I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain Wagons lined the roadside like a folding screen as bonfires blazed throughout the encampment. The low-lying fog couldn't stop the oil-soaked firewood from catching flame. "Don't spare the meat! You have to eat well, especially on a day when you've seen blood." "Bring more drinks! Surely you're not going to act like misers after a near-death experience, are you?" Porters diligently carried boxes filled with food, wine, and other supplies. The guards sitting around the bonfires chattered loudly as they tended to their wounds and cleaned their weapons. More than a few fell asleep as if knocked out the moment they sat down. "We'll be resting here until sunrise, so don't you worry." The merchants moved among them, constantly offering words of encouragement and directing the situation, all the while not forgetting to occasionally glance toward the carriage at the rear with peculiar expressions. "H-He's coming!" one of the porters on watch shouted not long after. That single phrase was enough to silence the bustling area in an instant. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads in the same direction as if on cue. Clip-clop, clip-clop— The sound of hoofbeats was approaching from beyond the shadows cast by the bonfires. Through the fog, which was gradually thinning, the figure of a black warhorse clad in armor and the rider upon it became clear. He wore a deep hood and carried a greatsword with a sharp, fang-like point slung low. Even as the firelight spread, only the lower half of the rider's face, below his nose, was visible beneath the hood. Not many noticed the gray, branch-like object he carried in front of his saddle. "He's finally back..." "Where on earth has he been?" Everyone was too busy scrambling to their feet. Even those who had been laughing and joking now wore solemn expressions. It was only natural. This rider was the savior who had saved all their lives, and, of course, an apostle of a god. Clip-clop, clip-clop— As the rider drew closer, those who had been holding their hands clasped before their chests bowed their heads one by one. "Glory to the radiant light…" "May infinite grace be upon the apostle of the god…" "O light… thank you." I told you I'm not a paladin. Despite his thought, Ian gave a casual nod. In any case, it was clear no one yet knew his true identity or name. Which meant Regin had followed his orders well—and so had the merchant of the Lighthouse Trading Company. —Over there, Apostle. Ian’s brow twitched slightly at the whisper that tickled his mind. The teasing intent was obvious. He already knew where Yog was pointing. At the very rear of the line of wagons, next to a luxurious carriage with a roofed wall, a familiar orc warrior stood guard. The group’s horses were also gathered behind the carriage, resting. Moro snorted, veering naturally in that direction. —A shame. I thought I’d get to see a bunch of bloated corpses. You’re the only one who’d want to rest next to that smelly pile of bodies. Ian let out a low snort. The campsite was a good distance from the battlefield. They had clearly moved on after cleaning up and found a new spot. Thanks to the fog, even Ian caught almost no trace of the stench. Someone fell in step beside Moro then. It was a middle-aged Imperial man, his dress marking him as a merchant. Ian didn’t recognize him. "It is late, but I offer my sincerest thanks. You have saved all our lives." Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelFɪre.net "I will accept your thanks, but let’s leave it at that. They were enemies I would have had to face anyway to pass through," Ian replied without even a glance. The Imperial merchant bowed his head low. "Truly… you are noble…" Just as Ian was about to click his tongue inwardly, the merchant put his right hand into his coat and added, "I am ashamed that the only reward we could think of is a worldly one. However, though it may be small, it is prepared with our heartfelt gratitude, so please do not refuse." The merchant pulled out a fist-sized leather pouch from his coat, held it up high above his head with both hands, and offered it respectfully. A faint arc formed on Ian’s lips. "How could I refuse such sincerity?" The door of the distant carriage burst open just as Ian took the pouch. Regin, who came running out, shouted as he approached, "I will escort you!" It was likely Lucia who had told him, having heard Yog’s whisper. When Regin sent a pointed look, the merchant’s expression soured. However, in the end, he didn’t ignore the silent pressure. "It is a shame I do not even know your name. Then, I hope to see you again, benefactor." The merchant bowed and turned away. Ian, a smile still on his lips, simply nodded. The pouch in his hand was quite heavy. He could tell just from the feel of it that it was full of gold coins. It was likely not just a token of gratitude but also an attempt to open a connection. Just then, Regin, who had run up, slid to a stop beside Moro. "Well fought… Great Warrior." Ian looked at him as he added the last part in a lowered voice. Regin’s eyes were still burning with a fiery passion. He’s going to burn a hole through my face. "You’ve handled things very well," said Ian. "I have only done what was necessary. Let us go. Your companions are waiting." Regin gestured toward the carriage with his palm. Ian, turning his gaze, added, "Your employer has changed." "Ah, yes, that’s how it turned out." Regin paused and lowered his head slightly. At the faint shame in his voice, Ian looked down at him and asked, "Did something happen to the head of the Windmill Trading Company?" "No. It is just…" Regin hesitated for a moment before adding, "We have parted ways, Great Warrior." So he just changed employers. There must have been some kind of discord. Ian let out a low snort and added, "A contract is just a contract. There’s no need to be embarrassed about changing employers." "Yes, thank you," Regin answered a beat late, as if the words had hit home, then looked up again. "And I am glad you have returned safely. Many in the North will rejoice when the news reaches them." Ian let out a chuckle. "So I’ve heard. You wouldn’t know, but the barbarians were the first to know of my return." "Is that so? Karha must have given some kind of revelation," added Regin, who had tilted his head, seeming to understand the situation. "Well, yeah, something like that," Ian replied, tugging on the reins. They had reached the side of the wagon. Stepping into the stirrup, Ian looked back at the now quietly bustling campsite and said, "I’m hungry. Could you prepare something for me to eat?" "Of course. I will prepare it and bring it to you right after I escort you." "Bring a piece of meat for this one, too. Raw, if possible." Dismounting, Ian handed over the reins. "Indeed… even the horse you ride has a unique taste. Understood," Regin let out an admiring murmur as he took the reins. As Moro snorted, Ian, who had picked up the gray branch he had placed in front of his saddle, turned around. "You have worked hard." Mukapa, who had been looking at him, bowed his head slightly. "Not at all. Will you be joining us?" "No. I will remain here on guard. The Elder requested that no one be allowed to eavesdrop on your conversation." Everyone but me seems to be making good use of this guy. Ian held out the fang greatsword, the blade parallel to the ground. "Then would you mind holding my greatsword for a moment? It’s too cumbersome to take inside." Mukapa immediately took the sword, supporting the flat of the blade and the hilt with both hands, and asked, "May I wipe it down?" "I would be grateful if you did." With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Ian stepped up into the carriage. Inside was a surprisingly spacious cabin with facing seats. "You’ve arrived!" The head of the Lighthouse Trading Company rose slightly from his seat in greeting. Nodding, Ian took in the interior. It was as luxurious as its exterior suggested. Along the ceiling’s centerline, straight grooves were etched in rows, and a softly glowing Magic Stone Lamp hung there. "You took longer than I expected, Agent of the Saint," added Thesaya, sitting across from the merchant with one leg crossed. She even held a pewter goblet in one hand. Getting quite the royal treatment, I see. "I went down to the river," Ian replied, sitting in the empty seat directly in front of him as Mukapa closed the carriage door. —And it was very boring. Yog’s commentary followed. Lucia, sitting opposite Ian, met his gaze. She had set her mask atop her head and was holding a wine cup in her left hand. Her gaze, which had been observing Ian’s condition, was now fixed on the gray branch he held in his left hand. Her expression was one of complete bewilderment. Now it’s wine whenever she gets a chance. Smirking inwardly, Ian leaned the branch at an angle beneath his seat. "I am glad you have returned safely, Agent of the Saint," a resonant voice followed from the side. The head of the Lighthouse Trading Company, still half-risen from his seat, was looking at him. The reason for his awkward posture was likely the low ceiling. As Ian looked at him, he finally bent his knee in the Imperial style. "My apologies for the late greeting. I am Jamal of the Lighthouse Trading Company. It has been a long time." "It has been a long time," Ian replied with a calm nod. Finally sitting back down, Jamal showed a somewhat greasy-looking smile. "I am pleased to see the master of the golden insignia again . I had heard the rumors of your return and had hoped to meet you again, but I did not expect it to be today." "The same goes for me. From the looks of it…" Ian stared at Jamal for a moment and smiled. "Your business seems to have prospered quite a bit in the meantime." Jamal’s attire was noticeably more luxurious and flamboyant than he remembered. He’d never dressed plainly, but it hadn’t been embroidered with gold thread and adorned with dangling gold accessories like it was now. And on top of that, he’d even hired Regin, a man Ian knew wouldn’t have come cheap. Jamal’s thick lips curved into an arc. "It is thanks to you, Agent of the Saint." "The only thing I seem to have done is disappear." "Even so, your reputation did not disappear, Agent of the Saint. In fact, your name became even more renowned after you disappeared beyond the Black Wall. Just as with the former Crown Prince, there were many who believed you were still alive. Of course…" Jamal’s smile deepened slightly. "We were among them." "I am glad I was able to reward your faith." Though I wasn’t the only one who did the rewarding. Jamal lowered his voice. "And Her Highness the Princess has also become a member of the Alliance." "You mean Her Highness Seras," Ian murmured. Jamal readily nodded. "I know that the connection was also made through you, Agent of the Saint. The leader mentioned ‌at a regular meeting that it was thanks to the Agent of the Saint that Her Highness was able to be issued a golden insignia." So he went and blabbed about that, too. Ian, recalling the Imperial merchant who seemed to seek out nothing but trouble and shook his head slightly. "Is the head of the Ark Caravan doing well?" "He should be. He seems to travel between the Northern snowfields and the frontier every season. I don’t think he’s making enough profit to match the risks he’s taking, though…" "The frontier…" A faint smile touched Ian’s lips. It seemed Fael was keeping his promise to Philip. And not just once, but continuously. "How have you been, Agent of the Saint? Beyond the Wall, I mean," Jamal added then. They all do this the moment they make eye contact. Ian, once again faced with the reason he didn’t want to reveal his identity, let out an inward scoff and replied, "Many things happened. It doesn’t seem like a story for here." "You are right. There is another story that must be told now," Thesaya interjected suggestively. Glancing at Lucia, Thesaya looked at Ian with a playful smile on her lips. "What on earth is that spoil of war you have placed beside you, Agent of the Saint? It looks like a staff." "It is a thing that can be used as such," Ian replied, picking up the gray branch beside him and holding it up. "This is a fragment of the enemy I dealt with. As you can see, it’s coral." As he had said before, it was also a piece of equipment whose information window he could check. The Branch of the Abyssal Man-Eating Coral was a rare-grade magic staff. It was an item exclusively for the corrupted, specifically dark mages. It couldn’t even maintain its form without being bound by infusing it with chaos. "You mean the coral that grows under the sea?" Jamal said, frowning. Ian nodded. "This one had taken root on a riverbank and was growing above ground." A vision of that enormous, ashen coral flashed through Ian’s mind—the way it shimmered with ominous purple light, exhaling a briny mist. It had been the very source spewing waves of chaos power. "Its roots were, of course, human. Several were entangled together. It must have grown in the sea and then crawled up with the drowned corpses to take root." Jamal’s brow furrowed. He was likely imagining the scene of an enormous coral sprouting from a tangle of corpses, dragging itself out of the water alongside drowned corpses crusted with barnacles. —As I said, it was a boring one. It couldn’t even put up a proper fight while Ian was cutting it down. Jamal, on the other hand, seemed to instinctively lean back toward the wall, putting more space between himself and the coral. "I thought so…" Lucia murmured. Nodding after a glance at Thesaya, she looked back at Ian. "Most of those drowned corpses from earlier were people who were trying to cross the inner sea."