Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 330 : In the name of Sloth (3)

Saint Yuman placed his faith in Marquis Palatio.

Right from the start, he counted himself among the select few who had personally observed the astonishing feats accomplished by Marquis Palatio.

Yet.

"Isn't this pretty much a suicide mission?"

"Hush, keep it down."

"Look, seriously! To eliminate this black territory, we've got to confront whatever's at its core, but is that even feasible? You witnessed it yourself! The instant you step inside—"

Regrettably, the troops harbored no such confidence in Marquis Palatio.

Yuman observed the soldiers closely.

Their feelings differed widely, yet one sentiment united them all.

It stemmed from their lack of trust in Marquis Palatio.

Naturally, every individual present possessed some knowledge of Marquis Palatio.

No one across the Allied Kingdoms remained ignorant of his name.

Still, the troops' doubts arose not from the marquis's skills, but from the dread of the black territory itself.

"Hoo~"

Yuman shifted his attention toward the black territory.

Though merely a single day had elapsed, it loomed far nearer to the Kingdom of Ashtalon compared to the previous day, instilling terror in all who beheld it.

They had witnessed the horror firsthand.

The fate that befell their fellow fighters merely for "stepping into" that cursed black territory.

Yuman himself had watched clearly as those who ventured inside met their grim end.

Tears of blood streamed from their eyes, frantic admissions spilled from their lips, and their forms, seemingly under some demonic influence, drove blades into the chests of their own allies.

While those nightmarish scenes replayed in his mind, he gradually lifted his eyes toward the heavens.

A colossal vessel hovered far overhead, appearing minuscule from below.

And precisely then.

"Celaime."

"Parkline."

Upon the outer ramparts of Ashtalon.

Parkline, the Red Tower Lord who had reached the site at first light this morning, addressed Celaime.

"Ready to go?"

"Yes, but you? What's your take on this?"

"Take on what?"

"The strategy. You believe it'll succeed?"

In response to Parkline's inquiry, Celaime directed his gaze upward to the vessel drifting amid the clouds.

"Why bring that up?"

"We're following the blueprint, yet it escapes me completely."

Parkline reflected on the details shared by Alon at the concluding assembly earlier that day.

A puzzled look crossed his features.

Admittedly, he found no utter foolishness in Marquis Palatio's scheme.

The marquis's reasoning rang with persuasion, and at times, Parkline pondered, "How on earth does the marquis grasp such intricate specifics?"

"Hoo—"

Save for the initial segment of the proposal.

Beyond that, the marquis's outline proved robust.

This fact stood beyond dispute.

Yet the strategy hinged entirely on the "Sin" lurking at the black territory's heart advancing fully toward their position.

Put differently, without the Sin responsible for birthing the black territory appearing precisely where they desired, the entire effort rang hollow.

Certainly, the marquis had outlined a means to lure the Sin from its dark domain.

"Unleash fire magic at a spot invisible to the naked eye," he had declared.

However, such an approach—

To Parkline, it echoed pure lunacy.

Thus, he had posed that doubtful query to Celaime.

"You deem it unfeasible?"

Parkline found himself speechless at that retort.

"Actually, I ought to question you—why do you deem it achievable?"

Though his arcane prowess fell short of Celaime Mikardo's, he remained a sorcerer wielding his unique Origin and leader of the Red Tower.

This expertise informed him.

Of the sheer absurdity in that notion.

"It's unattainable. Regardless of the marquis's uniqueness, crafting a spell to inflict real harm from a range beyond sight is beyond possibility. You're aware of that, aren't you?"

Should the spell somehow manifest, challenges persisted.

Sustained duration demanded mana, with greater potency and deadliness amplifying the drain.

Even with flawless formation, extending it as a distant strike risked warping the pattern and essence, leading to its collapse.

Moreover, preempting every unforeseen complication was essential for the marquis's vision to hold any faint prospect of triumph.

"Even should Marquis Palatio employ the divine might whispered in legends—"

Parkline pressed onward.

"Indeed, you're correct."

"Pardon?"

Parkline's eyebrows knitted at Celaime's serene affirmation.

Undeterred, Celaime's tone flowed steadily.

"As I stated, you're spot on. Absolutely. Spellcraft extends beyond mere invocation. Neglect mana expenditure, and you can't propel it afar to begin with. Plus, account for every twist that might arise in that brief interval."

After all, sorcery demands precision beyond fragility.

Parkline stood briefly stunned by this offhand remark.

"Yet that's solely for typical sorcerers."

"What do you mean?"

Confronted by this follow-up, he could only counter.

"Just as I uttered. It's a concern exclusive to average casters."

"So you're claiming Marquis Palatio stands apart?"

Celaime, previously skyward-focused, swiveled to lock eyes with Parkline and gestured skyward with a digit.

"Seeing beats mere tales."

His words came direct.

Thus, Parkline gazed upward, captivated. He beheld the azure expanse and the central vessel.

Yet unlike prior views—

"...?"

An oddity emerged.

The firmament warped gradually.

Eerie.

No, the oddity lay not in the firmament.

The distortion came from—

"Mana distortion?"

High-intensity mana discharge warps nearby space fleetingly.

Alone, it warranted no shock.

Releasing his own here, he could replicate it effortlessly.

But the magnitude of this mana distortion—

"Holy—"

Vast enough to engulf the lofty vessel entirely.

Parkline swore unwittingly.

"Indeed, far from commonplace."

Celaime's faintly entertained tone reached Parkline's ears.

In that instant, even the distrustful troops fixated on the black territory redirected their stares heavenward.

Their gazes widened in astonishment.

No space remained for rival sentiments.

Sheer, unadulterated awe seized their expressions.

And then—

!!!

Amid myriad sparks ascending the cerulean vault, a silhouette expanded vastly, beyond the summoner's full command—immense, defying the term "needle."

Alon intoned a incantation.

"Bullet of Unfulfilled Wish."

The endlessly bloating form twisted into a helix.

And then—

in a soft whisper,

"Memory’s—"

-sniper shot.

A beam launched forth.

***

The troops tracked the emitted radiance with their eyes.

It plunged amid a thunderous din potent enough to devour the loftiest vapors.

The gleam vanished past the distant rim, unseen to them.

In a split second—yet the soldiers lingered dazed, peering toward that unseen edge.

Moments later—the radiance faded.

As though it had never been.

Suddenly, the brilliantly illuminated realm reverted to its natural hues.

As faint doubts stirred within the ranks—

--!

The sound reached them.

A subtle echo.

A weighty yet minor thud, like a distant cannon's blast.

Simultaneously, it appeared.

Dust ascending remotely beyond the rim.

And then—

-!!!

A colossal thunderclap assaulted the soldiers.

Quickly, an immense dust veil shrouded the full horizon, with a soaring dust column piercing upward above it.

Wriggle~!

As all froze in incredulity before this impossible spectacle—

"Th-that’s—!"

"!"

A trooper's cry prompted every nearby visage to tense collectively.

The black territory blemishing the earth convulsed uniformly.

Precisely, not the territory stirred.

The dormant flesh beneath the black territory mobilized, as if awakened to sentience.

Suddenly, filaments erupted from a specific black patch.

They commenced weaving the shifting flesh clumps.

Weaving—

weaving—

and weaving further.

Mortal and beastly remains— heedlessly entwined to erect a titanic mound.

Ere long, form emerged.

Crunch—crack-crack!

Warped skeletons jutted from the mass only to withdraw cyclically, as beast and human ichor blended hideously into somber scarlet blotches.

“Holy—!”

The soldiers fell into chaos, yet the corpse-heap merely expanded relentlessly.

Initially matching the wall's height.

Then rivaling the central bastion.

And subsequently—

Crack-crack-crack~!!!

It towered further, eclipsing the palace itself.

Facing that domineering scale, dread and panic refilled the soldiers' stares.

That detestable entity, oozing murky red and verdant fluids, gazed upon the soldiers disdainfully—an abomination unfit for this realm.

"..."

“It’s... far larger than I pictured.”

“How could a beast like that even be real—!”

Parkline and Yuman voiced their dread in turn.

As though acknowledging the mortals' dismay, it gradually raised its enormous limb.

A limb marred by contorted skeletons and tissue eclipsed the daylight.

“R-ru—run—”

As a frantic soldier blurted instinctively—

!

From above,

!!!!!

It descended.

An overwhelming blast devoured all hearing on site.

The malformed limb severed neatly, sunlight reclaiming the field for the soldiers.

And then— what the soundlessly stunned soldiers beheld— was a enormous, ebony-hued viper.

Its maw clamped upon the limb of the horror that had daunted them, this ebony viper—

—the Receiver, Basiliora.

■-!!!!

—emerged into being.