Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 335 : Perplexity (1)
Previously on Became the Patron of Villains...
Once the nebula descended and the intense white light swallowed up everything in sight, the soldiers realized they stood in a world restored to its ordinary state.
“...Whoa.”
“This is…”
A enormous crater stretched out before them.
Actually, it resembled a vast lake that had abruptly evaporated.
The scene unfolding was utterly bizarre.
“What the hell is this—”
“Is something like this even possible?”
The mages, naturally, reacted in much the same way.
“This is… a spell woven by a human?”
“Ooh…”
“This is the origin of ancient magic—”
Celaime, Parkline, and Sharan too—who had been readying a backup strategy from the fortress wall—whispered in stunned wonder, their gazes filled with amazement.
As those nearby gasped in awe, Alon—
“Are you okay, brother?”
“I’m fine.”
Heaved a weary sigh while pressing a hand to his chest.
He had, after all, channeled every bit of inverted mana at his disposal, anticipating a formidable result.
Yet he never imagined the devastation would be so immense that his own spell nearly overwhelmed him.
Thus, right after the incantation plummeted to earth, he thanked Radan, who had swiftly moved in to guard him from the backlash.
“Thanks. That could’ve gone really wrong.”
“Hey— it’s no big deal, brother.”
Radan responded with a bright grin.
“By the way, do you know what happened to the others?”
“Oh, you mean Seolrang and the Hero? Seolrang escaped quickly, so she’s probably okay. And the Hero—well, no need to fret.”
Even while Radan pondered aloud, rubbing his chin and murmuring to himself, Alon directed his attention to the dense mana pulsing close by.
There, propped against a partially crumbled 'Ram’s Skull,'
Sloth lay sprawled in exhaustion.
Sloth’s condition was far from stable.
Likely from a botched attempt at beastly metamorphosis, his lower body was gone, and the Ram’s Skull serving as the trigger lay in ruins.
In essence, the injuries he bore rendered him incapable of further combat.
“So this is how it ends.”
Sloth’s faint words echoed softly.
His eyes had reverted to their former state.
The weary, indifferent look from his initial emergence,
which had chilled everyone to the core.
Even facing his demise now, that expression lingered.
A embodiment of sin, yet distinct from the rest.
No—Alon regarded this incarnation of vice, so divergent from his recollections,
and abruptly voiced a question.
“May I ask you something?”
Sloth offered no reply.
He merely gazed in quiet stillness.
Yet Alon pressed on regardless.
“What did you mean… when you said you wanted to protect something?”
Sloth had indeed uttered those words upon his debut.
That he sought to safeguard something.
And those notions had lingered in Alon’s mind ever since.
The vices he recognized— the ones he had encountered so far— matched his prior knowledge precisely.
They emerged to thrive on human misery.
They acted to unleash humanity’s downfall.
They subsisted not for preservation but for devastation.
However, such an entity— A vice that repeatedly ushered apocalypse into the world for motives perhaps unclear even to itself—
What on earth could it wish to shield?
Sloth, who had observed Alon wordlessly after the inquiry, finally spoke.
“You all.”
“…What?”
Alon’s composure cracked briefly.
The idea escaped his grasp entirely.
His forehead creased as he repeated the question, but Sloth, already dissolving into dust, murmured, “What I wanted to protect—”
With those parting words,
“—was humanity.”
He faded away entirely.
And Alon, fixed on the spot where even the dust had vanished,
“…What?”
Only deepened his frown.
But just for an instant.
He couldn’t afford to dwell in bewilderment.
“Brother.”
“…Ah, Radan?”
“Yeah, sorry to break your train of thought, but I figure it’s time to part ways.”
“Ah—”
Radan’s remark snapped Alon from his daze.
If they delayed further, the Beast of Possibility would break free soon enough.
And the Radan at his side would revert to his true form.
“!”
As Alon prepared to voice a sudden curiosity—
“Nope, brother.”
Anticipating the query, Radan flashed a knowing smile.
“Remember the butterfly effect?”
“…Yeah.”
“I reckon this is the limit of aid I can offer. Ah—if only relics were an option, I could’ve flexed a little harder.”
Observing Radan muse to himself, Alon ventured,
“…I feel like this much is safe to ask, though.”
“What is it? Gotta be careful, brother.”
“Are you… from the future?”
“The future, huh. Well—”
Radan paused briefly, then affirmed with a nod.
“Strictly speaking, yeah.”
“So we know each other too, huh… No point in asking more, then.”
“Obviously. Oh—”
As Radan agreed, a recollection struck him, and he passed an item to Alon.
“Brother. When I revert, could you hand this to me?”
“…What is it?”
“Mmm—you’ll know once you do.”
The object was a blue gemstone.
“Didn’t you say you couldn’t discuss things because of the butterfly effect?”
“Oh, what I gave you now comes from a slightly altered path.”
As Alon puzzled over the explanation, Radan secured the gem in his palm.
“Please. The me from this era is pretty hopeless, you know.”
With that, he lifted his hand in a casual wave goodbye.
“Well, I’m heading out. Still need to chat with Seolrang and the Hero.”
“…The Hero?”
“Yeah, the Hero… Oh, right, he’s Eliban here, isn’t he?”
“For someone worried about butterfly effects, you sure are spilling a lot.”
“Ahh—well, this much should be fine, right?”
Radan shrugged and started to depart, but halted briefly.
“Oh, right. I had one more thing to mention.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah.”
He drew near Alon once more and…
Pat
…rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Brother, trust in your own decisions. You’ve never made a single mistake.”
He delivered the words with firm resolve.
“What do you mean—”
Alon began to probe amid the unexpected gravity—
“But now it’s really over! Not much time left! Bye, brother!”
Radan then beamed his usual lively smile and dissolved from view.
For what seemed an eternity, Alon stared vacantly at the void left by Radan’s departure.
***
In the end, Alon claimed triumph over the Sin of Sloth in their clash.
Following the Sin of Sloth’s downfall, the Black Territory erased itself as though it had never been, concluding all connected events.
Despite Alon’s handling of Sloth, the state of the Kingdom of Ashtalon remained dire.
Owing to the black territory dispersed by the Sin of Sloth, over half the kingdom had been obliterated.
The castle and lands endured, of course, but such preservation proved hollow.
Lands lose all worth without inhabitants to fill them.
And Ashtalon’s peril struck Alon on a personal level.
The cause lay with the “Empire.”
In the game’s lore, Psychedelia—focused on the “Allied Kingdom”—and Calipsophobia—centered on the “Empire”—stood disconnected.
Save for a single circumstance.
That occurred when the Allied Kingdom teetered on the brink of ruin.
Then, the Empire would invariably assault the Allied Kingdom, driven by the game’s mechanics.
And upon the Empire’s advance, the Allied Kingdom crumbled with alarming speed.
Alon harbored some unease regarding that element.
Nevertheless, he found it hard to dismiss a plot detail or backstory familiar from the source material.
Alon redirected his mind to the Sin’s earlier declaration.
Even as calm gradually returned, the thought persisted.
Yet Sloth’s intent still eluded him.
And that made perfect sense.
The vices had forever aimed to slaughter humans, and Sloth himself had strived for global annihilation.
So why utter such a phrase?
Tsk
Alon tutted in frustration, immersed in contemplation for an unknown span.
“Marquis.”
“Evan.”
“So this is where you were? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Evan neared Alon, who observed guests casually toasting at the post-crisis banquet.
“Was someone looking for me?”
“There were quite a few, but that’s not the reason I came. You just vanished suddenly, and you don’t seem well.”
“I just had something to think about.”
“Isn’t that what beds are for?”
“Well, that’s true.”
Alon responded distractedly while glancing toward the floor below.
“Ooooh—this mighty beast is the very one that took care of those meat blobs earlier—”
[Ahem~!!]
“Ooooh~!”
Encircled by mages and basking in the spotlight, Basiliora raised her head with evident pride.
[Meow…]
Meanwhile, Blackie lounged on a separate table, munching away, and eyed the scene with complete scorn.
Even so, Blackie drew admiration from mages and swelled with self-importance.
At last, Alon noted the throng of nobles clustering around Eliban and remarked,
“They seem to be having fun.”
“I really can’t stand Basiliora. It’s been like that for almost two hours. It must be starving for attention.”
Evan clucked his tongue in annoyance.
“Well, it was a god, after all.”
“Do all gods crave attention that badly…?”
“Well—”
As Alon prepared to clarify that not every one did, Kalannon sprang to mind.
The white cat frolicking in the Divine Land, desperate to reclaim her lost divinity.
“It’s a matter of survival, after all.”
“…But that thing’s not even a god anymore. It’s just a pet, right? Not needed.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
Alon agreed, prompting Evan to exhale heavily.
Then, as if a thought occurred, Alon inquired,
“Evan, have you heard anything about the Jewel of the Closed-Eyed One?”
“Ah, not yet.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But they said they’ve found a clue, so they asked for a little more time.”
After verifying the status,
“Let’s head down.”
Setting aside the lingering mysteries, they proceeded toward their quarters.
“Excuse me, are you Marquis Palatio?”
“…Yes, and you are?”
On the descending stairs, a mage intercepted them.
Clad in a red robe, he seemed considerably senior to Alon.
He bowed profoundly without warning.
Then—
“I’m Gunan Croatz, a professor at the Red Tower.”
“Ah, I see—”
“Well, I’m pretty good at simple computation, and I contributed quite a bit to one of the Red Tower’s theses, ‘Atia’s Intermediate Paradox.’”
“I… see.”
“I also developed a spell called ‘Atius Core,’ which is based entirely on basic calculations, and it—”
He dove into an eager personal pitch.
“…?”
“…?”
Perplexed, Alon glanced at Evan.
But—
“…??”
Evan merely cocked his head, equally baffled.
“Ahem, I suppose I’ve rambled too long. Anyway, that’s that.”
And thus, the Red Tower professor slipped away.
Still rattled and harboring fresh doubts, Alon pressed on to his designated chamber.
“Ah, Marquis Palatio! There you are~!”
“…And you are?”
“Ah, my apologies. I’m Uyarne Palbin, a full professor from the Blue Tower.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Ahem, just to introduce myself—have you perhaps heard of the papers ‘Kreuz’s Reverse Calculations’ or ‘Zalman’s General Operations’ in the field of basic computation?”
“…??”
Thus commenced yet another spontaneous, offbeat self-presentation from a mage.
“Hello! Marquis! I’m from the Violet Tower—”
“I’m from the Blue Tower!”
En route, Alon endured two additional bouts of “basic calculation” boasting from various mages.
Thoroughly baffled by the occurrences, he at last reached his room.
The next day—
“Good morning, Marquis! I’m from the Red Tower—”
“I’m from the Green Tower—”
“…??”
Upon rising, mages flooded his room unbidden.
A fresh round of the same introductory spectacle unfolded, leaving Alon sensing something amiss.
Then, roughly two hours in—
“Greetings, Marquis! Interviewee Number 19! I’m a mage from the Green Tower named Torin! I’m really confident in my basic calculations! If you choose me—!”
Before long, mages started shouting self-assigned interview numbers—figures unknown even to Alon—while fervently hawking their skills as if it were commonplace.
“…??”
With hands clasped, Alon sat motionless, his thoughts swirling in utter bewilderment.