Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 116

Chapter 116

The title “Wizard” is familiar to any practitioner of magic. In a sense, Wizards were the progenitors of modern mages, figures who walked the world during the lost age of deities. Each was a formidable being, capable of warping the very fabric of reality to their will.

Yet, beyond this fundamental truth, knowledge was scarce, lost to the passage of time. While numerous relics from the ‘Era of Forgotten Gods’ are still unearthed, those connected to Wizards are conspicuously absent. The remnants of their craft are now referred to as ‘primitive magic,’ a field considered unglamorous, having been exhaustively studied a century ago by a single academic.

Silicaman, a mage of the seventh tier, captivated by the legends of Wizards, dedicated immense resources and the efforts of his students to researching them. They eventually learned to wield ancient magic through specific phrases and symbols. This was an achievement in itself, but the issue was that the magic they uncovered was far more crude than they had hoped.

The channeling of magical energy was imprecise, causing the spells to manifest erratically and with agonizing slowness. To make matters worse, despite these significant flaws, the resulting power was underwhelming.

Although they had successfully replicated the Wizard’s magic, it felt incomplete, as if a vital component was missing. The official ruling from the academy was that Wizard magic was not currently a viable pursuit.

Consequently, among mages, it was gradually forgotten, dismissed as ‘primitive magic.’ Only a handful of Silicaman’s disciples, still clinging to their fascination with Wizards, continued to use one or two of the inherited phrases.

In the present day, most mages are unaware that primitive magic even involves these specific phrases or symbols.

For Celaime Mikardo, however, this historical context was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was… the possibility that Marquis Palatio was a Wizard…!? Potentially, a Wizard from the forgotten era who could provide the key to his advancement from the eighth to the ninth tier!

Admittedly, his theory was speculative, but he was convinced based on the evidence. Marquis Palatio had passed effortlessly through a gate that had stumped everyone else, and he appeared to read phrases that even Celaime could not decipher.

More compelling than anything else was ‘that entity’ on his back, a being that seemed to operate entirely outside this world’s laws.

Furthermore, the Marquis had already employed more than five phrases with a perfection and delicacy matching modern magic—a feat the seventh-tier Silicaman could never accomplish.

It would be impossible for a man barely past twenty, unless he was truly a mage from antiquity.

‘Looking back, the mysteries from my investigation of him now start to make sense,’ Celaime thought, recalling a perplexing incident from his inquiries into the Marquis.

Within a few short years, the former Count and his first and second sons had all died under strange circumstances, and the vast underworld organization they controlled was obliterated in a single day.

While rumors swirled that Marquis Palatio Alon was responsible, there were many doubts, given his youth and the fact that the massive syndicate, Avalon, had been dismantled in a day without any visible struggle.

Celaime had always felt something was off. But, if the assumption that Marquis Palatio was a Wizard held true, then those underworld thugs would be nothing more than insects to a being who could freely twist and overturn reality.

So, ‘Did he take over a body? Is it possession, or perhaps an artifact? Could it be a form of reincarnation magic from the ancient times? Why is he hiding his identity? Is there a reason? No matter, it is of no consequence.’

Celaime Mikardo, his eyes glinting with a trace of madness, resolved, ‘I will befriend him without causing any annoyance. I will become his friend and learn his magic. That is how I will reach the ninth tier!’

He let out a low, unsettling chuckle.

‘What’s wrong with him all of a sudden?’

Parkline, observing this, felt a wave of unease, though he also felt a sliver of concern.

***

Just as Celaime was becoming absorbed in this strange deduction, Alon was showing the Kalgunias Pact Ring to Heinkel.

[It seems to be outright refusing the summons, doesn’t it?]
“What is the correct procedure in this situation?”
[The method to draw it from the ring is straightforward. Do not simply flood it with magic. Instead, distribute the energy lightly and focus it solely into the symbol.]

Alon followed Heinkel’s guidance, directing his magic only into the symbol. The ring began to shiver.
“Q-” For the first time, the summoning worked, though the result was minuscule.
“……What?”
Alon stared in confusion at the snake coiled on his arm. It was unmistakably ‘the Receiver, Basiliora,’ but it was a mere fraction of its usual size—perhaps one ten-thousandth.

[When you wish to conserve power and summon a familiar merely for conversation, this is the technique. A summons of this nature cannot be refused.] Heinkel’s explanation cleared up the immediate question.
But that clarity was short-lived.
“You wretched human! Confining me to this ring!! Release me this instant!!”
“I do not know the method to release you.”
“Ha- Do you imagine I will act according to your whims?! Never! I will never answer your call or obey your commands!!!!”
Perched on his arm, the tiny Basiliora was practically foaming at the mouth with fury.
‘I anticipated resistance, but not to this degree.’
“Release me—release me now!!!!!!” Basiliora continued his tirade, oblivious to his predicament.
It was clear to anyone that he was utterly defiant.
Frankly, Alon wanted to strike him, but since spirits are intangible, he forced himself to remain calm.
‘What incentives can I offer him.’
He had prepared extensively for the possibility of Basiliora’s rebellion.

[May I ask you a question?] Heinkel interjected suddenly.
“Yes.”
[Did you seek me out because of that ring, rather than just for general guidance?]
“I desired guidance, but the ring was the primary reason for my visit today.”
[Would you permit me to hold onto it for a short while?]
“This ring?”
[Yes. I will adjust it for you.]
Her tone was thick with amusement.
“Is that acceptable?”
[Of course. It is no great difficulty for me.]
“Then I would be grateful for your assistance.” Alon respectfully handed over the ring.
“Release me!!! I demand you let me out, you primitive human!!!!!!!!!!”
[Return for it tomorrow.] She smiled and gave a wave of her hand.
“Then I will take my leave until tomorrow.” Alon bowed and departed, leaving the ring with her.

Consumed by hatred over Alon’s deception, Basiliora, trapped within the Kalgunias Pact Ring, seethed. His rage was directed not only at Alon but also at the Thunder Serpent tribe, whom he now realized had a hand in his capture, and he vowed to slaughter them all upon his escape.
“Release me, you hollow soul! If you do, I will-”
His resolve was unshaken, and the moment Alon was gone, he tried to confront the spirit before him. But
[AAAAAHHHHHH-!!!!!!!!!!]
“!?”
In that instant, Heinkel let out a sudden, piercing scream, freezing Basiliora in place.
KRACKKKK~!
“!!”
Basiliora watched as books filled the space, tumbling down like rain from the vibrations emitted by the spirit.
Then, snatching up a wooden puppet that had appeared from somewhere, Heinkel gripped it.
[What is this, appearing from nowhere?]
After only a moment of confusion, she lifted what she held.
[WHY!!!! MUST!!!! I SUFFER!!!! THIS!!!!!]
CRACK!
She slammed it violently onto the floor.
The wooden puppet bent double. Unsatisfied, she grabbed a heavy, ancient tome from among the fallen books.
[EEEEKKKKAAAAAAHHHHH!!!]
She began to batter the puppet with the book’s hard corner.
Bang! Bang! Crunch! Thud!
With every impact, the puppet dented and splintered.
Crack-!
Soon its head shattered, fragments flying in all directions. Yet, Heinkel, seemingly still not content, propped the puppet on a shelf and drove her fist into it.
Thud!
The puppet let out a sickening creak. Despite the brutality, it was the sight of the half-crazed spirit headbutting the puppet’s neck that made Basiliora shrink back.
[Huff huff~!]
Heinkel, displaying a physical strength unbefitting a mage, continued to decimate the wooden puppet amidst the literary chaos, her breathing heavy. Seeing her eerie eyes, Basiliora ventured cautiously, “Um, excuse me, perhaps you should first calm down—”
…Should he say it? Should he speak up? Basiliora hesitated.
Even imprisoned, he was a god of immense pride. He began to debate whether using honorifics for a mere spirit was proper. “What did you say, you insignificant—?”
It was a critical error.
Crunch!
Heinkel moved at the speed of light, seizing him before he could finish.
[Now, who do you suppose is to blame for all of this?]
Her gaze was icy. Before he could even process the shock of his sealed form being physically grabbed, Basiliora recoiled from the intense murderous intent. Almost as if his pride was wounded by his own fear, he raised his voice—
“Whose fault? I have done nothing!!!”
[…]
Heinkel’s expression grew even more terrifying. Basiliora, hesitating, added, “Uh… uh, just a moment—”
The archmage, with a sinister smile, tightened her grip on Basiliora and moved toward the mutilated puppet.
“Uh, wait a moment—”
[Yes, you are correct. Our little snake is blameless. I believe that as well.]
“No, wait? Hello?”
[……]
“Alright, it was my fault!” Basiliora, realizing the grave danger he was in, desperately switched to formal speech.
[So, may I simply use you to vent my frustration? Is that acceptable?]
Heinkel wrapped her fist around his body like a belt and then smashed him down onto the puppet.
“Wait, wait! Let’s talk, use words! We are not beasts, we are intellectual beings— AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH~!!!!”
Basiliora’s agonized scream reverberated throughout the library.
…It lasted until morning.

***

The following day, Alon set out to attend a lecture given by the Blue Tower Master. He wanted to hear the tower masters speak, as Milan had suggested the day before.
Since his meeting with Heinkel was set for the evening, he had free time during the day.
Unfortunately, “I apologize, but the registration is closed and all seats are filled. Entry is not possible.”
The lecture was fully booked, and he could not attend.
‘I was unaware a reservation was required.’
He let out a brief sigh as he watched other mages present their papers and enter.
“Is it possible I could stand at the rear and listen?”
“No. While you are a Marquis and a noble, this institution is dedicated to the equal study of magic for all. Such preferential treatment is not permitted.”
He felt a twinge of disappointment but asked anyway, only to receive an immediate and firm refusal. The response was so cold and brisk it caused a flicker of irritation, but it was a rule he couldn’t change. He was about to leave when, “Marquis Palatio?”
“……Tower Master?” Alon found himself face-to-face with the Blue Tower Master.
“Ah, greetings! Blue Tower Master.”
“Ah, yes.”
The mage who had just been so cold-faced was now looking at Celaime with eyes full of reverence. Celaime acknowledged the greeting casually.
“No, why is Your Excellency here?”
“…?”
Suddenly, he was using formal speech to address Alon. Briefly puzzled, Alon decided to answer the question.
“I had some free time and thought I would attend a lecture.”
“My lecture?”
“Yes.”
“Gasp-“
“?”
“This is a tremendous honor! That Your Excellency would wish to attend my lecture!”
At this, Celaime broke into a wide grin, leaving Alon bewildered. Alon knew the Blue Tower Master cared little for authority, but also that he was notoriously rigid when it came to magical protocol.
“Come in, come in! You there! Quickly, let him pass.”
“What? But the seats are already—”
“Is this not my lecture?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then what are you waiting for! Quickly, allow him entry!”
Because of this.
‘…Why is he behaving this way?’
Alon was speechless, “????”
The other mages waiting in line to attend the Tower Master’s lecture also looked on with utterly confused expressions.