I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 438

Having finished their preparations, Ian and Lucia stepped out and began descending the spiral staircase.

Like Lucia, Ian had removed his cloak and stashed it away in his pocket dimension—a precaution for the battle ahead in the forest. The material probably wouldn't snag on stray branches or brambles, but there was no reason to risk it.

Besides, Inaskurgl wasn't exactly the calculating type—more of a berserker. Sure, it wielded the power of chaos, but no cloak was going to protect them from that.

Ian moved quickly down the cracked and worn steps, glancing toward the floor below.

So they're not doing it on the top floor, huh?

It was clear the ritual would take place on the first floor. The old stone statue—reduced to just its ankles—had been replaced by a round, blackened table in the center of the hall. It looked like some kind of artifact, probably something left behind by the dark fairies.

—A crude excuse for an altar. Still, I suppose as long as it does the job, form doesn't matter.

Yog's dry murmur echoed in Ian's ear.

He gave a vague nod in response. It did look like a makeshift altar, at least to Ian's eyes. Especially with the two priests standing on either side, heads bowed and hoods pulled low over their faces.

They were called ancient high priests in the game, but 'dark priests' or 'chaos priests' feel more accurate. Then again, maybe it was just something to do with the translation.

Ian shrugged off the thought. From what he knew of Hyked, he wasn't the type to care about appearances—so there had to be a reason he'd placed the altar there.

In any case, they weren't late. The Wolves had begun to gather around the second-floor balcony, forming a loose circle, while the Black Lions below made final preparations to depart with the Wolves' help.

Hyked, with his helmet in place, stood at the back of the platform near the stable entrance, speaking with two of the Wolves—likely the ones left in charge of the others.

Ian glanced at Hyked's warhorse, standing motionless beside the platform like a statue, then turned to Lucia. "Just to be safe, you should put that mask back on."

"Good idea." Lucia, who had also been surveying the room, nodded and quietly pulled her mask back over her nose and mouth.

As Ian stepped onto the first floor, he walked through the corridor flanked by Wolves, their silent gazes following his every move.

Clink—clatter—

Though quiet, the room was thick with tension.

Each Lion was paired with a Wolf, who meticulously checked their armor and gear. The nearby warhorses, sensing the charged atmosphere, stood still—heads low, snorting quietly.

"Ian." Diana approached, holding Moro's reins.

Her cigarette was gone. The wooden mask was back in place, hiding her face, but her swamp-colored eyes—visible through the slits—were steady.

"You've done well, Diana," Lucia greeted, polite but warm.

Ian gave Moro a proper look for the first time in a while. Unlike Hyked's warhorse, which had an almost noble air about it, Moro looked massive and muscular—almost bulky by comparison. Surrounded by other magical beasts and warhorses, the difference was even more pronounced.

Did it evolve to match my wish not to die? Or maybe it's resembling me.

Either way, it felt like this beast could kill a Lion with a single kick.

As Moro growled and came to a halt, Diana released the reins without hesitation and stepped up to Ian.

"They say they'll establish the domain soon. We'll leave right after. Sounds like His Highness has something in mind." Her voice dropped, like she was sharing something meant to be kept quiet.

Ian tilted his head slightly, curious. "Something on his mind?"

"The Lions and Wolves don't seem to know exactly either. Though I'm sure those two do..." Diana glanced up at the two priests standing atop the platform and shrugged. "But it didn't seem like the moment to interrupt."

Even from here, their faces were hidden in shadow, only the faint outlines of their chins visible, as if cloaked in darkness.

Ugh. Really laying it on thick with the mysterious aura, Ian muttered inwardly, though he nodded without protest.

"As long as there's a reason behind it, that's good enough."

That was when Moro snorted and growled—clearly in response to Lucia approaching. Most likely because her stigma had started holding divine power again.

"It's alright, Moro. I'm not an enemy." Lucia whispered calmly, holding a hand out as she moved closer.

Moro, who'd looked like he might charge at her with his horns or snap her in half, let out a soft rumble and lowered his head, only because Ian had been staring him down the whole time.

While Lucia gently stroked the back of his neck and took hold of the reins,

Ian turned back to Diana. "Looks like Lucia's riding with me, given how he's acting. What about you?"

"I already spoke with Sir Seren," Diana answered as if she'd expected the question, nodding toward the Black Lions nearby. "The formations are all set. You're on the right flank, at the rear. Sir Seren will be right beside you."

"So I'm rear guard again."

"His Highness has Sir Pauline and Sir Gwellrod at his sides. They asked if you wanted a spear. Want me to grab one for you?"

Now that he thought about it, every warhorse's saddle had a long halberd strapped to it. Both the spear tip and the ax blade beneath were heavy-looking, with a dull, dark sheen as if they'd been through countless battles.

"If we're trying to keep balance, I should take one. I'm not exactly confident with it, though."

"It's not much different from your battle hammer. Might even be easier to handle." Diana was just turning away when she suddenly paused—Hyked was approaching.

The Wolves and Black Lions who'd been doing last-minute checks quickly straightened up. Diana, sensing the shift, quietly slipped out of the way.

"Are your preparations complete, Agent of the Saint?" Hyked stopped in front of Ian, waving a hand casually as if to say there was no need for formality.

"Shall I go fetch you a proper helmet?" His voice was as soft as ever, but now carried a cold edge beneath the calm.

Ian met the steady flicker of deep blue light behind Hyked's visor and gave a shake of his head. "Everything's ready. And I'll pass on the helmet. I'm not a fan of feeling boxed in."

"Bold of you. The head is nearly as important as the heart. ...Though I have heard that Karha never wore a helmet either."

There he goes again with the Karha talk.

Ian clicked his tongue inwardly but moved on.

"Did you manage to fully attune the Mark?"

"It wasn't easy, but yes. I had a great deal of help—thank you, Agent of the Saint."

"I heard we'll be leaving right after the ritual."

"Correct. So please be ready. I'll take the lead. Just keep your eyes on the back of the rider in front of you."

"Sounds like I won't have time to look anywhere else." Ian shrugged lightly.

Hyked's eyes curved faintly beneath the visor. "I'd rather not have our path interrupted. Better to end it all at once—it spares our comrades the trouble."

It must be something the priests are doing.

"There likely won't be another good moment once we set out, so let me say this now. I'm counting on you, Agent of the Saint," said Hyked.

"Likewise," replied Ian.

"Then, I'll see you shortly." Hyked gave one more smile before turning away.

As he walked off, Lucia watched his retreating figure and murmured softly, "So His Highness really is taking the lead. I expected it, but still... It's impressive."

Despite the concern about what lay ahead, it was clear she held a genuine respect for Hyked as a person.

Ian nodded slightly and glanced toward the Black Lions. "It sets a good example. Makes the others work harder. Of course... saying you'll lead and actually doing it are two very different things."

Still, it was a welcome turn of events. Originally, he'd planned to hold on to a handful of unspent stat and skill points—just in case. And while he still intended to throw everything he had into the fight against Inaskurgl, the same now applied to everyone else. If they could bring down an archdemon while keeping losses to a minimum, it would be worth the gamble.

"Well, you've always done the same, haven't you, Sir Ian?" asked Lucia.

"I didn't step up because I wanted to," Ian replied dryly as he walked over and stepped into the stirrup, swinging himself easily onto Moro's back. "I just did it because there wasn't another choice."

The rest of the Black Lions were also mounting up, having nearly finished their preparations.

Lucia grabbed Ian's outstretched hand and climbed up behind him—her place was on the front of his saddle this time. Thanks to Moro's massive size, there was more than enough room for her to sit comfortably.

Maybe I should've asked for a two-person saddle from the start.

As the thought crossed his mind, Lucia gently ran her hand through Moro's mane and gave his neck a reassuring pat.

"Thanks, Moro. Try not to freak out too much if I use divine power, okay?"

Moro gave a low rumble, almost like a reply.

Seems like we won't have any problems there, Ian thought, turning his head to the left.

Diana returned, carrying the long halberd with both hands. It looked heavy, but she moved without the slightest strain. She might be timid, but her physical strength was far beyond that of any ordinary human.

"Need anything else?" she asked, holding the halberd up over her head.

Ian reached out with his left hand, gripping the shaft. "I'm good. Go finish getting ready."

"Will do." With that simple reply, Diana turned on her heel and walked off.

Even with departure looming, her tone and manner remained unchanged—probably the lingering effect of the cigarette. Like Ian, it would likely last her at least another half-day.

"Hmm..." Ian didn't spare her a glance as she headed toward Seren's warhorse. Instead, he looked down at the weapon in his hands.

It was a weapon he could check the information through his system window—the Black Lion's Halberd. It was a rare grade weapon with minor attribute bonuses. Still, its stats were solid.

It wasn't so heavy that it'd be a hassle to carry. He could feel the weight, sure, but it was nothing compared to the greatsword or battle hammer he'd used before.

At this rate, I really will have tried every kind of weapon.

He let out a faint, scoffing breath and secured the halberd to the saddle's side hook—one he'd previously only used for his bag.

Clack—clack—

That was when the Black Lions moved. They formed up just in front of the open archway, leaving a space in the center for Hyked to take the lead.

To the left stood Pauline, Seren, and Diana just behind her. To the right, Gwellrod had taken position—and was now turned slightly, watching as Ian approached.

"Form up behind me, Agent of the Saint." At Gwellrod's words, Ian gave a calm nod and guided his horse behind him.

After a glance toward Ian and Lucia, Gwellrod added, "I'll be counting on you to hold the rear."

"Don't worry. I'm counting on you to clear the way ahead."

"Of course." Just as Gwellrod answered, a hush fell over the chamber—as if someone had dumped cold water over the entire space.

Ian and Lucia exchanged glances and turned simultaneously.

At some point, Hyked had stepped up onto the altar. He clasped his hands at his chest and nestled between them was a familiar stone—the Mark of the Void. Once glowing violet, it now pulsed with a dark, oceanic blue.

Hyked, as if waiting for this very moment, turned toward the altar. He now stood with his back completely to Ian and the assembled Lions.

Hoooooom...

The darkness began to spread almost immediately, rippling out from the altar like ink in water. The torches along the walls, once flickering gently, now dimmed all at once as the shadows crept along the stone, swallowing the light.

Yet Hyked's silhouette remained clear—unwavering at the center of the darkness. With the horns curving from his head, he looked almost like one of the archdemons.

"Oh, Lu Entre..." Lucia let out a faint, involuntary breath. She wasn't alone in her reaction.

The two priests standing on either side of the altar slowly turned to face each other. The darkness radiating outward surged upward through the central hollow of the tower.

The hall dimmed even further, as though an eclipse had taken hold. Moro, sensing the shift, lowered his stance and stilled his breath.

A low resonance hummed through the space, as if the bead of chaos essence itself were resonating with the ritual.

Yog's quiet murmur brushed through Ian's mind.

—I felt it earlier, but... that one really has potential.

Ian didn't respond. He simply looked up at the swirling darkness climbing skyward. It had already reached beyond the ruined tower and was spreading through the sky like a curtain of storm clouds.

—Not quite like you, of course, my friend. But that level of fusion with chaos is impressive. He's embraced the darkness within instead of turning away from it.

Yog's whisper grew softer—still cryptic, as always, likely unclear even to itself. Ian's eyes narrowed slightly as Yog went on.

—And it doesn't look like he's serving anything, either. Wise choice. Worshipping the void is a sweet temptation for mortals, but the price is never worth it. If he's growing all on his own like this...

Yog chuckled softly, almost fondly.

—Then he's no different from defenseless prey. Just like you once were. But you, my friend, you don't need to worry anymore. You've got the protection of my true self. And now, you've got me, too.

Ian's eyes narrowed further. A flicker of memory danced behind them—strange, formless visions that had once blocked his path.

So it really was that long-haired bastard's shadow.

It made sense. The fact that he'd survived so many illusions intact wasn't due to luck or the system window alone.

Shhhhhhh...

The surrounding area continued to darken. From the gaps in the collapsed tower walls and the windows beyond, the deep blue darkness spilled inward like rolling mist. From outside, it would have looked like the entire area, not just the tower, was being swallowed by it.

Isn't this a bit much?

—Exactly what I was thinking, Friend.

As Ian watched, Yog's voice returned—soft, lilting.

—Why not devour him? Before something else does—or before he becomes something you can't handle.