Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 330 : In the name of Sloth (3)

Saint Yuman held unwavering faith in Marquis Palatio.

Right from the outset, he numbered among the select few who had personally beheld the extraordinary feats accomplished by Marquis Palatio.

Yet.

"Isn’t this pretty much a suicide mission?"

"Shh, keep it down."

"I mean, seriously! To clear out this cursed black territory, we’ve got to confront whatever’s at its heart, but do you honestly believe that’s feasible? You witnessed it yourself! The moment anyone steps inside—"

Regrettably, the troops harbored no such confidence in Marquis Palatio.

Yuman glanced toward the soldiers.

Their feelings differed widely, yet one sentiment united them all.

It was their lack of belief in Marquis Palatio.

Naturally, every soul in this gathering possessed at least basic knowledge of Marquis Palatio.

No one across the Allied Kingdoms remained ignorant of his name.

Still, the troops’ doubts stemmed not from the marquis’s skills, but from the dread of the black territory itself.

"Hoo~"

Yuman shifted his attention to the black territory.

Though merely a single day had elapsed, it loomed far nearer to the Kingdom of Ashtalon than the day before, instilling terror in all who beheld it.

They had observed it firsthand.

The fate that befell their fellow fighters merely from daring to "enter" that black territory.

And Yuman himself had witnessed clearly the doom of those who ventured in.

Crimson tears streamed from their eyes, desperate admissions spilled from their lips, and their forms, as though ensnared by some malevolent force, drove blades into the chests of their own allies.

As those nightmarish visions resurfaced in his mind, he gradually lifted his gaze toward the heavens.

A colossal vessel hovered so far above that it appeared minuscule.

And in that instant.

"Celaime."

"Parkline."

Upon the outer ramparts of Ashtalon.

The Red Tower Lord Parkline, who had reached the site at the break of dawn that day, addressed Celaime.

"Are you prepared?"

"Yeah, but how about you? What’s your take?"

"Take on what?"

"This strategy. Do you truly believe it’ll succeed?"

In response to Parkline’s inquiry, Celaime directed his sight to the vessel drifting amid the clouds.

"Why pose that question?"

"Even as we proceed with the outline, it still baffles me."

Parkline reflected on the details shared by Alon at the concluding assembly that morning.

A puzzled look crossed his features.

Admittedly, he didn’t deem Marquis Palatio’s scheme entirely illogical.

The marquis’s rationale rang with persuasion, and at times Parkline pondered, "How does the marquis grasp such intricate particulars?"

"Hoo—"

Save for the initial segment of the proposal he put forth.

Beyond that, the marquis’s blueprint stood firm.

That fact remained indisputable.

Yet, the blueprint’s viability hinged on the "Sin" lurking at the black territory’s core advancing all the way to their position.

Put differently, without the Sin responsible for spawning the black territory appearing precisely where they desired, the entire effort would prove futile.

Certainly, the marquis had outlined a method to lure the Sin from its dark domain.

"Fire magic aimed at a spot beyond visual reach," he had declared.

However, that approach—

To Parkline, it echoed with sheer lunacy.

Thus, he had voiced his doubts to Celaime.

"You believe it’s unfeasible?"

That response left Parkline speechless.

"On the contrary, I ought to question you—why do you deem it achievable?"

Indeed, while his prowess in the arcane fell short of Celaime Mikardo’s, he remained a sorcerer wielding his unique Origin and the master of the Red Tower.

Hence, he understood.

The sheer absurdity of such a notion.

"It’s impossible. Regardless of the marquis’s exceptional nature, crafting a spell to inflict real harm at a range invisible to the eye defies reality. You recognize that as well, don’t you?"

Even supposing the spell took form, challenges persisted.

The duration of its sustainment would drain mana, with greater potency demanding even vaster reserves.

No matter the spell’s flawless design, extending it to long distances invited warping in its framework and essence, leading to dissolution.

Moreover, preempting every unforeseen complication was essential for the marquis’s vision to hold any hope.

"Even if Marquis Palatio employs the divine power whispered about in legends—"

Parkline pressed on.

"You’re correct."

"What?"

Celaime’s serene affirmation creased Parkline’s forehead.

Undeterred, Celaime’s tone flowed steadily.

"I said you’re right. Indeed. Magic extends beyond mere formation. Without managing mana expenditure, you can’t project it afar to begin with. Plus, you must account for every potential warp in that brief interval."

Magic proves fragile in its intricacy, after all.

He appended this with effortless poise, leaving Parkline briefly stunned.

"But that applies solely to a typical mage."

"What do you mean?"

Confronted by this extension, he could only counter.

"Precisely as stated. It’s a limitation binding any standard mage."

"Are you implying Marquis Palatio stands apart?"

To that probe, Celaime, his eyes fixed skyward, swiveled to lock gazes with Parkline, then gestured upward with a digit.

"Seeing beats mere tales."

His words came direct.

Thus, Parkline tilted his head heavenward, captivated. Above stretched the vivid expanse and the central vessel.

Yet, unlike prior views—

"...?"

An oddity emerged.

The firmament began a subtle warp.

Curious.

No, the oddity lay not in the firmament.

What contorted—

"Mana phenomenon?"

When mana surges forth in vast quantities, the vicinity bends momentarily.

Alone, this held little cause for alarm.

Releasing his own mana here, he could readily summon the like.

However, the magnitude of this mana distortion—

“Holy—”

It sprawled immensely, poised to engulf the very vessel aloft.

Parkline blurted an oath without thinking.

"Truly beyond the norm."

Celaime’s faintly entertained tone reached Parkline’s ears.

In that instant, even the soldiers, who had eyed the black territory with suspicion, redirected their stares upward.

Their gazes widened.

Space for other feelings vanished.

Raw astonishment alone seized their vision.

And then—

!!!

Amid a multitude of stars ascending the azure vault, a form expanded to such immensity that its wielder could scarcely contain it—no longer a mere "needle."

Alon uttered the incantation.

"Bullet of Unfulfilled Wish."

The endlessly burgeoning shape twisted into a helix.

And then—

with a hushed whisper,

"Memory’s—"

-sniper shot.

Light erupted.

***

The troops’ sights trailed the beam unleashed.

It plunged with a thunderous din capable of devouring the loftiest vapors.

That beam faded past the distant rim, into unseen realms.

In a heartbeat— yet the soldiers lingered dazed, peering toward that far edge.

Moments later—the beam dissolved.

As though it had never graced existence.

Suddenly, the realm, ablaze with searing brilliance, reverted to its natural hues.

As faint uncertainties stirred among the soldiers—

--!

It reached them.

A distant rumble.

A muted yet weighty echo, like a distant cannon’s blast.

Simultaneously, they beheld it.

Dust ascending from afar, beyond the rim.

And then—

-!!!

A colossal thunderclap assailed the soldiers.

Swiftly, an immense dust shroud veiled the entire horizon, with a soaring dust column piercing the heavens above.

Wriggle~!

As all froze in utter incredulity before this impossible spectacle—

"Th-that’s—!"

"!"

A trooper’s cry prompted every nearby face to tense as one.

The black territory staining the earth commenced a collective stir.

No, more precisely— the black territory wasn’t the mover.

The dormant flesh beneath the black territory mobilized, as if awakened to sentience.

Then, filaments erupted from a specific spot on the shadowed soil.

They commenced weaving the surging flesh clumps.

Weaving—

weaving—

and weaving further.

Mortal remains and beastly forms— heedlessly entwined to forge a titanic mound.

Ere long, form emerged.

Crunch—crack-crack!

Warped skeletons jutted from the mass only to withdraw in cycles, as fiendish and human ichor blended into sinister scarlet smears.

“Holy—!”

The soldiers recoiled in chaos, but the corpse-heap merely swelled onward.

Initially, it matched the wall’s height.

Then rivaled the inner stronghold.

And soon—

Crack-crack-crack~!!!

It towered further, eclipsing the royal palace.

Before that staggering bulk, dread and panic reclaimed the soldiers’ stares.

That loathsome entity, oozing murky red and verdant fluids, surveyed the soldiers with disdainful scorn—an abomination unfit for this realm.

"..."

“It’s... far vaster than I pictured.”

“How could such a nightmare even be real—!”

Parkline and Yuman voiced their shared dread.

And as though heeding the mortals’ dismay, it gradually raised its enormous limb.

A limb riddled with mangled bones and tissue eclipsed the daylight.

“R-ru—run—”

As a frantic soldier blurted in reflex—

!

From above,

!!!!!

It descended.

A deafening blast overwhelmed all hearing.

The malformed limb severed neatly, allowing sunlight to bathe the soldiers anew.

And then— what the soundlessly stunned soldiers perceived— was a vast, ebony serpent.

Its maw clamped upon the limb of the horror that had daunted the soldiers, this ebony serpent—

—the Receiver, Basiliora.

■-!!!!

Had appeared.