Became the Patron of Villains Novel MTL - Chapter 239

Chapter 239

“….”

“Has your mind finally cleared?”

Yutia moved forward to stand over Seolrang, who was writhing and groaning on the ground from the pain.

Seolrang was utterly disheveled, covered everywhere in cuts and bruises.

In contrast, Yutia showed no sign of having been struck even once.

Seolrang parted her lips, her gaze still full of hostility.

“…Master is so pathetic.”

Covered in dirt.

Eyes brimming with tears.

Her voice strained through tightly gritted teeth.

At Seolrang’s shaky accusation, Yutia’s expression hardened immediately.

Her index finger unconsciously began to twitch,

And at that instant, Yutia’s eyes filled with intense murderous intent.

…‘You are a virtuous person.’

Suddenly, a voice resonated in her mind, and the killing intent retreated back into the shadows.

Her twitching index finger curled back inward.

Yutia let out a slow sigh.

“Don’t push me like that, Seolrang. I, too, am capable of anger.”

“Then why do you appear so unperturbed?”

“Because my fury is directed elsewhere.”

“…Else, where?”

“Precisely. The focus of my wrath should be on them, not on you.”

Yutia took another step closer to the unsteady Seolrang and quietly murmured something into her ear.

After absorbing the information, Seolrang declared,

“…I will return.”

She whirled around immediately.

Despite her physically weakened state, her face was alight with uncontrollable rage.

She took several strides forward.

Then, Seolrang abruptly turned back toward Yutia.

“?”

Just as a look of confusion began to settle on Yutia’s face—

Squeeze!

“…I’m sorry, Yutia…”

“……”

“I was just… too consumed by anger… I thought you didn’t care about Master… and that’s why I snapped—”

Seolrang lunged forward and wrapped Yutia in a tight hug.

Clinging to her like a small child, she stammered out her apology.

Yutia smiled and slowly raised her hand.

“It’s alright, Seolrang.”

She gently stroked Seolrang’s head for an extended moment.

“I completely understand how you feel.”

Watching Seolrang vanish in an instant, leaving behind a small, quiet laugh—

“I truly do understand…”

Yutia whispered.

“…Because I experienced the exact same thing.”

She gazed up at the Milky Way stretching across the dark, moonlit sky.

The atmosphere among the soldiers had grown uneasy following the collapse of the Union, but after they passed through Dalma, it plunged into complete despair.

The hope that they had managed to survive that hellish territory had been the only thing keeping their morale from sinking entirely until now.

But the barbaric sight they encountered in Dalma forced them to face a brutal reality.

That night.

In the camp, where everyone but the essential minimal watch was asleep, preparing for the next day’s journey—

Alon, attempting to clear his mind which was more cluttered than usual, noticed Ryanga walking alone towards the distant woods.

He got up from his spot and followed her.

“…Chief?”

Though it was the woods, strangely, that specific area lacked trees, and pale moonlight filtered through the gray sky.

There, Ryanga stared vacantly at the sky and spoke without turning around.

Alon hesitated briefly but soon moved to stand beside her.

“Yes.”

“…Why have you come here?”

Her face, usually so vibrant, was now drained of all vitality.

Ryanga’s eyes, as she looked at Alon, were clearly filled with profound sadness.

As if she had lost something infinitely valuable.

“……”

When Alon remained silent, she managed a fragile smile and said,

“Did you come because you’re worried? Afraid I might try something like before?”

Alon remembered the recent events in Dalma.

After seeing the corpses of her parents, and then the villagers—

Ryanga had attempted to take her own life right there with a nearby blade, unable to comprehend the sight.

It was as if she had entirely lost the will to live.

Alon glanced down at her hand.

Ryanga’s left hand was wrapped in thick bandages.

When he gave a slight nod in response, Ryanga, who had been quiet, finally spoke in a weak tone.

“Chief, may I ask you something?”

“Go on.”

“…Why do you care about me?”

Ryanga lowered her gaze to look at her own hands.

“Honestly, I don’t get it. I mean… I’m totally useless, right? I can’t contribute anything. I’m just a girl who happens to be slightly strong, and I only cause trouble… I’m truly no help at all…”

Her voice trailed off into a barely audible question—why?

Alon felt conflicted.

Objectively speaking, Ryanga was not incorrect.

Unfortunately, her presence offered no assistance at this time.

Answering her query would have been simple.

Why did he consistently show concern for a girl who was not helping?

Because he knew she was destined to become the leader of the Hundred Ghosts in the future.

“……”

Yet, he stayed silent.

Because he knew that was not the answer she truly sought.

That’s why Alon thought long and hard.

He instinctively sensed that this specific answer held immense importance.

He paused, painstakingly choosing his words again and again.

Then—

Thump—

He suddenly realized that Ryanga had flung herself into his arms.

Being shorter than him, she gripped his trousers and buried her head against his leg.

“…You are a kind person, Chief.”

She said this and simply held tightly onto his thigh.

After a moment—

“…Chief.”

“Yes?”

“…Can you grant me one request?”

“What is it?”

“Help me… kill Baarma.”

She spoke slowly.

“If you help me… I will give you everything that belongs to me.”

Alon looked down at Ryanga.

With her face pressed against his thigh, her expression was hidden.

But even without seeing it, he could sense it.

That Ryanga’s words were entirely sincere.

Her voice was different than ever before.

It was not shaking with anxiety like the first time she made a request.

It wasn’t filled with tears either.

Nor was it a voice consumed by panic or raw fury.

Ryanga’s voice was simply calm.

It was so serene, it sent a chill down his spine.

That is why, after a long silence, Alon finally spoke.

“Alright.”

He gave Ryanga the answer she had requested.

He didn’t add anything further.

He didn’t say that her offer was unnecessary.

He offered no words of comfort.

He simply responded with the same tranquility she had.

Because he knew what she needed now wasn’t empty consolation, but a companion willing to descend into hell with her, even if it meant confirming it with a binding agreement.

“Thank you, truly.”

Ryanga’s voice came again, close to Alon’s ear.

Her calm tone had begun to tremble slightly.

“Really…”

His thigh was slowly becoming damp.

Alon instinctively moved his lips several times, attempting to say something reassuring, but stopped himself.

He knew well that shallow comfort held no meaning.

Instead, Alon simply patted Ryanga’s head.

Just silently.

Beneath the faint moonlight, a quiet sound of suppressed crying softly echoed.

For a long time.

It continued.

A few days elapsed after that exchange.

Ryanga was slowly starting to return to her previous self.

Of course, the innocent, childlike brightness she once possessed was gone, but she was gradually recovering her vigor.

However—

“Chief.”

“Yes.”

“Want a sweet potato?”

“Yes, please.”

“Just hold on a second!”

It was slightly unusual that this only seemed to happen when Alon was nearby.

“……”

As he watched Ryanga dart off into the distance, Alon suddenly recalled that day.

The morning after they formed their pact.

Ryanga had been absent for a while and only reappeared around lunchtime.

The horns on her head, previously barely noticeable, had grown longer.

Her body reeked of blood.

The instant he saw her, Alon realized what she had done the previous night.

He understood why the horns on her head had lengthened.

And why her body carried such a heavy scent of blood.

He couldn’t help but comprehend.

He had encountered the Queen of the Hundred Ghosts numerous times in Psychedelia.

So he knew.

How she acquired her power.

But Alon did not say a single word to Ryanga.

He did not want to pass judgment on her choice.

“Phew—It’s nearly ready now.”

While Alon was still observing Ryanga from afar,

Penia approached him and spoke.

Alon nodded and followed her line of sight.

Massive fortress walls came into view.

They were still quite far away, making it difficult to discern any details beyond their existence.

But, just as Penia had stated, Alon’s group had successfully reached the Union base exactly on the sixth day.

“I see.”

“A relief that nothing went awry.”

Penia, sighing as if she had narrowly escaped a disaster, suddenly clapped her hands as if something came to mind.

“Speaking of which, Lord Marquess, there was something I wished to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about the spell technique.”

“Spell technique?”

She nodded and showed him the book she was holding.

“I finished reading it.”

“…Didn’t you mention it was difficult to decipher because you barely recognized the script?”

“After a bit of focused study, I managed to grasp the core meaning.”

He was reminded once again of Penia’s considerable genius.

“Did it contain anything useful?”

“Hmm—This book doesn’t delve into specifics; it only offers a general overview of spell techniques, so it doesn’t seem to hold any truly vital information. But I did find one detail intriguing.”

“For example, it suggested that every practitioner of magic contains the potential to ascend to godhood.”

“…The potential to become a god?”

Alon echoed, and Penia nodded, beginning to elaborate on what she had read.

Alon listened attentively to her explanation for a while.

“I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my interpretation, but that is the essential concept.”

“So, to become a mage, one must first become a god…?”

“What if the spell technique is not received from a previous master?”

She added briefly that this was only recorded in the book and had not been independently verified.

Then, as if a thought had struck her, Penia called out to Alon.

“Oh, by the way, Lord Marquess.”

“What is it?”

“This might be a slight digression, but—how is your divinity?”

“My divinity?”

“Yes, I was curious if its recovery is progressing well.”

At her question, Alon momentarily focused inward to inspect the divine essence of Kalannon.

Unlike his other divine powers, which remained unchanged, Kalannon’s divinity was still steadily regaining its strength.

No, more than that—

‘It’s recovering… faster than before?’

Alon opened his eyes with a puzzled expression at the noticeably accelerated rate of recovery.

“It is still recovering. But why do you ask?”

“Because it is a little peculiar.”

“It is the past, yet it is recovering?”

“Exactly? If this truly is a historical moment in the past, then your divine power should be completely unable to recover.”

“…Unless time and space are somehow interconnected?”

“If we were within the Strange Gate, that supposition might be plausible.”

“But this location is not unstable—it is a fixed point in time and space.”

“Hmm.”

“In any case, we should simply be grateful that you can utilize your divinity and make the most of it.”

Then, furrowing her brow, Penia began mumbling to herself.

“…Could time and space genuinely be linked? But if that were true, then—”

Before anyone could notice, she had already become lost in her own thoughts.

At that very moment—

Somewhere far away, deep within the jungle, inside an enormous temple.

Seated upon a stone throne, carved in an unmistakably ancient style, was a woman revered by a tribe—no, a small nation.

A woman holding a blue-glowing spear in one hand.

With an impassive expression, she stood tall above her people who bowed repeatedly in worship.

But internally, her thoughts were the exact opposite of her calm exterior.

Despite her detached, meaningless gaze, her mind was in chaos.

The reason was—

‘Where in the world is my divine power vanishing to…???’

She had never employed it.

The divine power she had been meticulously saving solely for the purpose of ascending to become a higher god was disappearing without a trace.

The quantity and speed of the accumulated faith remained constant.

Yet, not only was it leaking away without her awareness,

Even the faith she had painstakingly gathered was endlessly dissipating.

…Why, for the love of the gods?

The woman—no,

‘My divinity… give it back……’

The one known as “Kalannon, the receiver of lightning,” wore a pained expression hidden behind her cold, composed face.