Chapter 316: I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain - Chapter 267

Chapter 267

Philip tilted his head.

"I thought merchants were already closely connected."

"That’s what it looks like from the outside. But in reality, it’s not like that at all. We only cooperate temporarily because we’re in foreign lands. Even the major trading companies of the Empire are constantly trying to outmaneuver and steal deals from each other. How could those beneath them ever unite?"

Fael took the bottle from Ian and continued speaking. "We had been discussing the possibility of allying our last trade run, but no one was fully convinced. Everyone was too busy watching their backs, wary of the larger trading companies. But after what happened in the frontier, it changed their minds."

He poured wine into his glass and looked at Philip. "Merchants are sensitive to change, perhaps more so than anyone. They must have sensed that a world where we won’t survive unless we band together is approaching."

"That makes sense. Under a single banner, there would be many advantages. You’d be less vulnerable to the whims of the larger companies."

"Exactly. Each caravan will keep its name, but we’ll share resources and protect each other. It’s a true alliance," Fael said, smiling as he set down the bottle. Despite the apparent good news, there was something about his smile that seemed forced.

Ian, holding his wineglass and watching Fael, thought something entirely different. There was no mention of a merchant alliance in the game. Of course, that might have been because Fael had long since died by then. But even in the later stages, Ian couldn’t recall any similar organizations. The only merchants he encountered later were those with the banners of the large trading companies, each specializing in different goods, but all with one thing in common: exorbitant prices.

Ian placed his glass down after taking a sip. "So, you’re leaving the city in a few days because of this alliance."

Ian, watching him quietly, finally spoke. "Did something happen to Bor while preparing for this?"

"...!" Fael looked up at Ian in shock, while Philip furrowed his brow in confusion.

After exchanging a glance with Ian, Fael sighed and murmured, "How did you know?"

"I just had a hunch."

"Well… I thought I was hiding it well, but it seems nothing escapes Sir Ian’s eyes."

It was painfully obvious, Ian mused to himself, but he merely shrugged.

The reason he had asked was that the situation seemed like a potential quest. After all, they had gathered a lot of information and were being treated with great hospitality. Offering to bring up the topic first seemed like a small favor in return.

"What happened?"

"It’s… all because of me," Fael sighed before taking a long drink and setting his glass down again, his voice heavy with guilt.

"I’ve been sending messengers, including Bor, to communicate with the other caravans. When it came time to send the final letter to arrange the meeting, Bor said he had a bad feeling. He said we’d been moving too boldly, attracting too much attention, and suggested waiting a few days to move more discreetly."

Get to the point, Ian thought, though he refrained from saying it aloud. Fael’s face was heavy with guilt and worry as he stared down at his glass, unable to hide it any longer.

"I told him not to worry about such nonsense. I said he wasn’t acting like a Northerner, that he was being too cowardly. But the truth is, I was impatient and blinded by my ambition. I underestimated the situation. Bor, as usual, grumbled but followed my orders. And then… he didn’t come back when he was supposed to."

Fael, gritting his teeth in regret, met Ian’s gaze. "That’s when I realized something was wrong. Bor didn’t return until the next night, and he came back alone, without a word, covered in blood from head to toe."

"Was it an ambush? From the central region?" Philip asked, furrowing his brow.

Fael sighed and nodded. "It must have been mercenaries posing as bandits. Just before the fight, one of them said, Your head will be sent to your master who doesn’t know his place."

"... Sounds like the big merchant guilds got involved."

"Most likely. The Libra, the Circle, the Anvil—any of them could have figured it out and tried to stop us. They know if the smaller merchants unite, it’ll be a problem for them. And they know certainly that I’m leading the charge."

Ian picked up his glass and added, "Even so, it’s hard to imagine that Bor would fall to just any mercenaries."

"They weren’t ordinary men. Bor said their eyes glowed eerily like those of monsters, and they were unnaturally strong and fast."

"Glowing eyes, unnaturally strong and fast...?" Philip’s gaze naturally shifted toward Ian, who took another sip of wine without looking back.

"Bor made it back alive, but you’re still worried. That means he hasn’t recovered."

"I thought he’d be up and about after a few days, but no. He’s only gotten worse. His wounds have turned black, almost as if they’re rotting."

"It may not be an ordinary wound. It sounds like a curse has taken hold." Philip muttered with a grim expression, perhaps recalling a similar situation.

Fael, his face flushed from the alcohol, nodded. "That’s what I thought too. I asked a priest in the city to pray for him, but it had no effect. Maybe things would have been different if we had a holy relic, but there’s nothing like that in this city. And I don’t know any apostles of the gods or great mages."

As Philip’s gaze shifted once again toward Ian, Ian’s eyes subtly twitched. It was because the quest window had finally appeared.

[Companion of the Caravan.]

After confirming the completion conditions, Ian’s eyes narrowed further.

... Another branching point, huh?

It was a quest that could be completed even if Bor died. Whether he lived or died, the reward was the same—experience points and a single question mark. This was typical of linked quests that served as stepping stones. Most likely, depending on Bor’s fate, another quest would follow.

Fael, refilling his glass, glanced at the group’s expressions before speaking again. "Oh dear, it seems I’ve ruined the mood. I apologize. I must be more drunk than I realized. Don’t worry about it. Bor will get back on his feet."

He forced a smile that was clearly fake, continuing, "I’ve already sent someone to the nearby town of Frensine. I heard there’s a bishop there who owns a relic. He’ll be here by next week, and by the time I return from the meeting—"

"You already know it might be too late by then, don’t you?" Ian remarked bluntly.

As Fael froze, struck by the truth, Ian continued. "Seems like it’s already been quite some time. No matter how strong a Northan warrior Bor is, holding out until then wouldn’t be easy. So… it’s better to resolve this as soon as possible, wouldn’t you agree?"

"...!?" Fael’s head shot up. By now, the wine had overflowed from his glass, but he didn’t even think to set the bottle aside.

He stared blankly at Ian, his lips parting. "Could it be…?"

"As luck would have it, at this very table, we have not only someone with basic medical knowledge but also a person who owns a sacred artifact and an Apostle of the Radiant Goddess," said Ian.

Fael’s mouth dropped open in shock, and both Philip and Elia nodded in agreement. Elia, with a slight smile, seemed to think Ian was referring to her as the person with medical knowledge.

Though medical practices in this world are hardly trustworthy, Ian thought, stifling a laugh.

Just as he was about to say more, Fael, who had been frozen like a statue, finally moved his lips. "Sir Ian, are you truly an Apostle of the Radiant Goddess...?"

His tone was a mixture of shock and acceptance.

Ian let out a dry chuckle. "It’s not me."

"Then...?"

Following Ian’s gaze, Fael turned his head and widened his eyes even more. "Sir Philip?! You were a paladin?"

"I haven’t officially undergone the ordination ceremony at the Grant Church yet, but it’s true that I’ve received a divine revelation," Philip replied calmly.

"H-Huh..." Fael gasped in astonishment at Philip’s response.

Is it really that surprising?

Ian thought, glancing briefly at Fael, then nodded to himself. For most people, meeting an apostle of the gods was as rare as meeting a corrupted one. Their numbers were few, and most of them were affiliated with some group and were active on their respective fronts. Of course, even if one encountered them, it would be impossible to recognize them unless they revealed themselves.

Setting down his glass, Ian added, "Since we’re on the topic, let’s go see him now."

"Right now...? You mean immediately?" Fael stammered, still trying to grasp the sudden turn of events.

Ian, glancing calmly at Philip and Elia, shrugged. "It’s better to visit the patient before everyone gets too drunk. Bor isn’t a stranger, and I’d rather enjoy the drinks after the treatment is done."

Despite his words, Ian drained the rest of his glass and stood up. "Lead the way. And have a new spread of drinks ready when we return."

"Y-Yes! Right away...!" Fael, his face now sobered up, jumped to his feet in a hurry.

***

Bor’s residence was right next to Fael’s mansion, a single-story wooden house built in the Northern style. The rustic wooden cabin amidst the grand Imperial-style buildings in the estate was a striking sight. Bor probably insisted on it, and Fael likely agreed, despite knowing it clashed with the rest of the estate.

"It definitely looks… like a curse," Ian muttered as he narrowed his eyes upon entering Bor’s bedroom.

Elia, who followed closely behind, pinched her round nose and nodded. "It does. I can feel it."

Her eyes now shimmered with a faint glow. The darkened room, with the curtains drawn and windows closed, not only carried the stench of decay but also radiated an eerie aura of corrupted magic.

"Why are the windows closed?" Ian asked, turning to Fael, who stood silently at the door.

Fael answered as if it were obvious. "To prevent the ominous curse from spreading further. If the windows were open, who knows what malevolent things might be drawn to the curse?"

Great, more of that ridiculous superstition.

"Get some fresh clothes and bandages, as well as clean water. Boil the clothes and the bandages, and make sure the water is boiled too. Once you’ve done that, wait outside the door until we call for you."

Ian gave instructions in place of criticism, though inwardly, he clicked his tongue. These superstitions would likely only worsen the patient’s condition, but in this cursed world, such things often had consequences beyond mere myth.

"Understood." Saying nothing further, Fael nodded and promptly left the room.

As the door clicked shut, Ian turned to Philip and Elia. "Pull back all the curtains and open the windows. Even curses that weren’t here before will start appearing in a place like this."

"I completely agree, Sir Ian," Elia replied, moving swiftly toward the windows.

As she opened the room up, Ian motioned toward the bed and approached Bor. The large man, despite his usual strength and imposing size, looked frail and gaunt now, completely unresponsive to their presence.

Is this a curse of withering?

Ian pulled away the discolored blanket and drew his dagger. He ignited a small flame in his palm, heating the blade before cutting through the bandages wrapped tightly around Bor’s upper body.

"Horrifying..." Philip muttered, almost with a sigh.

Bor’s upper body was blackened around the wounds on his shoulder and side, with darkened veins spreading out like roots from the injury. The center of the wound was swollen and filled with pus, with the cursed magic emanating from it clearly noticeable.

It was a complex curse—one that weakened the body while feeding off the victim’s life force. It was a curse likely cast by a skilled dark mage. In the game, this would have been a status effect combined with damage.

A rather skilled dark mage must be behind this. Were those mercenaries his underlings? Or perhaps partners from the underworld?

Regardless, Ian had arrived just in time. A few more days and Bor would have likely succumbed to the curse.

"By the way..." Ian turned his head to look at Philip. "Do you know how to perform a purification ritual?"

"Well... I didn’t want to bring it up earlier, given the situation," Philip scratched his cheek awkwardly, "but I’m not entirely sure. I’ve mostly used my divine power in combat."

"Just give it your best shot and pray. If it doesn’t work, we can try asking this guy here, so don’t stress about it."

Ian wiggled his fingers, and Philip let out a small laugh. "Ah, I’d almost forgotten about your familiar, my lord. That takes some of the pressure off. I’ll give it my best."

"Familiar...? You have a familiar?" Elia, who had just finished opening the windows, turned her head sharply, her eyes gleaming despite the encroaching dusk.

Ian, still focused on Bor, didn’t even look at her. "Later, Elie. Later."

"Oh. Sorry, I got a bit carried away."

I’ll have to make sure never to reveal the void mark around her, Ian thought to himself as he took a step back.

Philip, taking a deep breath, moved forward and kneeled by the bed. He grasped Bor’s large, frail hands in both of his and bowed his head in silent prayer.