Chapter 209 – Allen's Chance Encounter with Agatha and the Witches
After a long night of intense study, Allen and the many Medusa mages successfully developed a series of poison spells through deep analysis.
The participating Medusa women, now utterly exhausted, looked at Allen with nothing but fear in their eyes.
What had begun as an exciting prospect turned out to be a nightmare, as though they'd fallen into a devil's hands.
Fortunately, Allen had brought along a large number of life elixirs, allowing them to fully recover.
Otherwise, the Serpent Clan's mages would likely have needed three to five months of rest to recuperate.
"Ahem… ptui..."
Before the eyes of the entire Serpent Clan, Allen demonstrated a poison spell on the spot.
He spat onto a rock, and it immediately began to sizzle with white smoke.
The intense corrosiveness fascinated the Medusa women.
The Serpent Clan's innate magic included two core abilities: basic mental illusions and toxic spells, both derived from the venom accumulated in their snake hair.
Typically, they would use their snake-hair fangs to pierce the target's skin and inject venom. In rare cases, some evolved to be able to spit venom directly.
Allen, however, clearly lacked any venom-secreting glands, yet he could convert his saliva into deadly poison—this left them shocked.
"I'm calling this move 'Poison Dragon's Breath.'"
Allen explained earnestly, "The incantation is the two syllables 'ahem' and 'ptui.' While gathering poisonous elements, the expelled saliva mixes into venom. Given the short range, it's ideal for a surprise attack at close quarters."
The Medusa women nodded, half-understanding.
While the spell looked unhygienic, it was undeniably practical and perfect for catching an enemy off guard.
If used up close, it could easily incapacitate the opponent before they had a chance to react.
"Of course, this is just the trump card for a desperate counterattack."
With his hands clasped behind his back, Allen spoke confidently, "There's always the chance the enemy might gag us. That's where my second trump card comes in—'Drunken Mist.'"
Drunken Mist?
The name sounded almost poetic, and the Medusas widened their eyes, curious to see what trick Allen had up his sleeve next.
Allen pinched his nose.
Pffft pffft pffft…
In the next moment, a rapid-fire burst of flatulence released clouds of pink gas, which quickly formed a misty cloud around the area.
This…
Everyone was left stunned.
Their King really would weaponize every part of his body, pushing his limits to the extreme.
Pinching his nose, Allen dashed out of the pink mist and took a deep breath of fresh air, shuddering as he muttered, "Almost knocked myself out…"
The Medusa women's scalps tingled. This spell was both self-harming and harmful to others—unconventional, but undeniably effective.
"Don't worry, I'll fine-tune it later. I'm working on making myself immune."
Then, looking rather pleased, Allen added, "Pro tip—eating onions, garlic, and other strong-smelling foods can enhance the mist's potency."
He then proceeded to demonstrate a series of other poison-based spells:
Poison Ray.
Venomous Shadow Arrow.
Phantom Serpent.
…
But each spell came with its own issues.
For example, Poison Ray required bizarre hand gestures followed by shouting "In the name of the moon, I'll punish you!"
Venomous Shadow Arrow targeted the enemy's shadow, rendering it useless on cloudy days or at night.
Phantom Serpent was the weirdest of all—it had a small chance of rebelling, and while unlikely, there was still the risk it could bite its own caster.
Despite the oddities, the Serpent Clan obeyed Allen's guidance and began practicing poison magic as a tribe.
Days passed.
Allen not only taught the Serpent Clan to read and write characters but also began composing a poison spell grimoire, leaving the rest to their independent research.
He didn't idle, either—he kept working on Erha, feeding it various magical creatures to help it evolve.
One day, the Serpent guard captain, Cuiliu, came to report.
"My King, a group of witches is fleeing toward the northern edge of the territory."
Allen's eyes lit up and he gave the order without hesitation, "Assemble the tribe. We're capturing witches."
"It's not like that—they're being chased. Should we avoid getting involved?" Cuiliu asked cautiously.
"What are we afraid of?"
Allen donned his straw hat, full of confidence. "I am the mighty King Cobra—utterly ruthless."
"…"
Meanwhile, deep in the forest.
"There's no time. We'll split into two teams. One will escort my mother to safety, the other will stay behind with me to delay the pursuers."
Agatha, gripping her magical bow, issued orders calmly.
The leader of the witch coven, Evanora, lay unconscious, her magic completely depleted.
Many witches agreed with Agatha's plan. They knew Evanora would scold them upon waking, but surviving was their top priority. As long as they lived, they could one day become Crown Mages and exact revenge.
Suddenly, a flock of crows swooped down and morphed mid-air into human form.
One by one, old, black-robed hags emerged, their faces sinister and twisted with malicious grins as they blocked the escape route.
"Evanora, one of the White Witch leaders—if we capture her alive, many dark mages will pay a fortune for her."
"Don't forget Agatha. The mother-daughter combo is a perfect gift for a powerful patron."
"…"
The vulgar words of the old crones filled Agatha with shame and fury.
The entire continent of Europa was now in chaos.
Magical beasts once thought rare now roamed in groups, attacking human towns and settlements.
Fallen mages, once operating from the shadows, now brazenly targeted all major powers.
Some factions were even destroyed from within—traitors working hand-in-hand with dark sorcerers in coordinated assaults.
The human world was shrouded in fear and despair. Society teetered on the edge of collapse.
"Aren't you afraid of retaliation from Kamar-Taj?"
Agatha tried invoking the name of her backers to intimidate them.
Unfortunately, it didn't work.
The black witches sneered. "Kamar-Taj without a Sorcerer Supreme? No one takes them seriously anymore."
A war between forces beyond the mortal realm had already begun to spread in silence. The fallen mages now acted with impunity, settling old scores while they still had the chance.
More crows swooped in, transforming into human form and surrounding the witches.
It was over. Barring a miracle, Agatha knew she would die here.
She would never allow herself to be taken alive, humiliated, and tortured. In accordance with her family's creed, she would die with honor rather than live in disgrace.
Dee-doo, dee-doo, dee-doo…
The black witches all turned toward the source of the strange noise.
Their eyes filled with confusion—could some hidden master be living in these remote woods?
Agatha's heart skipped a beat.
She knew that sound too well.
Allen always liked to make weird noises.
But if it was really Allen, he'd only be throwing his life away. There was no way he could fight off a coven of black witches. Her concern only deepened.
Moments later, a man in a strange straw hat arrived riding a 2.5-meter-tall magical serpent.
"You dare trespass in my domain? You've got ten seconds to pluck ten of your own pubes and apologize. Otherwise, I'll beat you until your ovaries swell, your hormones go haywire, and your mammary glands develop cysts!"
Allen shouted, waving a toilet plunger threateningly.
Who is this guy?
They could hear the words clearly, but none of it made sense.
"A handsome young man, and an exotic face too. Just what I need—a male pet."
One of the black witches leered at Allen, her teeth yellow and uneven, her face so wrinkled it could trap a fly.
"Back off, hag. Don't make me knock the gold fillings out of your mouth."
Allen shot her a sideways glance, completely unfazed.
So what if they had the numbers? The Medusas had more.
Then, spotting Agatha and the witches, he gave her a cheeky wink.
They'd met before in Redwine Barrel Town. The White Witches couldn't fathom how the man hunted so desperately by Kamar-Taj had ended up hiding in the forest… with the Medusas, no less.
Agatha recalled how her family's heir had once served as this man's mount—and now, apparently, had been replaced. She couldn't help but feel a strange pang of loss.
"What a fascinating young man. I do hope you keep running that mouth."
The black witches weren't concerned by Allen's sudden appearance.
One lunatic and a low-level magical creature? A few spells would take care of them.
Black mist began to swirl around one witch's hands as she prepared to cast a spell.
"Back in the day, I battled Megatron for a full 24 hours. He cried while holding his snapped oil pipes. You tell me—am I tough enough?"
Allen raised a hand, summoning several portals from which rolled thick pink mist.
Inside the territory, the Medusa mages all worked together to unleash Drunken Mist, fanning the gas with leaf-woven fans to direct it at the enemy.
"Ugh… it reeks!"
Thud…
The black witches gagged the moment the gas hit them. They didn't even get a chance to throw up before collapsing.
Of course, the White Witches were also knocked out.
Drunken Mist didn't distinguish between friend and foe.
"A clever ruse by yours truly. Distract the enemy with nonsense, then strike when their guard is down—instant victory."
Allen jumped down from his mount, closed the original portals, and opened a new one to summon his guards.
"My King, shall we kill them all?" Cuiliu asked coldly.
The witches' arrival had made the Medusas uneasy. They feared their King would be distracted by these women and neglect them.
"I know some of the younger witches."
Allen scratched his head and explained sheepishly, "They all confessed to me once. I turned them down with righteous resolve, so they pledged to devote themselves to magic, swearing off love forever. Tragic yet noble devotion, truly touching."
He dramatically flipped his bangs, sighing. "Because so many women are obsessed with my looks, I had to go into seclusion—give mankind a fighting chance. Otherwise, every woman would swear off all others, leading to the extinction of humanity. Too great a burden."
"What is love? Merely the prelude to a spa day and essential oil massage."
"…"
Only one thing was clear amid all that rambling:
The young and pretty ones live. The rest? Whatever.
Of course, Allen wasn't about to let that EXP go to waste. One spell after another sent the unconscious black witches into storage, while the Medusa guards looted everything.
Magic materials, spell reagents, basic artifacts—everything was taken back to the territory.
Finally, a blast of corrosive venom erased all traces.
…
In a mountain cave, the White Witches were lined up neatly.
Allen squinted, grinning like a creep. "I've seen this movie before. School setting, time-freeze plot, the male lead goes wild with the teachers and classmates—very enlightening educational film."
Hisius rolled her eyes.
He was all talk, never took any real action.
The Medusas waited eagerly every day, eyes burning with longing—but still nothing.
"My King, how long will they stay asleep?" Hisius asked casually.
"I dunno."
Allen looked sincerely puzzled. "Never gassed someone unconscious before."
"…"
True enough—Drunken Mist had never been tested in real combat before.
After a while, one of the witches finally began to stir, her eyes unfocused. Clearly, the pink mist was potent.
Soon, all but Evanora regained consciousness.
"You're awake."
Allen walked over to Agatha and asked, "Did you rack up some debt? You were running like you owed the mob."
"The mortal realm's gone to hell. Light and dark factions are at war."
Agatha sighed. "The chaos has spread beyond the magical world. Even the common nations are getting dragged in. The black witches we once suppressed have now joined forces to hunt us down."
"Good thing I hid."
Allen patted his chest with a look of relief. "Hiding out in the forest as the Cobra King—definitely the right call."
"You've got some nerve saying that," Agatha shot back irritably. "Ever since you vanished, all the mages at Kamar-Taj mobilized to search for you. If the upheaval hadn't broken out and forced them to suspend the search, they might've flipped the entire continent of Europa upside down by now."
"Uh…"
Allen chuckled awkwardly. "It's not like I ever slipped a laxative into the food at Kamar-Taj. Those old geezers didn't have to come after me so hard."
The only time he remembered causing mass diarrhea in an organization was with the League of Assassins.
And even then, it wasn't intentional—he'd just mistaken croton seeds for chickpeas and tossed them into a soup.
Agatha explained, "You're the future Sorcerer Supreme. Of course they're anxious."
"What nonsense is that?" Allen retorted. "Yao-mei's the Sorcerer Supreme. Why would I try to take her title? At most, I'd set my sights on a Green Diamond membership and become a VIP on QQ Music."
He wasn't lying—he truly had no interest in the Sorcerer Supreme's mantle. Otherwise, why would he be training Erha to become the Canine Sorcerer Supreme?
If the opportunity ever arose, Allen might consider walking off with the Time Stone—but only after careful consideration.
"Speaking of Yao-mei," Agatha added, "I saw her once recently. She was assigned to guard the London Sanctuary. She's now a fully-fledged mage. I never expected someone with such average talent to advance so quickly."
By contrast, Agatha had only just barely stepped into the rank of a full mage, despite her much greater magical aptitude.
"That's disgusting," Allen scoffed. "Those British nobles don't bathe their entire lives—they're basically walking toilets. Even magical beasts can't stand the stench. They gag at the smell and flee before they get close. One whiff, and I'm ready to vomit bile."
Agatha nodded in complete agreement.
On the continent of Europa, British nobles were the most absurd of all. They suffered skin diseases from never bathing, then blamed it on witch curses. Without a second thought, they'd hunt down innocent young girls in the streets.
When plagues broke out due to poor hygiene, they claimed it was the work of witches.
Even the filthy black witches didn't want to stay in Britain. No one wanted to deal with people who looked human but smelled worse than magical beasts.
"If Britain didn't happen to lie on one of the three Guardian Triangle coordinates," Agatha muttered bitterly, "the mages of Kamar-Taj wouldn't even bother setting foot there. It's ignorant and backward. Wear clean clothes and they'll accuse you of witchcraft. We had no choice but to make ourselves look dirty and repulsive just to avoid suspicion."