Chapter 65

Chapter 65
For a moment, the air was stolen from Marquis Filboid’s lungs, crushed under the frigid pressure rolling off the beastman.

It lasted only a second.

His hand shot into his cloak, fetching an artifact as he pivoted.

Yet…

“I…”

Thud!

In the following heartbeat, the Marquis found himself on the floor, his mind a blank slate of confusion.

A bizarre sensation from his lower half made him look down.

There was no mistaking what he saw.

His legs were bent at unnatural, horrifying angles.

“Aaaargh!!!”

The sight and the searing pain arrived together, wrenching a scream from his throat.

“!?”

“What’s happening!”

The door burst open as mercenaries from outside the gambling den poured in.

Zap!

A surge of lightning crackled, and the beastman vanished.

“Ah, ahh~”

The mercenaries, who had been a charging force a moment before, were now just formless heaps of meat.

And then…

“Ah~ This is so irritating—I intended to keep this discreet, and now it’s a mess.”

The beastman, who had extinguished every life in the room in a flash, wiped specks of crimson from her golden hair, her face a mask of annoyance as she stared down at the Marquis.

Though dozens had died in a blink, her expression remained as placid as if it were an ordinary event.

A primal dread seized Marquis Filboid, and his pleas tumbled out in a stammer.

“P-please, let me live.”

The beastman observed his desperation, gave a soft hum, and spoke.

“You wish to live?”

Seeing a sliver of hope, the Marquis clutched at it with everything he had.

“P-please… I am a Marquis of the Kingdom of Asteria! Spare me, and you will have a king’s ransom…!”

A frantic bid for survival.

But the beastman merely crouched before him, a look of curiosity on her face as she studied him, and posed a question,

“Then, why would you say that?”

“W-what?”

“If you wanted to live, why did you say those words?”

“. . . . . . ?”

Marquis Filboid’s face was a picture of utter incomprehension.

“Why did you tell me to kill my Master…̱?”

“…Ah.”

With those words, understanding dawned.

He realized who the “Master” of this golden-eyed beastman was.

“It can’t be… Count Palatio…!”

“Yes, my Master—well, my husband, to be precise? Our wedding is soon.”

The beastman confirmed with a cheerful nod, leaving the Marquis utterly stupefied.

From his perspective, none of it was logical.

That a beastman capable of butchering an agent stronger than a Master Knight stood before him.

That this beastman was linked to Count Palatio.

He could not fathom the depths of the abyss that was Count Palatio.

Only one conclusion formed in his mind upon learning of their connection.

“…Babayaga?”

The beastman before him was none other than one of Colony’s Babayaga, the Golden Lightning.

“Oh, you figured it out?”

At her reaction, the Marquis’s jaw went slack.

Why was a Babayaga, who should have been in Colony, here?

It defied all understanding.

Yet, the beastman spoke casually, as if it were the most natural thing. “What do you mean, why? It’s obvious.”

She answered as if stating a universal truth.

“Did you think I would let those who threaten my Master go unpunished?”

The beastman’s golden eyes shone with a brilliant light.

But it was a light filled with a profound, searing intent to kill, and he knew what was coming.

Thud!

After the sound of something rupturing, the Marquis’s thoughts ceased entirely.

And then.

“This is unacceptable. Truly, it is.”

The beastman, having obliterated the Marquis’s head, wore an expression of icy detachment and stated,

“No one, not a single soul, is permitted to lay a hand on my Master.”

With that, the beastman was gone.

***

The royal ball, which had lasted a full week, concluded.

Crytenia Siyan had not appeared after the third day, and though Count Palatio had not yet received the formal rites of succession from the Queen, he was now addressed as the Marquis of Palatio in all but official title.

‘What are Siyan’s true motives?’
For nearly a week, Alon had fended off the relentless ‘What’s next?’ inquiries from Count Zenonia and Duke Altia, securing a temporary reprieve.

He had pondered her reasons for granting him the title, but her intentions remained elusive.

Truly, he would have preferred to ask her directly, but that path was closed to him from the start.

Thus, while the promotion to Marquis was welcome, a persistent disquiet lingered.

Regardless, it was time to depart the capital and begin outlining his next moves.

‘The list is long… First, a return to the ruins to meet “that one,” then a journey to Raxas to activate the ring… The strategic drafts are ready, so I must also plant the seeds for the agents. Ah, and perhaps a visit to the Colosseum while I’m in Colony.’
He remembered that securing a specific number of victories in the Colosseum event in Colony would grant him an audience with the Queen and a chance to claim one of the relics housed in the royal vault.

With this in mind, Alon began to methodically arrange his thoughts.

A short while later, his priorities were set.

‘I’ll begin by establishing the foundation for the agents.’
While meeting “that one” in the forgotten ruins held slightly more urgency, it so happened that the location for laying his groundwork was en route to Colony, so the order was decided.

Several days passed, and soon he arrived at the small border territory of Atla, situated between the plains and the desert, as he traveled eastward.

And then.

“Count, or should I say Marquis now?”

“That’s the tenth time you’ve mentioned it. Address me as you like.”

“Then I’ll continue with Count for the moment. But, Count, is this the correct location?”

In reply to Evan’s query, Alon scanned their surroundings.

The landscape was peculiar.

On one side lay a forest, while on the other, a desert stretched into infinity.

After a quiet moment taking in the stark contrast, Alon rose.
“Yes.”

“Are we heading into a labyrinth like the last time we visited?”

As he stepped from the carriage, Alon answered Evan.
“No. There’s a place I must stop at briefly. Wait here.”

“Shouldn’t I accompany you?”

“No.”

He then started his walk into the woods.

How far had he trekked?

“There it is.”

An entrance to a cave, veiled by hanging vines, appeared within the forest.

It seemed a natural formation, untouched by human tools.

Alon, however, knew the cave was anything but ordinary, and a thread of tension pulled within him.

And rightly so, for within this cave resided the leader of the agents, a figure he needed to confront.

The one infamous in early Psychedelia as the “Spine Cutter,” a boss so notorious he drew curses from seasoned players—Al-Kamae.

Moreover, according to the records, his strength was such that he could contend with at least five agents of Master Knight caliber.

Facing a foe of such power, comparable to mid-game bosses, Alon released a soft sigh and then…

He steeled his resolve.

‘I’ll just follow the plan.’
With that decision firm, he cleared his throat and spoke the words,

“By the first covenant, fulfill one promise.”

A moment passed.

“?”

“…?”

Nothing occurred.

‘What’s wrong…?’
Puzzled, Alon repeated the summons meant to draw the agent leader from his hiding place.

“By the first covenant, fulfill one promise.”

Still, there was no answer.

‘This is strange…’
After several more attempts yielded nothing, a confused Alon finally proceeded into the cave’s depths.

Venturing further into the darkness,

Soon, a vast mansion, constructed inside the cavern itself, came into view.

The structure was immense, rivaling the scale of Alon’s own Count Palatio estate.

It was both grand and spacious enough to command the enormous cave, a testament to the dignity of the agent leader who dwelt there.

Though Alon had come here before in the game to slay the leader and claim his relics, witnessing it in person, rather than through game art, was an entirely different experience.

That feeling was short-lived.

Soon, he noticed something amiss.

‘It’s all in ruins?’
From a distance, it wasn’t apparent, but the closer he got, the clearer it became that the mansion, which should have been whole, was utterly devastated.

When he finally stepped inside,

“…?”

Alon stood in stunned silence, gazing upon the half-demolished mansion of Al-Kamae, the leader of the agents.

***

Al-Kamae had lived for 300 years, and in that time, he had ended countless lives.

He had decapitated more than twelve Swordmasters.

He had erased an entire kingdom, its monarch and lineage included.

He had also slain the Purple Tower Master, the head of the Mage Tower.

Beyond that, he had single-handedly slaughtered legions of knights.

150 years prior, he had waged a solo war against a territory and wiped it from historical record.

His power was undisputed, acknowledged by all.

He was so formidable that every agent with skills beyond a Master Knight regarded him with fear and reverence.

That was why he felt such annoyance.

He did not know how, but an audacious girl had come to kill him.

Irritated by this pesky gnat, he, who had been lying low for a greater purpose, decided to toy with her briefly before the kill.

Surely, that was how it would go.

It should have happened that way—

Cough!

Al-Kamae choked on blood, his eyes trembling as he stared at the being before him.

Standing there was a young girl.

Dressed in a black ceremonial robe adorned with red embroidery, she held a staff that glowed with a sinister, chilling red light.

Initially, her appearance seemed no threat.

Yet, Al-Kamae was filled with undeniable terror as he looked upon her.

It was more than fear.

It was horror, despair, and a sense of utter futility.

All these emotions twisted together, ensnaring him.

Because of her.

Because of her.

Because of her.

Because of the thing looming behind her.

‘What is that—’
—because of the dozens of shadowy tendrils emerging from the black void at her back—

He realized his perception was trapped in an endless loop.

Even with this awareness, his thoughts could not advance.

The same notions cycled endlessly in his mind.

Terror.

Despair.

Futility.

Fear.

The horrifying blend of emotions relentlessly plunged Al-Kamae into a hellish torment.

And then.

“Why… why is this happening to me?!”

Through the overwhelming fear, Al-Kamae, his eyes bleeding red, forced out the words.

The girl who had been watching him—no, Yutia—spoke.

“Because you sought to harm him.”

With her own chilling crimson gaze, she delivered his sentence to the man who had coughed up his lifeblood countless times.

In that instant,

‘……’

The black tendrils seized Al-Kamae and began to drag him into the dark rift.

It was over in a flash.

With a final, desperate effort, Al-Kamae tried to resist, forcing his body upright to swing his sword.

But the blade that had slain Swordmasters was completely powerless against the young girl.

“N-noooo~!!”

Crunch!

With a sickening sound, he vanished, leaving not even a corpse behind.

One week.

That was all the time it took for the organization known as the “Agents,” which had operated in the shadows for half a century, to be completely erased.

And then.

“Under normal circumstances, I would have drawn out your suffering before the end, but my schedule is tight, so this was necessary.”

Yutia murmured, looking toward the spot where Al-Kamae had disappeared.

“You can thank Seolrang for this mercy.”

Her gaze shifted beyond the forest, toward the desert, fixing on the location of the desert city, Colony.

“I’m pressed for time, so a quick death was all you got.”

She turned away.

In her hand was a letter from Alon.

A letter stating he would likely be visiting the desert city once more.

“Finally…”

A faint smile touched her lips.