Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 124

Chapter 124
Duke Komalon—■■■—drifted into thoughts of a time long gone.

Memories so ancient they had lost their vividness, now just echoes of what once was.

These pieces of the past only came to him on the rare occasions the Duke slipped into a dream.

They were flashes from his days as an apprentice, studying under a True Mage.

“Make sure you finish all your vegetables.”

“You must practice manifestation every day without fail.”

“We should take a walk outside.”

“■■ was significantly more skilled than you! Why did I end up with such a useless pupil?”

The recollections drifting through his consciousness were ordinary.
They consisted of simple times: eating meals with his master, receiving reprimands about his magical studies, taking strolls together, and his master standing up for him, even when he was considered less promising than the others.

These were common memories, the kind anyone might possess, plain and uneventful.

Still, to Duke Komalon, these fragments held a value greater than any treasure.

Yet, the Duke, ■■■, did not hold these memories dear.

Because without fail, they always led back to one specific instant.

The scenes in his mind would shift, and—

“There is no other choice. From the instant this world’s soul overflowed, our path was set.”

His master’s voice would ring out, just as it did now.

“!”

Jolted by that well-known voice, the Duke was pulled from his thoughts.

Aware he had briefly faded from awareness, he swiftly took stock of his physical state.

His situation was grave. His right arm was missing, and a massive wound pierced his stomach.

But the Duke’s attention was fixed on something else.

He raised his head to look ahead.

There stood a man in a dark coat, covered in grime, looking down at him with a face empty of any feeling. It was Marquis Palatio.

Like the Duke, this incomplete Mage was standing in his way, within a world reduced to ash.

“How did you manage to invoke a Sentence?”

Marquis Palatio’s voice was completely flat.

The Duke could not make sense of it.

There was no question the Marquis had employed a Sentence.

“Even if it bypassed Formula or Manifestation, that was unquestionably a Sentence. How can you—another flawed Mage—accomplish such a thing?”

It was an enigma that defied logic.

The Marquis had executed a Sentence.

Without mastering Formula or attaining true Manifestation, he had still called upon its power.

But this did not elevate Palatio to the rank of a complete Mage.

No matter his understanding of Sentences or his ability to Manifest, without command over Formula, he could never be a True Mage.

He remained, undeniably, an unfinished Mage.

An unfinished Mage, just like the Duke, who had been given Sentences by a Mage.

“…Hah.”

And still, the Duke could not fathom it.

■■■ ■ released a bleak, humorless laugh.

“You, who were even entrusted with a Sentence—why do you stand against me? Against me, who bears the legacy of all Mages?”

The Marquis must have witnessed it as well.

The world’s impending doom.

The unavoidable catastrophe.

And he must have understood.

That the True Mages had offered everything to save this world from destruction.

This notion drew a pained laugh from the Duke.

Facing this incomplete Mage who aimed to unravel the world that all the True Mages had died to protect, he felt an overwhelming despair.

So, as he started to form the hand seal—

“…”

A sudden, instinctual alarm made him throw up a defensive barrier.

And then—

*Boom!*

As he was hurled into the earth, what came into view was—

“Master~! You took your time!”

—a figure drenched in blood, who had smashed the ideals the Duke had so carefully built.

However, the Duke’s mission remained unchanged by her arrival on the battlefield.

“Convergence.”

The Duke, ■■■, formed a seal with the intent to kill.

***

The fight raged on.

“Point, dispersion, scattering, firmament.”

From Duke Komalon’s mouth poured a continuous river of spells.

This was the magic he had built over hundreds of years of living in seclusion, perfecting his art.

A form of magic distinct to him, developed to compensate for his natural shortcomings.

In the bleak, ashen landscape, a galaxy of stars materialized.

Though he had not been bequeathed a Sentence, it was this very lack that allowed him to develop such prowess.

Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of glowing spheres ascended, creating a storm of meteors that plunged towards the ground.

With them arose a dim memory, one that only appeared in his dreams.

A voice spoke inside his head.

“■■■, it is a good thing you never became a True Mage.”

Even as the memory and its accompanying voice appeared, the magical onslaught descended upon the beast-kin who had destroyed his ideals.

It fell upon the unfinished Mage who sought to nullify the purpose of the True Mages.

“If you are not a Mage, it is a meaningless death. That is why I am passing this duty to you.”

The voice from the faint recollection echoed in his mind.

And then—

*Crackle!*

Amidst bursts of golden lightning—

“Clear sky.”

The Marquis moved effortlessly through the magic, his demeanor so calm it seemed he faced no danger at all.

“You must live. You must guard this world. The world for which we Mages sacrificed our lives.”

The Duke remembered his master’s last words to him.

A memory he had long kept buried.

“Haah—”

Letting out a short, tired breath, Duke Komalon stared forward.

He was aware.

The speed of his incantations was vastly superior. The rate at which he materialized his magic was equally beyond compare.

By every metric, he was the more powerful of the two.

And yet, his spells could not touch his adversary.

The magical arts he had refined over centuries were useless against this other unfinished Mage, who was his equal in that regard.

This encounter was proving no different.

“…”

Duke Komalon watched him intently.

The Marquis had accumulated several new, though minor, wounds. The floor was strewn with the broken remnants of countless glass vials.

But the Marquis’s face was impassive, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his dust-covered dark coat, his stance unyielding.

In comparison, the Duke’s state was critical.

The injury to his right hand, sustained in a moment of distraction, was slowly sapping his power. The grievous wound in his abdomen was unmistakably stealing his life away.

Yet, even with death approaching, his expression showed no suffering.

Instead, he gave a slight, weary smile and spoke.

“You are aware of this, aren’t you?”

He said it with composure.

“How pointless your struggle is.”

He began to explain.

“Even having inherited a Sentence… if you lived but did not receive its core, you must realize. Soon, those beings will awaken, and the world will face its end.”

His tone was stripped of all feeling.

“When the souls reach their capacity, we have less than half a year. If we do not impose order upon this world and its people within that time, they will rise.”

There was no anger in his words.

“You know this. And still, will you truly make the sacrifices of the True Mages, who gave their all to shield this world, count for nothing?”

His speech was measured.

Resolute.

He simply posed the question.

But even confronted with the Duke’s inquiry, the Marquis’s visage showed no change.

As if the words had no effect, no meaning to him.

The Marquis, completely devoid of emotion, finally spoke.

“Am I the one who is invalidating the sacrifices of the True Mages?”

His voice was neutral, inquiring.

The Duke released another bitter chuckle.

“You must understand. This world continues to exist solely because of the sacrifices made by the True Mages.”

***

The Marquis said nothing, his eyes still fixed on Duke Komalon.

His stare was tranquil.

Yet, strangely, it seemed to hold a current of fury.

Alon pushed his tired mind to think in that split second.

Was the Duke’s claim the truth?

He had no way of knowing.

Then, was it a deception?

He could not be sure of that either.

The unfortunate fact was that Alon was not the unfinished Mage the Duke assumed him to be.

He was merely an interloper—a being from outside.

Someone who had first experienced this world as a game named Psychedelia.

Someone ignorant of this world’s secret history.

In the truest meaning, he was just an outsider.

Because of this, he could not form a verdict.

The statements of the man before him—

The words of an unfinished Mage—

He could not determine their truth or falsehood.

“Answer me. Do you have a method to ensure the sacrifices of the True Mages are not in vain?”

Alon stayed silent in reply to Duke Komalon’s question.

Even if every word the Duke spoke was accurate, Alon lacked the authority to decide.

He was not remarkable enough to instantly discern the truth—or the lie—of a world he was still beginning to comprehend.

He was, ultimately, just an outsider.

But there was one thing Alon was sure about.

One decision he could make.

The man in front of him needed to be halted, here and now.

Because Duke Komalon’s goal involved the eradication of humanity—or some other vast, terrible design.

“I understand.”

The Duke spoke softly into Alon’s silence.

Alon, once more, gave no response.

The two looked at one another and started forming their hand seals at the same time.

Both had reached the same conclusion.

Further talk was pointless.

Alon assessed his remaining mana.

The potions he had consumed earlier had already allowed his mana to restore considerably during their short pause.

In that moment, both of them began to chant their spells in unison.

“Diffraction.”

“Blossom.”

This conflict was no longer about justice or its opposite.

“Point.”

“Flourish.”

It was not a battle to decide who was righteous.

“Condense.”

“Cultivate.”

Nor was it to determine who was evil.

“Annihilation.”

“Disperse.”

This was simply a violent meeting of two conflicting wills.

As their respective magics reached their peak—

“I will eliminate you and fulfill my goal. The dreams of the True Mages, my—”

Duke Komalon spoke.

“Conviction.”

And he unleashed his spell.

The petals floating around him abruptly expanded outwards, eating away at the very air and wiping the surroundings clean as if with a cloth.

Within the spread of that all-consuming magical blossom, Alon remained standing.

For a very short moment, he considered.
And then—

“I,”

He whispered.

“Refuse.”

He snapped his fingers.

Then, with a piercing white noise that felt like it would consume the hearing of anyone present—

The two wills smashed together.

The beliefs of two unfinished Mages met in a cataclysmic impact.