I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain-Chapter 586

A musty smell mixed with the scent of fried food.

To pass out the moment the blessing disappeared.

Sitting at a square table, he mulled over the hazy memory. The curl tugging at his mouth wasn’t from nostalgia.

"Finally…"

This was clearly the pub near his house, a place he used to frequent. That it was a dream, of course, was no problem at all.

Ding-dong—

He pressed the call button on the table. A familiar sound rang out, but the owner, who always fried chicken with a sour look on his face, didn’t appear. Turning his head, he realized the place was empty. Of course, he didn’t mind.

"Hmm…"

Rising from his seat at once, he strode toward the counter in the distance. Picking up an upside-down beer glass, he held it beneath the tap of the draft machine above.

His brow furrowed the moment he pulled the lever. Nothing came out. The same was true for the other tap beside it.

Thunk.

He immediately set the mug down and turned toward the kitchen.

"Well… shit…"

A hollow sigh escaped him as he stood in front of the commercial refrigerator. The fridge, which had always been full of liquor bottles, was also empty.

"Oh dear. You look quite disappointed." A nonchalant voice came from behind him just as he was thinking of leaving.

At the table in the farthest corner, a man in a suit sat with his back to the wall. He smiled as their eyes met. "That’s the best reaction I’ve seen yet."

"Did you call me here just to mess with me?" Ian asked, sighing through his nose.

The man shook his head. "Of course not. This is the place your subconscious desires."

"The only reason I’d want to come here is for a cold beer."

"Well, that’s unfortunate then. Can’t be helped. You never focus on conversation when there’s food in front of you." The man gestured to the seat opposite him.

"Focus… my ass…" Sighing, Ian walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily. "Get to the point."

"I think you already know why I’m here."

"I don’t. And I don’t care."

At the half-hearted reply, the man let out a low laugh. "I’m hurt. To think you’ve already forgotten the favor I did for you."

"It wasn’t just a favor. You were trying to find a clue to get back to my home."

"Oh, my. As I’ve said before, you’re far too sharp." The smile on the man’s lips deepened slightly.

"So? Did you find anything?"

"Unfortunately, not yet. So…" The smile never leaving his lips, the man added, "It’s time I took back what I lent you."

Ian froze.

The man’s featureless eyes curved slightly. "Looks like you didn’t expect this."

"You haven’t found what you were looking for yet."

"That’s surprising. I thought you’d be more willing to return it for that very reason."

"Well, it’s been quite useful." One corner of Ian’s mouth twisted.

"I’m glad to hear that. But you don’t have a choice in the matter." The man chuckled softly and looked down at the table.

Following his gaze, his eyes narrowed. A severed finger was now lying in the middle of the table.

"This is mine."

The finger twitched feebly at intervals. From the severed end, not a single drop of blood flowed.

The man continued leisurely, "Don’t be too disappointed. Keeping it too long wouldn’t have done you any good, anyway."

"I don’t know. I’d like to keep it a little longer."

The man shrugged and stretched out his hand. The spot where his little finger should have been was empty.

He tilted his head slightly just after he brought the severed finger to his hand.

"Huh?"

The finger didn’t reattach. A faint violet light was now shimmering on the twitching stump. The man’s gaze returned to him. Seeing the violet light shimmering in Ian’s eyes, a strange smile spread across the man’s face.

"Now this I didn’t expect. How did you do it?"

"Just well."

At Ian’s flat reply, the man nodded a beat later. "I see. So you don’t know exactly either. You just did it because you could."

Stroking his chin with the hand he had extended, he added, "In any case, it’s a shame. This is no longer part of me. It wouldn’t be that difficult to get it back, but…"

He met Ian’s gaze, his mouth stretching into a wider smile. "I’d like to stay on friendly terms with you."

"Then you should have prepared some beer."

"Like this?"

The man raised the other hand that had been resting below the table. A glass full of draft beer was now in his hand, with a layer of frost on its surface.

Placing the glass on the table, he continued, "How about a trade?"

Of course, Ian didn’t answer. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the glass, though he only narrowed one eye slightly.

The man chuckled softly.

"This is a space where your dream is projected onto my consciousness. Do you understand now what it means for you to wield that power here?"

"I don’t. And as I said, I don’t care."

"I like your consistency. Yes… But keep this in mind." The man looked down at the limp finger, his eyes glinting meaningfully. "Don’t trust this thing too much. Don’t forget that it was originally a part of me. That is its nature."

"You must be worried this thing will become another you," Ian said, meeting the man’s eyes with a faint smile.

The man shrugged nonchalantly and stood up. "Perhaps. Well then, until we meet again. You can have the beer, a gift to commemorate our reunion. And don’t worry, it’s not poisoned." The man turned and walked away.

A cheap wind chime sound followed as the pub door opened and closed.

Should have just given it to me from the start.

Alone again, Ian finally picked up the glass in front of him. Bringing it to his lips, he looked down at the finger on the table. "The debt I owe you for your help until now is repaid with this."

Whether the thing understood him or not, he had no way of knowing. Without another word, Ian put the glass to his lips. The sensation of everything slipping away was spreading through him.

Hiss…

The pub and everything else melted into darkness just as he took a sip of the cold beer. A moment later, a quest completion window appeared in the middle of the darkness, and a heavy pressure weighed down on him.

Should have just chugged it.

Closing the window, Ian opened his eyes. When he lowered his head, he saw a cascade of silver hair. Thesaya was clinging to him, draped across his body. She was fast asleep.

Why is she here?

Pushing her aside, Ian sat up. Thesaya didn't wake up, even when she rolled onto her other side. She just curled up, hugging herself. It must have been a habit from her vampire fairy days.

Of course, Ian was already looking around.

They’re all out.

It was the floor of the carriage. On the chair to the left lay Simon’s attendant, his head wrapped in bandages. To the right, Lucia was asleep, a hooded cloak pulled over her like a blanket, her mask still on. The air was lukewarm, a mixture of salty sea air and a foul stench. The makeshift brazier had clearly burned out.

Right. That’s probably why I had that dream.

Ian looked down at his right hand. He felt Yog wrapped tightly around his middle finger. It was clearly unconscious. Perhaps it wouldn’t even remember that it had nearly returned to its true form.

Like I care, he muttered inwardly, and pushed himself the rest of the way up.

His brow narrowed. His limbs and various parts of his body ached. They were the same places that had throbbed and tingled during the battle.

So, I really cracked myself all over.

Thankfully, he had no real trouble moving. The pain was bearable. It was likely the result of his high recovery, the brazier’s blessing, and a level up.

Along with the quest’s completion, he seemed to have gotten experience points from Bukikia’s death. He had even gained one more stat point and one more skill point as rewards.

Creak—

He covered Thesaya with the blanket he had been lying on, straightened Lucia’s cloak, and finally stepped outside. The chaos outside the wagon came into view. Moro, who had been sprawled beside the horses, snorted as it rose.

Crunch— crunch—

Its jaws worked as though it had just devoured a rat. Ian, who had been walking toward it, felt his eyes widen slightly for a different reason.

"You’ve been fighting the hardest battle of all, Moro."

He saw the horses lying on the ground. They breathed weakly, but all except one were still alive. The pony was even calmly chewing on some hay. The one that had died was one of Simon’s steeds. Had any of them broken a leg, they would have eventually been put down, but in the end the party had not lost a single horse.

Grrr—

Moro lowered its head and snorted as if to say it was nothing. Ian stopped and stroked its neck.

"You did well. And now, back to your other shape. Don’t scare the others."

At the same time, he pushed a current of chaos power into its nape.

Crack—

With a gruesome sound of bones shifting, Moro’s massive form shrank. In just a few seconds, it had returned to its sleek black, armored form.

Patting its neck, Ian smiled. "Rest. And go easy on the rats."

Snort—

As Moro flared its violet eyes, Ian turned away.

The wall that had collapsed was now blocking the way again. It was slightly crooked; it must have been temporarily propped back up. Ian carefully opened the door.

Swoosh… Splash—

With the crash of waves, the deck came into view. The sky was thick with clouds, making it hard to tell the hour, though it was clearly day.

The deck was dented and broken in places, the foremast was tilted, and the sails were in tatters. The makeshift brazier, which now looked like nothing more than a broken carriage, still sat there, making the ship look even more ghostly.

However, what caught Ian’s eye was something else.

Are those bodies?

On the port side of the deck, figures lay in a row beneath a long cloth. Some were incomplete, only fragments of what had once been whole. They must have gathered the remains of those who had fallen in the last battle.

Seven, perhaps eight in all—more than he had expected. Clearly, the danger had reached below deck as well. And that they hadn’t been cast overboard meant they intended to bury them on land.

At least they’ve still got that much decency.

Ian’s gaze drifted past the deck. There were no booming commands, but the ship still cut steadily through the waves.. Nowhere on the vast, black horizon was a single trace of crimson to be seen.

But why this way?

Ian’s brow furrowed slightly. Without slowing his pace, he glanced to the right. Not far off, jagged cliffs rose steeply, stretching endlessly along the shore.

The crease between his brows deepened.

"Y-You’re awake, saint, no, sir!" Sanford, who had been dozing against the stairway leading below, sprang up with a shout.

"Yes. But are we by any chance…" Ian began, nodding his head. He met the captain's single eye. "Heading to the frontier?"