Became the Patron of Villains

About a week and five days had passed since leaving the Colony.
“Then, I look forward to seeing you again next time, Count!”
“Indeed.”
Leaving behind the head merchant, who bowed deeply with a gesture like a folding fan, Alon decided to return to the Palatio estate first. This was because he couldn’t take the treasure wagon he had received from the Colony along on the upcoming journey.
So he headed back to the Count’s estate, stored both wagons, and immediately set off toward Lartania.
If the path to Lartania had been completely opposite from the route to Raksas, he would have gone straight to his destination without hesitation. Fortunately, Lartania lay along the way to Raksas.
Even though it wasn’t the shortest detour, he was willing to accept it and set off on another journey.
Five days later…
“Count.”
As Alon blankly gazed at the leisurely forest, Evan, who was driving the wagon, suddenly spoke up.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing serious, but you seem to have something on your mind lately.”
“Does it look that way?”
“Yes, you’ve been lost in thought quite often recently, haven’t you?”
Alon remained silent for a moment before replying to Evan’s observation.
“Seems like it.”
“Is it because of what you mentioned before? That you had something to think about?”
At Evan’s words, Alon thought, ‘That’s part of it, yes.’ However, what had been preoccupying his thoughts lately was not faith.
Of course, he was curious about why he suddenly possessed the capacity to harness power. But there simply wasn’t enough information for him to speculate or deduce anything on his own. At present, Alon’s focus was not on faith, but on the last words spoken by the Dragonkin.
“…Two possibilities.”
He recalled what the Dragonkin had said about magic at that time.
“As you know, a mage’s magic fundamentally requires ‘imagination’ to be used. This is an unchanging law and truth, as certain and natural as the sun rising and setting. Yet, you seem to ignore it effortlessly.”
Alon remembered the Dragonkin extending its sharp, unusual index and middle fingers, so different from a human’s.
“The law is immutable. It cannot be changed and must not be changed. Thus, I think you fall into one of two possibilities.”
“One is that you, standing here before me, are an existence beyond my imagination.”
“And the other is that you simply don’t remember.”
Recalling the Dragonkin’s parting words, Alon clicked his tongue.
‘No matter how I think about it, neither seems right.’
Obviously, Alon wasn’t some inhuman being. If he were, as the Dragonkin suggested, he wouldn’t be struggling like this in the first place.

Even so, the second suggestion regarding “memory” didn’t sit right with him. He had never lived during the Age of Forgotten Gods, when mages were known to exist. Even in the game, the Age of Forgotten Gods had been nothing more than background lore, and Babylonian phrases and beastfolk were simply means of enhancing magic attack power, never properly explored.
In other words, Alon had learned even the basics about imagination only through his conversation with the Dragonkin.
As a result, when he had initially asked the Dragonkin if there were any other possibilities, it had firmly stated that there were no options beyond those two.
‘Why is it that as time passes, I keep learning more about things I didn’t know, rather than uncovering hidden truths?’ Alon let out a brief sigh, then shrugged. According to the Dragonkin, once he finally reached Raksas, he would be able to see the truth of this world.
Of course, to him, seeing the world’s truth was less important than foreseeing whether that truth would bring danger to the world. After all, his ultimate goal, both then and now, was to live a peaceful life.
“A peaceful life…”
Hearing Alon mutter quietly amidst the sound of rolling wheels, Evan spoke.
“Do you wish to live a peaceful life?”
“Indeed.”
“…For someone who says that, your life °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° doesn’t seem very peaceful.”
“I’m just a bit busy at the moment.”
“I don’t think things will be any different in a few years…”
Alon did not answer. Deep down, he knew Evan’s words were not entirely wrong.
“Evan.”
“Yes?”
“For dinner tonight, just eat some sweet potatoes.”
“…What?”
But thinking and saying are two different things. With a faint hint of annoyance, Alon turned his gaze outside the wagon. Contrary to his state of mind, the scenery outside was as peaceful as ever. It was a late-sunset kind of day.
 
****
A few more days later, upon arriving in Lartania, Alon decided to stop by a nearby shop to buy a suitable gift before heading to Merd. He didn’t expect to get the artifact appraisal for free, but he believed it was only polite to bring a gift or two when visiting someone’s home. Additionally, he regretted not having brought a gift the last time he had rushed out to deal with an Outer God.
Recalling the worn-out fountain pen in Rine’s office, Alon stopped by a shop to buy one. While searching for something that wasn’t too extravagant but also didn’t look cheap, he overheard some rumors.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“One of the Triumvirate has died again.”
“I heard about that too. You mean ‘Vima,’ right?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Hmm, considering the bribes he pocketed, he kind of deserved it… But with Riet, another member of the Triumvirate, dead as well…”
“Only Rine is left. That’s why there’s such an uproar.”
“Why is that?”
“I heard this from somewhere, but the rumor is that she killed all the members of the Triumvirate.”
“Why? How did such a rumor start?”
“It’s not entirely clear, but they say they had a confrontation recently. Apparently, someone insulted her godfather—”
“…??”
It was a rather unsettling rumor.
 
****
Deus Macallian, known as the Second Sword among Caliban’s Five Swords, was incredibly famous within the country. Although it was unofficial and unrecorded, the fact that he had already defeated Reinhardt was widely known throughout Caliban.
Despite his shining reputation and overwhelming charisma, there were whispers behind his back about his suspicious fondness for magic, even though he was a Master Knight. Some even claimed that, during his nightly sword training, he would occasionally assume strange stances and imitate spellcasting when no one was watching…
Nevertheless, Deus Macallian’s fame was so overwhelming that such peculiar rumors did little to tarnish it. However, not everyone viewed the situation favorably. One such person was the Prince of Caliban.
Prince Tyrian, the second prince of Caliban and son of King Palmaryan IV, was not pleased with the current state of affairs. This was mainly because of his bad blood with Deus Macallian. Of course, the strained relationship was entirely his own fault.
Unlike the first prince, who was considered suitable for the throne, Tyrian was infamous as the palace’s troublemaker. In the past, he had approached Deus Macallian’s only sister with crude, indecent remarks. As a result, he was humiliated in a duel, sanctioned by the king, where he was thoroughly beaten. This incident left Tyrian with deep resentment toward Deus.
“Tsk.”
Despite his reluctance to think about Deus, Tyrian’s thoughts turned to him today because of a secret request he had received. The request was to apply political pressure on Count Palatio.
Fulfilling the request was not particularly difficult—in fact, it was something Tyrian had to do. Despite his notorious behavior, Tyrian was able to maintain his faction largely thanks to the “item” provided by the one who made the request.
Moreover, the request itself was not especially demanding. Arbitrarily applying pressure to Count Palatio without cause was risky for Tyrian. After all, Count Palatio was a noble of the Asterian Kingdom, not of Caliban. Even though Caliban and Asteria were united under a confederation, it was still a delicate matter to interfere with another nation’s nobility in this way.
However, there was one reason Tyrian considered it easy to pressure Count Palatio: the person who sent the letter had provided reasonable information that would make it seem natural for Caliban’s second prince to exert such pressure.
In other words, Tyrian could apply pressure on Count Palatio without taking on significant risk. Furthermore, by doing so, he could place the sender of the letter in a slight position of indebtedness to him.
The real problem was the close relationship between Count Palatio and Deus Macallian. To be more precise, what troubled Tyrian was that Deus Macallian seemed unusually fond of Count Palatio.
“Hmph…”
Tyrian knew that during Five Swords meetings, whenever the topic of mages came up, Deus would soon start talking about Count Palatio’s greatness for nearly an hour. Tyrian was aware of this because he routinely received reports from one of the swords aligned with his own faction. Recently, Deus had even been abruptly praising Count Palatio, saying things like, “Why does Count Palatio always come to mind?”
This put Tyrian in a dilemma. Opposing Count Palatio was trivial compared to the potential benefits. For Tyrian, who despised Deus, it was the perfect opportunity to undermine someone Deus favored.
Yet Tyrian hesitated. He was unsure what Deus Macallian might do once he found out. Despite his fame, Deus was like a mad dog.
After mulling it over for some time, Tyrian finally came to a decision.
‘No matter how crazy he is, he can’t possibly act.’
A sly grin spread across Tyrian’s face. The only reason Deus Macallian had been able to beat and humiliate him before was that he had just cause. Without just cause, even a mad dog like Deus Macallian would not be able to touch him.
Despite his diminished influence and waning trust from the current king, Tyrian was still Caliban’s second prince. To harm him without justification would be nothing short of madness, and Deus knew that as well.
So Tyrian was convinced that Deus wouldn’t dare make a move.
At least, until the day before.
BOOM!
With a blank expression, Tyrian stared ahead. The door to the office in the palace annex where he was staying had been blasted apart, and a man stood there.
Holding a wooden sword in one hand, the man was none other than Deus Macallian.
“The Sword of Caliban greets the successor of the Five Swords,” he said, his eyes blazing with fierce intensity.
“I’ve come to ask you something.”
He had come for Tyrian.