Chapter 61 - It Was There, Though (2)

Having gone from “I Somehow Became the Leader of the Masterminds” to “All I Did Was Breathe, and Now I’m King of the Underworld,” Alon struggled to collect his reeling thoughts.

'I gave that order...? When on earth?'

As he racked his brains before the Duchess of Altia, who stood with her head bowed, Alon finally let out a quiet exclamation.

“Oh.”

[“Let’s start by cleaning up the underworld.”]

After thinking it over, he realized that he had indeed said something like that.

'Wait, is that how people normally interpret cleaning up the underworld? Wouldn’t the normal interpretation be just getting rid of the useless bastards, exactly as I said?'

But what truly shocked him was not that the Duchess of Altia had misunderstood him. It was that they really had cleaned up the entire underworld of the Kingdom of Arteria.

'Is this... even possible?'

Of course, he knew perfectly well that the Duchess of Altia and the Count of Xenonia would become Asteria’s masterminds in the future.

Even so, taking control of Arteria’s entire underworld like this... should have been virtually impossible.

In the game, Asteria’s underworld ranked alongside the Kingdom of Ashtalon’s as the largest “dark forces” in the allied kingdoms. Most of the organizations operating in secret throughout the allied kingdoms were based in those two places.

In other words, Asteria had an enormous number of underworld organizations. Taking it over would have been impossible without eliminating every last one of them.

“... Did you really eliminate them all?”

He asked on the off chance that he was mistaken.

[“Yes.”]

Seeing her nod with absolute conviction, Alon fell silent despite himself before finally managing to speak.

“That must have taken a great deal of work.”

[“Not at all. It was all thanks to you dealing with both the royalist and aristocratic factions, my lord.”]

“... The royalist and aristocratic factions?”

[“Yes. With you keeping the leaders of both factions tied down, our work became much easier.”]

Alon wanted to say, I didn’t deal with them. You did. But that thought was short-lived.

[“So, we’ve conquered the underworld as you instructed. What should we do now?”]

At the Duchess of Altia’s question, he shut his mouth.

What to do now? There was no way he had any sort of plan in mind.

The only reason Alon had suggested cleaning up the underworld in the first place was that it sounded the most plausible while also seeming like something that could buy him plenty of time.

'I never imagined they’d finish this quickly—'

As Alon agonized over what to tell the duchess, she spoke again.

[“I suppose the king... is next?”]

“... The king?”

[“Yes. Now that our influence has grown, the crown will surely make a move.”]

After hearing that, Alon said,

“For now, maintain the status quo.”

With that final order, he deactivated the communication crystal.

“... Hmm.”

He fell silent and thought.

'At this point, it certainly would make sense for the monarch to intervene personally.'

The Kingdom of Asteria was a country where the nobles helped themselves to just about everything. But naturally, as a kingdom, it had a monarch.

Asteria’s eighth monarch, Critenia Siyan.

Even with the nobles running wild, she retained considerable power as Asteria’s eighth monarch without taking much interest in governing or joining their political games.

The reason was the power Critenia Siyan possessed—or, more precisely, the power unique to Asteria’s royal bloodline: the Golden History Eye.

'... Well, despite the name, it isn’t an eye-related supernatural ability.'

As far as Alon knew, the Golden History Eye was merely named after the vivid golden eyes the royal family was born with. The inherited ability itself was quite simple.

It allowed them to pass their power down through the generations.

This special power let them transfer their strength intact to the next generation, much like carrying over game data. Simple as it was to explain, it was immensely powerful.

With each passing generation, it bestowed enough strength to preserve royal authority without even having to participate in political games. It also ensured that the nobles naturally watched their step and refrained from crossing the line.

'According to the lore, Critenia Siyan simply doesn’t act because she can’t be bothered.'

Alon briefly recalled the expression he had seen in her game illustration—so indifferent it verged on numbness—and continued thinking.

'... After everything we’ve done, she might try to keep us in check a little. But considering her personality, she might just let it slide.'

He recalled how she had behaved on the occasions he encountered her in the game.

'... I’m pretty sure she was a complete bystander unless the Five Great Calamities descended.'

When the Five Great Calamities descended upon Asteria, she would briefly join the player’s party and display tremendous combat prowess. Apart from that, however, she was largely indifferent to what happened in her kingdom.

So indifferent, in fact, that Psychedelia players had a meme about her being less a monarch and more a guardian dragon.

Thus, Alon decided to put his mind at ease.

But the next day...

He drew in a breath as he ate a sweet potato, pondering the question he had repeatedly failed to answer while continuing his magical research: Who was the being that had whispered to him during his battle with the Outer God?

“My lord. Are you eating sweet potatoes again?”

“Would you like one?”

“... If you have any left, I’d appreciate it... No, that’s not why I’m here. An important letter has arrived.”

Evan had unexpectedly interrupted him.

“An important letter?”

“Yes.”

Brushing the snow off his head, Evan handed Alon a letter.

... A letter bearing the official seal of Asteria’s royal family.

“This is...”

“Apparently, in a month... at the start of the new year, the royal castle will host its first ball in five years. And—”

“There’s more?”

“... This is what the secretary who delivered the letter told me, but Her Majesty reportedly said she very much wishes Count Pallatio to attend.”

“...”

At Evan’s words, Alon let out a quiet “Ah...”

Exactly one month after receiving that royal letter, Alon’s mana poisoning had finally healed completely after five months. Just as he was once again pondering how he might somehow find a substitute for his paltry mana reserves...

“My lord.”

“Yes.”

Alon boarded the carriage bound for the royal castle to attend the ball.

'I’ll visit the royal family first, then stop by the desert and the labyrinth before returning.'

... It was his first outing in a very long time, and it promised to be a lengthy journey.

####

Three people stood in a dark cavern near Callivan.

One was a man swathed from head to toe in bandages covered with strange patterns. Another was a woman with a grotesque circuit diagram tattooed across half her face.

The last, a man with two kama strapped to his back, addressed the other two.

“Slaughter Fiend, Curse Spirit. Are your preparations complete?”

“What’s there to prepare? The three of us are going together. That settles it, doesn’t it?”

The woman, Curse Spirit, shrugged casually at his question.

“Same here. Is there really any need to prepare?”

The man called Slaughter Fiend answered just as casually.

“Prepare anyway. Just in case.”

“Wow, boss. Didn’t know you could sound so timid. Aren’t you being a little too scared for someone who’s killed royals several times and more than two Swordmasters?”

Curse Spirit snickered.

“Well, I looked into him, and apparently Deus Makalian is a little unusual. They say he defeated Reinhardt, after all.”

“So what? The three of us could take care of Reinhardt too.”

The man sighed softly as he listened to their conversation.

Had anyone else said such things, he would have scoffed. But knowing their past exploits, he did not consider them arrogant.

Everyone present was a formidable fighter who had already killed at least one opponent of Master Knight caliber single-handedly.

Still, he had to guard against complacency.

“Don’t let your guard down too much. Defeating Reinhardt means he’s stronger than Reinhardt.”

At that, Snow Fiend and Curse Spirit paused, their playful smiles fading.

“Well, all right. If you insist.”

“We’ll finish it as quickly as possible.”

“We’re ambushing him, not fighting him head-on anyway. If we handle it as discreetly as possible, we should be able to take him out without a fight.”

Listening to Curse Spirit and Slaughter Fiend seriously discuss their plans, the man slipped quietly into Kirdam, Callivan’s capital, and headed toward the central district where Deus lived.

Before long, the three Proxies entered Deus’s mansion.

And then...

“Who are you?”

“!”

“!”

The moment they infiltrated the mansion, they saw Deus Makalian standing with the blue moon at his back.

All three Proxies frowned at Deus Makalian’s appearance. None of them had noticed him arrive.

Failing to detect his presence meant he could have ambushed them.

Yet he had chosen to appear openly instead. That also meant Deus, a Master Knight capable of accurately gauging his opponents, was looking down on them.

“Are you sure you should show yourself so readily? That might have been your last chance to survive.”

Curse Spirit asked with a slight frown.

“Assassins?”

Deus’s answering question sounded utterly uninterested.

“And if we are?”

“I see.”

Now tense, Curse Spirit spoke with a savage smile, but Deus remained unruffled by the sight.

“Then I’ll simply kill you.”

He merely made that declaration as he swung his sword, his face expressionless.

And exactly five minutes later...

'What the fuck—'

All three Proxies were staring at Deus in horror.

They had expected to take down a single Master Knight without suffering any harm. Instead, despite fighting three against one, they could barely hold their own against Deus.

No, not even that. They were gradually being pushed back.

'What kind of monster is this bastard...!'

The man stared at Deus with utter incomprehension, unable to believe what was happening.

As far as he knew, Deus Makalian had become a Master Knight only two or three years ago, and had not advanced far within that rank.

That was why, even when rumors of his recent victory over Reinhardt spread, the man had assumed luck must have played some part.

But now he realized how foolishly mistaken he had been.

And so he made an offer.

“... Let’s negotiate.”

“Negotiate?”

“Yes. Our target was Count Pallatio from the beginning, not you.”

Of course, he already knew Count Pallatio and Deus were quite close.

Yet the situation was precisely why he revealed that fact without hesitation.

'Monster or not, he must know that if all three of us attack without regard for our lives, he’ll have to be prepared to die too.'

The man glanced over Deus’s body.

He had no serious wounds, but minor injuries were visible here and there.

In other words, Deus was in no position to take this battle lightly either.

'No matter how much someone owes their benefactor, that changes when their own life is at stake.'

“If you give us the information we want about Count Pallatio, we’ll withdraw. We won’t come after you again either. But if you refuse—”

In an exceedingly low voice, the man added,

“—our comrades will hunt you, day and night.”

It was a blatantly obvious threat, but the man said no more.

He knew perfectly well that no further explanation was needed for someone who had reached the level where they could see an opponent’s strength.

And only then did he notice “it.”

“?”

The man stared blankly ahead.

The scene before him had scarcely changed.

Except for one thing.

'... Threads?'

Beneath the blue moon, vivid, glowing purple threads had somehow appeared in his field of vision.

Like a spiderweb, the threads filled the entire mansion—no, his entire field of vision—and wound around his body, as well as those of Snow Fiend and Curse Spirit.

At that moment...

“Wh-what—!”

“What is this—!!”

Everyone there began to move.

Snow Fiend raised the axe he held. Curse Spirit raised the kama in her right hand. The man raised the sword in his left.

They began aiming their weapons at their own throats.

“God fucking damn it!!”

“Stop—stop it—!”

“Aaaaaagh—!”

Horror etched across their faces, the intruders desperately struggled to move their bodies, which no longer obeyed them.

But already wrapped in the purple threads, they were like puppets controlled by a puppeteer. Regardless of their will, they drove the weapons aimed at their throats straight in.

“No, no! No!!!”

“Please—pleeeease!!!”

The intruders screamed in terror.

THUNK!

Then, by their own hands, they ended their lives.

Red blood runs down the purple threads.

And as the man, who had likewise pierced his own throat, reached the end of his life, the last thing he saw was a pair of eerily gleaming purple eyes.

“Don’t ever say that shit in front of me.”