Grand Larceny

"So what's the big plan? You're not really here to hunt suras, are you?" Urag asked. Increasingly familiar with Kilian's mind, he doubted that his son-in-law would stoop so low.

"Ha, hell no. I'm here to sign contracts and hunt humans," Kilian chortled, cracked his knuckles, and ambled toward the nearby peach blossom forest. There, three purple-golds, 12 white-golds, and 567 servants gathered. When they first landed in this random location, confusion swept over the students. However, since all were established magi and older than 26, they quickly regained their composure—formed a hunting battalion—and prepared to ambush both suras and their peers.

Yes, not just Kilian. Most students came prepared to hunt peers. On the one hand, high-ranked students packed many resources. On the other hand, though incomparable to the Mortal Plane in size, the Sura Plane was still larger than Arcadia.

With thrice the size of Asia, finding sura tribes was no mean task. Stripping other humans of their loot became rational. Of course, with the students' top speed surpassing cars and the transportation machine they hid in their storage devices, mobility wasn't an issue.

"Have sex, not war. Why don't you humans understand something so simple? Oh well, let's smack some bitches."

"Weren't you human?"

"Like 30,000 years ago, give me a break," Urag ended the exchange, and alongside Kilian, dove into the forest. Among the 15 concealed students, none owed Kilian money. However, their months of accumulated rage ensured they'd carve his heart out at the first opportunity.

Even before Kilian stepped into the deciduous forest, he'd made a thorough assessment of his foes. The three purple-gold robes were top-level High Emissaries and the 12 white-golds low to mid-level High Emissaries. As for the 567 servants, 363 were High Templars and the rest High Emissaries.

But while such a lineup could force Orloth's aristocracy on its knees, before Kilian, it posed no threat.

When they first spotted him, the hidden students' eyes shone with excitement.

"Hahaha, who said God was a myth? Obviously, he's smiling down on us; the pipsqueak is here!" A purple-gold robe exclaimed, chortling alongside his peers who now beamed at Kilian's entrance.

"God, destiny, luck, who cares? Take this scourge's head and hang it on a spike!" Another purple-gold followed, and instantly, 26 High Templars shot toward Kilian, all competing for his vitals—all ignored Urag. But as their blades neared, Kilian's lips curled up, and he raised his right hand.

"Grasp of Avarice!"

Dark-green light swirled around Kilian's hand, and the 26 blades vanished from their owners' palms to hover beside Kilian. They weren't the only ones. From templars to emissaries, the weapons and knife-staves of all on the scene left their holders to form a weapon rain above the 26 templars.

Defying gravity, they backflipped, but before they got out of the weapon rain's range, hundreds of swords, spears, and knife-staves skewered them from above, and tore them all to shreds!

"On average, those weapons are worth 9,000 qraftas each, we got 567, so about 5.1 million. Good loot. But if you got more, please present them," Kilian broke into a gleeful laugh, and as his foes processed the scene, he aimed his hands at their hiding places.

"Grasp of Avarice: Inventory Mapping!"

A dark-green sphere formed around Kilian, expanding to enclose the 541 remaining "hunters." Above their heads, screens took shape, mapping everything they held from their robes to the devices hidden in their storage watches—their eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"This is why I love second generation ancestors. You guys leave daddy's hut with enough wealth to make a state choke from envy and act as if your house owned the street. Don't you know that burglars hide in the wilds?

Grasp of Avarice: Grand Larceny!" Arms outstretched, Kilian uttered the words, conjuring green coats of light that wrapped students and servants alike, before robbing them of all they possessed. Even the underpants weren't spared. A massive green treasure coffer appeared before him, opened, and received the haul.

Dumbfounded, the masters and servants exchanged glances, even pinching one another's cheeks. Butt-naked and dick-hanging, they covered their genitals with one hand, emerged from the shadows, and aimed their wobbling fingers at Kilian.

"Y-you are going too far! What kind of magic is this?"

"Pilfering thief, give me back my clothes!"

"Did your parents send you to college so you could rob your peers' underpants?"

"Where is your noble dignity?" The students clamored, Kilian's coffer turned into green mist and plunged into his forehead. Unabashed, he leaned over and pointed at his hair.

"Look at my hair, bitches. I'm a commoner, not a noble, an upstart straight out of a low-class tribe. Before scum like me, how dare you have valuables? That's your first sin.

Second, you lack nothing, yet have the gals to invade a foreign world and hide behind trees like some highway bandits to hunt and loot peers and suras alike? What is wrong with you?" Kilian asked and straightened his back to sweep the trembling students and the noble servants behind them.

"You don't even have the Mark of Greed, yet compete with me in my sin. I'd say heavens sent me, but I just get high on giving scum an epic slaughter. And frankly, you guys ain't worth shit.

Fourth Circle Spell: Dark Aurora!"

Joining his hands together, Kilian let his dra explode in a berserk surge of occult energies. Dark-purple light coated his frame, expanded, and turned him into an enormous ball of dark light. The dark light swept all on the scene, thriving on Kilian's negativity to ignore Urag and target the foes only.

The first true spell of the Sura Hunting Game—the Dark Aurora stretched across a 100 meters diameter—and incinerated the 541 naked hunters, leaving heaps of dark ashes behind.

Wrecked by dark magic, servants and masters' souls screamed against the world and mourned their own deaths.

Arching his head back, Kilian relished in the satisfaction of his greed, and the demise of his foes. The fehl high took him onto cloud nine, and he just stood there, bent at an obtuse angle.