Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 220

Chapter 220

 

Luraka was utterly perplexed.

Facing him was an Outer God with four arms and skin the color of night.

This entity had mercilessly devoured countless humans and, with a mere punch, had leveled Caliban’s forward base—a being of unfathomable might.

That very same figure, indisputably, now stood against the backdrop of the desolate world.

It naturally accepted the awe and dread projected by all the barbarians.

Nevertheless.

[You… why are you here?]

Luraka rubbed his eyes repeatedly.

He needed to verify the reality of the scene unfolding before him. He kept rubbing them.

Yet, the Outer God that had demolished the forward base with a single blow was visibly shaking.

It was even struggling to speak.

In stark contrast to the reverence it had commanded moments earlier, it now exhibited terror—directed at the individual standing opposite it.

The scenario was so bizarre that Luraka couldn’t even formulate a coherent question.

“….”

There was no time for contemplation.

‘What manner of being is this—’

The young woman smiled.

Yutia Bludia, who had remained utterly silent until this point, turned to the Outer God before her, and with a soft smile, raised a single finger.

In the next moment.

Pop—!

The head of the Outer God, which had been trembling just a second ago, abruptly detonated.

The overwhelming, inspiring power it had displayed to the barbarians seemed like a complete fabrication.

Its demise was too sudden—too pointless.

At that instant, a profound emptiness settled in the eyes of the barbarians.

Splat—

The headless form of the crumbling Outer God suddenly spasmed grotesquely, righted itself, and lunged a fist toward Yutia.

BOOOOOOOM—!!!!

The ground instantly convulsed, and the swirling snowstorm ceased.

The force of the strike was potent enough to fling dozens of barbarians through the air like lightweight foliage.

Then.

Neltar, the one who had delivered the blow, began regenerating his head.

In mere moments, his head was fully restored.

But his expression was one of profound desperation.

Yet, he quickly released a low, resolute growl, as if cementing his resolve.

[…Consider this carefully. You must know that engaging in combat here benefits neither of us.]

Neltar cautioned, his face grim.

For the first time, Yutia spoke.

“Why do you say that?”

[Even you won’t be able to defeat me without sustaining some injury, correct?]

“Then, do you genuinely believe I am incapable?”

A deep smile curved her lips.

Within it lay an absolute certainty.

Neltar’s face twisted further in distress.

Through this brief exchange, he understood completely.

Negotiation was no longer an option.

Thus.

[Why, for the love of—]

Neltar began to speak, unable to grasp the motivation behind this confrontation.

But—

“Unfortunately.”

Yutia maintained her profound smile.

“The One I attend to feels discomfort at the prospect of Outer Gods continuing to exist.”

And the instant those words left her mouth.

[Do you think I will perish so easily, without claiming something in return?!]

Neltar roared, raising his fist defiantly.

Then.

CRACK—!

Once more.

His head was instantly severed from his shoulders.

---

The barbarians stared ahead, paralyzed by the sight.

The chieftains, the warriors, and even Luraka.

Their eyes were now devoid of fear.

The feeling that now enveloped them was—

Awe.

A battle that consumed their entire view.

Merely witnessing it provoked the same, universal feeling in them all.

The black-skinned Outer God rushed at the young woman, swinging its fist violently.

Yet with a simple sidestep, Yutia effortlessly avoided the impact.

The ground shuddered as the blow smashed into the earth, transforming the snow into a localized blizzard and triggering a distant landslide.

As if mocking his efforts, she evaded the attack with one slight movement.

Furious, the Outer God yanked its fist from the soil and struck again.

Pop—!

Both of its arms instantly burst.

And not just the arms.

Its forearms.

Its legs.

Its abdomen.

Its shoulders.

Its chest.

And finally, its head.

In a split second.

As if it had never been whole, its body exploded into pieces, staining the surrounding snow with blood.

Yet even with its entire form annihilated—

BOOOOM—!

Neltar regenerated yet again, refusing to accept absolute death.

He swung at Yutia once more.

A struggle between the incomprehensible and the equally incomprehensible.

A conflict so grand it seemed like a myth recounted from the primordial age of the gods.

All observers were rendered speechless.

But.

The Outer God, Neltar, who was actively engaged in combat with Yutia—

‘This is beyond belief—!’

Was submerged in total disbelief.

From the start, he had possessed the knowledge.

Of the true nature of the being Yutia.

He couldn’t be ignorant.

No—he absolutely must not be unaware of it.

That young woman.

The girl who was treating him, an Outer God, like a mere distraction.

She was an accomplice of the dark entities that once drove the world to devastation.

The first progeny of the Blood of Ruin.

And the one who—

Pop—!

Neltar’s vision briefly faded to black before clarity returned.

Before him, the girl remained exactly where she was, showing no trace of fatigue, gazing down at him.

Confusion flooded his senses, overwhelming his thought process.

He could not fathom this.

Unlike other Outer Gods.

The moment he arrived, he had deliberately held back, opting instead to strike a pact with the barbarians to remain hidden.

He had waited until his manifestation was complete.

Now, as an Outer God perfectly embodied in this world, he confronted her.

And yet, despite all of that preparation—

‘Why is it that I can’t make contact with her?’

Neltar could not land a single touch on the girl.

Not even once.

Not a single strike connected.

It was profoundly abnormal.

He was not feeble.

Quite the opposite, back when this world was the rightful domain of the gods, he had been a malevolent deity who consumed others of his kind, possessing strength superior to most.

Most importantly—

In the past, his strikes had reached her.

And yet.

Even though they were thrown, even though they should be making contact—

His power failed to arrive at her.

As if it had been utterly nullified before it could ever reach.

‘She didn’t possess an ability like this previously—’

“….”

At that realization, Neltar’s eyes widened, fixed on the girl before him.

A single possibility.

Something truly impossible.

But if not that impossibility, then this scenario had no other explanation.

‘No, that cannot be. That should never be possible…!!’

Simultaneously, his jaw dropped in utter shock.

And as if to confirm his dawning terror, the girl’s smile widened further.

“It seems you have managed to deduce it.”

Her whisper was carried on the icy air.

“……!!!”

The instant he grasped the weight of those words—

Neltar was seized by horror that the ‘impossible’ answer was the absolute truth.

“You… you betrayed your own lineage—!”

Just as he was about to unleash his fury, he noticed it.

Yutia’s hands forming a specific sign.

And then.

Her index finger moving to her lips, making a silent “shush.”

That was the very last thing his eyes registered.

In that moment, he understood.

He was about to die.

Outer God Neltar.

He was impervious to death by physical force.

Immune to death by arcane power.

Unaffected by the severance of space or dimensions.

Regardless of the method used, he had always restored himself.

As long as his essential core survived, he would never truly perish.

But there was one singular fate he could not evade.

The power held by the Blood of Ruin—the very entity that had given rise to the being currently facing him.

The inescapable destiny—

—

—

—

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Pop—!

Neltar’s head detonated.

Then his heart burst.

His stomach.

His arms.

His hands.

His legs.

His feet.

One piece after another, they burst open, scattering crimson, flower-like sprays across the desolate, snowy plains.

And this time.

He did not regenerate.

A final cessation of being.

An absolute silence settled upon the snow-covered mountains.

Within the profound stillness—

The girl who had effortlessly brought about the end of the Outer God, Yutia Bludia,

“Aah.”

Suddenly, as if recalling an oversight, she uttered a soft sound.

Then, she turned to face the barbarians—

With a slight motion—

She gently flicked her finger through the air.

And then.

Pop—!

Luraka’s head burst open, just moments after he had been dumbly observing the site of the battle.

In that breath of time, as the very air seemed to freeze, not one person could manage a gasp.

“Hmm, I see now.”

As if nothing noteworthy had transpired, Yutia commented dryly after so casually rupturing another skull.

Standing at the epicenter of all the terrified and reverent gazes, she smiled.

“There are quite an abundance of heads here; killing all of you would constitute a mild waste. Consequently, I shall grant you an opportunity.”

Her deep crimson eyes shone brilliantly.

“A glorious, honorable opportunity to offer your worship to the Great One.”

An offering.

One that could in no way be refused.

---

The moment the voice echoed, Alon realized his location had changed.

He was no longer amidst the northern snowfields, where white flurries had been swirling just an instant ago.

Now, he stood in a profound darkness, as though he had plummeted into an unending void.

Alon was about to strain his mind to understand his circumstances when—

[Anomaly.]

“…Anomaly?”

He questioned the term being used to describe him, but the heavy voice, sounding as though it was drawn from the depths of the abyss, did not acknowledge his query.

Instead—

[Commit this to memory.]

It continued with a calm cadence.

[The maneuver of the Reversal, accessible only to the Gods of this world, differs from conventional methods.]

Exactly as the man in the mirror had stated when Alon encountered him at the root of Greynifra—

The voice went on with its instruction.

[Do not restrict yourself merely to arcane techniques.]

[Do not restrict yourself merely to physical might.]

[Do not restrict yourself merely to hierarchical standing.]

[Instead, incorporate everything and find harmony.]

[What you have procured—each single component—is never useless, for it all serves as a passage leading to a single course.]

[Remember this, and you shall achieve it.]

And in the final moment—

[Reverser.]

[Our—]

Just as the black entity’s speech was on the verge of continuing, Alon’s perspective abruptly flipped.

The snow-capped mountains.

A landscape of pristine white.

Alon realized he had been returned to the snowy heights.

As he stood there, momentarily bewildered—

[You madman! Pull yourself together! WAKE UP!!!]

[Meow!?]

The frantic voices from below jolted him back to full consciousness.

And in that moment, he saw it clearly.

Basiliora, drenched in blood.

“…Basiliora, your, that blood—”

His voice unintentionally shook with concern.

However—

[You fool! This is not my blood—it is your own!!!]

Basiliora’s sharp retort made Alon comprehend the truth.

Blood was visibly streaming from his own face.

“…Haah.”

A wave of debilitating dizziness struck him, draining the power from his limbs.

Clutching his head with difficulty, Alon looked toward the snowscape visible past the worn-out door, then slowly pulled it shut.

Creak—the door weakly closed with a groan.

To confirm, he opened and closed it a few times, but the place he had been a moment ago was no longer accessible.

Instead—

“…?”

Unnoticed, a piece of parchment had appeared in Alon’s hand, which was gripping the doorknob.

Confused, he unfolded the document.

---

Thousand-Year Ice.

A being who was not aligned with any specific tribe, one who had become an apostle for a deity not revered by the barbarians, and thus obtained the formidable power of nature.

He was not particularly favored by the barbarians.

No—to be more accurate—

The barbarians held disdain for Thousand-Year Ice.

His unusual disposition made him an outsider, but more significantly, he paid homage to a foreign god, rather than the deity they themselves worshipped.

Unlike them, however, Thousand-Year Ice did not harbor any particular dislike for the barbarians.

Despite being born and raised in the harsh North, he possessed an unexpectedly benevolent nature.

That was the reason, upon hearing the horn sound earlier, he immediately moved toward its source.

Even though he knew the call was not directed at him, if the chieftain had sounded it, it signaled an exceptionally dangerous event was unfolding.

However—

Despite his urgency, he found his path obstructed.

“You—what exactly are you?”

“You will soon discover. I don’t believe introductions are necessary at this precise moment.”

A young man, handsome by any metric, stood squarely in his way.

“Then why are you preventing my passage?”

“Hmm, how best to explain this? Let’s see—”

The young man’s clear, azure eyes, completely devoid of anxiety, sparkled with amusement.

His lips curved into an effortless, easygoing smile.

However—

“For your continued wellbeing, and for the sake of the One I serve.”

For a flash, an overwhelming pressure—strong enough to make even the well-known Thousand-Year Ice recoil—crushed the surrounding atmosphere.

“So, if you wouldn’t mind terribly—”

With an unbelievably casual wink, the terrifying individual made his request.

Thousand-Year Ice swallowed hard, a lump in his throat.