Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 361 : What Must Be Done (4)

“What did you just say?”

Deus’s words left Alon stunned for a brief instant.

The revelation he’d just received was utterly astonishing.

“Eliban has become a Sin.”

Repeating the question wouldn’t alter Deus’s statement.

“Could you describe the circumstances more thoroughly first?”

Alon let out a sigh, steadying his bewildered thoughts.

Understanding the full picture came before any outburst.

“Based on the latest report—”

In the tense air, Alon attentively heard out Deus’s account.

Once the briefing ended, his pounding headache intensified.

“You’re telling me he turned into a Sin after slaughtering every noble at the Tern ball?”

“Yes.”

Alon pictured Eliban’s features in his mind.

“This was completely unforeseen.”

He was aware that Sins could emerge from anyone.

He’d witnessed such transformations previously.

Yet even so—

For Eliban to be the ultimate Sin...

It was beyond his wildest guesses.

Eliban embodied everything opposite to a Sin—as Psychedelia’s central hero.

“Haah...”

Alon massaged his eyes, attempting to soothe his boiling mind.

Assuming Deus spoke truth, the event was irreversible.

Nothing could reverse it anymore.

All at once, Eliban’s image from the latest ball flashed before him.

Just like the youth from long ago—

His smile had shone radiantly.

—Omniscient and omnipotent?

—Well, that’s a quality a god possesses. I meant what’s important when one is ‘becoming’ a god.

—Becoming a god, you mean—

—Shall I tell you?

—What is it?

—Imprint..

—Imprint?

—It’s about how one is perceived, as a being.

Then, their final exchange bubbled up in Alon’s thoughts.

Back then, it appeared casual—unrelated to everything.

However, with Eliban now a Sin, those words’ significance blazed clear once more.

Why did Eliban utter those words?

Why...

With the realization striking home, Alon shook off his stupor and addressed him anew.

“Deus.”

“Yes?”

“Recall when Eliban’s birthday celebration happened in Tern?”

“Two days ago, I think.”

“Two days...”

According to Alon’s knowledge, the Sin of Wrath fully emerges in two months.

Which left him with fifty-eight days.

Yet Alon realized he couldn’t treat it as ample time.

He’d discovered already—this realm defied game rules.

Moreover, Eliban’s transformation into a Sin might have twisted his essence unpredictably.

Put differently, the remaining window could be much briefer than anticipated.

Considering this, Alon started gauging the Sin’s might.

Sins possessed innate might, though it varied by the host body they claimed.

And this last Sin occupied Eliban’s form—the Psychedelia hero in person.

That fact ensured it outclassed every other Sin.

“In that scenario, his power would be...”

“Marquis!”

Alon’s contemplation deepened when a frantic voice interrupted.

He glanced up to find Evan bursting into the tent, gasping for air.

His face plainly screamed disaster.

Before Alon could inquire—

“Ashtalon has fallen...!”

“What?”

“Just like I said! Ashtalon lies in ruins... destroyed by Eliban, now a Sin!”

Alon skipped the follow-up question.

Instead, a empty chuckle escaped him.

“Ha.”

***

Three days elapsed since the Sin of Wrath obliterated Ashtalon’s capital.

The Allied Kingdom’s rulers held an urgent summit at the Magic Tower, hub of all mages’ guilds.

Naturally, not all kings attended bodily.

Three days sufficed for gossip to circulate, but not for sovereigns to journey and gather.

Hence, the monarchs projected themselves via the towers’ aid, mirroring their shared alarm.

Green and Brown Towers’ combined magic enabled their avatar presence.

For mages and kings alike, new to the display, it was breathtaking.

Dozens of intricate, glowing magic circles pulsed through the hall, defying simple portrayal.

Still, amid the grandeur, admiration stayed unspoken.

The crisis loomed too massively.

“So, what’s your suggested course of action?”

Carmaxes III shattered the quiet first.

“What do you mean?”

“What else? That beast rampaging in Ashtalon.”

“I get that. My question is—how do we handle it?”

King Palmarian responded flatly.

“Plain as day: exterminate the fiend. Deploy the forces.”

“You seriously believe troops can ‘exterminate’ such a monstrosity?”

The retort fired back swiftly.

Carmaxes III quieted, gaze shifting to the orb broadcasting the scene live.

First shown: Ashtalon’s capital in total devastation.

Then, a colossal gash spanned the wreckage, like fury’s own laceration.

And further—

“No matter how often I view it,” a voice murmured, “it’s nauseating.”

At the city’s core rose a mound of cadavers.

As though butchered animals stacked high.

Body piles dotted the capital, crimson rivers pouring forth, drenching the debris in deep scarlet.

The kings eyed the orb and scowled uniformly.

Mages upholding the projection and tower masters watching silently mirrored the grimaces.

Such was the orb’s infernal horror.

Yet more oppressive than the vista were the chamber’s exchanged details.

One noble escaped the slaughter by miracle.

Filian Merkiliane’s sole report rang out—

“One strike.”

That truth sank the room into utter hopelessness.

“A lone blow erasing a kingdom—has to be hyperbole, right?”

Raksas’s king, silent till now, voiced doubt.

But Asteria’s Queen Siyan countered steadily.

“Doesn’t strike me as exaggeration.”

“...And your reasoning?”

“Not regular troops involved. Ashtalon’s Filian Merkiliane had attained mastery’s peak. Terror wouldn’t warp a master’s recollection.”

“Plus,” she noted softly, “the orb displays evidence before us.”

That immense rift cleaving the capital’s remains end to end.

Silence gripped the assembly after her statement.

Argument faltered; deep down, all sensed her truth.

“Even facing such might, we can’t idly wait, right?”

“Agreed, but will massing armies truly vanquish it?”

“So surrender and observe? We don’t know its next target! Think Raksas immune as an island?”

“Mind your tone.”

Carmaxes III and Raksas’s king’s voices escalated.

No others intervened.

All grasped both arguments’ validity.

The entity that razed Ashtalon in a night—seemingly ex-Hero Eliban—was no army-toppling foe.

Inaction wasn’t viable either.

This beast, emerging in Ashtalon mere half-day post-Tern ball, might strike anew anywhere.

“Commit all troops at once, and if it shifts to another land? We’re doomed!”

“Precisely why we attack preemptively—rally fast before it does! Inaction achieves zilch!”

Hours of wrangling yielded no consensus.

Tension thickened relentlessly.

At last, as Rosarion’s envoy Yuman sighed heavily—

Creaaak.

The doors burst open abruptly.

Silence crashed down.

All eyes locked on the entrance.

And appearing was—

“...Marquis Palatio?”

Marquis Palatio lingered soundlessly at the threshold.

Silent, his serene, inscrutable gaze scanned the gathering.

Then—

Step, step—

He advanced wordlessly.

Expression unchanging.

No salutation.

Merely poised, unflinching poise, deeming such needless.

Alon halted at the room’s heart, fixing eyes on the magic projection.

Hellish panorama met him.

Onlookers tracking his stare recoiled from the atrocity.

Alon, unmoved apparently, neared the orb.

Voooom—

Hand on the globe, the nightmare dissolved as he deactivated it.

“...?”

Disbelieving stares from the kings.

“Marquis Palatio, what’s the meaning of this?”

Their ire made sense.

Regardless of Alon’s fame, this was kings’ conclave—deciding allied fates.

Uninvited, a noble intruding and commanding was blatant affront.

“No matter your prestige, this oversteps—”

“Such arrogance from mere personal power—”

Yet Alon cut in before protests peaked.

“A method exists to confront that entity.”

Silence swallowed every protest.

“If my attendance bothers, I’ll depart.”

That understated ultimatum cowed the chastising kings amid glares.

“N-no, we didn’t intend...”

“Indeed, indeed—Marquis Palatio merits a voice here.”

They backpedaled hastily, preserving dignity.

As they fumbled—

“Then let’s proceed,” Alon declared, launching the true discourse.

***

Simultaneously—

Within Fildagreen’s royal palace—

“The Imperial Guardian Weapon of Illanef.”

Rine, fresh from Eternal Library perusal, muttered in shock.

“...A Sin?”

She breathed the term freshly unearthed from her studies.