I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Chapter 350

Clang!

Ian fastened the plate shoulder guard to the pauldrons of the White Phosphor Armor and rolled his shoulder experimentally.

Impressive.

Nodding in approval, Ian began securing the opposite shoulder guard. His condition was excellent. Enhanced stats, sacred relics, and Lu Entre’s blessing all contributed to his almost superhuman resilience.

However, even those couldn’t completely erase mental and physical fatigue indefinitely. Paradoxically, this limitation gave him a strange sense of comfort. Knowing he hadn’t transcended into something entirely inhuman, no matter how much stronger he became, was reassuring.

Not that I planned to jump back in after just half a day’s rest…

Straightening, Ian adjusted the steel greaves to fit against his shins and heels. The armor and leg guards clung to him perfectly, like a second skin. The sensation was akin to donning a new layer of flesh.

Despite the armor’s natural grooves and the inner lining crafted from layered thin plates, his movements were fluid and unrestricted. Ian strapped his Steel Truesilver Longsword to his waist. Then, instead of pulling the Shadow Cloak over his head, he secured it neatly to the inside of the pauldrons and neck guard of the armor.

This arrangement allowed him to pull up the hood whenever necessary easily.

He glanced at the tattered and frayed edges of the cloak, clicking his tongue lightly. Despite its wear, the cloak’s surface remained a matte black, smooth enough not to snag on anything.

Finally, Ian fastened the rapid-fire crossbow securely to his right forearm. Straightening his posture, he took a moment to center himself, feeling the armor’s weight sharpen his senses as if awakening his body to action.

Running a hand through his hair, Ian turned toward the door. He opened it without hesitation, letting a gentle flurry of snowflakes carried by the wind brush past him. Strangely, the cold didn’t seem too cold.

"You’re finally ready."

Miguel stood at the door, holding the reins of a horse in one hand. His smile was unusually stiff, an understandable reaction. Ian had recently appointed him as deputy commander, a symbolic position acknowledging him as the only Northerner among the priesthood.

Of course, the title was just that—a title. In practice, Miguel’s role remained as it had always been: guiding the army’s march.

"All preparations are complete, Commander."

Ian nodded, his gaze naturally shifting to the figure beside Miguel’s horse. It was Nila, a sleek white mare fully equipped with gleaming silver barding.

Horses blessed by the Brazier required no heavy winter gear.

Clip-clop.

Meeting Ian’s gaze, Nila stepped forward. The vigor in its eyes and movements suggested it had rested well, with even a slight layer of fat padding its frame. By the time the march ended, its musculature would likely be fully defined again.

New magic stones, too.

For some reason, Nila turned its head away, focusing on the opposite end of the square. Without comment, Ian swung into the saddle. As he settled, the magic stones embedded in the barding emitted a faint glow.

The runes engraved on the barding protected Nila while enhancing its strength and stamina. Perhaps its remarkable intelligence stemmed from prolonged exposure to magic.

The reason for Nila’s focus soon became clear. Ahead, the settlement’s residents had gathered, their collective gaze fixed on Ian.

Was it trying to show off by carrying me?

As Ian pondered this, Nila moved, its steps tracing a wide arc as if intending to parade in front of the gathered townsfolk. Ian scanned the front row, where Fael, Joyce, and the two Northern bodyguards—eager to join the procession—stood at attention. When Ian’s gaze met theirs, they inclined their heads in the Northern style.

It was as if their actions signaled the rest, and a wave of bows rippled through the crowd.

Ian finally began speaking. "Should you decide to leave the settlement, head to Gal Maro."

No one answered. Instead, the crowd lowered their heads even further. The silence was almost unnerving, but Ian didn’t dwell on it. The reason for the quiet was obvious enough and didn’t warrant further thought.

Clip-clop.

Nila adjusted her path, now facing the plaza directly.

Miguel waited mounted nearby, and as Ian approached, he took in the plaza’s sight ahead.

The first thing to catch his eye was a flag held aloft. Its fabric rippled gently in the faint breeze, revealing its full design: a white background bordered in golden hexagons, emblazoned with a red sword pointing downward.

When on earth did they have time to make that?

As Nila approached the plaza, Ian couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

The hexagon symbolized the Platinum Dragon, while the red sword represented Karha. Together, it meant that the Agent of the Platinum Dragon and the North’s Great Warrior were leading the army. It was a banner designed without consulting him, but Ian doubted his input would have changed the outcome. Just like when naming Hope City, a rejection would have fallen on deaf ears.

They’ll follow orders to march into danger without hesitation, yet for this, they’re so eager to act independently…

He clicked his tongue lightly, shifting his focus below the flag.

The army was arrayed along the perimeter of the plaza, their ranks stretching long and orderly.

At the very rear stood the cavalry—nearly fifty mounted warriors. Of course, given the likelihood of a siege, cavalry wouldn’t play a critical role. The horses were mainly for the march—if any collapsed along the way, they’d likely end up as that evening’s meal.

Ian’s sharp gaze swept over the riders’ waists. Each bore the same type of sword: the Kindling’s Longsword. These cavalrymen, along with the centurions, formed the elite core of the army. While they enjoyed the comfort of mounted travel, they would face the most dangerous positions on the battlefield. And judging by their expressions, they were proud of it.

"We’ll follow you, Great Warrior."

"... Great Warrior."

Ian nodded in acknowledgment as he passed, meeting each rider’s gaze.

Next were the heavily armored soldiers, their diverse gear reflecting the mix of mercenary origins. Most wore chain mail and plate combinations, gripping long spears, poleaxes, or great axes. Despite the variety, they shared one commonality: thorough readiness.

"Captain." Trude, positioned near his unit, lowered his head as Ian’s gaze landed on him.

Each centuria was led by a mounted centurion. Their eyes burned with steely resolve as they watched Ian pass.

It’d be easier if they were reluctant—then I’d feel less guilty.

Suppressing a bitter smile, Ian met each of their gazes before moving on.

Following the ranks of soldiers came two large wagons, both military-grade vehicles from Travelga. These carried dried rations for the journey and weapons for those without the blessing of Lu Entre.

Clip-clop.

Ahead of them stood a cart carrying the brazier. It was a double-yoked cart, constructed from metal rather than wood, and loaded with a compact brazier—small enough to wrap one’s arms around—and a neatly stacked pile of well-prepared firewood.

Fwoosh—

The orange sacred flame flickered gently within the brazier, unaffected by the falling snow. It was also the source of the soft breeze that drifted through the plaza.

Standing by the brazier, Lucia nodded, her expression more resolute than usual, as she locked eyes with Ian. He offered her a slight nod in return. On the driver’s seat was Kanto, while the remaining three battle priests, mounted on horseback, took positions at the front of the cart.

Clip-clop.

As if understanding Ian’s silent command, Nila pivoted and came to a stop, offering him a clear view of the entire army formation lined along the plaza’s perimeter.

At that moment, a quest completion window appeared before Ian’s eyes—the New Legion quest had been marked as complete. Almost instantly, a follow-up quest popped up.

[To the Front lines.]

The title, once again, was short and direct.

Without bothering to read the details, Ian closed the window and addressed the troops.

"Just as you expected, this will be a rapid march. Rest will be minimal, and meals will be taken on the move."

"Fallouts will not be tolerated. Keep up."

The soldiers slammed their spear butts into the ground, letting out short roars akin to a beast’s. Though all Ian had done was recruit, organize, and equip them, the scene before him was that of a fully formed army, ready for war.

My survival always comes first, but…

The sight made Ian silently reaffirm a promise he’d made to himself: to bring as many of these people back alive as possible. It wasn’t out of pride but a sober acknowledgment of the responsibility before him.

Ian shook the reins, prompting Nila to turn toward the wide-open east gate.

"Advance!" Behind him, Miguel, who had fallen into formation, raised his voice.

"Advance!"

"Advance!"

The chant echoed as the Dragon Slayer’s Legion moved, their banner held high and fluttering in the wind.

***

For two days, the army marched southeast along the main road before adjusting their course directly east. The relentless snowfall posed no obstacle to their progress.

This was thanks not only to the troops being predominantly northern-born but also to the influence of the sacred flame burning in the mobile brazier.

"Scorch the darkness within and light the world..."

Lucia performed a prayer ritual three times a day, clutching logs of firewood in her hands. By the time the prayer concluded, a faint glow of sacred flame enveloped the wood, which she then tossed into the brazier. The fire burned even brighter than when they had first set out.

Fwoosh...

The sacred flame’s warmth enveloped the entire legion. Those who had already received the brazier’s blessing, Ian included, felt the internal ember within them remain steady and undiminished. Even those who had not received the blessing seemed to benefit from its effects.

The flame illuminated their path, allowing the army to avoid areas consumed by unnatural darkness. Yet, despite this aid, the legion never strayed from the main road. Patches of cursed land, created by the crimson lightning, lay scattered around, ready to ensnare the careless. Ian kept his senses sharp, ensuring no one made such a mistake.

"What...?"

It was several days later, during their silent march, that unrest rippled through the ranks of the legion. The weather, already far from bright, abruptly plunged into what seemed like the dead of night.

"Karha... what in the name—"

"This is insane... damn it all..."

Legionnaires, regardless of their origin, looked up at the sky and muttered in shock.

The darkness above wasn’t something that could even be called clouds. It writhed with a sticky, viscous texture, reminiscent of a monster’s bodily fluids, undulating as if it might spill down onto the earth at any moment. This sight had been completely absent just moments before the darkness descended.

"The Black Wall... it’s already this close...."

This darkness was a phenomenon created by the Black Wall. The legion had ventured close enough to perceive it directly.

The priests, who had been gazing at the ominous sky in despair, instinctively lowered their eyes. Far in the distance, the darkness extended down to the earth—the Black Wall. It was impossible to estimate its exact distance. Where the sky ended and the wall began was indiscernible.

The viscous darkness slithered and writhed, crawling upward from the ground to the heavens, defying the natural order.

"Brilliant light... burning passion... grant us strength, we beseech you," the priests intoned.

Everyone felt as though they were walking straight into the maw of some incomprehensible entity. In truth, they already had.

"How is this even possible... damn it all..." Miguel, his mouth agape in awe, muttered blankly.

His gaze turned toward Ian, who was a few paces ahead. Though he couldn’t see Ian’s face, Miguel could tell from his posture alone that Ian was as composed as ever.

Swallowing dryly, Miguel spoke up. "Did you know the Black Wall was in this state?"

"No. Not at all." Ian replied without looking back, his voice as nonchalant as ever.

"Then... could it be the erosion—" Miguel trailed off mid-sentence as Ian turned to face him.

"The erosion, what?"

"... Nothing. Saying it aloud feels like it’d bring bad luck."

Ian’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he glanced at the sacred flame, which now seemed even brighter in contrast to the oppressive darkness. Without another word, he nudged his reins, prompting Nila to quicken its pace.

The shadowy sky above writhed as if welcoming their approach.

***

"I think we’ve entered the Valley of Despair."

Miguel broke the silence. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since the darkness had fallen. With no distinction between day and night, their sense of time had rapidly dulled.

They had camped for several hours without even lighting a campfire, leaving them to only guess that perhaps another day had passed.

"The Valley of Despair?" Ian, his hood pulled low, asked without turning his head.

"It was a site of countless battles during the ancient war against the demons."

The answer came from behind him.

"It was a strategic point connecting the North to the Empire. Eventually, the demons were pushed back, and a wall was built in the valley’s heart. That wall is now Karlingion."

The voice belonged to Kanto, who had ceded his place on the driver’s seat to Donald and was now following on horseback.

"The commander isn’t interested in a history lesson. Honestly... step aside, would you?" Miguel clicked his tongue and motioned behind him with a wave of his hand.

Despite his furrowed brow, Kanto stepped back without complaint, though he appeared puzzled.

Miguel clicked his tongue again, briefly, and added, "At most, half a day. If late, by this time tomorrow, we’ll reach Karlingion."

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t," Ian quipped, his tone light.

Miguel gave him a questioning look, as though unsure what he meant, but Ian didn’t elaborate. Instead, his gaze shifted ahead. The landscape had changed subtly, the ridgelines on either side growing steeper and more shadowed. In the distance, faint lights shimmered, half-swallowed by the pervasive darkness. It was likely the glow emanating from Karlingion.

The elevation is higher here.

Beyond the lights, a vast stretch of absolute blackness loomed—the Black Wall. Ian assumed that the reason so many in the group kept their eyes firmly on the ground was likely tied to the Wall. To stare at it was to awaken a primal, indescribable fear, buried deep within the human psyche. For Ian, however, it posed no such discomfort.

That terrain looks too steep for even monsters to scale. They really connected the walls wherever they could.

His eyes traced the jagged ridges on either side, where segments of the wall sprawled like a child’s building blocks. It was a monumental construction, akin to the Great Wall of China. Simply having such barriers in place would serve as an effective deterrent against weaker monsters attempting to cross.

Suddenly, Ian snapped his head upward, staring at the sky. The world grew unnaturally bright in an instant, only for the light to quickly shift to a deep crimson hue and dim.

The reddish glow didn’t fade completely, instead mingling with the oppressive darkness that hung over the heavens, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

"What in the world… Damn it, scared the hell out of me!" Miguel muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he surveyed the unnerving sight.

Even the far-off Black Wall seemed consumed by the shifting red hues. Everything within sight—land, sky, and snow—seemed drenched in a bloody sheen.

Gazing upward with a groan, Miguel muttered under his breath, "Seeing it this close, it hits completely differently. I was already wondering why it hadn’t had a seizure yet. At least it’s over with—probably for the best, don’t you think?"

"... This isn’t a seizure," Ian murmured.

Miguel turned toward him, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What did you say?"

Ian gave no answer. Perplexed, Miguel nudged his horse closer to him. When his eyes fell on Ian’s face, Miguel’s own widened in shock.

Ian’s eyes, fixed firmly on the shifting red skies, were completely suffused with a dark, blood-red hue.