I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain-Chapter 720

"I’m still adjusting. It has such a... distinctive flavor." Seras answered with an awkward smile, glancing aside.

Ian’s lips curved faintly. Mev did as well as she walked beside him.

Whatever her reasons, Seras was making the effort to blend in with the Crimson Legion. She had remained in the camp and endured the discomfort rather than retreat to the inner fortress. That alone was proof enough.

"I’m glad to see you looking well. Though...." Ian let his gaze shift as he continued, sweeping over Phaden and Alex standing at either side of the carriage door. "I suppose that’s thanks to others bearing the brunt of it."

Unlike Seras, who appeared unscathed, Phaden’s left arm was wrapped in thick bandages. Alex had both arms bound, along with one side of his face. Inside the carriage, Asme sat with her right hand and forearm tightly wrapped as well.

As Alex straightened with his hands clasped behind his back, Phaden bowed his head.

"We did nothing worthy of mention. Her Highness remained unharmed thanks to you, Agent of the Saint, the Crimson Legion, and the priests."

"You’re too modest. I saw how bravely you fought. Your skills are formidable," Ian replied, stopping before Seras.

It was not empty praise. Though they had not rushed to the very front in order to guard her, Phaden and Alex, encased from head to toe in enchanted armor, were no different from living weapons. Asme’s spell support had also been devastating.

Many of the barbarian warriors defending the brazier had survived because of them.

Mev, now standing beside Ian, gave a quiet nod of agreement.

"You flatter us," said Phaden, smiling awkwardly.

Seras, who had been quietly studying Ian, said, "You, Agent of the Saint, look remarkably unscathed yourself. It is difficult to believe you fought both an archdemon and an avatar of the void just yesterday."

"Only on the surface. The inside is still a mess." Ian shrugged.

That was not entirely false. His body still ached in several places, joints protesting when he moved.

Considering his opponents, however, the aftereffects were minor.

"It was a battle worthy of legend, Agent of the Saint. It will be recorded in history and spoken of for generations," said Phaden.

Alex nodded firmly. After exchanging a glance with Seras, Phaden added, "To stand here as witnesses to such history is an honor beyond measure."

"I feel the same. Thanks to that, I’ve finally been spared the nagging." Seras smiled brightly.

More like it’s simply too late to turn back now.

"That is fortunate. Though it seems there is still no word from the capital," Ian said.

If news had arrived, they would have mentioned it already. Phaden and Alex instinctively glanced around.

Seras lowered her voice and nodded. "Yes. I’m growing anxious. It wouldn’t be strange at all for new information to have reached us by now."

She flicked her eyes toward Mev before continuing. "I have already sent another message ahead. I instructed them to forward any news immediately, even if matters have not yet been fully concluded."

Ian nodded. "When word arrives, could you inform me at once?"

"Of course, Agent of the Saint. We are in the same boat now, are we not?" Seras smiled faintly.

A curious light had begun to glimmer in her eyes as she looked at him.

"Ah—hey, brother?"

A low exclamation came from the side. Miguel stepped out from one of the priests’ tents, an empty plate in his right hand. His left prosthetic arm rested against the bandaged strap crossing his shoulder.

Ian gave him a small nod in greeting.

"I heard you went to see General Harald," Seras said quietly. "Did you secure command of the garrison without issue?"

"I did not," Ian replied, his gaze following Miguel as he walked off to return the plate.

Seras blinked a moment too late. "What? You did not?"

"The garrison will remain under Generals Harald and Gelud. We will merely accompany them."

"But... why?" The reply had clearly caught her off guard. For a moment, Seras parted her lips without words.

It was the same expression Edith had worn at the fortress when Ian had ordered him to relay the message to General Gelud.

Only Mev showed no surprise. She had already known his intent.

"Did General Harald ask you to leave it that way?"

The next question was no different.

They all think alike.

Suppressing a faint chuckle, Ian replied, "No. If anything, he offered me his head."

"Then... why?"

"Because I have no desire to force the Guardians of the North to shoulder unnecessary disgrace." Ian finally turned back to Seras, adding evenly, "Why? Is there some reason I must take them under my command?"

Her eyes flickered for the briefest instant before stilling. "No. Of course not, Agent of the Saint."

Her lips curved into a polite smile. "I merely assumed it was the natural course of things. After all, they all wished to follow you."

So you were in on it too.

Ian weighed for a moment whether to press harder. If he didn’t, she would surely keep feigning ignorance.

It took him only seconds to decide against it.

"I cannot have everything simply because I want it."

There was no need to stir unnecessary hostility. More importantly, whatever designs they had arranged were already disrupted by his refusal to absorb the garrison. Harald, at this point, was effectively his man.

"Besides, enough blood has already been spilled. And a far greater conflict awaits us."

"Of course, Agent of the Saint." Seras swallowed, clearly understanding the implication in his words.

Ian allowed a faint smile. "In that case, I would like to request Your Highness’s assistance when we enter Travelga."

Phaden, Alex, and Asme all focused on him at once. Their expressions tightened in varying degrees.

"It is sooner than I expected... but I will gladly help." Seras inclined her head. "At last, it seems I will be able to do my part."

The three sets of eyes naturally shifted toward her. Their concern was obvious. They did not want her identity revealed.

"Ah, he’s coming," Seras murmured, turning her head slightly as she sensed someone approaching.

Miguel had finished putting things away and was heading back.

"You will be meeting my aunt now, I presume. I will not intrude. Please speak freely, Agent of the Saint." She offered a light curtsey in the Imperial manner and turned away.

Ian’s eyes twitched faintly. He had not missed the way her gaze darkened for a heartbeat.

Could she be the root of it all?

He watched as she climbed into the carriage with the plate in hand. A new layer of concern had already settled over her expression.

"Continue your meal." Ian shifted his attention to Phaden and Alex.

"Yes, Agent of the Saint."

Whatever thoughts were brewing in Seras’s mind were not urgent. The rough-looking priest approaching them now was far more pressing.

As Mev stepped back, Miguel met Ian’s eyes and grinned. "Perfect timing. The High Priestess has just finished her meal."

"What happened?" Ian tilted his chin toward him.

Miguel tapped his left arm with his right hand. "Nothing much. Heh. Just had a dislocated shoulder set."

"It’s fortunate that was all. Truly, what you did was remarkable." Mev nodded, a gentle smile touching her lips.

Even Phaden and Alex, who had resumed eating, nodded their heads in agreement.

"And the Saintess? I heard she hasn’t stepped outside."

Contrary to expectation, Miguel simply shrugged. "It’s not that serious. Though it’s not really my place to say."

"Then I should see her myself."

"Right this way. Take your time." Miguel turned briskly and jogged ahead.

Ian followed at an unhurried pace, glancing at Mev. "That’s not quite the reaction we heard about."

"No, it isn’t." Mev nodded, relief softening her features, hearing that the Saintess of the Brazier was safe. "I’ve been worried the whole time. I’m glad."

It wasn’t only because Cherwyn had helped them so much. She was also Lucia’s shield. If she were to fall on the eve of civil war, Lucia would be forced to shoulder immense danger and responsibility alone.

That was why Ian had been concerned about her condition as well.

"Agent of the Saint. Please, come in." The tent flap lifted, and Miguel stepped out.

Ian quickened his pace.

As Miguel moved aside, he glanced at Mev and said, "Speak at ease. I’ll wait outside."

Mev gave a calm nod.

Ian gave Miguel’s shoulder a light pat as he passed him and stepped inside the tent.

Swoosh—

The interior was narrow and simple, no different from the tents of ordinary priests. A soft glow and gentle warmth filled the space, thanks to the sacred flame flickering in the small brazier at the center.

"You’ve come, Agent of the Saint."

On the other side of the brazier stood Cherwyn, the Saintess of the Brazier, her hooded cloak drawn low. A crude bed sat behind her.

Ian’s eyes flickered faintly as he approached. "There was no need to stand and wait."

"It’s only proper to show due courtesy to the Guardian of the North, wouldn’t you agree?" Cherwyn smiled faintly and gestured toward the small stool opposite the brazier. "Please, sit. I have little to offer. Priest Miguel brought some mead—would that suffice?"

"I’ll accept it gladly."

At his nod, Cherwyn turned toward a box beside the bed. "So you truly defeated that fragment of the ancient god, Agent of the Saint."

She bent slightly as she rummaged through the box.

Ian took a seat and extended one hand toward the brazier’s warmth.

"Well, as you can see."

"Thank you. Truly. I feared I might never open my eyes again."

"Is that why you drew upon your power without restraint?" Ian asked.

Cherwyn straightened, holding a sealed bottle and two tin cups. "I did it to survive. As you did, Agent of the Saint."

"It looked more like you did it to save others." Ian’s gaze rested on her. "In any case, you have my thanks. The battle was easier because of you."

"Then I’m glad." She stepped forward with a soft smile and offered him a cup.

As she uncorked the bottle, she added, "You continue to defy my expectations, Agent of the Saint. I thought the first thing you would ask upon seeing me was what had happened."

It was a reasonable assumption. The Cherwyn standing before him looked as though she had aged twenty years overnight.

"I was waiting for you to tell me yourself," Ian replied evenly, turning the cup lightly in his hand.

Cherwyn’s smile deepened slightly as she poured. "I sensed it before, but you are quite considerate."

Ian raised the cup to his lips without answering. Cherwyn set the bottle beside the brazier and seated herself on the bed.

"Don’t worry too much. The wick simply burned a little more than it should have."

Ian glanced at her from the corner of his eye and lowered the cup. "That sounds as though your lifespan has shortened."

"Perhaps. But I won’t turn to ash just yet. ...At the very least, I’ll live long enough to fulfill my role."

Her tone was calm.

Ian paused. The look in her eyes told him she understood exactly what weighed on his mind.

He did not deny it. Instead, he raised the cup again. "Even so, you should rest. Once you recover your strength, return to the temple."

"I cannot do that, Agent of the Saint. I must see Archduke Olaf pay for his sins." Her answer came without hesitation.

Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly—not because she refused, but because of the quiet killing intent woven into her voice.

"I say this only out of caution, but you must kill the Archduke this time, Agent of the Saint."

Her tone turned cold as she leaned forward, never breaking eye contact.

"If you let him live, he will drive the people of the North into the jaws of death once again."