time to dilly-dally—by the time I explained, the opportunity would be gone!
The land was desolate and silent. Due to their previous visit, most preserved specimens had turned to ash, leaving the terrain lifeless and eerie.
Unsurprisingly, some peculiar landmarks drew their attention.
A familiar sight.
Three versus fifteen—a decent fight, but both sides were frozen in place like statues before a victor could emerge.
The battle had clearly been fierce, judging by the cratered ground, yet no winner had been decided. Allen was curious. While he didn't know the other side's full strength, the three random companions (whose names were far too long to bother remembering) were obviously not amateurs.
Protected by his shield, Allen was unconcerned about curses. He inspected his former teammates—no sign of life. They weren't sealed, they were completely dead, utterly clean with no lingering attachment.
The death timing was identical—essentially an instant kill.
Eighteen wizards, three of them first-rate experts, had all perished without even using life-saving measures.
What kind of international joke is this? Even a team led by Dumbledore could have held out for a while, yet these eighteen were instant-killed. Who could possibly have done this?
The two of them fell into rare contemplation.
An instant kill. All eighteen gone at once. Allen alone could barely survive such magic—he'd have been leaving a last will, with no chance of escape. Even Dumbledore would likely be severely injured. Wait! Allen realized something: there was someone capable of this—Voldemort. The dark lord was so deadly that even Dumbledore could predict his demise.
Allen quickly checked the pockets of the three wizards. As expected, there was nothing he wanted to see.
Closer inspection revealed three piles of powder matching the floor's color. If he hadn't looked carefully, he would never have noticed.
If Allen guessed correctly, these were the remains of the three magical artifacts. That explained why so many wizards had died instantly. Realizing this, his first reaction was to drag the fox and run madly toward the exit.
With stone walls summoning again, the fox was once more carried off, not resisting, as Allen dashed away.
They didn't stop until outside the tomb. Without catching his breath, Allen pulled out his pockets, layered the treasure in multiple magical seals, placed them in a bag, and flung it far away like stones—caring nothing about the items' high value.
Wait—he seemed to forget something: the fox had swallowed some of the items!
Before she could ask, a series of spells bypassed her defenses, and a purple magical shield enveloped her.
"Huh?" The fox looked confused. What's going on?
"How much of that orb did you absorb?"
"All of it—how else could I break my bloodline limit?" she replied, giving Allen a 'are-you-stupid?' look. Then she realized the problem—she wasn't actually dumb.
"It's awake?"
"Yes, without a doubt," Allen shrugged, unconcerned. The finished product is gone, but the raw materials are still valuable.