I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Chapter 335

As expected.

Ian nodded calmly.

The intervals were getting shorter, meaning the Black Wall’s disturbances were likely to occur another four or five times. Even after the erosion, it would take several more convulsions before stabilizing. No matter how manageable Chapter Three had been, if every disturbance brought forth such crimson madness, it would quickly become overwhelming. This was likely a random event in the game as well.

Still, a few more lightning strikes are bound to happen...

For now, it was enough to confirm that no new problems had emerged in the snowfields. Ian cast a brief glance at the fading red glow in the sky.

His eyes suddenly narrowed as a quest completion window appeared before him.

[Sanctuary of the Snowfield.]

It was a quest he hadn’t even accepted. A reasonable amount of experience points and one point of Strength were granted as rewards. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Once again, I’ve met the completion conditions before even receiving the quest.

What truly mattered was that the portable brazier’s sacred flame had stabilized completely, and this area had become a safe zone.

Ian’s gaze finally shifted downward.

The expanding village stretched out before him. The villagers, who had briefly gazed at the sky, were now resuming their work. From up here, the newly acquired land looked significantly larger than the original village.

Once the buildings were constructed and walls replaced the wooden fences, it would no longer feel like a mere village—it would truly be a city.

The snow blanketing the ground was melting, exposing patches of dark soil beneath. The transformation was plainly visible to the naked eye.

The range is broader than I thought.

The blessing of the Blazing Goddess had extended even beyond the newly built fences. A place where monsters would feel a strong aversion to approach—truly fitting for the name Sanctuary of the Snowfield.

Ian’s gaze wandered further, scanning the barren-looking forest beyond, until it stopped on a particular point. A faint, small silhouette was moving slowly closer.

It must be the messenger returning.

"... So, things didn’t go well, huh?" Ian clicked his tongue and muttered.

If things had gone smoothly, the messenger would have arrived with the migration caravan, not alone. It was far too soon for those who had ventured past the wall to be returning as well. And notably, the silhouette was coming from the northeast—Nor Lindor, the region home to barbarian tribes that clung to tradition rather than seeking refuge in settlements.

"Well, then..."

Might as well eat while I wait.

With a shrug, Ian turned his focus inward. His stomach had been growling for some time now, which was no surprise. He had shed blood earlier, and all he had consumed since waking up was alcohol.

Ian caught sight of Rigg carrying food toward his house. He took a moment to watch before leaping down from the roof.

***

The sound of knocking echoed through the room just as Ian was halfway through his meal.

"The warriors are here to see you," came Rigg’s voice.

Ian, chewing on a piece of salted meat cured with rock salt, washed it down with a swig of strong liquor before replying.

"Let them in."

The door creaked open and in stepped Volber and an unfamiliar warrior. The thick fur cloaks they wore were damp, likely from the frost that had melted. The newcomer was unmistakably the messenger Ian had seen returning earlier.

"Greetings, Great Warrior," said Volber and the other warriors in unison, bowing their heads.

Ian gestured with his chin toward the empty seats at the table. "Sit down and talk. You’ve probably still got a chill from the road—have a drink, too."

"Thank you, Great Warrior," Volber nodded and approached, while the unfamiliar warrior bowed his head once again. He wore an expression as if he had received a great favor—something Ian supposed he should grow used to seeing.

Without pausing his meal, Ian gestured once more toward the empty seat.

"This one is Bjorn, Great Warrior," Volber said as he placed wooden cups on the table for himself and the other warrior. He then picked up a bottle of liquor and met Ian’s gaze.

"He’s one of the men we sent to deliver your message to the northeast."

"I see. Judging by how quickly you’re back, things didn’t go well."

At Ian’s comment, Bjorn lowered the cup he had just picked up and bowed his head, looking visibly ashamed.

"I’m sorry, Great Warrior."

"I’m not blaming you. Just tell me what happened."

Ian tore a piece of hard bread with his hands and popped it into his mouth. Bjorn sighed heavily, his rough features softening into a subdued expression as he explained.

"I went to the Black Hill Village. The people there wouldn’t even let me in. So, I delivered your message at their gate."

"Did you tell them to prepare for a beating if they didn’t show up?"

"Something along those lines. Then the gate opened soon after. A big guy came out, calling himself Garson, the village’s Great Warrior."

"He asked us to deliver a message to you," Volber interjected, taking a sip of his drink.

Meeting Ian’s gaze, he smirked beneath his thick beard. "He said he’ll leave the gates wide open, counting the days. Basically, a challenge to a fight."

"So they’re resorting to that crap... Fucking..."

Unlike Volber, who chuckled, Ian swallowed his bite of meat with a scowl, muttering curses under his breath.

These barbaric fools never cease to irritate.

Amused by Ian’s reaction, Volber burst into laughter. "Well, what did you expect? For them, it’s far more honorable to join after a ritual duel than to simply heed your summons. And when else would they get the chance to fight the Great Warrior?"

Why does everyone seem so eager to get beaten up by me?

Ian shook his head but froze mid-motion as a quest window appeared in front of him.

[The Northern Way.]

The quest instructed him to convince the independent villages in the North to heed the summons, using their Northern methods. It was a branching, optional quest that could be completed by fulfilling only the minimum requirements before returning.

The rewards were experience points and a mystery item marked with a question mark—likely obtainable only by fully completing all objectives.

After skimming through the quest details, Ian asked casually, "How many independent villages are there in Nor Lindor?"

"The ones we’re aware of? Three," Volber replied.

At Volber’s response, Ian said nothing and simply brought his cup to his lips. The quest, after all, mentioned five villages. The other two were likely ones that had no connection to the warriors following him.

Looks like I’ll need to gather information on-site.

Setting his glass down, he spoke up. "The ones who went to the other villages should all return by tomorrow, right?"

"They should be back by noon at the latest, at least those who were refused. Anyone who doesn’t return is probably preparing to come back together."

"They’ll all be back. Start getting ready to leave by noon tomorrow."

At Ian’s firm statement, Volber tilted his head but smiled.

As Ian popped a bite of well-seasoned, irresistibly savory dried meat into his mouth, he added, "We don’t have much time. We’ll move quickly with a small group, so pick five people who are good at persuasion and navigation."

"Please allow me to join, Great Warrior," Bjorn interjected swiftly.

When Ian turned his gaze to him, Bjorn lowered his head slightly and added, "Even though I failed, no one knows the path to the Black Forest Hill Village better than I do."

"Fine. You’re in."

At Ian’s response, Volber, who had been raising an eyebrow, quickly chimed in, "Then we just need to pick three more. Naturally, I’ll be coming along too."

Can’t pass up the chance to see the show, huh?

Ian smirked and nodded. "Do what you want. I trust you’ll prepare thoroughly, but make sure no horses freeze or starve to death along the way."

"Understood, Great Warrior."

The messengers who had departed in pairs toward the northeast began trickling back that night and the following morning. Unsurprisingly, their results did not differ from Bjorn’s.

By noon, Ian, dressed lightly with most of his gear stored in his pocket dimension, wearing thick fur clothing and a bear-hide cloak, led a group of five warriors out of the village. Lucia and Miguel, who had insisted on tagging along, were left behind.

***

The rhythmic clattering of hooves echoed as the leading horse slowed its pace. Nila, following close behind, naturally matched its steps to the leader.

The horses were breathing heavily. They had been traveling nearly nonstop for over two days, pausing only to eat and rest briefly. Nila was the only one still full of energy, snorting as if disappointed it couldn’t run further.

"There it is, Great Warrior," Bjorn said, guiding his horse to the side.

Ian’s eyes fell on a snow-covered hill with a densely built palisade. It was tall and sturdy, almost like a fortress wall, much like the barbarian settlements he had seen before. It left no particular impression on him.

Let’s just get this over with, he thought indifferently, flicking the reins.

Nila took the lead eagerly as if it had been waiting for this. As they neared the village, Ian could feel their eyes watching them. From the sparsely spaced watchtowers, barbarian warriors holding longbows stared down at him. Riding at the front of the group on a white horse, Ian naturally drew their attention.

Yeah, I didn’t think they’d really leave the gates wide open for me.

As they approached the firmly shut gates, some of the warriors in the watchtowers had nocked arrows. Nila, however, strode forward confidently, head held high as if daring them to shoot. Of course, none of the warriors released their arrows.

Ian stopped Nila and raised his gaze to the warriors on the palisade.

"I heard someone here’s dying to get beaten up by me."

At his words, a few of the warriors widened their eyes, realization dawning on their faces. As their suspicions turned to certainty, they lowered their bows and exchanged glances. Whistling sharply, they disappeared behind the watchtowers. For a moment, there was a commotion beyond the gates.

Creeeeak—

The gate blocking Ian swung open wide. Beyond it stood only five or six warriors, far fewer than expected.

Unlike Ian’s warriors, they were clad in simple fur clothing and armed with long spears.

"... Follow us," one of them said, glancing at Ian and his group before turning and walking into the village. Nila, who had been watching them intently, eagerly followed behind.

The village, which likely hadn’t been lively to begin with, was now enveloped in an eerie silence.

Children playing with squirrel tails, women working leather, warriors and elders drunk in the middle of the day—all had stopped what they were doing. Now, they watched the white-horse-riding outsider and the barbarian warriors accompanying him as they passed through the village. Slowly, some began trailing behind the group.

It wasn’t a large village by any measure. The number of combat-ready individuals couldn’t be over thirty at best.

Of course, that didn’t mean they were weak. People who survived in a place like this with such a small population couldn’t afford to be anything but resilient.

They don’t seem hostile.

Ian nodded to himself indifferently. Neither the warriors who had come out to greet them nor the villagers seemed openly antagonistic. Curiosity or fear, rather than malice, filled most of their gazes.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

They soon reached the top of a hill, roughly cleared of snow, where a flat area lay ahead. A rough statue, probably depicting Karha, stood totem-like in the center, marking the spot.

Gathered around the clearing were unseen warriors, about twenty of them. At the center of the clearing stood a lone figure, who was likely Ian’s opponent.

The man wore a vest made from snow leopard hide and stood tall with his arms crossed. He was among the largest of the Northern barbarians Ian had encountered.

"Well, now..."

The man let out a low exclamation, his rugged face breaking into a wide smile the moment he spotted Ian.

Though his beard grew wildly, giving him a fierce appearance, there wasn’t the slightest trace of hostility in his expression. His sharp eyes gleamed with anticipation, curiosity, and a love of battle.

So, he really just wanted to have a duel.

Suppressing a sigh, Ian pulled on Nila’s reins. The horse, sensing its rider’s mood, stopped and slightly lowered its head. Ian looked at the man, who then spoke up.

"I am Garson, son of Hegar, Great Warrior of the Black Forest Hill Village."

Ian dismounted gracefully, landing lightly on the ground, and locked eyes with Garson. The man’s expectant gaze sparkled with enthusiasm, but Ian’s response was unexpected.

"Your tone’s informal. How old are you?"

"... What?"