Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 125

Chapter 125
The Duke stared into nothingness.

His eyes beheld a world reduced to cinders.

Then came the vision of infertile ground, where no plant could sprout—a void landscape from which all things had departed.

As the forms of people he knew began to materialize upon that wasteland, he understood: this was a recollection from long ago, a dim memory now difficult to grasp.

Yet, as time moved forward impartially, it had become a vision accessible only in dreams.

It was the very thing that had sustained his existence until this moment, and simultaneously, the shackles that tortured him from within his own mind.

The Duke could not tear his gaze away from the unfolding scene.

There, he recognized the familiar silhouettes of the True Mages.

Countenances emerged from among them, from a True Mage who had been present even before he became his master’s disciple, to those who had ascended around the same time as he did, and even those who, though they became disciples of other True Mages later, had achieved mastery more swiftly than he.

Across the arid earth, they all walked into the chasm.

What appeared next was the face of his master, wearing a smile.

Her expression was as full of compassion as it had ever been.

“It cannot be helped. The instant the soul of this world reaches its capacity, it becomes unavoidable,” she had told him.

If not for the tears tracing her cheeks, he might have believed it a happy moment.

“It is for the best that you did not become a True Mage.”

No, that was not it.

He should have become a True Mage.

He should have been of use.

That was his conviction, and it seemed the version of himself in the memory had voiced something similar.

What had he said?

He could not recall.

The memory was indistinct, but it seemed he had protested childishly, insisting on going with them.

Yet, unlike the forgotten words, the image of his master remained vivid in his mind.

“If you are not a True Mage, it is a meaningless death. Therefore, I entrust my back to you.”

His master’s face held a look of acceptance.

“Live, no matter what happens. Guard this world as we, the True Mages, have guarded it.”

As the final words from his master, who had once stood taller than him, were spoken, she patted his head. Then, his master and the True Mages left him behind and strode into the abyss—to stem the sin crawling forth from the roots.

To shield this world.

To safeguard humanity.

To protect the half mage, they departed and went to that place.

The final thing he perceived was a distorted, grotesque noise as his memory of the gray world warped violently, and the Duke coughed up blood.

With eyes devoid of strength, he surveyed his surroundings.

What met his gaze was still a world of ashes, and once more, the barren land.

Even so, he recognized that this place was not a blurred recollection of the past.

It resembled that bygone era, yet was undoubtedly different.

Duke Komalon—stood motionless, staring ahead.

Where the faded memory of the True Mages had been, a man now stood—a half mage whose face showed no feeling, silently gazing down at him.

The Marquis Palatio was standing there, looking down at the Duke.

The state of the Marquis’s body was clearly poor.

Though not easily seen before, the skin on his hands and neck visible beyond his black coat was tinged blue—a severe case of magic toxicity, to the point that one would expect hardening to have set in.

Was that all?

Most of the injuries near his discolored skin were minor, but a serious wound marred his right arm.

However, it did not make a deep impression on Duke Komalon.

“Cough.”

In the end, unlike the Marquis who remained standing, Duke Komalon himself was seated.

He looked downward.

A massive cavity gaped back.

A hole so vast that continuing to live as a human was impossible, despite his abyssal body, punched directly through the center of his abdomen.

“Ha-” The Duke let out an involuntary laugh.

He did not know why he was laughing.

Was his mind slipping into madness?

Or was it a feeling of release, finally being unburdened from a heavy weight?

What could it be?

Why would that be?

Truthfully, Duke Komalon understood perfectly why this hollow laugh had escaped his lips.

Exactly.

“Survive no matter what. Therefore, protect this world. We have,” he could now piece together, after centuries, what had been mere shards in his thoughts, not memories but blind imperatives.

“The world the True Mages protected.”

The memory of his master’s face that surfaced felt distant.

Within that distance lay another sentiment.

The emotions of remorse and sorrow.

He knew why his master had worn such an expression.

She had never truly expected him to protect the world.

His master did not believe he was capable of guarding the world.

He was too weak for such hopes.

Even he was aware that his master’s words were merely to soothe him, as he made impossible demands.

He may have lacked talent, but he was not ignorant.

But even if his master held no expectations, even if no one else did, he alone had vowed to protect the world that the True Mages had defended, as he watched them enter the abyss.

He swore not to let their sacrifice be wasted.

Yet, the irony was that the origin of this oath stemmed more from self-gratification than a lofty ideal.

A half mage who had never received recognition, yearning to be acknowledged as a True Mage.

A pledge made so he could proudly consider and proclaim himself one of their number.

Even if no one else acknowledged him, he wanted to believe it himself.

Thus, the smile that formed on his lips was one of self-derision.

“In the end, am I merely a half mage?”

He spat blood and let out a chuckle without meaning to.

Because he had achieved nothing.

Just as his master had foreseen.

As the True Mages had anticipated.

He released a dry sigh and realized his sight was growing hazy.

The death he had delayed for countless years for a single purpose was now drawing near.

“Duke.”

Amidst this, a voice called to him, and he turned his head.

There stood the Marquis Palatio, looking down at him with the same unreadable expression as before.

He was about to speak.

“You are, without doubt, a True Mage.”

A gentle statement.

He could not comprehend why the Marquis would say such a thing.

But regardless of his intentions.

“…uggg”

He could not suppress a faint smile.

Whatever the intention, the words were profoundly sweet to the Duke.

Even if the Marquis’s utterance was a falsehood, they were words he had longed to hear.

And so, the Duke, smiling, spoke:

“Go to the southern border of the east end. With the crest you were given, you may find assistance. You may also witness the truth.”

He closed his eyes as a form of recompense.

As the abyss drew near, his awareness gradually began to slip into slumber.

And finally, what he recalled was, ironically, his final memory.

The last thing he had been unable to remember until this very end.

—Survive no matter what. Therefore, protect this world. The world the True Mages protected.

The last words his master had spoken.

—You are a True Mage.

That was the final memory he recovered as his consciousness was completely submerged.

“Is that so, did you have faith in me…”

Finally, the Half Mage slipped into an endless sleep, a slight smile resting on his lips.

And the ‘eyes’ that the Half Mage had never beheld quietly observed his passing.

***

Three days had elapsed since Duke Komalon perished and the artificial Outer God crisis, which had threatened to annihilate the entire Kingdom of Ashtalon, was resolved.

In the end, the Kingdom of Ashtalon had found tranquility once more.

Although numerous nobles died at the ball hosted by Duke Komalon, and several territories were utterly destroyed, sowing disorder, the immediate danger had truly been quelled.

Other nations where artificial Outer Gods had emerged also found peace, having defeated them around the time of the Duke’s death.

Within this newfound calm, “I’m going to die,” moaned Marquis Palatio, Alon, who had been enduring terrible agony throughout his body for three straight days.

It was to be expected, considering he had consumed thirteen bottles of magic potions during his confrontation with the Duke.

His magic reserves had undoubtedly expanded, and the effectiveness of his magic had improved dramatically, even if he had not employed many self-manifesting spells.

Nonetheless, the fight with Duke Komalon had forced him to wield more power than his limits should allow.

“Sigh,” the pain was unrelenting.

As Alon groaned, Evan, who was attending to him, remarked, “But isn’t this an improvement? The priest said you could have died as you were. It’s a mercy, truly. Until yesterday, you could barely speak, but now you can form words.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Alon recalled the priest who had tentatively inquired previously, “Might it be that you are not human?”

The priest had declared it a miracle he hadn’t perished from the extreme magic poisoning.

“Still, you should perhaps be more cautious about such matters from now on, Marquis.”

“I would prefer to be,” Alon replied.

“You throw yourself into too many perilous situations.”

“Are you concerned?”

“Naturally.”

“Is it because you have to accompany me?”

“Hmm, to be honest, that is part of it,” Evan said in jest, which prompted an internal smile from Alon.

“Master!”

Suddenly, Seolrang burst through the doorway.

“Are you alright?”

The moment Seolrang saw Alon, she hurried to his side.

“I’m fine… more or less,” Alon nodded, but then his eyes fell upon Seolrang’s collarbone.

A significant wound, not there before and apparently not healed by the priest, marked the spot.

“That injury—”

“Oh, this? I failed to evade an attack properly last time, and this is the result! But it’s alright, Master! It doesn’t hurt!”

Seolrang dismissed it lightly, as if a wound from a misstep was unimportant, but Alon’s expression, behind its impassive mask, was complex.

Regardless of her perspective, that injury was a consequence of Seolrang attempting to aid Alon.

“I am sorry.”

“Huh? Why are you apologizing, Master? It was simply my error,” Seolrang appeared genuinely puzzled, but Alon’s focus remained on the wound.

“It is a wound you received trying to assist me. And it may leave a scar, making it appear unsightly. I feel remorseful.”

At this, Seolrang’s smile faded briefly as she looked at her collarbone.

From her right collarbone to the edge of her shoulder, she studied the mark, then turned her gaze to Alon.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“What is your opinion, Master?”

“My opinion?”

“Yes, Master, do you believe this scar makes me look unattractive?”

Faced with Seolrang’s question, Alon was silent for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then it is fine!”

“Is it?”

Though his face showed no change, Alon felt internally bewildered.

“Yes, as long as it does not appear strange to you, Master, I do not care at all!”

Seolrang declared cheerfully, her smile returning, and Alon felt an unexpected pang in his heart.

“Huh?”

Evan looked at Alon’s face, startled.

Even though it was exceedingly subtle, Alon was definitely smiling.

Evan, who had served him for almost ten years and had never witnessed even the slightest shift in his expression, was momentarily astonished.

Shortly after, Alon saw Seolrang off as she left to receive treatment, and then greeted an unanticipated visitor who had come to see him.

The troublemaker, Karsem, had arrived for a visit.

In truth, aside from accompanying Seolrang, he had no ties to him.

‘Why is he here…’

“Are you well, sir…!”

“???”

Witnessing a member of the Colony royalty suddenly bowing with the utmost deference, Alon could not help but feel perplexed once again.