In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities
Chapter 324 - 324 The Vanishing Island

His hands—thick, scarred, marked by time—spoke of countless years spent enduring, surviving.

The deep lines on his face bore the weight of a life carved through hardship.

He lifted the goblet slowly.

As the aroma of the wine rose to his nose, memories drifted through his eyes.

He remembered his youth—fighting in the roar of war, the stench of blood filling his lungs.

And then…

A smile crept onto Alfred's lips.

Yes… I met her.

The time was drawing near.

His gaze turned toward the sky, where Michael and Marcus soared high above the ship—his grandson, his blood.

A child no longer, but one destined to write a new legend that surpassed Alfred's own era.

"…Take care of everything, Michael."

He whispered softly, raising his glass high—

as if to offer a toast to the heavens.

The crimson liquid shimmered faintly in the flickering candlelight.

Alfred stared into the cup for a long moment, lost in thought.

May the journey that began with her and me… finally find its end.

With quiet resolve, he drank.

The heavy flavor spread across his tongue—along with the weight of emotions long buried.

Once Michael had confirmed they were a safe distance from the island, he reached out with his hand, ready to draw in every last remnant of the Radiant One's power from Saint Hanna Island.

The moment he extended his arm, a powerful suction force erupted from his body, shaking the air itself.

A great wave of energy rippled outward from the island.

The earth trembled.

The ground split open.

Trees were ripped from their roots and flung into the sky by howling winds.

The cliffs along the shoreline crumbled, falling into the sea.

Towering waves swallowed the edges of the island whole.

The color of the ocean changed.

From the deep, dark blue surged upward, wrapping around the island like a devouring tide.

Michael could feel the divine power being pulled into him through his fingertips.

Blue mana streaked through the air, converging into his body.

The island lost its shape, bit by bit.

The ground collapsed, as if a great hand from the sea were dragging it under.

The once-glorious sanctuary and temple—obliterated without a trace.

Michael took a deep breath.

His eyes now shimmered with a fierce light, his body glowing with a divine aura.

He clenched his hand into a fist, pulling the last fragments of divine power into himself.

Saint Hanna Island no longer existed.

Only the endless blue sea remained in its place.

While Michael was in the midst of literally erasing Saint Hanna Island from existence, there was celebration underway in House Crassus's territory.

A delicate breeze swept down the mountain slopes, carrying the warmth of early autumn.

The fields were rich with harvest—Crassus was overflowing with golden crops that shimmered beneath the sun.

It was a year of exceptional bounty, enough not only to feed every citizen but also to store and export.

But the fortune that had come to the Crassus domain wasn't limited to the harvest.

High above, on a plateau nestled atop sheer cliffs deep within the territory, a group of knights stood visibly tense.

These were the knights who had joined Michael in order to obtain Marcus's purified dragon blood to aid in beast reproduction.

Across the plateau, giant nests lay scattered.

Made of massive tree branches and stones, the nests were intricately woven. Inside, layers of soft fur and feathers lined the space, giving it a surprisingly warm and comforting atmosphere.

Within each nest lay enormous eggs, their colors as varied as they were vibrant.

Both the knights and the beasts—the parents of the eggs—were equally on edge.

Baron Kensington, face tense, stood before a nest holding a pair of griffon eggs he owned.

At the center of the nest lay one particularly large egg, shimmering with a faded golden hue.

That morning, faint cracks had begun to form across its surface, and subtle movements were felt from within.

The griffon parents watched the egg in silent anticipation.

The male griffon stood proudly beside the nest, guarding it.

If any knight besides Kensington came too close, it spread its massive wings and snapped its beak threateningly.

The female griffon, one talon anchored to the edge of the nest, tapped the egg's surface gently with her beak—nervous yet tender.

And as if the hatchling could sense its mother, the movements inside the egg grew stronger.

The golden eyes of both griffon parents gleamed with anticipation.

Finally, with a sharp crack, a fragment of the shell broke free and dropped to the floor of the nest.

Baron Kensington's face flushed red with emotion.

The egg began to rock more vigorously.

From within came faint breathing and the soft scratching of tiny claws against hard shell.

Moments later, a small, delicate foreleg broke through one side of the egg.

Covered in a fine, translucent membrane, the hatchling's limb waved hesitantly through the air, as if seeking its mother.

Soon, a tiny head emerged through the opening.

The hatchling wobbled, struggling to free itself from the confining shell.

It would pause, breathless and exhausted, before wriggling again with all its might.

At that moment, the mother griffon gently leaned down.

With a warm, patient gaze, she began to carefully break away pieces of the shell with her beak.

Thanks to her help, the hatchling soon escaped the rest of the shell more easily.

Covered in downy fluff, the newborn griffon flopped into the nest, shaking sticky fluid from its wings.

Its movements were still clumsy, but its eyes already shone with a mysterious golden light.

The hatchling drew deep, unsteady breaths.

The mother griffon moved closer and began to lick the newborn's damp body with her warm tongue—slowly and carefully.

With every pass, the wet down dried, regaining its natural sheen.

Feeling the warmth of its mother, the hatchling let out a tiny cry—

A soft, fragile sound brimming with trust and affection.

The father griffon approached and gently ran his beak over the newborn's head.

Baron Kensington, watching the scene, struggled to hold back tears.

Perhaps it was the influence of the dragon's blood—but the hatchling already seemed to surpass its parents in potential.