Chapter 611 - 43: Acquiring the Alternate Plane Development License

Chapter 611: Chapter 43: Acquiring the Alternate Plane Development License

Pittman couldn’t speak, but his eyes saw it all with perfect clarity.

That crimson beam of sword light, carrying an all-rending power, shot straight for Alonso’s forehead.

His heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

Joy!

Overwhelming joy!

’So Mr. Melfield had seen through it all!’

’He’d seen it all along—that this piece of trash from the Outer Plane, Alonso, was trouble!’

’He was just toying with him, toying with this garbage!’

’After all, trash from the Outer Planes exists solely for the entertainment of the Imperial People.’

Pittman wanted to laugh, to cheer, to point at Alonso’s face and tell him he was finally getting what he deserved.

But he couldn’t open his mouth.

That invisible force still had his throat sealed.

But it didn’t matter.

His eyes, his expression, the way his body trembled—it all vividly expressed his inner ecstasy.

’Serves you right!’

’You totally deserve it!’

’That’s what you get for being so arrogant! For putting on an act! For looking at me with those pitying eyes!’

’Happy now?’

’Mr. Melfield is acting personally. You’re a dead man!’

The few locally-born waiters had kept their heads down, not daring to look over.

But the moment the sword light appeared, they couldn’t help but lift their heads.

And then they saw it: the crimson gleam of the sword.

Fierce, dazzling, and carrying a suffocating pressure.

Their faces instantly turned deathly pale.

But a moment later, a flash of glee appeared in their eyes.

’Serves him right!’

’This garbage from the Outer Plane, this lowlife who humiliated their supervisor, was finally going to die!’

They didn’t dare laugh out loud, but the corners of their mouths curled into faint smiles.

The surrounding guests stood a short distance away, watching the scene unfold with great interest.

Their gazes were lofty and detached, tinged with amusement.

"Interesting."

A middle-aged man in a dark blue magic robe murmured to his companion.

"That young man in black is quite powerful."

"Powerful?" His companion raised an eyebrow. "That beam of sword light was close to the power of a Third-Level Wizard."

The middle-aged man shook his head. "If he were facing a Douglas, a Third-Level Wizard wouldn’t be enough."

"Mm, that’s true. It wouldn’t be."

Cheris stood where she was, watching it all unfold with an enigmatic smile.

Her emerald eyes curved into crescents, a certain unreadable light flickering within them.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t even move.

She just watched quietly—watching Murphy, watching Alonso, watching the beam of sword light hovering before the space between Alonso’s brows.

As if she were watching an interesting play.

However, as the sword light sank into Alonso’s forehead with a searing glow...

Pittman’s smile froze on his face.

His eyes went wide, fixed on Alonso’s forehead.

No blood.

No wound.

Not a single mark.

Alonso was still standing there, perfectly fine.

Alive and well.

A buzzing exploded in Pittman’s head.

’Wh-what’s going on?’

’Where did the sword light go?’

’Wasn’t it aimed at him?’

’Wasn’t it supposed to kill him?’

’How... How did it just disappear?’

His eyes were filled with disbelief, terror, and bewilderment.

The expressions on the faces of the local waiters also froze completely.

They gaped, looking from Alonso to Murphy, their minds a complete blank.

’H-How could this be?’

’Weren’t they going to kill him?’

’How... How could it just end like that?’

Among the surrounding guests, however, a few nodded slightly.

"As expected."

The middle-aged man in the dark blue magic robe spoke again.

"A brand?"

His companion had figured it out, too. "There was something inside that beam of light. He planted some kind of mark on that waiter. Tsk. Isn’t he afraid of breaking the law?"

"You mention Imperial Law, and I have to laugh."

"Fair enough."

Cheris still wore that enigmatic smile, but the curve of her lips was growing wider.

Alonso stood rooted to the spot, his body as rigid as a statue.

He had watched, powerless, as the beam of light shot toward him. He had watched it halt just before his brow, and then watched it sink into his forehead.

In that instant, he thought he was going to die.

The stench of death was so near he could almost smell its icy chill.

But now, he was still alive.

He raised a trembling hand to touch his forehead.

No wound.

No blood.

Nothing felt out of place.

But he knew something had been left inside him.

That beam of light—so condensed it was palpable, so powerful it could have killed him—had simply entered his body.

Yet it had caused no harm.

Alonso swallowed hard.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

Then he raised his head, looked at Murphy, and spoke slowly and respectfully.

"Sir, is this... the price?"

Murphy looked at him, his pitch-black eyes as calm as still water.

"This is the price."

"Come with me."

With that, he turned and walked toward the elevator that had been waiting for some time.

Cheris hurried to catch up, once again linking her arm with his.

The gesture was intimate and natural, as if it had already become a habit.

Alonso took another deep breath and hurried to follow.

The elevator doors were open. An attendant in a dark blue uniform stood beside them, hands folded in front of him, a standard, professional smile on his face.

Seeing Murphy and Cheris approach, he immediately bowed slightly. His voice was respectful and gentle.

"Lady Douglas, Mr. Melfield, welcome. The VIP lounge on the tenth floor has been prepared for you."

Cheris glanced at him and gave a casual nod.

Murphy said nothing, simply stepping into the elevator.