Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 368 : On Sin (6)

"!!"

Alon awoke inside a vast, pure white void utterly devoid of anything.

Directions like up or down escaped him entirely.

He stood uncertain even of his footing, enveloped solely by infinite whiteness.

While staring vacantly into the emptiness, a single word surfaced in his thoughts.

Failure.

Truthfully, death had claimed him right at the end.

Having activated Reverse Heaven repeatedly, his form could no longer withstand one more use.

The divine power required to harness the Primordial Elf’s divinity had been utterly depleted.

Nevertheless, he triggered Reverse Heaven once again.

Not out of resignation to death, but from precise planning.

Recalling Eliban’s voice, Alon’s scheme was straightforward.

In that last instant, he’d deploy Reverse Heaven while collecting the awe from nearby soldiers to summon the Primordial Elf’s divinity.

He trusted those forces would supply the bare minimum divine energy to unleash that might.

Thus, amid his momentary contemplation—

"!"

Suddenly, a known silhouette appeared right in front of him.

“Eliban?”

There stood Eliban.

Upon hearing his name called, Eliban turned his eyes toward Alon, as if expecting him.

His features matched precisely Alon’s final glimpse.

A radiant, easygoing grin played on his mouth.

His vivid blue eyes, profound and limpid, held no hint of concern as they met Alon’s.

“You...”

Alon parted his lips yet struggled for words.

Unsure where to start or what to inquire.

Were they both deceased?

Or what place was this?

Or why Eliban embodied sin?

Chaos whirled in his head.

Regrettably, Alon lacked time for reflection.

“I’m sorry. But for the ‘next,’ this was the only path. So please—”

Ah...

“I’m leaving the rest to you.”

Even that parting moment proved terribly brief.

“Wait—!”

Alon cried out instinctively at Eliban’s farewell words.

He hadn’t settled on his response yet.

Awareness struck that time slipped away fast.

But if this marked the true conclusion—

One message he owed Eliban.

“Thank you.”

Alon had strived to avert global doom without ever wagering all.

Despite inevitable catastrophe, he never gambled his existence.

The cause was straightforward.

Eliban’s presence.

Psychedelia’s lead character.

The fated savior of the realm.

With Eliban around, Alon withstood apocalypse’s weight, retreating from utter hopelessness.

Hence, his words sprang from the soul.

For Alon, Eliban’s being offered solace and ease—

A bulwark versus looming dread.

Did that genuine feeling touch him?

Eliban regarded Alon steadily.

His grin stayed the same.

Except—

“Please don’t say that. Then as now, the one receiving help—”

His smile broadened slightly.

“—has always been me.”

Just as Alon prepared to return the smile—

“—Father.”

“What?”

Excruciating torment ripped across his whole frame.

“Urgh—!?”

As pain engulfed him, Alon’s eyes flew open.

He clenched his teeth to suppress the scream surging up, compelling his gaze forward.

The chasm lingered overhead in the sky.

Inside it, the Milky Way gleamed softly still.

The ground beneath lay stripped of its spikes, reduced to scorched ruins.

Amid those ruins stood One Who Bears It.

His look had altered since earlier.

The armor cladding him lay in fragments.

His sword, once gripped firmly, now dangled as a ruined hilt alone.

He appeared incapable of further combat.

“Ah...”

Surveying the scene, Alon exhaled softly.

One Who Bears It cut a pathetic figure.

Even the Sin nearby seemed immobilized, likely from the harm inflicted on One Who Bears It.

Yet—

Crack...

Alon witnessed it.

One Who Bears It’s form regenerated—slowly, faintly.

[Can you bear the burden of sin?]

Pondering his next move, Sin’s voice resounded anew.

Alon gazed silently at him.

The query matched the prior one.

Alon’s lips moved soundlessly several times.

He recognized his destined reply.

In this circumstance, just one answer fit.

Still, doubt held him back.

Despite total ignorance—

Assenting to those terms might not prove correct.

As quiet lingered, One Who Bears It regarded Alon steadily and spoke.

[We have taken countless lives.]

His voice stayed even.

[There was a time when we filled the continent with the blood of those we took.]

Without passion, he pressed on.

[There was a time when we covered the land with the flesh of those we had slain.]

[Once, I beheaded a mother who held a broom to protect her child.]

[Once, I crushed the body of a son who raised a hoe to protect his aging mother.]

[Once, I burst the head of a priest who prayed to protect the orphans.]

[Once, I cleaved in half a soldier who charged forward to protect his lover.]

Once—

And once again—

Again and again.

One Who Bears It’s tone relayed calmly every atrocity committed.

No delight tainted it.

No thrill.

No remorse.

No elation.

From Sin’s narration of mass deaths, Alon sensed an indefinably clashing sentiment.

So profoundly at odds that all onlookers felt bewildered briefly.

[We killed those we were meant to protect.]

Duty.

That emotion emerged.

“...Why?”

The response followed.

[To stop the Watchers.]

Alon’s eyes expanded, absorbing truth shards.

[This world was created for the birth of a god.]

[That is the true nature of this world.]

Unheard truths flooded Alon’s ears.

[Therefore, this world itself can become ‘divine’ through belief.]

A mystery beyond Psychedelia’s grasp.

[Every sentient being born on this continent exists solely to bring forth the birth of a god.]

An insight impossible even after residing here.

[And with the birth of that god—]

The world’s reality.

[—comes destruction.]

Those hushed words from One Who Bears It prompted Alon’s reflexive reply.

“There were already ‘gods’ in the previous world.”

[You mean what your kind calls the Age of Forgotten Gods?]

“Yes.”

[Those were not gods. Merely mutations that appeared within this world. No life born here can ever become divine.]

“Why?”

Alon’s query shot out immediately.

But—

[Because the life of this world was never created to become a god.]

The reply rang so plain and lucid that Alon fell mute.

[The life of this world exists only to offer faith to the Watchers who descended upon it. That is our duty, nothing more.]

However—

[The one who awakened us discovered a truth even within the despair of this world.]

[That if the number of living beings does not surpass a certain threshold, the Watchers will not descend.]

“...Ah.”

A faint exhale slipped from Alon.

‘What I wanted to protect was humanity.’

Sloth’s voice whispered distantly in his thoughts, like fading recollection.

And then—

Clarity struck Alon.

This world’s truth.

[The Sins went mad.]

[Greed erased its own emotions in the agony of killing those it swore to protect.]

[Envy lost the ability to even maintain its own form.]

The Sins’ truth.

[Sloth turned its eyes away from the unbearable reality.]

[Pride, despite its noble origin, regressed into stupidity.]

One Who Bears It stared forthrightly, face serene.

[So I ask you again.]

[Can you bear the burden of sin?]

The query repeated.

Alon remained silent.

Initially, the phrase’s depth eluded him.

The second hearing offered no clarity.

Now—he comprehended.

He grasped One Who Bears It’s intent.

He understood bearing the load.

Sin had claimed myriad lives.

Through it, Sin shattered inwardly.

Certainly, no deeds warranted excuse.

Not even for worldly sake.

Their acts spawned terror and wails in endless souls.

Yet the Sins endured universal loathing and grudge to uphold existence.

Thus the query arose.

Would he uphold a realm founded on sin and grudge—

Shouldering destroyers who felled lives to safeguard them—

And shatter reincarnation’s loop?

Would he press on to rescue everything, aware failure meant total collapse under that load?

That defined the question.

Alon’s mouth trembled.

Myriad ideas raced through.

In reality, Alon never envisioned such vast duty.

Not rescuing youths.

Not battling Outer Gods.

Not confronting Sin.

His aims stayed modest.

He merely sought to act within his power—

And post-threat, embrace tranquil joy.

Nothing more.

...No. That desire had shifted somewhat.

Alon glanced back.

Familiar figures gathered there.

Yutia appeared.

Deus too.

Rine, Seolrang, Radan joined them.

Ryanga, Historia, Nangwon as well.

Magrina, absent in body, lingered among.

Alon’s true longing—

Lay in serene days with bond-forged companions.

That alone.

Alon solidified his aim.

Even post-events, “salvation” rang alien.

“Saving the world” loomed unreachable.

No hero defined him.

No destined champion.

Still, for that plain, modest dream—

One path remained.

“Yeah.”

Alon nodded.

With firm gaze, he confronted One Who Bears It, voicing determination.

And then—

[Is that so.]

One Who Bears It responded.

Serenely.

Yet laced with odd ease.

As if content.

As if thankful.

[...If that is the choice you’ve made, then so be it.]

One Who Bears It’s body dissolved into gray powder, dispersing on breezes.

With him, the immobile Sins disintegrated into floating cinders.

[Then I leave the rest... to you.]

At those terms, Alon called out hastily.

“...I have something I want to ask.”

[What is it?]

“The Watchers—who are they, really?”

To that, One Who Bears It raised his fractured sword hilt deliberately.

Instinct drew Alon’s sight along it skyward.

The heavens had reverted unseen to deep, tranquil night.

There gleamed the Milky Way, a luminous celestial stream.

“...?”

Puzzlement flickered over him.

The blade tip pointed to stars, revealing only the radiant Milky Way bathing the ground in silver glow.

But—

[When one reaches the truth, there are things one can finally see.]

At those soft utterances, Alon kept staring upward blankly.

Suddenly, a remote reminiscence emerged.

‘...Does it look beautiful to you?’

The initial encounter—

Trailing the Observer through Raksas.

Those melancholic words from an enigmatic face.

“When one reaches the truth, there are things one can finally see.”

One Who Bears It echoed them now.

And then—

[They have many names.]

“...?”

Transformation gripped the world.

[And many ways of being described.]

The splendid Milky Way twisting before Alon’s view warped its shape.

[The people of the ancient East called them the Executors of Providence.]

No.

[The ancient elves called them the Ones Who Stand Above the World Tree.]

No, incorrect.

[The old kingdoms called them the Blood of the Gods. But the Illanef Empire, which uncovered their origin—and the Ghoul Blood that destroyed it—]

No.

[They called those who sought to use this world as a cradle for birth by another name.]

Not the Milky Way reshaping.

Instead—

“!”

Alon at last perceived reality.

No Milky Way.

No stars.

Rather—

[Divine Blood.]

“Eyes—?”

Indeed. Eyes.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Thousands—vast and tiny.

They crammed the night expanse.

Varied forms—round, slitted, faceted, humanoid—yet united in purpose.

Gazing downward.

Gazing at him.

[ThankyouThankyouThankyouThankyou—]

[At last, we descend to the earth.]

[We have waited for you, my benefactor.]

[I want to become... I want to become... I want to become...]

[We will see you on the surface.]

Each of those myriad eyes brimmed with shadowy, rapturous bliss—

As if thrilled—

To behold a soul unveiling the truth.