I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Clang, clatter—

Weapons began to spill out from Ian’s pocket dimension.

Longswords, round shields, battle axes, and various other weapons clattered to the floor in quick succession. Ian didn’t stop there; he continued to produce more equipment.

Clang, clatter—

Armor pieces like steel gauntlets and iron boots followed, relatively small and easy to don quickly.

Despite the spectacle of Ian pulling items from thin air, the Count, still held by Thesaya, paid no attention. It was clear he hadn’t even noticed. His gaze remained fixed on the black mist that had engulfed Obell.

Then, Thesaya released her grip, and the Count collapsed to the ground, finally voicing his despair. "No... Obell... no..."

None of the group paid attention to him. Aside from Philip, who was maintaining the barrier of holy light, they were all busy sorting through their gear.

"Grk... gurgle..." A sound like mud being churned emanated from the smoke. Within it, something black and bulbous was growing. It had to be Obell undergoing a transformation.

The sickening sound of bones breaking and reforming echoed. The black mist surrounding Obell spread out like a shimmering heat haze.

At the same time, the corpses of the head servant by the dais and the knight and soldiers near the door began to twitch and mutate as well. Ian, having finished donning his boots, picked up a wrist guard and turned his head. Thesaya, tearing part of her skirt to fit into her leather boots, looked at him.

"Count," Ian spoke in an even tone, but the Count didn’t respond or even glance his way.

Thesaya swiftly slapped the Count across the face. Though not a hard slap, it was enough to snap him out of his daze.

"What... what is this...?" The Count finally looked at Thesaya, his lips trembling with blood.

Thesaya’s cold eyes met his as she spoke. "Pull yourself together, Count. Can’t you hear the sounds outside?"

"...?" The Count’s eyes widened. Beyond the now dim windows, faint screams were heard. Another wave of shock and fear crossed his aged, withered face, making him look even smaller and more frail.

Thesaya continued, "Listen to Sir Ivan."

"What... what is he saying?"

"I don’t have time to repeat myself, so listen carefully." Ian, meeting the Count’s eyes, spoke as if he had been waiting for this moment.

"Your son is beyond saving. And if you linger here, your land and city will meet the same fate. If you want to stop it, answer me. How many troops do you have in the city?"

"Not quite two centurions... no."

The Count, blinking, then shook his head. "Now there are even fewer. However, half of the male residents can serve as troops when mobilized."

"We don’t need the reserves. The lord here will escort you outside. Gather the remaining soldiers and lead the residents to evacuate the city. Make sure they touch nothing suspicious. Can you do that?"

The Count, staring at Ian with a pale expression, spoke in a strangled voice. "...My son, is he really beyond saving?"

"The young lord is already dead," Ian replied, looking at the writhing silhouette swelling beyond the black smoke. "What’s left is a completely different monster, born from his sacrifice. And..."

Ian met the Count’s eyes, now hardened like a mask. "This isn’t the end. The corrupted ones who share the young lord’s goal must have noticed the situation. They’ve likely begun the ritual they were preparing, even if it’s incomplete."

"A ritual...? You mean a ritual?"

"The darkening sky outside is evidence of it. There’s no time for detailed explanations. Just answer me. Those close to the young lord, are they the priests of the church?"

"Yes, but the church has the symbols of Lu Solar and... the statue of Della Lu as well..."

"Trust me, corrupted ones can bypass such protections without issue."

"I thought I had finally come to my senses... Damn it... my son... Was our family tradition really that burdensome to you...?" The Count muttered in despair.

Ian had already turned to Charlotte and Mev. "You two escort the lady and the Count. Lead the soldiers and evacuate the residents. After that, head to the church."

He paused, picking up the broken Sword of Judgment from the floor and tossing it to Charlotte. "Keep this with you. Its holy power should help ward off the curse. The young lord mentioned corrupting the land, so it’s likely a curse of decay. Be careful. Avoid contact with anything suspicious as much as possible."

"Got it. We will." As Charlotte nodded, Mev reached out and grabbed the Count by the collar, pulling the old man toward her.

"Look at me, Count."

"...!"

"Don’t you want to avenge what happened to your son?"

The Count’s eyes, which had momentarily stopped, finally settled.

"... I do," he said, gritting his teeth as he met Mev’s gaze. "With everything I have."

"Then I will carry out your revenge."

The Count’s eyes widened as Mev’s green eyes began to turn a deep, blood-red.

"So you must save your people. We will assist you." Mev released her grip on the Count’s collar and began donning her gauntlets.

Squelch—

It was at that moment that the transformed corpses rose. Their bodies, once emaciated, were now covered in a tar-like black substance. Dark green fluid dripped from their melted eye sockets, noses, and mouths. Despite this, they still wore the armor and wielded the weapons they had in life.

Ian, now fully equipped, rose to his feet, gripping his black sword. "Escape through the window. Philip, escort them safely to the window. Once you’re equipped, support me. The two of us will handle things here."

"Yes...! You two sirs, once you’re done, could you please bring my equipment? Just to the window!" Philip shouted, maintaining his holy barrier as he moved to the side.

The Count finally took in the sight of the surrounding group. Thesaya, fastening a sword at the waist of her dress. Charlotte, having completed her simple armoring and holding a massive battle axe in one hand. Mev’s entire body glowed with sticky, blood-red holy energy. Philip, extending one hand to maintain a faint holy barrier. And Ian, standing with a black sword, his back turned to the Count.

"Who... are you people...?"

"Let me answer your earlier question, Count," Thesaya said, lifting the Count to his feet as she spoke. "We are here to eliminate the corrupted ones infesting the West. This is also an act of vengeance for someone, and it aligns with the will of the Great Platinum One."

"Platinum...? Are you saying you are—"

"Save such thoughts for later," Ian interrupted, his gaze fixed on the approaching undead. "Right now, we need to focus on our roles."

"Do you truly intend to face those things alone? No matter how skilled you are, this is suicide—"

"Meet us at the church. Go now." Ian cut off the Count’s protest.

Charlotte, now carrying the Count, nodded and moved with Philip’s equipment in hand. Thesaya and Charlotte, with the Count in tow, headed toward the window.

Swoosh—

The light barrier swept past Ian, who adjusted his grip on the black sword’s hilt.

Good, if you listen well, you’ll drink plenty of dirty blood today.

Ian thought to himself, feeling his skin tingle from the curse radiating from the transforming Obell. But that was the extent of its impact. The fragments of chaos within him countered the curse, dulling the pain.

Ian opened his eyes to the sight of the shambling undead. His gaze shifted to the nearly fully transformed silhouette of Obell.

Finishing this before he completes his transformation isn’t likely, is it?

"Grrr...!" As if in response to his thoughts, one of the approaching undead let out a guttural sound. The creature resembled the decayed minions Ian remembered from the game, dripping tar-like ooze with each step.

"See you at the church!" With Thesaya’s shout as she leaped out the window, Ian charged forward.

One undead, formerly a soldier wielding a spear, came within range.

Shink—

The thin, sharp blade of Ian’s sword cut through the soldier’s body and chain mail in a diagonal slash. Unlike usual, he refrained from using a Vacuum Explosion to prevent the cursed flesh from splattering everywhere.

Thud—

The severed upper body fell like a lump of clay. Ian ignored the still-twitching corpse and swung his sword at another undead nearby.

Swish! Crack—

The black sword carved through three more undead in quick succession. Ian’s gaze flicked toward the window where Philip was gathering his equipment, noting the approach of the undead who had once been Sir Aurel.

Tap-tap—

Ian dashed forward, his black sword slicing through the exposed back of the undead knight’s head. The head split in two, and Ian moved past the falling corpse, turning to face the next threat.

"Grrr..."

A sticky groan emanated from the remaining mouth under the severed head. One undead raised its weapon, but Ian was faster, kicking the creature’s chest plate and sending it flying.

Crash!

The headless body fell, spraying fluids from the severed neck. Ian extended his left hand toward it.

Whoosh—

Flames burst from his hand, a basic Fire Beam without any amplification. It was enough to incinerate Sir Aurel and the twitching undead around him.

The burning undead emitted thick, acrid smoke as the flames consumed them. The last of their movements ceased.

Just like in the game, the elemental advantage holds true.

"Ju-just buy me a little more time, sir! I’ll join you shortly!" Philip’s urgent shout came from behind.

Knowing it would take time, Ian mentally noted the situation and focused on the undead entering through the main entrance. He leaped over the burning corpses toward the transforming Obell.

"Gwaaaah—"

An eerie noise cut through the air as a trail of black slime blocked his path.

Sizzle—

Ian rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the acidic substance that began to evaporate on the walls and floor.

Fuck, I was wondering when this would happen.

The skill, Rotten Vomit, was a powerful attack in the game, dealing significant damage, causing additional dot damage, and slowing movement speed. It was one of the minion’s skills.

The one spewing the vomit was the head servant-turned-minion. Ian swiftly got back on his feet, leaping over the foul-smelling vomit and slashing down with his sword.

Crunch!

One swift motion severed the head servant’s neck and shoulder. Before the upper body hit the ground, a fireball struck it.

Boom! Whoosh—

With a minor explosion, burning flesh scattered. Ian darted through the flames, finally getting a clear view of the transformed Obell.

It appeared hunched over, but that was an illusion. Only the swollen head and neck kept some semblance of their original form, buried in the mass of flesh. The rest was a massive, black, amorphous lump. Many tooth-filled maws opened like knots in the wood, sucking in the black smoke around them, with purple veins pulsing throughout.

As expected.

Ian’s eyes glowed red.

Whoosh—

Dancing Flames flickered around him, ready to ignite.

Roar—

All the maws on Obell’s body exhaled the smoke they had inhaled, releasing it like spores in all directions.

"...!" A blue shield of force erupted around Ian just as the wave of smoke hit. The flames burst outward and dissipated.

"Ugh?!" Philip, still donning his equipment, reflexively reinforced his holy barrier and flattened himself against the ground.

Ian, pushed back by the force of the smoke, skidded to a stop.

"Grr..." Obell’s grotesque head, now buried in flesh, emitted a rattling sound as it rose.

The asymmetrical eyes glowed dark green, and pus-like liquid dripped from various parts of the deformed body. The name of an elite monster from the game flashed in Ian’s mind: The Root of Decay.

Squish, squelch—

Obell began to move forward, not walking but gliding like an amorphous creature. He wasn’t heading toward Ian but the main entrance, aiming to leave the manor and take root outside, just as in the game.

That may be your wish, but... Sorry, Obell, I can’t allow that.

Muttering inwardly, Ian’s eyes ignited as if flames were engulfing them.