I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Obell, or rather the Root of Decay, stopped moving at that very moment. Simultaneously, the mouths all over its body facing Ian opened wide. The giant body shuddered for an instant.

"Gwaaa!"

Several streams of pitch-black sludge erupted simultaneously.

Even when crawling, it does its job.

Ian grimaced and threw himself to the side. In fact, he had just realized that this thing could move. The Root of Decay that he encountered in the game was rooted in place, like tumors sprouting from the ground.

Splaasshh—

The thick sludge covering the floor and walls evaporated, emitting a pungent smoke.

The smell is killing me.

Perhaps he could survive getting drenched in it, but he wasn’t keen to test it out. Ian quickly twisted his body away.

A spear, corroding with rust, grazed his face. The undead had crept up behind him and thrust the spear at him.

Almost got tetanus, fuck.

Turning swiftly, he sliced through the undead, throwing a fireball before the severed upper body hit the ground. The undead, who had regrouped after being pushed back by the mist whirlwind, were already closing in. The Root of Decay was crawling toward the door again. It looked difficult for such a massive creature to pass through the door, but that wouldn’t be much of an obstacle.

The chaos has already started; I can’t let that thing touch the ground.

Even while dodging the incoming spears without looking, Ian kept his eyes on the Root of Decay. Killing that thing was a hassle, even in the game. It had high Health and resistance to physical attacks.

If one got close, it would emit a decaying mist, and from a distance, it spat sludge like it just did, especially during skill casting. It now appeared that its ability to detect magic was sharp.

Moreover, it always had its undead guardians surrounding it. The ones swarming now were likely revived for that purpose. At least it was heading toward the door rather than the window or wall. Otherwise, it would have crashed through the wall into the garden, leaving indelible marks of decay in the mansion.

Perhaps it kept some semblance of its former human nature. In any case, killing it in the game required considerable time and Concentration. With long casting time spells being impractical, one had to dodge it’s and the undead’s attacks while bombarding it with lower-tier spells until its weak points were exposed.

Whoosh, boom!

A fireball shot from Ian’s outstretched hand created a small ripple as it exploded onto the creature’s back. The dented back bubbled briefly before settling. The same reaction as in the game.

This is ridiculous. Really.

Ian clicked his tongue, beheading an undead. The quest name that popped into his mind when Obell transformed flashed through his head.

[The Result of Failure.]

It was an obvious trap. That result likely didn’t refer to just that creature. Bombarding it with magic would only lead to regret. Moreover, his current magic reserves were, unfortunately, not much different from when facing it in the game. Even worse, his recovery rate was much slower now in reality. So, it would be more efficient to consume just enough magic to expose its weak points and finish it physically.

"Gr... urk...!"

The swarming undead made the situation difficult. They poured in endlessly through the door—not just soldiers, but men and women of all ages who appeared to be servants and aides. It seemed nearly everyone in the mansion had turned into those abominations.

Ian swung his sword tirelessly, dodging the primitive assaults and sludge from the undead. The results were minimal. The severed parts continued to writhe and attack even after being cut. These creatures required more than physical attacks to be killed. The best he could do was dismember them to the point of immobilization. Even then, they might recover over time or reattach themselves.

Instead of dragging this out, I should use chaos power—

Just as Ian was contemplating this while dancing with his sword, his brow furrowed slightly.

Shuaaah—

"...!"

A hazy veil of divine power appeared in front of him. While it couldn’t block the incoming rusty spears, it scorched and repelled the undead that touched it.

Crunch!

Philip, with his imperial round shield, collided with the undead.

"Apologies for the delay, my lord!"

"At least you know."

Despite Ian’s reprimand, a slight smile tugged at Philip’s lips. He seemed to realize Ian’s words were more a joke than a scorn. Indeed, Philip had joined much quicker than Ian had expected. Ian glimpsed the Root of Decay creeping toward the door.

"Don’t block what they vomit, just avoid it."

"Yes, sir...!"

"Can you clear a path?"

"Of course... I can—"

Philip, gritting his teeth, thrust his shield forward with all his might. The divine veil shattered explosively, its remnants scattering among the undead. As the staggering, burning creatures faltered, Philip, cloaked in a faint divine glow, threw himself at them with full force.

Crash!

Philip tumbled among the undead, who fell like bowling pins. Ian wondered if he could handle that, but immediately bolted forward. There was enough distance for a leap. Crushing a few fallen undead underfoot, Ian leaped with all his strength. As he raised his black sword overhead, the mouths on the Root’s back opened wide. Anticipating this, Ian conjured a Magic Force Field

Fwop!

The Whirling Barrier burst out just ahead, deflecting the sludge against the surrounding walls. Of course, it couldn’t block all of it. The subsequent sludge struck the magic shield, creating a dazzling blue light. Ian’s speed decreased sharply. But that was enough.

Schwick!

The blade of his black sword deeply embedded into the Root’s back, splitting one of the gaping mouths in two. The mouths, having expelled all their sludge, shriveled as if preparing for the next round.

Roar!

But the explosion of fiery magic coursing through the sword was faster. It was the Pinpoint Explosion. The flames burned the flesh, creating a massive crack in the ceiling and flaring outwards. However, the reddish magic in Ian’s eyes had not lost its intensity. Ian, gripping the sword’s hilt, extended his left hand toward the Root and clenched his fist slowly.

Rumble—

At almost the same moment, the flames that had been surging in all directions converged, as if time had reversed. When Ian clenched his fist completely, the flames cascaded over the Root like a waterfall. This was the effect of Flame Backlash, one of the advanced spells he had recently learned.

Following a preceding spell, Ian could only use this skill to strike again with much less Mana. While it didn’t add much destructive power because of its low skill level, it was especially useful for Ian, who had a critically low Mana reserve. Especially in situations like this.

Fwoosh—

The gaping mouths couldn’t expel any more sludge. Before they could, they sizzled and melted away like a mural dissolving into acid.

Why did I only learn this now? Not for nothing was it considered an essential red spell.

With that thought, Ian, who had kicked at the collapsing back, did a somersault and landed. The flowing fire lapped at his ankles. With a casual shrug, he extinguished the flames on his uniform and re-gripped his heated black sword. The fact that the mansion was made of bricks turned out to be fortunate. If it were wooden, the entire place would have been a sea of fire by now.

Rumble—

... Or maybe not?

As the floor trembled, Ian, without further thought, hurled himself toward the disintegrating Root of Decay. It was something that needed to be done, anyway. Though it was melting now, once the flames died out, it would quickly regain its original form.

Ian’s senses sharpened as he glared at the creature. His sixth sense, combined with his keen sight, easily located the barely exposed core amidst the quivering flesh. The core was likely filled with curses to taint the ground. A blade infused with a hint of chaos and wind cleaved precisely through the partially revealed core.

Crunch—

With the sensation of bones shattering, the core crumbled into pieces. The pitch-black mass inside scattered like a ghost in all directions.

"Gr... urk..."

The flesh that resisted the flames melted away, sizzling into a sticky slime.

"...." Ian, who landed smoothly, looked down at the melting creature through the acrid smoke. There was no particular emotion. He merely mused internally that no matter how pissed you were, you shouldn’t align with a defiler. And even that minor thought soon vanished.

"My, my lord...! My lord!" Philip’s cries followed.

I knew this would happen.

Seeing Philip floundering amidst the undead, barely holding up a dimming veil of light, Ian immediately leaped toward him. Just because the Root of Decay had died didn’t mean the undead had perished. Only after the source that darkened the skies was gone would they return to death.

Even if not, there’s no other choice.

The Count can deal with this himself. Ian created space by swiftly cutting down several undead in a row. Philip, who was nearly crawling on the ground, stood by bashing his shield. The sludge vomited by the undead soaked the shield and into his lower body. That was likely why he was struggling. The light veil seemed to have neutralized much of the curse, though.

"I told you to be careful," Ian muttered as he pulled Philip along, clearing a path.

They were heading toward another window beside the one their group had previously escaped through. Undead continued to pour in relentlessly through the main entrance. There was no need to confront them head-on, especially since they didn’t even provide experience points.

"Run."

"What? Here?"

"We’re only on the second floor."

"Exactly."

This guy’s seriously unpredictable.

Ian frowned as Philip clicked his tongue and awkwardly leaped out. Ian, kicking away an approaching undead, followed suit, diving out the window.

Crash—

Philip, landing shield-first, tumbled noisily across the ground, while Ian landed gracefully and steadied himself.

The garden outside the mansion was relatively quiet. It was clear that all the undead had been drawn inside. Seeing no bodies around, it seemed the rest of the group had leaped onto the roof of a nearby annex. Of course, that was a minor detail. More significant were the ominous storm clouds, as if about to unleash a downpour, and the visibly wilting garden plants. Ian strode forward.

Philip hurried after him, whispering as he looked around. "Did they really open a demonic realm through some ritual or something? And in broad daylight? Despite the encroaching darkness...."

"They must have prepared early. Didn’t you hear the earlier conversation?"

"I caught about half of it. I was quite shocked, you see."

Ian continued nonchalantly, seeing the look in Philip’s eyes. "The young lord probably just wanted to plant the curse of decay on this land. But he likely didn’t realize that making a pact with an Ancient God wasn’t something he could control. Either that, or he was convinced he could manage it."

"... Or he might have been deceived by other corrupter’s lies."

"Whatever the case, he probably didn’t foresee the darkness spreading. The unintended plague started then. And he came to a very corrupter-like conclusion: use the plague victims as sacrifices. So don’t feel any sympathy. Whether or not deceived, he’s just the same."

"I-I wouldn’t. No way." Philip coughed awkwardly and looked away.

Sure, you wouldn’t.

Ian chuckled and added.

"Anyway, my guess was a bit off. I thought they spread the plague intentionally from the start to increase the number of sacrifices."

"... You already suspected they were using people as ritual sacrifices?"

"There were regular traces of digging around the walls. Very amateurish, though."

"Then, what you were observing from the walls was...? Why didn’t you tell us all of this earlier?"

"Thesa already mentioned it. If I chimed in and was wrong, it’d be embarrassing."

"...?!" Ignoring Philip’s shocked expression, Ian stepped into the outer estate where the Lord Westwood’s mansion and annex were located. Several dismembered undead corpses lie around. Judging by the charred edges, it was clear whose handiwork it was. Bloodstains were plentiful. Smoke from the city beyond the high walls blurred the horizon.

As Ian kept walking, Philip continued, "So, this really is the result of some evil ritual. Once Lord Westwood and Jorah discovered their identities were exposed, they wasted no time in performing the ritual."

"Probably. Whether they got the desired outcome is another question."

"... What do you mean by that?"

Instead of answering, Ian recalled the quest. The quest hadn’t been completed even after killing Obell. It confirmed that neither failure nor the result referred solely to Obell’s plan.

As expected. If an enemy is too weak for the reward, it’s always suspicious.

Ian smirked to himself and pushed the half-open gate wide.

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