Became the Patron of Villains

Alon had expected Eliban might be stronger than anticipated.

When Ulthultus first appeared in the north, he’d met Eliban years earlier than he should have and provided him with various items to accelerate his growth.

The items Alon had handed over to Eliban back then weren’t easy to obtain, so it was only natural his growth would surpass the norm.

However—

“...No matter how I look at it, this doesn’t seem like level 10.”

To think his strength would exceed imagination by this much.

Alon glanced down at the crushed living armors in front of Eliban.

Living armors were monsters that were particularly troublesome for warriors to deal with, even if they were manageable for mages or clerics.

Their defining trait was that they didn’t stop moving just because their armor was dented.

To stop them, the armor that served as their body had to be completely destroyed.

Because of that, most players who raised Eliban as a warrior character would delegate battles in the Ironblood Citadel to Yan, clearing the area while using other characters as shields.

Originally, this fight should have played out the same way. Yet Eliban had single-handedly destroyed countless living armors.

“Ah.”

Eliban let out a soft exclamation, as if only now realizing it.

Alon naturally began estimating his level.

“...Level 30? No—if he’s annihilating hundreds with a single blow, maybe level 40? ...Considering Eliban’s talent and blessings, that would make sense. He probably hasn’t reached Sword Master, so level 50 would still be far off.”

While Alon was thinking—

Eliban, who had dashed off, came back with his characteristic cheerful laugh.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s a relief.”

“...You’re strong. With this level of strength, was my support even necessary?”

When Alon gestured toward the destroyed living armors, Eliban scratched his head.

“I heard it might still be dangerous.”

“...To prepare for a worst-case scenario?”

“Yes, exactly. Now, let’s move forward!”

Without leaving room for further discussion, Eliban began pushing through the living armors.

“...Hmm.”

Alon’s expression turned peculiar.

Something about this felt slightly unsettling.

“If he’s this strong, he shouldn’t have been so anxious.”

If Eliban were the type to prioritize safety above all else, it might have made sense, but he hadn’t shown that kind of tendency so far.

After a brief deliberation, Alon decided to follow him.

They had business in the Ironblood Citadel, after all.

Then he noticed that Eliban’s companions had stopped in their tracks, rooted in place.

“?”

Once again, Alon couldn’t help feeling puzzled.

Eliban’s entire party looked—

“...Extremely shocked?”

Every single one of them stood with their mouths hanging open, as if their jaws might drop.

*****

The Strange Gate held many rewards.

Though the lore vaguely tied it to the five deadly sins, in the game the Strange Gate served as a source of weapons and artifacts for players—Eliban’s party included.

In particular, the Ironblood Citadel they’d entered contained many items for Eliban, who started as a warrior. But obtaining them usually required considerable effort.

Without grinding levels in Lartania right after starting the game, the protagonist would typically reach level 10 by the time he arrived at the Ironblood Citadel.

At that level, defeating the living armors would be difficult.

Players had to lure the living armors into separate rooms and bring them down one by one.

“...Of course, that wasn’t necessary now.”

“Hm...”

Alon swept his gaze over the corridors of the Ironblood Citadel, which they’d been exploring for hours.

Everywhere, the remains of what had once been living armors lay scattered.

They weren’t simply cut down by swords—they looked like they’d been smashed to pieces with hammers.

Alon silently took in the carnage, then shifted his gaze to Eliban.

Eliban, the man responsible, let out his signature awkward laugh, as if embarrassed.

Beside Alon, Evan leaned in and whispered quietly.

“Marquis.”

“Speak.”

“...Frankly, doesn’t it look like he doesn’t need any help?”

“I agree.”

Even though Eliban had asked for assistance, Alon hadn’t had a single chance to use magic since they entered the Ironblood Citadel.

Or rather, he’d tried to—

‘Marquis! Are you all right?’

‘Marquis! Are you hurt?’

‘Marquis!’

—But every time he prepared a spell, Eliban would rush ahead and destroy all the living armors.

It was like watching someone overprotect a child near deep water.

“...”

Naturally, Alon found it troubling.

There were items he needed to obtain in the Ironblood Citadel, and contributing to the party would let him claim artifacts later without hesitation.

“...Does he want to monopolize everything?”

The thought crossed Alon’s mind, but he quickly shook his head.

Based on both the lore and Eliban’s actual demeanor, he didn’t seem like that type.

If anything, his temperament suited a traditional heroic protagonist more than someone out of a dark fantasy.

“Marquis, are you all right?”

Before Alon realized it, Eliban was beside him again.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Alon replied.

“...You don’t need to worry so much. As you can see, I’m unharmed.”

“That’s true.”

“By the way, you don’t have to handle everything on your own. I’m strong enough to deal with them as well.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. It’s just a habit, and it’s hard to hold back.”

“A habit?”

“Yes. I just get worried.”

At last, Alon understood.

“He can’t stand seeing his comrades get hurt.”

Given Eliban’s personality, it seemed plausible. Alon nodded, but then another thought occurred to him.

“Still, your comrades looked pretty surprised when they saw you.”

And extremely so.

Eliban hesitated, then scratched his cheek, looking troubled.

“Actually, I’ve been deliberately pretending to be weaker than I am.”

“...Pretending to be weaker?”

“Yes. The goddess advised me that my comrades need to grow, too.”

“Ah.”

“So they were probably surprised because this is the first time I’ve shown my full strength.”

“I see.”

“Yes. This time, I revealed more than I usually do because of that initial army.”

“You overdid it a bit?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Alon nodded again.

Now it made sense why Eliban’s comrades had been so stunned earlier.

“That’s why I’m always grateful to you, Marquis. Thanks to your support back then, I was able to become this strong.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Seeing how much more Eliban had grown than expected, Alon felt a quiet sense of ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) pride.

“But you can take it easy. I don’t need to be protected to that extreme.”

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

Eliban’s reply was energetic.

“Well, it won’t matter anyway—only the boss monster is left.”

They were almost at the end.

And with only the boss monster remaining—

“I should finally be able to use my magic.”

With that expectation, Alon walked through the citadel’s halls, bathed in the sky’s faint purple glow.

Before long, the group reached the final destination.

And what awaited them was—

Rumble!

A dark knight.

Unlike the other living armors, whose armor, pauldrons, and swords floated separately, this one was fully clad in jet-black armor.

It rose as if to welcome the intruders, and—

Whoosh!

It swung a massive sword that looked heavy just to behold.

Its dark coat billowed with the motion.

“Konkhan, the Ironblood’s Left Hand.”

The instant Alon saw it, he began forming seals.

True to the nature of living armors, it charged like a mad beast toward the first attacker.

In that tense moment—

“Marquis—!”

Crash!

Eliban shot forward and smashed the knight’s head to pieces.

“Ah.”

“Ah.”

Both Alon, whose chance had been stolen, and Eliban, who realized his mistake, let out low exclamations at the same time.

*****

The land of elves, Greynifra—and the nation built atop it, Fildagreen.

A report was delivered to Queen Magrina, who ruled the nation.

“...You’re saying the things rising from the roots are increasing?”

“Yes. Recently, their intensity has been unusual.”

“Are they in numbers too great for Paggade to handle?”

“No, not to that extent.”

The Paggade knight delivering the report wore a troubled expression.

“But as you know, this is something that hasn’t changed for nearly a thousand years. It’s fine for now, but we don’t know what could happen in the future.”

A brief silence fell.

“I see. For now, continue monitoring the situation.”

“As you command.”

“Your efforts are appreciated.”

After dismissing the knight, Magrina sank into thought—until a visitor was announced.

“Your Majesty, Perion and Philde have arrived.”

“...”

“...Let them in.”

Setting her worries aside, she welcomed the guests.

“We greet Her Majesty.”

“We greet Her Majesty.”

“...Welcome, Philde. Perion. But you don’t look well. What happened?”

Had something happened to Marquis Palatio?

Philde’s complexion was pale.

“I am fine, Your Majesty. More importantly, there is something I must tell you.”

“...Did you investigate Marquis Palatio?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Magrina didn’t seem to notice, but her hand tightened into a faint fist.

After a moment of silence, Philde spoke slowly.

“First, let me be clear. What I’m about to say is largely conjecture. I did not speak directly with Marquis Palatio.”

“...So he isn’t the Primordial Elf, then.”

Her voice carried a faint hint of disappointment.

But Philde shook her head firmly and declared—

“No.”

“...What?”

“Yes. I believe Marquis Palatio is the Primordial Elf. That is to say—”

Like Magrina, Philde clenched her fist tightly.

“He is most likely Your Majesty’s elder brother.”

“What did you just say?”

Magrina’s eyes widened in shock at the unwavering statement, devoid of even the faintest hint of humor.