The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 94

Alavin did not drive him away; instead, he sat near the waterfall, drawing in the Restoration Aether of the world and adjusting his spirit and condition.

The night passed without incident, and the group did not return.

Come morning, Alavin approached the vines, frowning at the sleeping figure within. He looked like a youth, not old, but covered in wounds as if he had suffered greatly.

Alavin took out two Elixir Herbs and a set of clean clothes from his pack, placing them beside the youth. The youth awoke with a start, but without panic or disarray.

"I mean no harm. These are for you." Alavin pointed to the Elixir Herbs and clothes on the ground, then stepped back and left the valley.

The youth stared at the Elixir Herbs and clothes, his expression slightly dazed.

Alavin departed the valley, stealthily making his way through the damp, dense forest, continuing on his journey. He was not string enough, and any misstep could spell doom, so he avoided danger whenever possible, especially avoiding Magi-Monsters. It was crucial to return to Griffin's Roost, which was relatively safer.

By noon, however, Alavin stopped by a stream, looking back at the forest. The figure from the previous night was stumbling after him—it was the youth.

Alavin exhaled with resignation. "I'm sorry, but that's all the help I can offer. I'm only a Novice Mage and have my own troubles. Following me won't do you any good."

The youth stood in the gloomy shadows, silent. His disheveled appearance and cold demeanor gave off an odd vibe.

"Farewell, until we meet again," Alavin said, about to turn away, then remembered something. He took out his Dawnedge Blade and approached the youth. "Let's see if I can unlock those shackles."

The youth raised his hands, the shackles appearing heavy as they caused his hands to tremble slightly. Alavin, with sword in hand, probed and positioned a few times, searching for the right spot. The ancient blade cut at an angle, its clang resonating and sparks flying, yet the shackles remained unscathed, marked only by a faint scratch.

He couldn't believe it. What material were these shackles made of? His Dawnedge Blade could slice through iron as if it were mud, sharp beyond compare, and his own strength was formidable. How could it not sever them?

The youth's hollow gaze trembled slightly as he fixed his eyes on the fine scratch.

"I'll try again," Alavin said, pulling the boy aside to place the shackles on a moss-covered stone. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and raised the Dawnedge Blade high above his head. The blade quivered lightly, its sword's energy piercingly cold, as a heavy silent aura of the sword's intent spread around them.

"Clang!"