Alora Town

Anyone with experience knew that life as a wanted fugitive was miserable.

Money was secondary. The main problem was that he had to hide his face wherever he went, and nothing was convenient.

He was now a walking 500,000. In this era, 500,000 was enough to buy a luxurious villa. What kind of kindhearted citizen could resist that temptation?

Witch Potion could solve this problem. He didn't have to change his gender; changing his build and appearance would be enough. The trouble was that Witch Potion was a high-grade alchemical potion, and it wasn't cheap. Using it long-term would cost a fortune.

He was caught in a vicious cycle.

The Floris Family was seriously pissed this time. They'd turned up the pressure on him.

The Witch Hunt, combined with a B-rank wanted notice, would steadily squeeze his room to survive and force him to reveal his whereabouts.

Sean had thought the buzz from the signing event might help him sell a few more books and earn a decent cut. But the truth was, he shouldn't have entertained any illusions about his enemies. The capitalists' methods were far more shameless than he'd imagined.

He'd only guessed half of it right.

During the three days Sean had been asleep, his books had indeed been selling like crazy. Some bookstores had even run out of stock. Demand was through the roof, and the publisher was working day and night, putting in overtime to print more copies. Because a wanted notice wasn't just a wanted notice—it was also a publicity stunt—

What could have made a writer who was clearly talented and handsome enough to make a living off his looks choose to become a terrorist and embark on this criminal path, abandoning his beliefs?

Perhaps the answer was in his books.

Some people said his books were a blast to read, with protagonists who got everything they wanted. That proved he had nothing in real life. They called them the final fantasies of a shut-in writer on the verge of a breakdown, and said his extreme personality had already begun to show.

Others said he'd depicted a beautiful utopia, where everyone strove toward their ideals and knowledge was power. That showed the author must have been highly educated and hoped to change his fate through knowledge. Yet reality had proved to be the exact opposite. Through this "utopian" approach to writing, the author had imbued his work with profound meaning, cleverly satirizing the stupidity and injustice of modern society. It had also pushed him farther and farther down the path of antisocial behavior, until he finally caused a great catastrophe.

Sean: "..."

Honestly, even he didn't know his stories were so profound.

He reckoned that if the Floris Family caught and killed him one day, they'd announce his death to the public, forge a remorseful suicide note, and stir up another wave of publicity. His books would sell like crazy all over again.

In short, the money had indeed been made, but Sean himself hadn't seen a penny of it.

Quill's death hadn't stopped the enemy from exploiting him. If anything, they'd only gotten worse.

They wanted to kill him, use him to lure out other witches, and make money off him.

If Sean could put up with that, he wouldn't be Sean.

At least, not for long.

First, he'd come up with a meticulous plan.

"I'd like to go outside for a walk," Sean said.

He liked to think while walking. Maybe it was psychological, but he always felt that putting one foot in front of the other helped his thoughts along, made his brain spin faster, and kept him from getting trapped by his current predicament.

Iris teased him. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

It was the classic case of asking when she already knew the answer.

She and Elvily had both seen Sean's medical report. Apart from "cellular fatigue"—a witch-specific term that was the modern equivalent of "overexertion"—there was nothing wrong with him.

It was truly unbelievable. Judging by the magic Sean had unleashed that night, he must have used some kind of secret spell that drained his body's reserves. At the very least, he should have lost a kidney. Yet he'd been fine, recovering after just one night's rest. In fact, early the next morning, before Sean had even woken up, his body had already recovered.

Clearly, this man wasn't nearly as simple as they'd thought.

There was definitely a secret behind him.

Elvily and Iris stared right at Sean, as if waiting for an explanation.

They wouldn't ask, but if Sean offered to tell them, they'd certainly want to hear it.

Sean pretended not to understand Iris's hint and chuckled. "Why don't you find out if I'm up for it?"

Iris's eyes curved into crescents. "Is that so? Then I'll have to find a chance to test that."

They were all adults. She didn't mind occasionally teasing this mysterious, handsome author.

Elvily, on the other hand, shot him an exasperated look. "If you fall over, nobody's going to help you up."

In truth, she was even more curious about Sean than Iris was. It wasn't just his utterly unscientific constitution. There were also the spells he'd used at the hospital that night. Those symbols gave her a powerful sense of familiarity. It was as if she'd seen them a very, very long time ago, but she couldn't remember where.

But that was all right.

Just because she couldn't remember today didn't mean she wouldn't remember tomorrow.

As a Reshaper like her, she would slowly recover her memories over time.

And she wasn't stupid. If Iris could tell, how could she, the person involved, not notice?

Elvily didn't think a "friend" he'd met only a few times was worth risking his life to save. Whatever this guy wanted with her, it was probably more than friendship.

Naturally, her standards would rise accordingly. She didn't like dishonest people.

A few minutes later.

Sean pulled out his IV and, accompanied by Elvily, went outside the hospital.

Iris had left to take a phone call, saying she had something to deal with. Whether that was true or not, he couldn't say.

This time, Elvily didn't stop her. Once was fine, but twice would seem deliberate, as though she were afraid of being alone with Sean. She and Sean were completely innocent. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The two of them strolled across the grass.

The scene before him was nothing like Sean had imagined.

It was a sprawling farm, the air fresh and scented with earth.

Sean had thought that since the hospital room looked so upscale, he must be in some big city. But it turned out they were on the outskirts of a small rural town, and the hospital had been converted from a house.

They'd kept the farm, and some people were letting sheep graze on the grass while others sat on little stools painting. At a glance, the place felt peaceful and leisurely, yet still full of life. The town lay in the other direction, where he could see the outlines of its plain, closely packed buildings if he turned his head.

A child was pedaling a bicycle out of town, a bag slung over his shoulder with newspapers tucked inside. Grinning, he was delivering everyone that morning's paper.

In reality, it was almost evening. But the town was so remote, and the nearest city was hundreds of kilometers away. It took a long time to get the papers, so everyone read the outside world's morning edition as their evening news.

"Good afternoon, Sister Ember Crow."

"Good afternoon to you too, sir... You look kind of familiar."

The boy rode past the hospital and greeted them. His big eyes blinked as he seemed to search his mind for Sean's name.

Sean smiled. "Hello. I'm Sean."

"Oh, Mr. Sean! I know you!" The boy suddenly lit up with recognition and cheered, "The newest wanted criminal in Westlakel State! Awesome!"

Sean's smile froze. "..."

You'd have been better off not knowing me.

Elvily wanted to laugh, but when she saw the resentment written all over Sean's face, she held it in. She motioned for the boy to carry on with his deliveries, then reassured Sean, "Don't take it to heart. There are a lot of people like you here."

"Are they all witches?" Sean asked.

"Yes." Elvily didn't hide it from him. "This is Alora Town, an offline stronghold of the Dawn Council."