I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain Even now, Ian was swinging a greatsword imbued with divinity as if it were no heavier than a reed stalk. The fact that such strength came not from divine blessing but from his innate ability was something no onlooker could even imagine. Nor could they know that the greatsword he was wielding was the lightest two-handed weapon he had ever used. "Charge! Cut the tentacles!" "Lu Solar is watching! Let’s go!" In any case, Ian’s appearance was not just inspiring faith and reverence; it was also instilling courage and strength in those fighting the drowned corpses on the front lines. Swords wreathed in searing flames, steel gauntlets crackling with the lightning Regin unleashed, spears heated until their blades glowed red, and maces swirling with razor-edged Wind Blade—each guard gripped a magical weapon and fought with the fervor of a crusader. Even the caravan’s imperial-armored guards were no exception. "Stay calm! Just don’t let them grab your head!" They were no longer just holding the line against the drowned corpses; they were advancing, step by step. And it wasn’t just Ian who was helping them. A black warhorse clad head to hoof in heavy barding came thundering, ramming straight into a drowned corpse that had been facing off with the guards and trampling it under. All the while, it skillfully dodged the reaching tentacles with acrobatic movements. "What in the… That’s one incredible steed." The guards stared at Moro with dumbfounded expressions. For a horse ridden by a paladin of Lu Solar, it had an excessively beastly aura, but in a life-or-death battle, even such a sight was a welcome one. "Oil— Bring the oil!" a guard with a flaming sword shouted, looking back, having gained a moment’s respite. "We need to cut off these things’ tentacles and burn them! Quickly!" "What are you all staring at? Move! Bring all the oil pouches!" Seems they’re doing well. He swung his greatsword to its full extent while simultaneously casting Wind Blade once more. The surrounding fog was pushed away by the wind pressure from the greatsword, revealing the ground soaked with twitching remnants and the fluids they had spewed. The barnacle tentacles were the first to lose their strength and go limp when their hosts were burned by divine power. The hosts, on the other hand, continued to twitch as if alive for some time. Of course, Ian didn’t even glance at the debris scattered all around. His gaze was directed beyond the creaking, approaching drowned corpses. Definitely over there. He had already cut down more than half the horde, yet no opponent worthy of being called a "named" had appeared. Instead, after killing a certain number of drowned corpses, a faint wave of chaos had begun to spread through the fog. And each time, the movements of the drowned corpses became faster and more violent. Even so, they were no match for Ian. With his superhuman strength, agility, and stamina, supplemented by divine skills from his artifacts and the assistance of magic and psychic abilities with extremely short casting times, these merely mutated minions were no opponent for him at all. I guess I have been fighting nothing but tough opponents lately. Swallowing a dry laugh, Ian kept his focus, methodically hacking the drowned to pieces. The biggest change in him after passing through the Black Land was the fact that he no longer let his guard down in any situation. The fact that it’s not showing itself even after I’ve been cutting them down means it either has no emotions at all or it’s unable to move. Either way, fine by me. As the thought passed, the dim surroundings began to shimmer faintly with light. A pungent, burning smell mixed with the fog. It was the light and smell created by the advancing guards as they burned the drowned corpses. Ian didn’t pay it much mind. He simply kept cleaving through what remained, brushing aside lunging tentacles with his Willful Grasp. At last, Ian’s greatsword swept diagonally through the torso of a drowned corpse with its back to him, spilling rotted entrails as the creature collapsed. Beyond it stood a Northern guard, frozen mid-swing with his single-bladed axe raised. As Ian struck his greatsword into the ground and caught his breath for a moment, a low gasp escaped from the guard, Regin. The other guards assisting him also had blank expressions for a moment. They had finally realized that there was nothing left standing behind Ian. Of course, the battle wasn’t completely over yet. "Cut these tentacles. Hurry!" A few drowned corpses still tangled with the other guards remained. However, before they could even close the ten paces to their targets, the situation was over. As the billowing fog and smoke obscured his vision, Ian, his greatsword lowered, straightened his posture once more. The guards’ gazes finally turned to him. They were close enough now to see the features hidden beneath his hood. The revealed face was enough to make Regin’s brow furrow and his eyes widen again. His raised eyes trembled for a moment. His awestruck utterance was cut short. His jaw had frozen as if an invisible force had clamped down on it. Ian, who was facing him, gave a slight shake of his head. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ N0v3l.Fiɾe.net Then, turning his gaze, Ian looked at the other guards, who were flinching, and said, "Help the others. It seems those are the last of them." The guards, answering in a fluster, exchanged glances and then split up, running to either side. Ian’s gaze finally returned to Regin. Releasing his Willful Grasp, Ian stepped over a dismembered corpse and said, "Long time no see, Regin." "You’ve really returned… Great War—" Regin, who had been stammering, froze again. The Willful Grasp had once again clamped down on his jaw. "Let’s drop that title. I don’t want any trouble. Understood?" At Ian’s added words, Regin barely managed to nod. With a slight smirk on his lips, Ian added, "Good, Regin. I need to go and finish things up. So I have a few simple favors to ask of you." Regin’s head nodded up and down without a moment’s hesitation. Joy and exhilaration were spreading in his eyes as he looked at Ian. "My companions will be here soon. So you—" Ian quickly rattled off the necessary information and finally added, "Can you do it?" Regin nodded once more. Even with his jaw released, he didn’t open his mouth, likely afraid of saying something careless again. Just as Ian was about to smile, the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approached. Moro, covered in bodily fluids, came to a natural stop behind Ian. Regin would have no way of knowing when or how he had been summoned. Ian, frowning at the creature, which was chewing on something, stepped into the stirrup and mounted. The light that had wreathed his greatsword was already fading. Readjusting his grip on the hilt, Ian looked down at Regin. "I’m counting on you to keep your boss’s mouth shut, too." "Understood," Regin replied. With a flick of the reins, Moro surged forward, crossing the battlefield in an instant and vanishing into the roiling fog. Regin, however, couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes from that fog for some time after. The commotion in the area subsided just after Regin murmured, "The Superhuman of the North." All the remaining drowned corpses were gone. For a brief moment, there was only smoke, fire, and drifting mist. One of the porters raised his spear and shouted. He was one of the ones who had been trembling in fear, but no one chided him. "We won. Fuck yeah! Oh, the light—" "Glory to the radiant light!" Instead, they each raised their weapons and let out a victorious roar. Some hugged each other or fell to their knees in prayer. If it weren’t for the paladin who had appeared out of nowhere, they would all have been as good as dead. They could have run, of course, but guards who abandoned their employer to save themselves rarely met a good end. Still, not everyone was simply rejoicing in survival and victory. "Where is our benefactor?" "Where did he go? Could it be that the Radiant Goddess herself sent down her messenger?" A few were looking around, searching for Ian. It was then that Regin looked back. A few porters were sending him curious glances. They had seen Ian leave and likely noticed the brief exchange between them beforehand. The same went for the merchants. Even while offering prayers of thanks to Lu Solar, the merchants were glancing in Regin’s direction. The head of the Lighthouse Trading Company, Jamal, had already finished his prayer and was climbing down from his wagon. Regin, who had met his eyes, tilted his head toward the rear of the road and turned away, shaking the bodily fluids from his one-handed ax and returning it to the back of his belt. "Regin! Why are you going that way? Regin!" Jamal, who had passed the cheering porters, came running, flustered. Even so, he was careful to lower his voice. Regin, who had started walking without a word of reply, stopped only after he had put a reasonable distance between himself and the caravan. "What is it?" Jamal, approaching the turning Regin, moved his lips. "Why did our benefactor just leave like that? What did you talk abo—" "He has returned," Regin cut him off. Jamal, who had stopped in front of him, blinked in confusion. "Returned? What do you mean returned?" "The master of the golden insignia has returned." At Regin’s subsequent words, Jamal’s eyes widened as if they would tear. He froze like a statue for a moment. "S-So, you’re saying that man just now was I—" Jamal, who had been stammering uncharacteristically, was cut short. Regin had reached out and clamped his hand over his mouth. It was the sort of thing he’d never normally do to an employer, but this time he didn’t seem to care. Lowering his voice, Regin murmured, "He did not seem to wish for his identity to be revealed, just like the first time we met him. Understood?" Jamal, his mouth covered, just moved his eyes up and down. His brow was furrowed, likely because of the disgusting stench coming from the fluids on Regin’s hand. As Regin let go of his hand, Jamal, who had been holding his breath, gasped and wiped his face with his palm. "So the rumors were true. I wondered if it might be, but I never thought I’d actually see him again !" Jamal, his eyes now glinting unlike his usual calm and composed self, looked back at Regin. "So, what did he say? Don’t tell me he just left like that? If you just let him go, even if it’s you—" "He said he had some business to finish. He will be back. He said his companions are on their way and asked the head of the trading company to receive them." "Companions?" Jamal’s gaze, as he asked again, shifted to behind Regin. "Could it be those people who are coming now?" "It seems so," Regin said after looking back. Beyond the billowing fog, figures on horseback were approaching. He couldn’t see them clearly yet, but it was certain that they were approaching very leisurely. "He asked me to tell the other merchants that he helped us on the orders of his lady. That the lady would handle the thanks and the reward, of course." "His lady…" Jamal’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. His eyes, now those of a merchant, stared at the approaching silhouettes and murmured, "If the esteemed guest said so, then we must follow. You go and explain to the other merchants. I will greet the esteemed guests first." "Alright." Regin clicked his tongue and started walking toward the merchant group. The other merchants, who seemed to have felt something was off about the two gathered at the rear, were also approaching. The porters and guards, fresh from their victory, were now tending to the dead and wounded, though more than a few glanced their way. Taking all this in, Jamal turned back toward the road. "The Agent of the Saint’s companions…" He took in the figures of the riders who had appeared. The first one he saw was an orc warrior on a wasteland-bred steed. He could tell just from his skin color that he was no ordinary warrior. Of course, the two women on white horses behind him were just as extraordinary. Jamal knew at a glance that the silver-haired fairy was the lady Ian had mentioned. The insight came naturally to a man with a merchant’s eye. "Indeed," muttering under his breath, Jamal stopped. Ian’s group was slowly approaching, their eyes on him. Jamal bent his knee respectfully in the Imperial style. "I am Jamal, the head of the Lighthouse Trading Company, a member of the Hexagonal Alliance. I have received the Agent of the Saint’s message and have come to greet you in advance. It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time, my lady." "I am Thesaya Erenos. A pleasure to meet you, Jamal," the silver-haired fairy, Thesaya, said, looking down at him. It was enough to make Jamal’s eyes flash for a moment. It was only natural, as he had just heard the name of the elder and head of the House of Erenos. "So, where is he?" Thesaya said coldly. "He said he had some business to finish and would be back shortly. Until then, I will attend to the esteemed guests. Of course, after I have formally offered my thanks to you, Elder." "Excellent. But before that…" Thesaya turned her gaze. She slowly scanned the area, filled with fog, flames, and corpses, the busily moving guards, Regin, and the other merchants who were approaching, and added, "Shall we take a look at the scene first?"