Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 358 : What Must Be Done (1)
Previously on Became the Patron of Villains...
Although the king was neither truly dead nor of royal lineage, Syrkal had occupied the throne with such natural ease that their interaction remained profoundly awkward.
Suddenly, a specific detail mentioned by Siyan resurfaced in Alon's mind.
—They are assembling soldiers….
Certainly, the mobilization of Syrkal's forces and the establishment of the Divine Land were likely just a coincidence. There was no legitimate link between the two events. After all, Alon hadn't encountered Syrkal for several years. This uncertainty was why he hesitated to bring the matter up.
“Pardon me—would you be averse to moving to a more secluded area for a moment?”
Reacting to Syrkal’s abrupt proposal, Alon scanned his surroundings. A crowd of nobles gathered around her, clearly desperate for a sliver of her attention. Wondering if they were foreign dignitaries, he nodded.
“Very well. My apologies for intruding on your time.”
“Not at all, please do not say that. I am only relocating because I have no other alternative at this moment.”
“…No other choice?”
In response to Alon’s inquiry, Syrkal offered a subtle smile and gave a small nod. “As the Saintess mentioned, our preparations are proceeding smoothly, so there is no cause for concern.”
As she brushed past him, she delivered a whisper so faint that it was practically inaudible to others.
“What?”
Alon reacted a beat too late and spun around, but she had already returned to the cluster of nobles.
“??”
Dazed, Alon analyzed her cryptic words repeatedly.
“As the Saintess mentioned, our preparations are proceeding smoothly, so there is no cause for concern.”
There had been a distinct trace of amusement in her delivery.
“Hu—”
Alon steadied himself to think. He was aware that the Duchy of Luxibl venerated Kalannon, the One Who Receives Lightning. He also knew that Syrkal and her sister Jenira had been disseminating likenesses of him. This implied the “Saintess” Syrkal referred to must be the Saintess of Kalannon, especially since the goddess Sironia currently lacked one. Only one deduction remained—the Saintess mentioned was Sili. Once that realization clicked, a new question surfaced: what exactly did she define as “preparations”? What were they readying? No, in truth, the realization had already dawned on him. The abrupt change of power in the Duchy of Luxibl, when paired with the intelligence provided by Siyan, made the nature of those preparations clear. Soldiers. Interpreting Syrkal’s message, [As Sili said, the soldiers are being readied as planned, so rest easy.] The moment the implications solidified, a wave of shock hit him, leaving his mouth agape as he stared back at Syrkal.
***
Duke Pimalian wore a look of self-satisfied contentment as he issued an order to his servant. “Ensure it is prepared properly. It is intended as a gift for him.”
“Understood, I will attend to it with the utmost care.”
He toyed with his chin, looking leisurely toward the Tern estate. A massive influx of knights and soldiers occupied his view—far too excessive for typical security, especially since they seemed to have been recruited from various diverse nations, as evidenced by their disparate uniforms. Observing this, the duke began to stroll toward the deeper portions of the hall.
“My lord.”
“Go on.”
“Should we deliver the gift immediately after the festivities conclude today?”
“Indeed.”
“But… is it truly wise to relinquish such a thing so casually?”
The duke chuckled softly at the servant’s trepidation. He understood the servant's concern entirely, as it was perfectly valid: what Duke Pimalian intended to present to Eliban was a cache of narcotics. This substance was currently fetching exorbitant prices within the underworld. At a glance, Eliban and illicit drugs appeared to be an impossible combination. On the surface, anyway.
“Simply execute my instructions.”
Following the duke’s quiet command, the servant bowed and retreated. As the duke stepped into the opulently decorated ballroom, his mind began to churn. The smirk at his lips sharpened; even now, the memory of that encounter always triggered an uncontrollable, stifled laugh. Of course it did. The heroic paragon—the man who claimed to be devoted solely to saving the world—had approached him twice to initiate a business arrangement. Furthermore, he presented a vision for the future of the underworld that couldn't be ignored. It hadn't been a clumsy trap. No, Eliban, who appeared detached from such shadows, held intelligence on the underworld that surpassed the duke's own. He even knew of the duke’s clandestine activities. Duke Pimalian clicked his tongue as his eyes darted across the room. The hall surged with nobles—some familiar, some strangers. One particularity struck him: every noble he recognized had, to varying degrees, some connection to the underworld.
Creak—!
As he processed this information, the central doors swung open. Eliban walked in. What struck the duke as odd was that he was alone. Typically, he was flanked by aides. It had been identical during the ball at Asteria. As the duke pondered this, Eliban mounted the stage and cleared his throat. As the silence drew the collective eyes of the guests—Eliban began to mutter quietly. His eyes darted about, his voice a continuous murmur, plunging the nobles into confusion. Duke Pimalian, bewildered, advanced a step.
“Two, thirty—”
Eliban’s voice rang out with clarity. He was… “Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty—” counting. Serenely. While scanning the room. Just as the duke began to doubt the sanity of this behavior— “Forty-eight.” Eliban’s gaze locked onto Duke Pimalian. Before the duke could interject, a radiant smile bloomed over Eliban’s features.
“Ahem—”
Clearing his throat as if readying a formal address, Eliban declared, “A total of forty-eight nobles have gathered here. Thanks to each of you, I am finally permitted to set aside the heavy burden of being a ‘hero.’”
His voice rippled through the expansive hall. Just as the crowd’s confusion deepened—
CRUNCH—!
A noble at the very front had his skull twisted in a gruesome double rotation—
SPLAT—!
Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as the corpse crumbled to the floor. The metallic stench of gore flooded the air. Then—
“Thank you, everyone.”
With a face splattered in blood, Eliban smiled. That smile was the trigger.
“UAAAAAHHH!!!”
Chaos descended upon the hall.
