Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 172

Chapter 172
“Oh? Is that truly so shocking?”

“Emil…!?”

Rine stared in stunned silence. The Apostle of Greed laughed lightly, seeming to take pleasure in her disbelief.

Her demeanor was that of someone meeting a familiar acquaintance.

However.

…

Evan, whose expression had been relaxed just seconds before, instantly unsheathed his sword at Rine’s alarmed response.

Though not yet a Master, his instincts screamed that the sudden arrival was a grave threat.

Just as his alertness peaked—

*Thud!*

“Agh—!?”

A sharp impact struck the base of Evan’s skull, making him stagger.

“?”

Realizing Rine’s golden crown had been the source of the blow, Evan’s face filled with bewilderment.

“Forgive me. This is the only way.”

As Rine’s voice grew distant, Evan’s consciousness faded.

“My, how resourceful. Or is there another motive?”

“Quiet.”

Rine shot a fierce glare at the Apostle of Greed’s mocking tone.

Without a second thought, she used the golden crown to transport Evan to a safer position.

“Why such anger? I didn’t think we were on such poor terms.”

“Do you honestly believe this is the time for that?”

“Naturally. Who was it, do you recall, that first showed you how to access the ‘Library’?”

“……!”

The Library.

Hearing that word, Rine’s body gave a slight, involuntary jolt.

“I never wanted anything like that…!”

“Are you certain?”

Emil let out an amused chuckle.

Rine’s face contorted with frustration, her lips pressing into a thin line as if further talk was pointless.

፡፡

-!

In that instant, golden eyes, previously concealed, now shone brightly.

*Crash!*

Golden crowns hurtled toward Emil, tearing violently through the nearby pillars and marble floor.

Their speed was breathtaking.

Yet.

“Hmm— I had read the reports, but you truly do possess fascinating artifacts, Rine. If I were to guess, their origin is the Ilaneph Empire?”

The golden crowns, which should have pierced the Apostle’s body through, halted impotently the instant they touched her.

*Clang!*

A malevolent energy emanated from the Apostle, and branches materialized from the air, intercepting the assault.

“!”

Rine’s frown deepened.

But Emil, the Apostle of Greed, merely smirked and gave a casual flick of her fingers.

Simultaneously, the very branches that had blocked the crowns began to creep across their surface like parasitic vines, starting to infest them.

“!”

Rine swiftly withdrew the golden crown.

“What a pity.”

Despite her words, Emil’s tone held no real regret.

As though merely entertaining Rine, she made no aggressive moves, only defending against the onslaught.

Even as confusion over Emil’s sudden appearance swirled inside her, Rine concentrated on finding a path to victory.

‘What’s the best move?’
If this were an open area and not a confined underground space, she would be wary, but not fearful.

In the open, she could unleash Pluto without restraint.

Even then, she wasn’t confident of victory.

A decade ago, perhaps, but now—she knew exactly who stood before her.

But here, underground.

The chamber was far too cramped to properly utilize Pluto.

She could attempt it if she were willing to risk the entire cavern collapsing.

Rine was sure she could survive the cave-in.

The real issue was—

Alon and Evan.

If she was careless, Alon and Evan would be caught in the devastation.

Rine’s mind raced, desperately seeking a solution to the deadlock.

But.

The Apostle of Greed simply observed Rine with an air of mild curiosity.

As if waiting to see what choice Rine would ultimately make.

***

Meanwhile, in the ashen realm.

“Answer me, mage. I asked if you were the one who summoned me.”

The sheer coldness in Kylrus’s stare forced Alon to collect his wits and reply.

“……………It is true I called you, but I have no knowledge of this place.”
“You don’t know?”
“That’s correct.”

Kylrus frowned.
As if probing for falsehood, he stared intently at Alon before suddenly drawing a straight line in the air with his index finger.

*Rumble~!*

The blue magic flowing from his hand, different from what he had used in the labyrinth, sliced through the empty space before vanishing.
Seeing this, Kylrus let out a disappointed sigh.

“What foolishness are you speaking, mage? It’s impossible that you don’t know this place.”
“What does that mean?”
“……You truly are ignorant, aren’t you? How did you accomplish such a feat with so little understanding?”
“……”
“I will explain this once, so listen well, brat.”

With that, he demoted Alon from ‘mage’ to a mere novice.

“This is a mental realm, separate from the physical world you inhabit. Every individual who has performed a great deed carries a unique world within.”
“Then… is this your mental realm?”

Alon thought his assumption was logical.
Recalling the tales of the Golden Dragon, Lanisius, he knew the mage before him had fought the Black Ones, regardless of his ultimate fate.

‘Could this be the world shaped by his battle with the Black Ones?’
Alon silently observed the devastated landscape around him.
The sheer ruin was enough to make him grasp the true peril of the Black Ones.

‘…The world from a thousand years ago is far more terrible than what I saw in the game.’
In ‘Psychedelia’, the Black Ones had wrought great damage upon the continent, but they were ultimately halted by figures like Eliban.
It had never escalated to this degree.
But in a world where the Black Ones were not stopped, the result was absolute desolation—total and complete annihilation.

Even Alon, usually detached, was momentarily stunned by the vision.

Then—
“…Ha.”
“?”

Kylrus let out a hollow, dry laugh.
“What nonsense are you spouting, brat? This mental realm—”

His next words were staggering.
“It’s yours.”

“…What?”
Alon’s jaw went slack, unable to process the statement.
“My… mental realm?”
“Yes. I, who have lost all, have no grounds to possess a mental realm.”

Kylrus scrutinized him with a look that said Alon didn’t understand the most fundamental things.
Then, after a casual glance around, he shrugged.

“Anyway, brat, this is your mental realm.”
“…You’re claiming this is the same kind of mental realm I know of?”
“Yes. Though in your case, you lack any formal structural knowledge, so it’s simply being molded by your most powerful memories.”

Kylrus’s explanation made Alon swallow his confusion and try to think—
But before he could—
“So, brat. Why did you summon me?”

The abrupt question stopped his thoughts.
After a brief pause, he answered.
“…I had questions.”
“Questions, is it.”

Kylrus stared at Alon for a long moment before saying—
“Speak. Be brief. You did manage to defeat me, so I will grant you that much.”

He moved slowly and seated himself upon a heap of rubble. His words urged Alon to proceed, though Alon hesitated, his mind full of things to ask.
“……”

After a moment’s consideration, Alon finally voiced his first question.
“…I heard from the Golden Dragon, Lanisius. That you were originally a mage.”

Kylrus’s expression shifted strangely at this.
“You met the Golden Dragon?”
“Yes.”
“So, he yet lives.”

When Alon nodded, Kylrus relaxed his previously furrowed brow and released a soft sigh.
“…That is good to know.”

A whisper so faint Alon almost missed it.
Alon briefly considered telling him how Lanisius had survived, but before he could decide—
“Well, no matter, brat. What you truly wish to know is why a mage like me became an Outer God, correct?”
“…Yes.”

Kylrus asked, and Alon nodded in reply.
“It’s simple—revenge.”
“…Revenge?”

The answer came swiftly, without a hint of hesitation.
“Yes. I cast aside everything and became a goblin for the sake of vengeance against the Black Ones.”

….
“…Is such a thing possible?”
“No. It is impossible—under ordinary circumstances.”

Kylrus’s brow furrowed as if remembering the past.
“In my fight with the Black Ones, I lost all that I had. My companions, my friends, everyone. Nothing remained around me but the dead.”
“I, too, was only barely alive, awaiting a death that was surely near.”
“……”
“But I did not want to die. I wanted revenge on the Black Ones who had slain my comrades and friends. I wanted to destroy them with my own hands.”

A strange light flickered in his eyes.
“I searched for a path to survival. I pushed my shattered mana core past its limits to keep myself alive and thinking. And in that moment, the goblins appeared.”

His expression, however, remained disturbingly calm.
“Hundreds, maybe thousands of goblins who had hidden underground, trembling before the Black Ones, emerged—”
“And they began to feast upon the corpses of my comrades.”

Kylrus’s eyes burned as if he were reliving that very instant.
It was then that Alon finally recognized the odd light in his gaze.

“A mage’s hand—the very one that had shared a joke just a day prior—was being crudely chewed in a goblin’s maw.”
“A mage’s head—the very one that had fretted over his apprentice just a day prior—was reduced to a toy for the goblins.”
“A young mage’s body—the very one that had dreamed of a future just a day prior—was shredded into scraps and fed to their young.”

And—

It was ‘fury’.

A silent, icy fury that burned all the hotter for its stillness.
“In that moment, watching those goblins consume the bodies of my comrades, I discovered my path to survival.”

The next words came from Alon’s own lips.
“…The goblins’ god.”

As if confirming that guess, Kylrus continued his story with an unnerving composure.
“I drained the last remnants of my mana and transformed myself into a goblin.”
“I slaughtered goblins with my broken mana core to instill terror.”
“I seized my comrades’ corpses from the goblins’ jaws—only to return them, earning their devotion.”
“I degraded my fallen comrades into mere slabs of meat—offering them to the ravenous goblins, forcing the flesh down their endless gullets to secure their worship.”

In that moment, the pieces fell into place in Alon’s mind.
Why Kylrus, once a mage, now bore the form of a goblin as an Outer God.
Why he could no longer wield the Death Shadow Dragon.

“My mental realm, my magic, my honor, my dignity, my comrades—”
“I abandoned it all,” Kylrus said, but then—

His voice trembled.
His face twisted.
“And I became the Outer God, Kylrus.”

Finally, Alon understood.
Where Kylrus’s strange, smoldering rage was truly aimed.
It wasn’t at the Black Ones.
It wasn’t at the goblins, either.
It was—
“That is the reason I still persist in this world as an Outer God.”

— ‘Self-loathing’.

The rage was not for his foes.
It was for himself—the one who had survived in such a wretched, degrading manner.

A profound and relentless hatred of his own being.
“……”

Alon could find no words to offer in reply.