Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 223

Chapter 223

“Is this the object you were seeking to acquire?”

“That’s correct.”

Deep within the snow-covered mountains lay a cavern containing a massive void.

Alon, staring intently at the artifact in front of him, nodded to Evan, who had trailed behind him.

‘It has been a long time since I laid eyes on this.’

It was an item he had kept on his person constantly during his days playing Psychedelia.

‘Connected Circular Dance.’

Two rings were joined by a chain that radiated a sinister, glowing aura.

As Alon quietly examined the Connected Circular Dance, Evan, standing at his side, offered a comment.

“It doesn’t appear to be anything extraordinary.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. While linking two rings with a chain is somewhat uncommon, the craftsmanship of the chain and the rings themselves doesn’t seem particularly distinctive.”

“I suppose the visual aesthetic isn’t very impressive.”

“So, what is its function?”

[Hah— Are you truly unaware of even that?]

The reply to Evan’s query came not from Alon, but from Basiliora.

“Do you know, then?”

[Do not dare compare a transcendent being like myself to a commoner such as you.]

“Then tell me, what is it?”

[Why am I obligated to inform you?]

“If you aren’t going to explain it, why interrupt, you snake-head?”

[Hmph— I merely wished to ridicule a pitiful human like you for your lack of knowledge.]

Just as anticipated.

The instant they exchanged words, it devolved into a bickering match over insignificant details.

Observing this all-too-familiar dynamic, Alon shifted his attention back to the Circular Dance.

The Connected Circular Dance—often abbreviated by players as simply the Circular Dance—functioned essentially as a mana conversion adapter.

Its capability was to siphon the mana of the wearer’s partner and convert it into the user’s own resources.

‘Naturally, there are restrictions.’

As Psychedelia advanced toward its end-game content, the magical damage output of the player character vastly outstripped that of their companion characters.

While this artifact was useless for warriors, the majority of mage players considered it essential.

Despite its constraints, it was a vital tool for preventing mana depletion.

This was particularly true for “glass cannon” mages, who focused entirely on amplifying magic damage without investing in their mana capacity; for them, this item was non-negotiable.

…In a sense, Alon had needed this item from the very start.

However, he had delayed retrieving it until this moment.

The reason was straightforward: the Connected Circular Dance was an item designed with game mechanics in mind.

To utilize this artifact, a partner had to remain in close proximity at all times.

Furthermore, during the mana transfer process, that partner would be rendered completely defenseless.

To put it bluntly, it reduced a person to nothing more than a walking mana battery.

In a reality where ambushes could occur at any second, trying to protect a vulnerable person while actively fighting was a monumental difficulty.

Additionally, while it was simple to manage in a game, finding a real person willing to be chained within the item’s short range and wear the ring constantly was incredibly arduous.

In the game, one could simply equip it to a party member.

But in reality, locating someone who trusted Alon explicitly enough to surrender their mana without hesitation during the heat of combat was nearly impossible.

This was especially true given that the chain’s maximum range barely reached one meter.

Due to these numerous drawbacks, Alon had postponed recovering the rings until now.

They were not practical for active combat.

However, they were highly effective for powering the magic of “Footsteps of the Past,” a technique that necessitated an external mana source to operate.

Having organized his thoughts, Alon looked over at Evan and Basiliora, who were now glaring at one another with murderous intent.

“Honestly, I am constantly curious—how do you possess all this knowledge?”

“What are you referring to?”

Evan, who had just been gnashing his teeth at Basiliora, turned to Alon with a look of genuine intrigue.

It was a reasonable reaction.

Because the environment they were traversing—

“This location is a labyrinth.”

It was literally a maze.

Alon reflexively moved his eyes across the terrain.

The vista of dozens of stone bridges, intricately arranging themselves like a colossal puzzle, would render anyone unfamiliar with the Maze of Vertigo dumbfounded.

To complicate matters, the sheer cliffs beneath them and the surrounding paths were crawling with monsters indigenous to the Frozen Mountains.

While not as formidable as the beasts found in the jungles, they were clearly categorized as mutants, contributing to the overwhelming atmosphere of hopelessness.

Nevertheless, despite these dangers, Alon remained entirely undisturbed.

This was because he already knew the route through the Maze of Vertigo.

To be honest, calling it a strategy was giving it too much credit.

The Maze of Vertigo possessed a ridiculously elementary solution—

From the moment of entry, if one simply continued to turn right, they would eventually arrive at the exit without any trouble.

Relying on this absurdly basic strategy, Alon had felt no reluctance in entering the cavern.

“You simply need to keep heading right.”

“That is… not exactly what I was asking, but… fine, whatever.”

“What do you imply by ‘whatever’?”

Evan appeared as though he had more questions, but ultimately, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“I simply forgot momentarily that I should cease questioning your methods and just accept reality.”

Alon found Evan’s resignation strangely entertaining, as he hadn’t witnessed it in quite some time.

[Meow?]

Peeking out from his inner pocket, Blackie tilted its head in an adorable manner.

---

Upon exiting the cavern—or more accurately, the Maze of Vertigo—Alon secured a carriage destined for Caliban.

“We have finally reached Caliban.”

After a journey that consumed nearly a month, Alon stood once more on the soil of Caliban.

Absorbing the insights he had gathered during his expedition to the north, he began to map out his itinerary.

‘First, I must attain Rank 5. Following that, I need to inquire with Kylrus regarding the Horizon and the Reversal of Heaven. Finally, I must visit the Colony to have the Rubies restored by the Dragonkin.’

As he structured his agenda, Alon also found himself ruminating on a specific term that had been haunting his thoughts for the past several weeks.

“Aberration…?”

When he initially heard the term, he had dismissed it lightly.

However, after hearing it mentioned again at the Horizon, it had begun to press upon his mind.

Alon himself couldn’t fully articulate why it disturbed him so.

It was simply—

Like a fishbone lodged in his throat; no matter how hard he tried to disregard it, the thought kept rising to the surface.

And then—

Alon sensed it.

He realized that this word held profound significance for him.

Furthermore, recently, he had begun to experience an odd sensation of déjà vu whenever the word “water” was mentioned.

It was identical to the feeling he experienced when he saw Yutia standing among the fully blossomed evening primroses.

What exactly was this phenomenon?

Alon drifted into a momentary reverie.

“Master—!!”

Thud!

The instant he stepped down from the carriage, he felt a body collide with him.

With arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the person’s face was buried so deep he couldn’t see it.

[Meow—]

Even Blackie, tucked away in his chest, let out a strange noise at the sudden ambush(?).

However—

“…Seolrang?”

Identifying that vibrant voice, Alon had no difficulty deducing the individual’s identity.

“Master! It has been such a long time!”

As if she had been waiting for his acknowledgment, Seolrang threw her arms around his neck and nuzzled her cheek against him, resembling an overly excited puppy.

Alon stroked her head with affection, although his face betrayed his curiosity regarding her presence in Caliban.

It had been six weeks since his return from the north.

---

Northwest.

A monumental wall divided the Allied Kingdom from the Empire.

nestled in a small forest in front of it sat a quaint, modest house.

It was a dwelling that seemed plucked from a fairy tale, encircled by magnificent scenery.

Inside, two figures sat opposite one another.

One was Thousand-Year Ice, a warrior hailing from the Northern Barbarians and one of the Seven Strongest Fighters, whose names were legendary within the Allied Kingdom.

Across from him sat a young woman with large fox ears that drooped naturally; she appeared to be roughly twenty years of age.

Her silver hair flowed down to her hips, and she was dressed in the traditional garb of the Eastern Nation.

Wearing her trademark expression of indifference, she stared straight ahead.

Observing her silence, Thousand-Year Ice scratched his head in awkwardness before breaking the silence.

“Uh… am I an unwanted visitor?”

“No.”

Her concise, emotionless reply came as she casually rested her fluffy fox tail on her lap.

“You are welcome here.”

“…Are you certain you mean that?”

“Yes.”

Another flat, robotic response.

Thousand-Year Ice scratched his head once more, his expression growing conflicted.

She claimed he was welcome, but—

From his vantage point, deciphering her actual sentiments was nearly impossible.

She had always maintained complete apathy toward everything.

Did she even possess emotions…?

Pondering this, Thousand-Year Ice scanned the interior of the house.

“You are still residing in the same location, I see.”

“I have no cause to relocate.”

“…Would life not be simpler if you aligned yourself with a faction rather than staying out here in the woods? With your capabilities, the kingdom would embrace you with open arms.”

His assessment was accurate.

Even though she lived in solitude within the forest—

She was a combatant on the same level as Thousand-Year Ice.

In reality, among the Seven Strongest, only two others could even claim to be her equal.

She was, indisputably, one of the three supreme warriors.

“For someone offering that advice, do you not live alone as well?”

“Well, that is because I serve a liege. I don’t even know if the others survive, and the few I can reach have their own circumstances keeping them where they are. But you—you have no such obligations.”

The girl did not twitch a muscle as she responded.

“It is simply too much of a hassle.”

“Then why not return to the Eastern Nation? There, you would face no such hassles. You would be treated as nobility the moment you set foot there.”

At that suggestion, Historia, the Sword Saint, stared at him quietly.

And then—

“So, for what reason are you here?”

Her voice cut through the silence.

It was completely unrelated to their previous topic.

The transition was abrupt, but Thousand-Year Ice merely shrugged, realizing he had no alternative.

The fact that she was evading the question meant she had absolutely no intention of discussing the matter further.

Resigning himself to that fact, he proceeded.

“I came because I have an inquiry for you.”

“Regarding what?”

Historia tilted her head slightly.

Thousand-Year Ice began to narrate the incidents that had occurred during his recent confrontation with Eliban.

“Anyway, that is the essence of it. A man who shouldn’t exist has emerged, yet there is zero information on him. So, I came to see if you held any knowledge.”

“I have not departed from this place in over ten years.”

“I am aware of that. But I meant—did you ever hear anything about him in the past? I’ve been digging, but his history doesn’t align for someone possessing that level of power.”

Muttering to himself, Thousand-Year Ice added—

“I assumed you might know something. Even if you don’t travel much, you’ve encountered many powerful figures. And someone of that caliber wouldn’t just manifest out of thin air.”

After a prolonged silence, Historia finally asked—

“What is his name?”

“His name?”

“Yes. If you tell me nothing, I cannot even begin to think about it.”

His name…

Retrieving the intelligence he had received from his contact, Thousand-Year Ice began to answer.

“I believe his name is—Elib—”

He was unable to complete his sentence.

Because Historia, who had been sitting idly without a care in the world, had suddenly leaped to her feet, kicking her chair backward.

“!?”

Furthermore—

Her ears stood straight up, and her eyes widened in astonishment.

Thousand-Year Ice was thunderstruck.

Never—not a single time—had he witnessed her display this degree of emotion.

Not merely in front of him.

But in front of anyone.

Even Black Tiger, who had known her the longest, had never seen her show emotion or any alteration in her demeanor.

And yet, now—such a vivid reaction.

‘She definitely knows something…!’

Thousand-Year Ice was sure that Historia knew Eliban.

More than that, he was convinced that Historia shared a profound connection to Eliban—one that went far beyond being casual acquaintances.

Otherwise, there was no possibility she would have reacted so intensely.

With that realization, Thousand-Year Ice eagerly asked—

“Do you happen to know anything about him?”

“I only know the name.”

“…?”

The unforeseen answer left him momentarily confused.

“…You only know the name?”

“Yes.”

“…If that is all you know, then why did you react in that manner?”

That didn’t add up.

Such a fervent response couldn’t stem from merely knowing a name—

“Alon.”

“…What?”

A single name suddenly escaped her lips.

Historia perked up her ears and repeated the question.

“Do you know anything about Alon Palatio?”

Thousand-Year Ice was now even more shocked than before.

Swish, swish—

Historia’s long tail swayed with excitement, as if brimming with anticipation, unable to remain still.