Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 8
Previously on Became the Patron of Villains...
Alon’s public pretext for visiting the Estrovan lands was to establish social ties. In truth, however, he had endured a week-long trek for a specific purpose: a hidden labyrinth situated in the southern reaches of the territory.
“…Is this truly the location of your business?”
“It is.”
“It took us a full fortnight to track this spot down, but… there is nothing here?”
Evan spoke as his eyes swept across the desolate woodland. Alon followed suit, surveying the area.
The landscape offered nothing but an unmade path and a forest that appeared long-forgotten by civilization; no landmarks distinguished the terrain.
While Alon maintained a stoic mask, he felt a surge of relief internally.
Following the conclusion of the ball, Alon had remained in Estrovan for nearly twenty days, dedicating his entire schedule to locating this specific labyrinth.
With that thought, Alon turned his attention toward a narrow ravine peeking out from behind the trees. He began walking toward the solitary hint that had finally allowed him to pinpoint the site.
“Are you certain this time?”
Having already suffered through two fruitless searches, Evan grumbled while trailing behind his master.
Hearing Evan’s heavy footsteps, Alon began to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.
Guided by his memories of the labyrinth’s traits—a place he had entered hundreds of times within the world of Psychedelia—Alon moved forward with total confidence. Before long, they stood before the small ravine past the forest edge.
“…This area feels bizarre, no matter how one looks at it.”
Evan voiced his unease the moment they arrived.
As he noted, the ravine was modest in size, yet it radiated an undeniable aura of distortion.
Even with the sun high in the heavens, the depths of the ravine remained unnaturally dark, as if the shadows themselves were pushing back the light.
This sight immediately triggered Evan’s survival instincts, making him go on high alert.
“Let us enter.”
“Young Master!?”
Contrary to Evan’s fear, the phenomenon brought Alon a sense of satisfaction.
The atmospheric distortion in this ravine was the exact field effect of the Whispering Labyrinth he had been hunting for.
Confirming that the Whispering Labyrinth was indeed here, he stepped into the gloom without a second thought.
Though Evan looked on with a stunned expression, he had no choice but to follow Alon into the dark.
The transition was jarring; as soon as they entered, the warmth of the sun felt like a distant memory, replaced by a thick, suffocating darkness.
Within the shadows, they could see various stones strewn about, each etched with artificial designs that were clearly not the work of nature.
Passing these markers, Alon quickly identified a doorway swallowed by the void.
Alon stood in silence, gazing at the entrance, which was undeniably man-made and adorned with intricate patterns.
“How were you aware of this place’s existence?”
“Because I have frequented it often.”
“Pardon?”
Realizing his mistake, Alon immediately pivoted to cover his tracks.
“It was merely a jest.”
“…A jest? With a face that serious, it didn't sound like one… So, how did you actually know?”
“I have my private sources.”
“For a man with such sources, it certainly took a while to find the front door.”
“…I did not anticipate it being this difficult to locate.”
As Alon briefly reminisced about his time playing Psychedelia, Evan raised another point.
“So, who created this wretched place?”
“A man named Palaon was the architect.”
The Whispering Labyrinth.
Alon remembered that within certain gaming circles, this place was mockingly called Palaon’s Water Rocket Labyrinth.
“Palaon, you say?”
“Let’s go inside.”
Cutting off any further interrogation, Alon marched toward the entrance, leaving a wary and tense Evan to follow in his wake.
Soon, the entrance stood empty once more.
***
Screeeeech~!!!!
Crack! Crackle! Crunch!
A Hell Gargoyle—a beast typically encountered only during the middle stages of Psychedelia—was currently being pulverized. It looked as though a massive stone press had descended from the ceiling to crush the life out of it.
Evan’s face turned ghostly pale at the sight.
“O…”
Witnessing such a formidable creature, one he could never hope to best in single combat, perish so miserably was enough to rattle even a veteran mercenary like himself.
However, what truly terrified Evan was the realization that an identical stone slab was currently hanging directly over their own heads.
Evan turned his gaze toward Alon.
Despite the reality that a single mistake in these puzzles would result in a death as gruesome as the gargoyle's, Alon remained perfectly calm.
He appeared to be simply waiting for the path to clear, entirely unmoved by the carnage.
Observing Alon like this only deepened the mystery for Evan.
Usually, even the most secretive magician would reveal a glimpse of their true self after four years of proximity.
Furthermore, Evan had been Alon’s right hand for those four years.
He had rescued orphans at Alon's command.
He had dismantled criminal syndicates.
He had assisted slave girls and settled the debts of old men. He had even delivered cryptic messages to random individuals. He had performed every task asked of him.
Yet, after all that, Evan felt he didn't know the man at all.
The missions Alon assigned never seemed to point toward a clear, singular objective.
The only consistent pattern was Alon’s ongoing care for the children he saved, ensuring they were placed in proper orphanages.
Beyond that, Alon remained an enigma to Evan.
For instance, how did Alon know of this place when he had never stepped foot outside the Palatio lands?
Or how did he understand the complex mechanics of this terrifying labyrinth so well that he could answer every riddle without fail?
Despite these lingering doubts, Evan had developed a strange sense of confidence in Alon. He was willing to follow him into such a dangerous place because, ultimately, Alon’s actions always seemed to result in a positive outcome.
But trust did not kill curiosity. Evan watched Alon with a mix of respect and suspicion as the Young Master inspected the room with an indifferent glaze.
In reality, Alon was simply forcing himself to look away so he wouldn't have to see the mangled remains of the gargoyle.
Screeeeech~!
Once the execution was complete, Alon noted the door opening and exhaled a quiet sigh.
Though he lacked the strength for high-level combat, he had entered this mid-game Whispering Labyrinth with confidence because of his meta-knowledge.
The structure consisted of eight distinct chambers, each requiring a puzzle to be solved to unlock the next.
By knowing the solutions, he could bypass every combat encounter. Alon remembered every single answer perfectly.
In fact, for any dedicated Psychedelia player, these puzzles were impossible to forget.
This was one of the rare labyrinths that allowed for repeated entries without claiming the final prize, making it a legendary spot for grinding experience points.
Having exploited this place for level-grinding in countless playthroughs, Alon navigated the puzzles with ease and reached the final chamber.
Leading a mentally drained Evan—who was exhausted despite the lack of fighting—Alon entered the final small room. There, he retrieved a ring from a weathered table at the center.
The ring was plain and unremarkable. To an outsider, it would look like a piece of junk with no magical power whatsoever.
Alon, however, broke into a smile.
He was certain this was the "Constraint" he had come to find.
Its humble appearance didn't bother him in the slightest.
“…Eh? Young Master, the ring you just had…”
This item wasn't a traditional artifact; it functioned like a consumable elixir that merged with the user's body upon activation.
“We have what we came for. Let us depart.”
As the ring vanished from Alon’s palm, a startled Evan saw him turning to leave as if the business were concluded. Still dazed, Evan hurried after him.
The moment they crossed the threshold to the outside, the labyrinth sealed itself shut, signaling the end of its purpose.
However, upon reaching the exit, Alon and Evan were met with a new problem.
“…Did you predict this as well?”
Waiting for them outside was a phalanx of humanoid golems, armed and standing in perfect formation. They had not been there when they entered.
“Those golems… they are the stone heaps we passed earlier…”
Realizing the "decorations" from before were actually guardians, Evan tensed up and unsheathed his blade.
“I will take care of this.”
“What?”
Evan looked at Alon, completely bewildered by the statement.
Before he could voice his confusion—
“The Constraint is now active.”
The words fell coldly from Alon’s lips.
***
Inside the carriage returning to the Altia Duke’s domain, Roria leaned back and sighed deeply. Her expression was one of total hopelessness as she watched the estate grow larger in the distance. She let out a bitter, mocking laugh at her own expense.
Her thoughts drifted to the man from the ball.
Alon, the third son of the Palatio house.
That was merely his mask. According to the whispers of the high society, he was the one who had eliminated his two elder brothers—both underworld powerhouses—and dismantled the Avalon organization that controlled the east in a single night.
He was the true power behind the Palatio name, a predator hiding his strength until the perfect moment to strike.
After their meeting, Roria was certain the rumors were understated.
The sheer level of emotional control he exhibited at the ball was not something an ordinary noble could possess.
Roria then thought of her father.
The Duke of Altia, dubbed the “Noble One” because of his ability to play the Royalists and the Nobles against each other like puppets. He was a man no one dared to cross.
Her father never showed weakness or emotion, making every decision with ice-cold logic.
Her father’s eyes were identical to the eyes Alon had shown her five days ago.
That was why Roria had desperately reached out to Alon, seeing him as her final hope—and why her failure stung so much.
In truth, the rejection hadn't shocked her.
The moment their eyes met, Roria knew Alon was not a man who could be moved by something as fleeting as pity or tears.
Yet, she had begged anyway.
She had nothing else to offer him.
The only power she held was a fragile shadow of authority granted by the Duke’s fleeting favor.
Every time she tried to build something of her own, she was sabotaged by her own blood—her loathsome relatives.
She was powerless, and because of that, she couldn't grasp the lifeline she needed.
Or perhaps, she was the only one who viewed it as a lifeline.
No rational person would enter a deal where the dangers clearly outweighed the rewards.
She couldn't claim she was ignorant of this logic.
Even with her limited power, she had spent years navigating the treacherous waters of her family, fighting against relatives who held all the cards.
Though she had not yet reached adulthood, she understood the harsh reality of the world perfectly.
She knew that every interaction was a balance of profit and loss.
As Roria watched the estate grounds pass by the window, she remembered the strange, cryptic parting words Alon had spoken.
Roughly thirty minutes later, as she stepped back into the manor…
“…What did you just say?”
“Lady Faylin and Lord Kigg… they have both passed away!”
A maid informed her, trembling, that two of the siblings who had made her life a living hell had committed suicide.
Roria stood frozen, her mind spinning at the news. Their deaths felt impossible.
Her family members were the type to murder one another, not themselves.
The idea of them taking their own lives was fundamentally absurd.
Convinced that a deeper plot was unfolding, Roria’s mind flashed back to the words of that man—the third son of Palatio.
No.
She thought of the true shadow master who had cleared his own path to become the Count’s heir by removing his siblings.
A cold shiver raced down her spine.