Became the Patron of Villains

Chapter 23

The cold northern lands, a place where no living being should be able to survive, was gripped by an unrelenting, life-draining frost.

In this bleak, cursed land, painted eternally in shades of gray by the relentless blizzard, a man had fallen.

Where his right arm should have been, a crimson stain of blood marked the spot, and his left eye socket lay empty.

This man was none other than one of the eight barbarian chieftains, the great Khlkan, now awaiting death after his defeat at the hands of the cowardly knights of Caliban.

Yet even in his final moments, his eyes were filled with rage.

“Those dishonorable dogs...!” he cursed, but not because of his defeat.

To the barbarians, death in battle was a glorious end, a noble fate.

Khlkan’s fury stemmed from the dishonorable way he was struck down—caught in an ambush, tricked by the knight’s deceitful challenge to a duel.

“Cough!” Blood spilled from Khlkan’s mouth as his world grew dim.

The gray landscape blurred, and his ears gradually stopped hearing the bitter winds.

Despite his anger, his mind slowly began to sink into darkness.

Just as everything was about to fade into nothingness, Khlkan whispered the name of the great god, “Ulthultus...?”

At that very moment, time seemed to stop.

The dim, fading vision cleared; the harsh northern wind blew in his ears once again, and his mind, slipping into unconsciousness, began to rise.

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[Child of blood,] a voice echoed.

[Call my name. Call upon the great name that you worshipped. Call upon my name, and I shall grant you what you desire.]

As if commanded by a divine force, Khlkan, entranced, murmured, “Ulthultus...”

And in that moment, the god smiled.

***

[Somehow, I Became the Hidden Mastermind of Asteria After Waking Up,] After hearing something that seemed to fit such a title, Alon closed his gaping mouth and mumbled to himself. However, the sweetness he had felt just moments before was completely gone.

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

A flurry of question marks swirled in Alon’s mind as he tried to comprehend the rumors he had just heard.

It made no sense to him.

If he had been associating closely with Duke Altia or Count Zenonia, both of whom were currently forming new factions, he might have understood the basis for such rumors.

However, the issue was that Alon had never once met either of the two nobles.

He had only seen Duke Altia once when she was still a young lady at a ball, and as for Lady Zenonia, he had encountered her but had never met the Count himself.

In other words, the rumor lacked plausibility, to the point of being entirely baseless.

Alon, who had been slowly moving his lips while deep in thought, soon concluded that the notion of him exchanging secret talks with other nobles was nothing more than an absurd, groundless rumor.

After all, suspicions could only arise if there was a pre-existing relationship. But since Alon had no connection whatsoever with those individuals, he didn’t even feel the need to entertain any doubt.

So, just as Alon reached for a cookie next to the egg tart, a voice called out.

“Count Palatio.”

“...?”

Alon turned his head toward the voice and looked beside him.

There stood a man dressed in expensive clothing, his face full of mockery.

‘Who is this guy?’

Alon briefly scanned the man.

With his long, curly hair draped to one side, it was easy to tell that the man’s character was twisted in a way that was different from the Palatio family, but Alon couldn’t gather any more information than that.

At the very least, Alon had no information on him in his mind.

“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. I am Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon of the Ashtalon Kingdom.”

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As soon as he noticed Alon didn’t recognize him, Carmine’s expression briefly faltered before he introduced himself. Alon paused in confusion, then nodded in understanding.

After all, he had heard that foreign nobles occasionally visited the Grand Church where most of Asteria’s nobility gathered.

“Count Palatio,” Alon responded with a polite greeting.

“I’ve heard of you. You were fortunate enough to become a count, weren’t you?”

“...?”

Alon blinked in surprise at Carmine’s immediate mocking tone.

“T-That’s not the case.”

“Then why did you speak so disrespectfully to Count Palatio?”

“I-I’ve been... disrespectful.”

“Disrespect isn’t the issue here. The point is, why did you make such condescending remarks to Count Palatio?”

Watching the nobles closing in on Carmine with their well-practiced political maneuvering, Alon, who had never been involved in politics, suddenly recognized the situation.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Does apologizing end your military service?’

“I’m sorry.”

‘I asked, does apologizing end your military service?’

Ah, this is it.

As this vivid memory from over ten years ago flashed through Alon’s mind, he unknowingly began to sweat.

“I-I... I’ve been disrespectful...!”

Carmine, unable to endure the pressure from the nobles any longer, fled the ballroom as if in retreat. As soon as he left, the nobles quickly approached Alon and started speaking to him.

“Count Palatio, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but...”

Alon looked at the three nobles, wondering why they were being so kind to him.

However...

“Look at that. It seems they’ve already heard the rumors.”

“Seems like the rumors are true if even those big shots are getting involved.”

“If Duke Altia and Count Zenonia get involved in politics, they’ll be unstoppable. But look at the other nobles—they seem confused. It’s still a secret, so be careful what you say.”

“...Where on earth do you hear things like this?”

“There are ways.”

Thanks to his heightened hearing, Alon overheard the hushed conversation of the noble who had been secretly whispering earlier. It was only then that he began to piece together what was happening and realized how absurd the situation was.

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“Now that I think about it, I haven’t had the chance to talk with you, Count. I understand, though, as you’re probably very busy.”

Marquis Mardinyo, speaking as if he knew everything, chuckled and continued the conversation. Alon began seriously contemplating whether or not he should clarify that the rumors were baseless nonsense.

After all, not doing so could lead to unnecessary complications later on.

But then again, speaking up now might make the situation even more awkward. As Alon mulled over what to do...

“By the way, I heard you’re studying magic, Count. Is that true?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then I thought I might give you a small gift. Among the artifacts I acquired after clearing out some orc hordes, there’s one that stores magical energy for later use. How does that sound?”

“Now that you mention it, I also prepared a little gift.”

Silence followed as Alon listened to the nobles.

That day, Alon ended up receiving two magical artifacts and five mana restoration potions from the three nobles.

Meanwhile, as these influential figures gathered around Alon, leaving the other nobles bewildered, Count Crylde and Count Edolon closed their eyes tightly in despair, thinking:

‘Did we mess with the wrong person...?’

‘This is really bad...!!’

***

Four days after the banquet began, as Alon’s collection of spoils steadily grew...

“...An outer god descended in the north?”

“Yes, that’s the information I received. Apparently, the purple crystal is also connected to the outer god, but... they say they don’t know for sure, as the information comes from ancient texts.”

“Regardless, it’s thrown Caliban into chaos.”

With only two days left in the banquet, Alon, having gathered this intel through the information guild, started contemplating something.

And then, without hesitation, he made a decision.

“Evan.”

“Yes.”

“Once the banquet is over, complete the tasks we need to finish, and then we’re heading straight to Caliban.”

He had made up his mind without any doubt.@@@@