Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 8
Previously on Became the Patron of Villains...
Alon’s public pretext for visiting the Estrovan lands was the cultivation of social ties. In reality, the true motive behind his week-long trek was a hidden labyrinth situated in the southern reaches of Estrovan.
“…Is this truly the location of your business?”
“It is.”
“It took us a fortnight to track this place down, but… there is absolutely nothing here?”
Evan spoke while his eyes scanned the desolate woods. Alon mirrored the action, surveying the surroundings.
The scenery offered nothing but an abandoned dirt path and a forest that had clearly been ignored for years; no remarkable landmarks were in sight.
While Alon maintained a stoic mask, he felt a secret wave of relief wash over him.
Following the conclusion of the ball, Alon had remained in Estrovan for nearly twenty days, dedicating every moment to locating this specific labyrinth.
With that thought, Alon turned his attention toward a narrow ravine peeking through the treeline. He began walking toward the solitary hint that had finally led him to his goal.
“Are you certain this time?”
Having endured two fruitless searches already, Evan muttered his complaints as he trailed behind Alon.
Hearing Evan’s heavy footsteps, Alon swiftly composed his mind.
Drawing upon his memories of the labyrinth’s layout from the hundreds of times he had explored it in the game Psychedelia, Alon advanced with total confidence. Before long, they reached the small ravine at the forest's edge.
“…This area feels bizarre, no matter how you look at it.”
Evan remarked as soon as they arrived.
The ravine was indeed small, yet it radiated an undeniable aura of distortion. Even with the sun high above, the depths of the ravine remained unnaturally dark, as if the shadows themselves were pushing back the light.
This anomaly immediately put Evan on high alert, his instincts screaming of danger.
“Let us enter.”
“Young Master!?”
Conversely, this strange phenomenon brought a spark of joy to Alon.
The atmospheric effect within the ravine was identical to the field mechanics of the Whispering Labyrinth he had been seeking. This confirmed the entrance was here, prompting him to step into the gloom without a second thought.
Evan stared at Alon in disbelief but found himself with no choice but to follow.
Stepping inside made the bright sun feel like a distant memory; the interior was swallowed by a thick, heavy darkness. Within the shadows, various boulders were visible, etched with intricate, artificial patterns rather than natural weathering.
Passing these markers, Alon soon identified a doorway submerged in total blackness. He stood silently before the entrance, which was clearly man-made and adorned with complex sigils.
“How did you even know this place existed?”
“Because I have frequented it often.”
“What?”
Realizing his mistake, Alon quickly pivoted his response.
“That was a joke.”
“…A joke? With that expression, it didn’t sound like one at all… So, how did you actually find it?”
“I have my private methods.”
“For a man with methods, it certainly took a long time to get here.”
“…I also didn't anticipate it would be this difficult.”
As Alon briefly reminisced about his time playing Psychedelia, Evan voiced another query.
“So, who is responsible for this unsettling place?”
“A man named Palaon built it.”
The Whispering Labyrinth.
Alon remembered that within the online gaming communities, it was mockingly dubbed Palaon’s Water Rocket Labyrinth.
“Palaon, you say?”
“Let us proceed.”
Ignoring further questions, Alon walked into the mouth of the labyrinth, followed by a tense and wary Evan.
Soon, the entrance was empty once more.
***
Screeeeech~!!!!
Crack! Crackle! Crunch!
A Hell Gargoyle, a beast usually only encountered during the mid-game of Psychedelia, was currently being pulverized. It looked as though a massive stone press had descended from the ceiling to crush the life out of it.
Evan’s complexion turned ghostly pale as he watched.
“O…”
Witnessing such a formidable creature—one he could never hope to best in single combat—die so helplessly and violently was enough to rattle even a veteran mercenary like himself.
What truly set Evan’s heart racing, however, was the sight of an identical massive stone hanging directly over their own heads.
Evan glanced at Alon.
Despite the reality that a single mistake in solving the labyrinth's puzzles would result in a death as grisly as the Gargoyle’s, Alon remained perfectly calm. He waited for the path to clear, seemingly unbothered by the mortal peril.
Alon’s behavior only deepened Evan’s curiosity. Typically, even the most secretive magician would reveal a glimpse of their true self after four years of working together.
During those years, Evan had assisted Alon in numerous endeavors.
He had rescued orphans, dismantled criminal rings, aided enslaved girls, and settled the debts of old men. He had even delivered cryptic messages to various contacts. He had performed every task asked of him.
Yet, after all that, Evan felt he didn't know Alon at all. None of the missions Alon assigned seemed to point toward a clear ultimate goal.
The only consistent thread was Alon’s ongoing care for the children they saved, ensuring they were placed in proper orphanages. Beyond that, Alon was a complete mystery.
Evan wondered how Alon knew of such locations despite never leaving the Palatio lands, or how he understood the internal logic of this nightmare-inducing labyrinth well enough to solve its riddles.
Nevertheless, a strange sense of trust had taken root in Evan. He followed Alon into this suspicious place because, ultimately, Alon’s actions always seemed to result in a greater good.
Still, his fascination remained. Evan watched Alon with a mix of awe and suspicion while the Young Master inspected the room with an air of indifference.
In reality, Alon was simply forcing himself to look away so he wouldn't have to see the mangled remains of the gargoyle.
Screeeeech~!
As the gargoyle’s execution finished, the door swung open. Alon let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Though he lacked combat power, he had dared to enter this mid-level labyrinth because of his meta-knowledge. This place consisted of eight puzzle chambers. By knowing the solutions, he could bypass every encounter.
To a Psychedelia veteran, these puzzles were impossible to forget. This was one of the few locations players could farm repeatedly for experience without taking the final reward. Alon had ground levels here in countless playthroughs, allowing him to navigate to the end with ease.
Leading an exhausted Evan—who was drained despite the lack of fighting—Alon entered the final chamber. He approached an ancient table and retrieved a simple ring.
The ring was so plain that it looked worthless; it lacked any visible magical aura, and most would have been disappointed by it.
However, Alon’s lips curled into a smile. He was certain this was the "Constraint" he required. He didn't mind its humble appearance.
“…Eh? Young Master, that ring just…”
This item wasn't a standard artifact; it functioned like a rare elixir that vanished into the user’s body upon activation.
“We have what we came for. Let’s leave.”
As the ring faded from his palm, Alon turned to exit. Evan, still wearing a look of bewilderment, scrambled to follow him. As they reached the sunlight, the labyrinth behind them went dormant, its purpose fulfilled.
But as they stepped outside, a new obstacle awaited them.
“…Did you predict this as well?”
A phalanx of armed, humanoid golems now blocked their path. They hadn't been there when they entered.
“Those golems… they are the stone piles we passed earlier…”
Realizing the trap, Evan gripped his sword hilt tightly, his muscles tensing for battle.
“I will take care of this.”
“Pardon?”
Evan looked at Alon, confused by the statement. Before he could voice his doubt—
“The Constraint is now active.”
The words fell coldly from Alon’s lips.
***
Inside the carriage returning to the Altia Duke’s home, Roria sighed deeply, her heart heavy with despair as the estate grew closer. A bitter, mocking smile touched her lips.
Her thoughts drifted to the man from the ball: Alon, the third son of the Palatio house.
That was merely his mask. The secret whispers among the elite claimed he had orchestrated the deaths of his two elder brothers—notorious underworld figures—and had dismantled the Avalon organization, which dominated the east, in a single night.
He was the true power behind the Palatio name, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
After meeting him, Roria was convinced the rumors were understated. The chilling level of self-control he maintained at the ball was not the mark of an ordinary noble.
She thought of her father, the Duke of Altia. He was known as the "Noble One" for his ability to manipulate both the Royalist and Noble factions like puppets. He was a man one never crossed.
Her father was a man who never let his emotions slip, always making cold, calculated decisions. His eyes were hauntingly similar to Alon’s.
This was why Roria had reached out to Alon as her final hope, and why she felt she had failed.
In truth, the rejection didn't surprise her. One look into Alon’s eyes told her he was not a man moved by simple pity or tears. Yet, she had begged anyway, because she had nothing else to trade.
Her only "power" was the fleeting affection and mercy of the Duke. Every time she tried to build something for herself, her wretched relatives tore it down. She was helpless, and thus, unable to secure her savior.
Perhaps she was the only one who viewed him as a lifeline. No sane person would enter a deal where the danger clearly outweighed the profit.
She knew the reality of her situation. Despite not yet being an adult, she had spent her life fighting for a scrap of influence against her cruel family. She understood the logic of the world: every interaction was a balance of gain and loss.
As Roria watched the estate grounds pass by, she remembered the strange, parting words Alon had spoken. Roughly thirty minutes after she stepped back into the mansion…
“…What did you just say?”
“Lady Faylin and Lord Kigg… they have both passed away!”
A maid informed her that two of the siblings who had made her life a living hell had committed suicide. Roria stood frozen, overwhelmed by the news. Her family members were the type to murder one another, not themselves.
The idea of them taking their own lives was logically impossible.
Sensing a dark design at work, Roria suddenly recalled the face of the third son of the Palatio family. No, she recalled the words of the true mastermind who had cleared his own path to power by eliminating his kin.
A violent shiver ran down her spine.