Became the Patron of Villains

Alon knew that Chief Cardinal Anderde was a character who did not exist in the original work. Even if he had, he had never appeared in Psychedelia. Because of this, while his outward expression remained neutral, Alon’s mind was spinning rapidly.

‘Is this how the story was supposed to unfold? Or has something changed?’

Of course, even with such thoughts, there was no way for him to know. The only events Alon knew were those from a point one year into the future. Anything that occurred before that lay beyond his grasp.

He shifted his gaze to Yuman. In the future, Yuman was destined to save the world alongside Eliban, ensuring Alon’s comfortable life. Now, Yuman was using his holy power to block Anderde’s attack.

‘As expected of a saint. He can use holy power without a prayer or invocation.’

Recalling how Yuman’s skills in the game had always triggered immediately without consuming a turn, Alon let out a sigh of relief.

‘At least that’s a relief.’

Naturally, the primary reason Alon had used his Thunder God Form to rush here was to rescue Yuman, the one who would guarantee his future comfort. If this event was meant to happen, then Yuman would surely survive. However, if it wasn’t part of the original events, Yuman could have died.

‘Well, in the end, he managed to block the attack when he used his magic, so instead of merely protecting Yuman, he incapacitated Anderde entirely.’

But deep down, Alon instinctively knew.

It wasn’t over yet.

“Marquis Palatio, was it?”

Despite having his arm blown off by Alon’s Thunder God Form and half his face charred black, Chief Cardinal Anderde spoke with difficulty. His lips still bore a benevolent smile.

Even though the injuries he had sustained were severe enough to be fatal, the smile never left his face. As if he didn’t feel pain—or rather—

As if it had been drawn there.

“Indeed.”

As Alon’s reply fell, the priests, who had been frozen in shock, began to pray. At the same time, the paladins drew their swords from their belts, traced the sign of the cross, and raised their holy power. The surviving cardinals, barely clinging to life, declared Anderde a clear heretic.

But even in such a situation, Anderde, still wearing that drawn-on smile, gazed down at Alon from beneath the platform.

“That’s nice. Really nice.”

Suddenly, those words slipped from his lips.

“What...?”

By the time Alon asked back, the clergy had already finished their prayers and were launching attacks at Anderde.

Some fired arrows of light.

Some swung their maces.

Some wielded swords.

Some unleashed lightning.

And some hurled pure divine power itself at Anderde.

A tremendous roar erupted.

Bolts of lightning forged from holy power rained down from the sky.

White holy magic, shimmering with the glow of the blue moon, cascaded down one after another.

Like a torrential downpour.

Or perhaps, like a meteor shower.

The overwhelming deluge of holy magic crashed onto the platform where Anderde stood.

Even Alon, despite himself, felt a sense of reverence at the sheer magnitude of divine violence unfolding before him.

And when the explosive projection of holy power finally subsided, leaving the platform in ruins—what emerged was...

—

Anderde, still standing, though his body was utterly shattered.

His arms were gone.

Several gaping holes pierced his torso.

The upper part of his head was missing.

It was a state that all but guaranteed death.

And yet, Anderde’s benevolent smile remained untouched.

The priests, cardinals, and even Yuman were filled with shock and disbelief at the sight.

“It would’ve been a shame, you see. Your ‘caliber’ is quite remarkable.”

Anderde muttered in a calm, composed voice, his expression unchanging.

“I didn’t want to let go.”

With those words, a strange sound began to emanate from Anderde’s body.

A grotesque, unsettling noise, as if something were forcibly pushing its way out.

And then, it happened.

The benevolent smile that had adorned Anderde’s face just moments ago was replaced by something far more horrifying.

From his shattered body, red branches began to sprout and grow.

Rumble... Rumble...

The ground of the great square, where the clergy had gathered, split apart in a straight line.

“Ahhh! Aahhh—!!”

“Run! Move, now!!”

Screams echoed as the priests scrambled to escape the splitting ground.

Through the chaos of the now-shattered square, a massive tree trunk began to rise, breaking through the ground.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of crimson branches erupted from the earth, spreading outward.

The rupture extended beyond the square, reaching the white city within the inner sanctum.

Crackkkkk—!

And finally, it began to reveal itself.

The first thing to appear was a pair of grotesque, twisted hands, entangled in writhing red vines.

Next came the sight of a massive statue’s head, emerging as if being born at the cost of devouring the white city.

Following it, the enormous body of the statue began to push itself outward.

And at that moment, everyone present realized the truth:

The benevolent Anderde who had stood before them just moments ago had been nothing more than a puppet.

Crashhh—!

In an instant, Anderde’s body, which had been sprouting countless branches, was sucked into the colossal statue.

Crackkk—!

At the same time, the face of the giant statue, resembling that of a human, split into four sections like petals opening into a flower. From within, countless crimson branches erupted outward.

And finally, it appeared—consuming the entire eastern part of the white city as it emerged.

[By your will, I have descended.]

Turning its gaze to the clergy, it spoke:

[Worship me.]

With those words, it announced its birth to all.

[I am Machina, the god of humanity.]

An Outer God had descended.

*****

The priests, the paladins, the cardinals, and even Yuman stood in stunned silence beneath the blue moon, gazing at the Outer God that had descended before them.

The being, which had crawled out while devouring the white city, spread its branches as though it intended to consume everything.

Even Alon was no exception to the overwhelming shock.

“Machina...?!”

Alon felt a wave of confusion. He had never heard of an Outer God named Machina before.

Of course, this timeline was not one he was familiar with, but even so, the existence before his eyes was undeniably alien.

‘What on earth is...?’

Amid his bewilderment, Alon’s gaze remained fixed on Machina. Then, he noticed something—something that struck him with chilling familiarity.

Black smoke, emanating from every part of Machina’s massive body, weaving through the tree-like vines and filling the air.

“The Abyss...?!”

Without realizing it, Alon spoke the keyword and recalled a piece of information he had once heard:

An Abyssal Entity capable of granting divinity to individuals of significant power had infiltrated the Holy Kingdom.

With that realization, Alon understood the truth.

The being before him had been forged from the Abyss.

“...An artificial Outer God?”

Alon muttered the words, trying to comprehend the nature of the creature before ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) him.

“L-look over there!”

“S-someone’s—!”

His thoughts were interrupted by the panicked cries of the priests, drawing his attention to the area beneath the massive Outer God.

There, he saw something horrifying.

There, amidst the chaos, were people.

The citizens of the Holy Kingdom, limp and lifeless, ensnared by crimson vines.

[Do not resist. What I do is to care for you equally.]

A voice rang out—holy, yet disturbingly unnatural, echoing through the air.

The crimson vines began crawling toward the priests.

“Stop them!”

The paladins charged toward the encroaching vines, slashing at the writhing branches.

Soon, the priests unleashed their holy magic, piercing through the blue night and striking at the Outer God.

The scene that had earlier left even Alon awestruck played out once again.

Thud—Crash!

In an instant, one of Machina’s massive arms was severed and fell to the ground.

Hope flickered in the priests’ eyes as they looked at the sight, igniting their resolve.

But their determination was short-lived.

“I-it’s regenerating...?”

What they witnessed was beyond belief.

The very arm that had been obliterated by the divine bombardment was regenerating as though nothing had happened.

At an incredible speed.

Branches intertwined like forming blood vessels, and in no time, the right arm was fully restored.

The priests were horrified by the grotesque spectacle.

“Aaaahhh!”

Meanwhile, the paladins who had been cutting down the advancing crimson vines began falling, one by one.

Those ensnared by the vines had crimson branches sprouting from their bodies, turning them into lifeless wooden husks in an instant.

*****

Fear spread among the paladins.

It infected them like a plague, rippling through everyone present.

Soon, the vines that had devoured the paladins reached the priests, ready to snatch them up as well.

At that moment—

Flare!

A massive barrier blocked the advancing vines.

“Ugh!”

It was Yuman who had stopped the vines.

Surrounded by an overwhelming aura of divine power, he had created a massive holy wall that shielded the priests.

The priests looked at him in awe, but his expression was far from bright.

The immense wall of divine power, which only a saint could conjure, was rapidly draining his strength.

And then—

[To proclaim equality and deliver it, I have descended. Yet, you are so ignorant.]

As the enormous hand of Machina rose high into the blue-lit sky, the priests saw it.

A hand that, moments ago, had been too small to obscure the blue moon was now growing.

Hundreds of crimson branches intertwined, expanding until the hand grew vast enough to engulf the moon itself.

“Lady Sironia...”

At the overwhelming sight, the priests instinctively called out to the goddess Sironia.

The cardinals, their faces etched with despair, let out heavy sighs.

Even Yuman, who was desperately holding up the massive divine barrier, could only stare at the enormous hand in disbelief.

“What on earth is that?”

His eyes were filled with a mix of helplessness and despair as he gazed at the colossal hand.

[Accept me, all of you, for I am the god of humanity you have created—]

[—and I shall deal with you all equally.]

As Machina’s voice echoed, the massive hand descended toward the holy barrier Yuman had erected.

Clang—

Suddenly, the sound of something shattering pierced the air.

“Hah—”

A faint sigh followed the sound, drawing Yuman’s attention. Struggling, he turned to look behind him.

There, standing calmly amidst the despair, was someone crushing the remnants of a shattered potion bottle underfoot while drinking another.

It was Marquis Palatio—or rather, the Silver Saint.

Expressionless, unfazed by the dire situation, he spoke:

“Hold on just a little longer.”

Then, as if preparing for what was to come, he asked:

“Can you do it?”

Yuman, as though entranced, answered without hesitation:

“I’ll try.”

The Silver Saint—or rather, Alon—nodded at Yuman’s response.

“Good. Make sure to leave the ceiling of the barrier open.”

He then briefly checked the glowing white necklace hanging around his neck before uttering a command:

“Array of Thunder.”

Crackle—!

Lightning, infused with the light of the blue moon, began to surge and dance across Alon’s body, crackling with raw power.