I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain-Chapter 731

Ding— Ding—

The tolling of bells from the church spire spread across the entire city.

They rang in celebration and gratitude. Yet for those marching through the heart of the capital, the sound was swallowed by something far greater.

The streets were packed with citizens who had flooded out in overwhelming numbers. Thunderous cheers crashed from every side, pressing in on the legion as it advanced.

Barely an hour had passed since the archduke’s body was carried into the inner castle. And yet, in the cries echoing through the city, there was not the faintest trace of mourning.

“Do you truly think he will not hold our sins against us?”

“Who knows? To let such a justification slip by so easily, it’s hard to believe.”

The same was for the upper windows of the inner castle, where the archduke’s family had gathered to look down upon the city.

“One called a demigod wouldn’t speak empty words. Don’t invite needless worry.”

“It is only natural to worry.”

Ordinarily, they would snarl at one another or treat each other like strangers. However, now, Olaf’s two wives and their seven children stood together in one place. The younger children had already been sent away under the care of attendants.

“They say Karha judged Father. We could easily be implicated as well.”

When the eldest son of the second wife spoke in defense of his siblings, the legal wife twisted her sharp lips and clicked her tongue.

“You believe such nonsense? Foolish, just like your mother. If it were the Stern Goddess, perhaps. But judgment from the God of Battle? Absurd.”

“Yet too many witnessed the duel. They all say Karha manifested through Father’s body.”

“And the thunderous blasts! I thought the Demigod of the North would bring down the walls.”

As the second wife’s youngest daughter and second son added their voices, the legal wife let out another scoff.

“The God of Battle merely wished to fight his arrogant Great Warrior. All this talk of divine punishment and judgment is likely nothing more than what—”

Her gaze shifted out the window. She glared briefly at the man riding a black steed at the head of the legion procession crossing the city amid roaring cheers.

“Ian Hope. That must be the excuse he has attached to it.”

“His Grace always feared that man,” said the second wife, surrounded by her four children. “He said that, unlike the rumors, he was cunning like a fox—and harbored vast ambition.”

For once, the legal wife did not rebuke her.

“Yes. For once... he saw clearly,” she muttered, nodding.

It was only natural. With the archduke now said to have been judged by Karha, they all stood before a shared crisis.

“Even if he says he will not pursue further charges... will we ultimately be kicked out?”

Not only the citizens, but even the city’s defensive forces had sided with the Demigod of the North like the other so-called traitors.

“Everyone in Travelga follows him.”

At the youngest daughter’s anxious voice, the legal wife reassured her. “Don’t worry, Arti. He will never be recognized as legitimate by the royal family. The Great Church will oppose him long before that. They say the Platinum Dragon brought down the Black Wall.”

The second wife nodded. “I agree. That must be why the steel circuit was sent back with His Grace.”

Longtime rivals, the two women had reached a rare agreement in the face of shared survival. Grief and mourning were luxuries they could not afford.

Father.

However, Utrid couldn’t erase the image of the archduke’s final moments from his mind. A crushing sense of loss and an equal measure of guilt pressed down upon his heart.

If I hadn’t pushed him so hard... If I had tried to persuade him with more patience, perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided.

That was why he had remained silent until now.

Perhaps that was also why his elder brother, Kahalt, stood beside him without a word.

“Therefore, what matters most now is informing that man, without discord, who the rightful heir is.” Their mother, the legal wife, continued at that moment.

Turning her head slightly, she added, “If there is any ambiguity, he will surely use it as a pretext to remove us.”

The second wife and her two sons narrowed their eyes at that pointed look.

After all, the archduke had never formally named a successor. He had always claimed that he couldn’t act before His Imperial Majesty made a decision.

However, everyone knew the truth: he had simply never wished to divide his power.

After a brief silence, the second wife nodded with a sigh. “Very well. You are right. There is no time for us to quarrel and divide ourselves. We must preserve what little justification we still possess.”

Her sons turned sharply to look at her, but she did not so much as blink.

A cold smile curved the legal wife’s lips. “I never imagined the day would come when I appreciated that sly side of yours.”

Only then did she turn her head toward the eldest son standing behind them.

“So do not lose your composure, Kal. Even if you must kneel before him, you must never appear weak or servile,” said the legal wife.

“Yes, Mother,” Kahalt answered stiffly under his siblings’ gazes. His expression remained cold, his voice even colder. He had clearly taken offense at the family’s lack of mourning.

Utrid swallowed down a sigh thick with self-reproach.

“Therefore, you must hold your ground beside me. Brother,” Kahalt added, turning toward him.

When Utrid blinked in surprise, he continued evenly, “Your father-in-law has joined hands with that man. If you make it clear that you support me, General Harald will lend his strength without hesitation.”

Utrid bit his lower lip before he realized it.

His elder brother was not mourning their father either. His mind had already moved on to securing the North—cleanly, decisively, without challenge.

“Understood, Brother.” Even so, Utrid nodded without protest. The weight of guilt pressing against his chest left no room for resentment or anger.

“Good. A wise decision.” Kahalt’s lips curled faintly. From the look in his eyes, it was clear that he believed mentioning General Harald had struck its mark.

Had Utrid refused, he would likely have been accused of betraying the family for the sake of his father-in-law.

Knowing that, Utrid said nothing more and turned his gaze out the window. The legion’s procession, stretching to the far end of the city, was already nearing the castle.

“Far more than I heard... Was he truly preparing for rebellion?”

“Even the Blazing Goddess has turned against us. To think she favors him over us...”

“Those damned spellcasters switched sides quickly enough.”

Voices filled with bitter disbelief followed one after another. Now that the procession had drawn closer, its members were visible in detail.

“Are they the Demigod’s personal retainers?”

At his youngest sibling’s question, Utrid’s eyes twitched as he studied the vanguard.

Kahalt cast him a pointed glance and answered, “Most likely. I see familiar faces among them.”

At the front rode the Demigod of the North upon a black steed, his expression unreadable. Behind a group of unfamiliar riders, clearly his close attendants, marched generals of the Northern Army.

Father-in-law...

Utrid’s gaze fixed on one of them—Harald.

Aside from looking somewhat gaunt, the man appeared unchanged. There was no trace of guilt or hesitation on his face. Then again, had he possessed such weakness, he would have chosen death instead.

“Let us go down,” the legal wife’s quiet voice broke the silence.

She cast Utrid a cool glance before turning and passing by her eldest son. “We must receive the Demigod of the North and the Guardians.”

“How humiliating.” Even as she sighed, the second wife followed readily behind.

One by one, the half-siblings turned to leave.

Taking the youngest sibling by the arm as he turned, Kahalt whispered, “Stand behind me.”

Utrid nodded and followed him in silence, lips pressed tightly together.

Thud— Thud—

Only the echo of their footsteps rang through the silent interior of the castle. Not a single soldier remained inside the inner fortress. General Torvien had taken them all under the pretext of securing the routes.

Yet Utrid felt no fresh humiliation or anger at that fact. The closer they drew to the audience chamber, the harder he had to grit his teeth against the swelling guilt in his chest.

“Father...”

“Your Grace.”

Beside the empty iron throne rested the coffin containing his father’s body. It was a plain wooden box, utterly without ornament—pitifully modest.

As if the reality of his death had only now settled in, quiet sighs escaped from his siblings. His mother stopped in the center of the hall.

“Take your places.”

At her look, the second wife, the half-siblings, and the youngest child moved to stand behind. Only Utrid and his elder brother Kahalt remained at the front.

Kahalt’s gaze never left the vacant throne—or the steel circlet resting upon it. His thoughts were written plainly across his rigid posture—reclaim the North and regain control.

“Brother.”

“...Yes.” At Utrid’s quiet prompt, Kahalt finally nodded and turned, presenting his back to the rest of the family.

Utrid stepped into place just behind and to his right.

A heavy silence settled over the chamber before hurried footsteps echoed from beyond the tightly shut doors. A moment later, the massive doors opened with a deep, resounding groan.

Clank— clank— clank—

Before they were fully open, heavily armed soldiers streamed into the hall. They split left and right without pause. The finest of the defense forces stood shoulder to shoulder with barbarian warriors of the Crimson Legion.

Clack, thud!

Before they were fully open, heavily armed soldiers streamed into the hall. They split left and right without pause. The finest of the defense forces stood shoulder to shoulder with barbarian warriors of the Crimson Legion.

However, that was not what made Utrid stiffen.

Beyond the open doors, behind the advancing ranks, another group approached.

“Kneel on one knee and render proper honors! His Excellency Ian Hope, Margrave of the Frontier, Demigod of the North, and Agent of the Saint of the Order. Cherwyn Astrea, Saintess of the Brazier and Head of the Temple.”

A solemn, resonant voice rang out—it was General Torvien of the Travelga Defense Force.

“And Her Highness Seras Astrea, Master of the Dawn Palace, along with Elder Thesaya Erenos, Representative of the Deep Southern Forest, shall enter as representatives of the Northern Guardians!”

Before the proclamation had even finished, Utrid’s eyes flew open. One of those names—he had never imagined hearing it here.

“A princess?”

“Why would Her Highness be here?”

Muted gasps spread behind him.

Kahalt’s shoulders went rigid. If a princess of royal blood truly accompanied them, everything could change. Seras Astrea was known to be closely aligned with the Third Prince, the strongest contender for Crown Prince.

However, there was no time to exchange words.

Thud, thud.

Between the parted ranks of soldiers, a black-haired man stepped forward.

Dark bloodstains still marked his expressionless face, not yet wiped away. Yet what unsettled Utrid far more was his gaze—sunken black eyes that seemed to leach warmth from the air the instant they met one’s own.

Utrid lowered his head at once, unable to endure it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kahalt’s clenched fist trembling faintly. His brother was no less shaken.

“Glory be to the Radiant Light.” At last, Kahalt kneeled on one knee. Tension tightened his voice, but he kept it steady.

And by addressing him not as demigod or margrave, but as Agent of the Saint, Kahalt had made his position unmistakably clear.

“Glory be...”

“Glory be...”

Behind them, the rest of the family sank to their knees as well, voices trembling as they echoed the words.

Utrid, who had been biting down hard on his lower lip, finally lowered himself onto one knee.

“Glory be.” He clenched his teeth because he despised himself. The first emotion he had felt upon facing his father’s killer had been fear.

Thud.

Ian Hope stopped at a measured distance. The footsteps behind him ceased in unison.

“Rise.” The voice that followed was flat and cold, devoid of inflection.

Kahalt surged to his feet as though released from a spring. Utrid forced himself upright more slowly, keeping his head bowed. He wasn’t confident he could hide the resentment in his eyes.

“I am Margrave Ian Hope. It is unfortunate that we meet under such circumstances.”

Unaware, or perhaps indifferent, to their turmoil, Ian spoke evenly.

Kahalt answered through clenched teeth. “I am Kahalt, heir of this house. The misfortune is mine as well, Agent of the Saint.”

“The archduke challenged my authority. It was a lawful duel and remained so even after Karha descended. All who witnessed it stand as proof. Do you acknowledge this and accept the outcome?”

“I acknowledge it,” Kahalt replied a beat late, his pronunciation tight with restrained fury.

“Then the judgment is concluded. As I have already declared, I have no intention of pressing further charges against anyone.”

Ian’s tone did not shift. It hovered on the edge of indifference. Their reactions clearly did not concern him.

“Nor do I intend to rule the North,” said Ian.

Yet those words alone were enough to make both Kahalt and Utrid stiffen.

After a brief silence, Kahalt asked carefully, “Are you saying you still recognize our legitimacy?”

“Of course. Which is why I will ask...” Ian answered without hesitation, then added casually, “Which one of you is Utrid?”

Utrid’s head snapped up before he could stop himself. The question was as unexpected as the absence of any trap. Kahalt stiffened for the same reason.

“So it is you. I hear the archduke left no designated heir.”

However, that was only the beginning.

Ian turned his gaze fully on Utrid and continued, ignoring the sharp intake of breath that rippled through the hall, “As the Great Warrior of Karha, and as victor and executioner of the duel, I hereby exercise my right of judgment. From this moment forward, you shall govern the North.”

“... What?”