Punk left the small town of Niailan after completing his research.
He had gathered the results he needed, but he also noticed that Tishachar's movements were becoming more pronounced. The cult's followers had begun distancing themselves from Dolazi City, a clear sign that something major was about to happen.
Time was running out.
He needed to reach Dolazi as soon as possible—to secure an ally and gather some expendable cannon fodder.
Since Punk disliked riding vehicles, he simply cast Swiftness on himself and, with Golem One following closely behind, sprinted toward Dolazi City.
With the speed of an official-level mage, his journey was swift.
Setting out at noon, he arrived by mid-afternoon.
However, just as he was about to enter the city, a familiar magical aura caught his attention.
"Bilan? She's still alive?"
From a distance, Punk spotted Bilan staring at him in terror.
He had nearly forgotten about his apprentice.
At this point, he had abandoned the idea of transforming Bilan into a soul puppet. His current level was insufficient to reforge the soul of a professional, and he had more pressing matters to attend to.
If he wanted to rally allies, maintaining a respectable reputation was crucial.
"If I plan to masquerade as a 'cold yet ultimately kind-hearted' mage, then letting my apprentice die would be counterproductive. I suppose I'll have to make some arrangements for her."
Punk understood that his reputation in Dolazi was less than stellar.
If he approached the city's forces as he was, their first instinct would be suspicion, not cooperation.
It was imperative to play the role of a rational, aloof wizard—distant but ultimately aligned with order.
That way, even if the priests despised him, they wouldn't be able to refuse his request for assistance against Tishachar.
After all, as long as there was no concrete evidence of wrongdoing, lawful deities and their priests were bound by their principles.
With this in mind, Punk slowed his pace and turned toward Bilan's tent.
A simple prophecy spell revealed that she and Dickey had become romantically involved.
However, Punk wasn't concerned about her spilling any secrets—her personality was too timid for that.
Even at a reduced speed, to the untrained eye, Punk was nothing more than a black blur.
Within moments, he appeared in front of the tent.
Dickey's entire body tensed as he instinctively placed himself between Bilan and the approaching figure.
Though he had never encountered an official-level mage before, the sheer oppressive force emanating from Punk made his instincts scream in alarm.
As a bard, Dickey had read countless stories about powerful professionals, but this was his first time standing before one in reality.
Until now, his only reference point had been Bilan—a mage who had always seemed gentle and kind.
But the figure before him was nothing like her.
Cold.
Unfeeling.
Terrifying.
The piercing gaze from Punk's deep-set eyes, combined with the eerie black robes draped over his form, sent a bone-chilling sensation through Dickey's body.
It was not just fear—it was an overwhelming suppression of the soul.
Only now did he understand why Bilan trembled at the mere mention of her mentor's name.
It was not just his strength, but the sheer presence he exuded.
Punk regarded the trembling boy standing protectively in front of Bilan with mild amusement.
The two of them clung together like frightened rabbits facing a wolf.
Bilan's reaction was particularly exaggerated.
This was the same girl who had once dared to cause trouble in his tower, yet now she was on the verge of collapse.
It was almost comical.
Nevertheless, the priests in the vicinity had already taken notice of his arrival, and soldiers had been dispatched to inform Cascarser.
If Punk wanted to secure their cooperation, he needed to maintain appearances.
With calculated precision, he softened his voice—at least as much as he could manage.
"Hello, my apprentice. We meet again."
However, due to his usual taciturn nature, the words came out cold and emotionless.
To Bilan, it sounded like an execution sentence.
Terror seized her.
She was certain that Punk had come to punish her—for abandoning the White Tower, for tampering with his experiment table, for defying him.
A mage's laboratory was sacred.
To trespass was akin to declaring war.
She could already envision her fate—
Dissection.
Soul extraction.
An eternity as one of his experiments.
But worst of all—
Dickey was here.
"At least… at least I have to save him!"
Summoning what little courage she had left, Bilan took a step forward and spoke in a trembling voice:
"My mentor, I… I deeply regret my actions. I left the White Tower without permission, I disrupted your experiments—these are unforgivable sins. If punishment is necessary, I will accept it without complaint. However... please, please spare Diqido! He had nothing to do with it—this was all my fault!"
Her eyes welled with tears as her body trembled violently.
Her hands clenched into fists, gripping the fabric of her dress so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She knew that Punk was ruthless.
Begging was likely useless, but it was the only thing she could do.
Dickey, however, was having none of it.
"Bilan, what are you saying? You only did what was right—you were trying to save people! Is that really a crime?"
Despite his fear, Dickey stepped forward, his voice firm.
His instincts screamed at him to run, but his heart wouldn't allow it.
Even though Bilan had refused to tell him about her time in the White Tower, he could tell—
Whatever had happened there had left her traumatized.
And the cause of that trauma was standing right before them.
He couldn't let her face it alone.
"Enough, Bilan," he said gently, placing a finger against her lips to silence her. "Didn't we promise to face everything together?"
Under the golden glow of the setting sun, his hair shimmered like molten gold.
Bilan's eyes widened.
At that moment, fear melted away, replaced by something deeper.
As long as Dickey is with me… even if it's death, it doesn't matter…
Meanwhile, Punk stood there in utter silence.
What the hell is this?
They were acting like he was some kind of heinous villain about to slaughter them both on the spot.
It was… exhausting.
With an audience of priests watching closely, Bilan sobbing, and Dickey dramatically declaring his devotion, Punk felt a rare sense of exasperation.
This was not the kind of attention he wanted.
Suppressing a sigh, he reached forward and flicked both of them lightly on the forehead.
His voice, though still cold, carried an air of detached amusement:
"You two fools. There's no need for such theatrics."