***
At the same time, there was a figure standing at the outskirts of an eerily repelling jungle. Dressed in a deep green robe with a prideful roaring lion's image sewn to its back, the person raised his head and saw the sun at its full might.
And while doing so, the hood covering his head fell backwards, revealing the silver-grey hair of an old man.
"That douchebag king spoke the truth. The Treasure-grade armour is real. But..." The old man rubbed his chin with deep knit brows as he flicked his wrist and a compass appeared in his palm.
'This artefact... does it have nowhere else to point!?'
Watching the unmoving needle suspended inside the device, the saint fell into a dilemma.
This old man was one of the saints, the pinnacle existence of mages. With an enormous mana reserve, they have an array of spells at their disposal. Multicasting? Pfft... Easy.
But this title came with a crucial advantage and a deadly disadvantage.
All the saints have exponential sensitivity to mana.
