I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy

Chapter 343

Crash!

The crane fly’s blade-like limb slammed into the ground.

Originally a creature no larger than a cat, preying on small wildlife or minor monsters, this one was now larger than a bear.

An ominous, ashen exoskeleton encased its entire body, and instead of wings, two massive scythe-like blades protruded from its back.

Sharp blade-like appendages adorned its forelegs, large enough to harvest a human head like a ripe stalk of grain.

Of course, only one of these remained intact. The mutated additional limbs had already been severed, leaving only stumps at their joints that twitched and oozed black ichor with every movement.

"Screech—"

A blade radiating dark crimson energy impaled and pinned the beast to the ground. As the energy pulsed, the crane fly's body burned black, charring around the embedded sword.

Creak—

A knight, clad head-to-toe in plate armor, gripped the sword's hilt. Having driven the sword down, he kneeled on one knee atop the crane fly’s body. Rising to his feet, he released the hilt.

A reptilian maw-like visor covered his face, with glowing crimson eyes visible through its slits.

Stepping off the crane fly’s body, he walked toward its head.

Scrape—scrape—

The remaining legs flailed, their claws raking against the knight's armor. Yet, the knight neither flinched nor wavered.

The crane fly’s head twisted to face the approaching knight. Its triangular head bore numerous compound and simple eyes, all reflecting the knight’s image.

Then, its head split vertically, revealing a grotesque maw lined with writhing, spiked appendages.

"Screech—"

Crunch!

Before the shriek could fully escape, the knight’s steel boot stomped down, crushing the crane fly’s head. Black ichor burst forth like splattered filth, and the convulsing legs went limp.

Thud, thud—

Without sparing another glance, the knight turned away, pulling his sword from the impaled body.

He shook off the blood and ichor from the blade with a faint pulse of magic, then surveyed his surroundings.

Nearby, similarly dismembered crane flies lay scattered. Each was massive and grotesquely mutated. The madness of the Black Wall had seeped into their lair—or perhaps they had been drawn to the source of the madness.

Either way, the exact cause didn’t matter. The important thing was they had discovered them before their lair could fully transform into a demonic realm.

In one corner, a pile of bones and rotting flesh from beasts and monsters lay. At the center of the ground, spiderweb-like crimson cracks marked the source of the madness.

A priest clad in an ashen hooded cloak kneeled before the fissure. Though they served the same divine power as the knight, their roles were distinct. While the knight fought, the priest prepared a ritual.

Whoosh—

Crimson energy shimmered over the priest’s outstretched palm, hovering above the fissure. In the center of the defiled fissure, a dark crimson script was slowly being etched into the ground.

The knight, at last, sheathed his sword diagonally across his back. The blade, its crimson glow gone, gleamed unnaturally bright, even in the dim light of the surrounding gloom.

"..."

The knight crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his gaze beyond the withered forest. Despite it being daytime, the area was shrouded in darkness—a sticky, tar-like blackness that writhed across the sky and descended like a curtain to connect with the ground.

It was the Black Wall. They stood close enough to perceive it directly. The darkness above was steadily consuming the entire visible range, spreading its reach.

No one could truly explain how such a thing was possible. The knight was no exception. He only knew that this darkness rendered gods blind, forcing them to rely on their apostles' eyes to perceive the world beneath.

This allowed the knight and priest to reveal their true forms openly without fear of repercussion.

Swoosh—

The knight turned back to glance behind him. The Mantra had already melded into the fissure. A dark crimson glow, the source of madness, seeped into the ground and vanished entirely. Having finished the ritual, the priest stood up. From beneath her hood, the dark crimson eyes curved in a crescent-like smile.

"Thank you, sir. Thanks to you, another ritual has been successfully completed." The voice was soft, serene, and unmistakably feminine.

"... If I can repay the blessings the Lord has bestowed upon us, I will do so without hesitation." The knight’s reply was low and steady, devoid of inflection.

The madness that seeped into the earth would now flow toward their lord. Of course, it would never reach it directly. Instead, it would cling to the surface of the prison that bound it, slowly corroding it from the outside.

"A mere blemish, perhaps. But with enough of them, they will contribute to our Lord’s eventual liberation." The priests spoke gently, stepping closer to the knight.

"I am simply grateful that we can take part in this glorious task."

"..."

"And so we must not falter. Where shall we go next, Sir?"

"... North." The knight’s reply was quiet.

The priest stopped in her tracks, her smile growing more pronounced. "It seems you’ve forgotten. The one is in the north. You were warned in the revelation: crossing its path leads only to death. You were told to keep your distance."

"That’s... precisely why I said it." The knight added calmly.

The priest nodded, her tone becoming more instructive. "Never forget how much our Lord cherishes us. I do not wish for our Lord to endure the sorrow of losing another child."

Contrary to what history recorded, their Lord was exceedingly compassionate. It valued the lives of its apostles over the fulfillment of their mission. Its command to tread only where the gods and the Order could not see them was proof of this.

Of course, it was only in this moment—when the Black Wall spewed its madness and even blinded the gods—that such a command could be obeyed.

"Wait for the right time. We won’t have to endure until the Day of Ascension. The false god’s influence weakens with every passing day."

She brought her hands together before her chest, as if in prayer. "If it severs even one of the chains they’ve bound it with, the Agent of the Platinum Dragon will no longer be the harbinger of our death."

"... We will be their death instead. The fools who serve the false gods and those imbeciles at the Round Table alike."

"I believe even they should be given a chance," the priest replied with a smile, "but I won’t insist you agree."

With a flick of her fingers, the crimson gem in her palm glimmered, and two black horses galloped toward them from afar.

In stark contrast to their dark coats, the horses wore brilliant white barding, their glossy fur gleaming under what little light filtered through the sky.

Climbing into the saddle, the priest cast her gaze toward the distant, rippling Black Wall.

"Time is running out. The moment of erosion approaches faster than we expected. Let’s see how many more we can uncover before then."

The priest pulled the reins and glanced back at the knight as he approached his horse.

"While heading South," she said.

The knight didn’t reply and mounted his horse silently. With a flick of the reins, the priest urged her steed forward. The two black horses carrying the Apostles of the Heaven Defier galloped off, seeking yet another source of madness rooted in a place hidden from the gods' sight.

***

—Apologies for the late reply, Agent of the Saint. It’s been a chaotic time lately. Neither the Autonomous Territories nor the Imperial armories fall under my jurisdiction.

Ian’s gaze swept over the freshly inscribed words on the Scroll of Correspondence. When he’d departed the snowfields, there had been no response, but at some point, a message had come through.

Neither the biting wind nor the darkened skies posed any obstacle to his reading.

—I’ve found an alternative, but you’ll need to prepare gold. I can’t guarantee the timing will work out, but if it does, please keep in mind how relentless this effort has been. If funds are tight, feel free to mention my name.

Seras’s letter now took up more than half the page. Not only was it likely expensive, but it was undoubtedly a rare item. The excessiveness grated on Ian slightly.

—We’re already aware of matters related to lightning. I’ll keep it brief since it’s not immediately relevant. P.S. The state of the Black Wall is deteriorating far faster than records suggested...

"Brother, look over there," Miguel’s voice suddenly interrupted.

Ian narrowed his brow slightly and looked up. Miguel, riding ahead along the gentle curve of the path, was pointing with his prosthetic arm.

"It’s the Dragon’s Valley."

Kanto and Lucia angled their horses, creating a gap as they moved aside. Ian finally took in the vista before him: bleak darkness stretched across a wasteland that could scarcely be called a canyon. Beyond it, a long stretch of towering fortress walls ran along the ridges on both sides.

It was the gateway stronghold, Bellium.

"Yeah," Ian replied flatly, tucking the tome back into his coat.

Miguel blinked, clearly surprised. "That’s all you’ve got to say about coming back here?"

"What more is there? I’m not here because I wanted to be." Ian's dismissive tone came with a slight tug on the reins, spurring Nila to pick up its pace.

Miguel clicked his tongue as he matched Ian’s stride. "Well... I mean, this is where you wrote your legend."

"Legend, my ass," Ian scoffed quietly.

Perhaps he could call it a memory, but it wasn’t one he ever wanted to relive. Nearly every moment here had been a dance with death.

"I’ll head on ahead to open the gate. Make sure the rest of them catch up." Ian glanced back at the long procession trailing behind them.

Miguel frowned slightly. "You're not seriously planning to skip a meal and just march on without resting, are you?"

"I am. Even if there's business to handle, only a few will stay behind briefly. If we march through the night, we'll reach the settlement by tomorrow. Rest can wait until then. So..."

Ian tilted his head slightly toward Miguel. "Pass the word—night march."

"Oh, for crying out loud... You heard him! Spread the word—he's marching through the night!" With a sigh, Miguel turned around and shouted, his voice carrying to the riders trailing behind.

"Night march! Spread the word!"

"We're marching through the night!"

"Sleep while you walk!"

The calls rippled through the ranks like waves, spreading far and wide. Ignoring the growing clamor behind him, Ian flicked the reins, urging Nila forward.

Nila charged ahead without complaint, the icy wind slicing against Ian’s face. Yet, instead of numbing him, it felt refreshing—thanks to the Blazing Goddess’s blessing, the cold was no longer a burden.

Clip-clop, clip-clop

The battlefield, once a site of life-and-death struggles, stretched out before him.

Snow didn’t cover the ground here, leaving the blackened, barren soil starkly visible. There wasn’t a single corpse left of the countless dead who had once filled this valley, but the scars of that battle remained etched into the land.

Deep craters and unnatural mounds of earth marked the land—evidence of the brutal clash between two dragons. It was this destruction that gave the place its name: the Dragon’s Valley.

What is this, a nostalgia tour?

A faint chuckle escaped Ian as he gazed at the familiar sight of the gateway fortress ahead. The towering walls, stretching far into the distance, stood just as he remembered.

The tightly shut gates showed no sign of activity except for a few guards atop the walls, their torches flickering against the evening gloom.

They’ve left only the bare minimum here too, Ian noted.

One guard dashed off in a hurry, clearly having spotted the approaching barbarian legion. Ian figured once his identity was confirmed, the gates would open, allowing the forces to march through without delay.

Maybe I’ll check if there’s anything worth picking up.

As he neared the gates, Ian blinked in surprise. Before he could even present himself, let alone reach the entrance, the gates creaked open.

So, they were expecting me.

Keeping his musings to himself, Ian pressed on, his eyes locking onto the figure emerging from beyond the gates.

A pale-faced young knight stepped forward, someone Ian recognized immediately. Familiar faces hardly surprised him anymore.

Didn’t expect to see you here, though.

As Nila slowed its pace upon crossing the bridge over the moat, Ian lightly tugged the reins. The horse came to a halt just past the open gates.

The knight, standing aside, gracefully bent his knee in respect.

"It is an honor to meet you again, my lord."

"It has been some time, Sir Mildred," Ian replied.

Mildred Anis—a knight from the Autonomous Territories who had once been dispatched to bring Ian to Bellium. From the corner of his eye, Ian noticed two soldiers standing by the gate levers, staring at him with wide eyes. Such reactions no longer fazed him.

"I thought you might pass through here, but to think you’d truly come," Mildred remarked, stepping closer as Ian dismounted.

Ian gently patted Nila’s neck before turning to face the knight.

"Seems like the rumors of my arrival have spread well enough.".

"They’ve spread far and wide," Mildred confirmed. "The Dragon Slayer has returned and is calling for warriors to join him on the front lines."

Ian’s lips curled into a slight smile. "And? Have those rumors borne fruit?"