I Became the Patron of Villains (Novel) - Chapter 35 - Me, the Leader.. (3)

Chapter 35 – Me, the Leader…? (3)

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Translated by Jinmu

Read it only at Novelbyu.com & Utoon.net

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Beneath a grand estate in Malteon, a vast southern territory of the Kingdom of Ashtalon, two men sat in an underground chamber.

One was Kamain, third son of Duke Komalon and master of the estate above.

The man standing before him, however, wore a relaxed expression despite facing Kamain, the so-called tyrant and brute.

“A Proxy. Correct?”

Kamain asked as if confirming a rumor.

The man with narrow eyes smiled quietly.

Without a word, he drew a quill pen from his chest.

At first glance, it looked like nothing at all.

Then aura rose from the tip like a blade.

Still smiling lightly, the man raised his arm above his head and drew a line through empty air.

Though there was clearly nothing there, a black stroke remained in the space where the quill had passed.

Kamain watched it and then noticed that the black line was sinking into the air itself like ink bleeding through paper.

The instant that dark line vanished.

Blood sprayed outward.

Nine corpses that had not been visible even a moment before collapsed to the ground, blooming red flowers of blood across the chamber floor.

The room had been clean and orderly just seconds ago.

Now it stank of iron.

The man tucked the quill back into his chest and asked with a teasing smile:

“I assume that answers your question?”

Kamain stared blankly for a moment.

Then he grinned in satisfaction.

“Confirmed. A Swordmaster with a unique ability on top of that. So you really are one of the `Proxies`. A different class of creature entirely.”

Though his own subordinates had just been slain in a single stroke, he paid the deaths no mind and sounded almost impressed.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

The Proxy smiled lazily.

Kamain nodded, equally satisfied.

This really was the correct choice.

The Proxies were assassins who operated throughout the allied kingdoms.

Kamain did not know their exact numbers.

But he did know one thing for certain.

Every individual belonging to the Proxies possessed strength at the Swordmaster level or above.

Their fees were absurdly high and they were selective about targets.

But among all the contracts they had accepted, not a single one had ever failed.

So when the Proxy said, “Then let’s move to the real matter,” Kamain answered at once.

“I want a noble killed.”

“Name?”

“Count Palladio of Asteria.”

At that, the Proxy fell silent for a moment, thinking.

Then he said:

“I’m afraid that contract would be difficult for us to accept.”

It was an outright refusal.

But Kamain had expected resistance.

“…Because of the fee?”

“Exactly. As you know, our rates are not modest. And in Count Palladio’s case, there would be quite a few surcharges attached.”

“Then if I pay the price, you can kill him?”

“Among the contracts we accepted at the proper price, there has never been a single failure. Whether the target was a noble.”

The Proxy smiled.

“Or royalty.”

The confidence in his voice was absolute.

Kamain answered at once.

“Then I’ll pay.”

“…Regrettably, I doubt you can afford the price we would demand.”

“If we’re talking about money, perhaps not. But this?”

Kamain pulled something from his robes and held it out with a confident smile.

“Would this do?”

The object in his hand was a black cube.

A thing so dark it seemed capable of swallowing even light.

The Proxy’s eyes sharpened with interest.

“Not abyssstone. An Abyssal Core.”

“Correct.”

Kamain nodded.

The Proxy studied it in silence.

Greed flickered in his eyes.

Then, after a time, he shook his head.

“Attractive. Very attractive. But a single Abyssal Core still falls short.”

It sounded almost sincere, as if he truly regretted having to say no.

Kamain answered immediately.

“What about three?”

The Proxy’s mouth closed.

Then:

“…Are you certain?”

“Of course.”

He let out a dry laugh.

“Then I will finish the contract as quickly as possible and return.”

With that, he vanished from the spot as though extinguished.

Only the smell of blood remained.

Left alone, Kamain finally allowed a clear smile to spread across his face.

At last.

Ever since the failed attempt through Biran five months earlier, he had been trying to take revenge on Alon again and again.

And he had failed every time.

The rumor that Deus Makalian, one of Caliburn’s Master Knights, was deeply tied to Count Palladio had spread too widely.

The longer vengeance eluded him, the more Kamain’s hatred for Alon deepened into obsession.

It was not rational anger.

It was ugly, excessive, and wholly irrational hatred.

That unnecessary hatred had already driven him to consume far more Abyssal Cores than he should have, to the point that he had no idea what his father might do to him if he discovered the full cost.

And still he kept smiling.

You thought you could look down on me and keep living comfortably?

No. Never.

Twisted inferiority and pettiness had ripened into hatred.

And that hatred was aimed entirely at Alon.

* * *

For some reason, I’ve become the head of the faction formed by the shadow alliance.

That line, absurd enough to sound like the title of a web novel from his previous life, flashed through Alon’s mind.

Then the moderator asked again:

“Do you have no remarks to offer?”

Alon wanted to ask something in return.

Me? The head of Kalpa, the faction founded by the shadow alliance?

But before he could, the moderator moved on smoothly.

“Very well. It appears Count Palladio has nothing to add, so we shall proceed.”

So the words stuck in Alon’s throat.

Trying to process the situation as fast as possible, he turned his head toward Duke Altia.

She met his eyes.

And nodded once, firmly, with complete confidence.

Beside her, Count Xenonia, who had only a few months earlier formally announced the death of the previous count and completed her succession, was smiling too.

Is this some kind of prank?

He knew perfectly well it was not.

It was only the sort of thought that surfaced when the mind was trying and failing to organize total confusion.

Then suddenly, he understood part of what had happened.

He understood why the nobles behind him had looked confused when he first tried to sit at the back.

He understood why the two men sitting opposite him, veterans of countless political struggles, were looking at him with open wariness.

And because understanding all of that also made one other fact crystal clear, Alon shut his eyes tightly and fought off a headache.

He really had become the head of a shadow faction.

* * *

Two hours later, the Grand Council ended.

Plenty of things had been discussed.

Alon remembered none of them.

From his point of view, the arguments of nobles trying to tear at each other with contradictory logic mattered far less than the question of why he had become the head of Kalpa.

So he spent the entire session grappling with the problem as though it were an impossible puzzle.

By the end, one tentative theory had surfaced.

Am I the frontman?

From Alon’s point of view, that was the worst possibility.

But not one so implausible that it could simply be dismissed.

Even so, once the Grand Council ended, he was swept almost helplessly into the celebratory banquet for the birth of Kalpa.

And the moment the banquet began, he found himself facing Count Xenonia and Duke Altia together.

At once, he realized that theory was wrong.

Unfortunately, what replaced it was even harder to understand.

“What do you think? I’d say this came together perfectly.”

Count Xenonia, formerly Lady Xenonia, spoke as if the answer should have been obvious.

Alon did not answer.

More precisely, he could not.

He had no idea what she meant.

“I believe it turned out exactly as Count Palladio wished,” said Duke Altia.

At that, Alon felt as though dozens of question marks had sprung up over his head.

Outwardly, of course, he remained as expressionless as ever.

He looked from Duke Altia to Count Xenonia.

Both were watching him with the faint anticipation of people waiting for approval.

At that point, Alon seriously began to wonder whether he might have some sort of second personality that acted while he was not looking.

He was not close to either of them.

With Duke Altia, years earlier, he had exchanged only a few words.

Those words had not even been particularly pleasant.

At the time, Roria had effectively been asking him for help, and he had refused.

With Count Xenonia, things were no better.

They had met only twice.

The second time, he had practically ordered her out of the estate.

So after thinking furiously, Alon finally realized he had let the silence drag on too long and forced out a reply.

“I see.”

What he really wanted to ask was What exactly is going on here?

But he still had some sense.

If these two believed that Alon himself had instructed them to create the faction, and he bluntly asked what on earth they were talking about, things could turn ugly very quickly.

So for now he chose the safer approach.

Gather information first.

If he could learn where their understanding had diverged from reality, then perhaps the misunderstanding could be untangled later.

Unfortunately.

“I’m glad I had the chance to repay you for saving my life.”

The moment Duke Altia said that in response to his vague acknowledgment, Alon shut his eyes again.

What in the world is she talking about?

He screamed inwardly.