I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 409

"Unfortunately," Lucia narrowed her eyes, peering at the same sight before responding. "It looks like that to me."

The dwarves carried a metallic bust, unmistakably modeled after Ian, atop the platform.

"Of course it does." Ian sighed, closing his eyes in resignation.

This is ridiculous.

No wonder it was taking so long—they must have all jumped in to forge the casting together.

—It really looks just like you. The dwarves' craftsmanship is impressive, after all.

Ian's brow twitched slightly, and Lucia nodded in agreement. "Indeed. No offense to the barbarians, but this is leagues beyond that wooden statue."

"I never thought the first thing I'd smash with the battle hammer would be myself," Ian muttered.

Lucia let out a small laugh, adding, "You know it's pointless. They'd just make it again, probably even more detailed. At least it's just a bust. Look on the bright side, Sir Ian."

How convincing. Damn it.

As Ian let out a long sigh through his nose, the black horse beneath them began descending the stairs smoothly. It moved carefully, bending its hind legs slightly to keep the riders stable—a feat impossible for an ordinary horse. But this one, altered by the process of beastification, had no such limitations.

—By the way, I'm looking forward to seeing those guys fight. It looks like it'll be quite entertaining.

At Yog's whispered remark, Ian finally opened his eyes again. His gaze turned toward the cave entrance at the lowest level, where underground water flowed like a stream.

Fifty mounted soldiers arrayed themselves before three large supply wagons. The riders were armed in a style reminiscent of Imperial soldiers but with a looser, more feral aesthetic. Each of them wore an iron helmet shaped like a wolf's head. They were the Blue Wolves that Valten had brought along.

They certainly look like elites.

Ian's gaze swept over the riders with their halberds drawn low as the black horse carried them past the mid-level and onto the lower staircase.

"Really, everyone's out." Lucia's voice followed. The sight of the residents crowded on the lower level filled their view.

Ian also turned his attention to the crowd. Despite rarely stepping out of the estate, most faces looking up at him were familiar. Of course, his gaze was inevitably drawn to the platform at the center, topped with his bust.

As if taking his gaze as a signal, the dwarves carrying the platform adjusted their hold and moved toward the stairs to meet him. Ian's eyes narrowed instinctively. As if to make matters worse, the Count and Diana were walking alongside the dwarves, heading toward him as well.

Should I just tell this horse to charge at full speed and smash it?

Despite his muttered inner thought, Ian tugged on the reins, bringing the black horse to a halt in the center of the lower level. The crowd, sensing his arrival, stopped moving, leaving an open space as they gazed at him with a mix of awe and respect.

"You look remarkable, Agent of the Saint. It seems the dwarven craftsmen have truly outdone themselves," the Count remarked as he stepped forward.

"Craftsmen? Please, call them masters," Ian corrected him.

"As endorsed by the Great Warrior himself," one of the dwarves chimed in, prompting a chorus of agreement as they trailed behind the Count. Catching Ian's gaze, Corvo grinned widely, showing his yellowed teeth.

"Did you know they were making something like this?" Ian's nose twitched as he turned to the Count, not forgetting to glance at Diana, who stood beside him. Diana flinched, hastily averting her gaze as though his expression alone had conveyed his frustration.

"Of course," the Count admitted without hesitation. "I instructed them to keep it a secret, hoping to surprise you with a farewell gift."

"So, you're the culprit." Ian sighed, shaking his head.

The Count nodded, seemingly understanding Ian's reaction. "It may not be to your liking, but it's not finished yet. Due to time constraints, it's only a bust for now. We plan to create a full statue soon."

The words were enough to make Ian freeze. He stared directly at the Count and added, "A... full statue?"

"Yes. We'll make it as true to life as possible and place it in the center of the plaza."

Ian's mouth slightly opened, a rare occurrence. The Count, glancing at the nodding dwarves, continued, "The craftsmen, no, I mean the masters, suggested gilding the entire piece, but I convinced them to limit it to the shield and sword. It's more symbolic that way."

Ian closed his eyes slowly, then pressed his palm to his forehead, much like Diana had done earlier. Rubbing his temples, he muttered, "There's no need to waste resources on such unnecessary things."

"It's a legacy that will become a legend. As a witness, it's my duty to leave behind evidence. It will be a source of pride and hope for the residents. And frankly—" He shrugged. "It's not something I can stop at this point."

The dwarves bobbed their heads again. Indeed, Ian could see it too—those eyes weren't ones to be swayed by mere words. After all, dwarves were the most stubborn among civilized races.

Lucia spoke from behind Ian as he sharply exhaled through his nose. "It's incredibly detailed and looks exactly like Sir Ian. It's almost as if it could come to life any moment."

Realizing Ian wouldn't offer a single compliment, she had stepped in to express praise on his behalf.

"Don't mention it. The rest of the statue will be based on today's appearance."

"Do visit us again once it's complete, Great Warrior. We guarantee it will meet your expectations."

Amidst the proud remarks of the dwarves, the Count suddenly straightened and bent one knee in a respectful bow. "Once again, I offer my deepest gratitude, Agent of the Saint. I shall never forget your grace."

"Feels more like you're paying me back with revenge."

"Pardon?" The Count raised his head as if he missed the remark.

Ian, clicking his tongue in resignation, shook his head. "Just be careful not to get attacked again. The circuit's stored magic is low, and the overall durability isn't what it used to be. If a similar incident happens again, you might not hold out this time."

"I'll keep that in mind. For now, we'll focus solely on stockpiling resources for the city." The Count, glancing at the Blue Wolves gathered at the lowest level, added, "The storages have become quite empty."

Three supply wagons, at the center of the Wolf formation, held bundles of weapons, provisions, and water flasks. Among them, one wagon, drawn by a single horse, carried a pile of bones—the feed for the warhorses.

Then why a full-body statue?

Ian mused silently as the Count gently nudged Diana's back, prompting her forward with a couple of pats. "I entrust her to you as well. Please ensure my report reaches its destination safely, Agent of the Saint."

Ian fixed his gaze on Diana. Behind her mask, her green eyes darted nervously to avoid his. A faint smirk tugged at Ian's lips as he finally replied, "I'll try my best."

"Thank you. And you—" the Count said, turning to Diana, "Do your utmost to support the Agent of the Saint."

Diana hesitated briefly before nodding, her eyes flicking toward Ian and quickly away again. "Yes... well..."

"Well then, take care." Ian tugged at the reins, and the black horse obediently moved forward without a hint of hesitation. As the Count bowed deeply once more, Diana hurried to catch up with Ian, stumbling slightly as she fell into step beside him.

"Hey, Ian... it's just... I had no choice, even if it's my duty to..." She stammered, glancing nervously at him. Even the warhorse, which she had been so wary of, seemed to fade from her attention.

"Did I say anything? It's fine. It's not like I'll see it again, anyway." Ian replied curtly, not even sparing her a glance.

Diana breathed a sigh of relief but hesitated as she looked ahead. She had just noticed the Wolves' gazes fixed on them.

Of course, there was no hostility or competitive spirit in their gazes. If anything, it was closer to curiosity. They had likely heard countless tales about Ian while helping with the city's recovery.

Clip, clop.

A knight mounted on a massive beast warhorse approached, cutting through the Wolves. It was none other than the Black Lion, Sir Valten.

"I'm a bit late," Ian said as he met Valten's gaze. "Had a few things to deal with up top."

"We've only just gathered ourselves, Agent of the Saint," Valten replied politely, leaning forward slightly in his saddle. "Would you like to ride with me at the front?"

Ian shook his head. "I'd rather stay at the back and take it easy."

"Hmm, very well. If you take up the rear, we will be able to move forward without worry." After a brief pause, Valten nodded in agreement and turned his horse. "If you need anything, let the Wolves know. They'll be happy to assist you."

"Thanks for the consideration." Ian smiled.

Valten lightly tipped his helmet forward before turning away. "Then, let's set off immediately."

The Wolves reformed their ranks and moved forward with discipline, a sight befitting elite soldiers—except for the fact that they rode monstrous steeds.

As Ian urged his black horse to close the distance behind them, he leaned slightly toward Lucia and asked, "Do you want to hop onto one of the supply wagons for the ride?"

Lucia shook her head. "If it gets too much, maybe. But for now, I'd rather stay here."

She then reached into her coat and pulled out a thin steel mask. The mask covered the lower half of her face, from the bridge of her nose to below her chin. Its exterior was smooth, save for a few ventilation holes, while the interior bore intricate magical circuits—another masterpiece of the dwarven masters.

"Wear it properly," Ian advised.

"Don't worry. The edges are padded with leather," she replied, nodding.

The makers engraved similar magical circuits onto the steel masks used by the Wolves and Owls. These circuits, powered by contaminated ambient magic, minimized the intake of polluted magic. However, the downside was that the wearer couldn't recover magic while using it. Lucia, however, had already stored up her magic to its maximum and didn't plan to use much magic, so it wasn't a big issue.

​​The residents of Drag Velga still didn't know she was a mage. They believed her power in the battle against the Wanderers had been the Power of Apostle, channeled through dragon magic.

Clip, clop.

The Wolves moved forward. Ian waited a moment to allow some distance before nudging his horse forward with a flick of the reins. freёnovelkiss.com

—-Finally, we're leaving this dreary cave.

As Yog whispered, Ian glanced back at the city. His brows furrowed slightly as his eyes landed on his bust, which remained all too visible from here.

The moment he looked back, the gathered residents offered their farewells in their ways. Some kneeled on one knee; others bowed their heads in the Northern style. Orcs and a few others pounded their chests with fists, while several clasped their hands together and lowered their heads in prayer.

"Take care, everyone! Please stay safe!" Lucia called out, waving enthusiastically. As Ian gave a small nod of acknowledgment, Lucia waved energetically and called out to the crowd. Her face reflected her sadness. In contrast to Ian, who rarely ventured from the residence unnecessarily, she had become attached to them.

Finally, the stone walls of the tunnel closed in around them, cutting off their view of the city.

"I hope everyone can return safely to their homes," Lucia murmured.

"That'll depend on what we do," Ian muttered, looking ahead.

The rhythmic sound of the Wolves' marching steps echoed in his ears as they moved. The vast demon realm, covering half the continent and filled with countless dangers, awaited him.

***

The cloudy skies above the frontier, thick with gathering storm clouds, cast the land in a dreary twilight, even though it was midday. Sparse, lifeless trees and brittle grass dotted the plains. A lone knight on a white horse and the squire traveled down the winding road, cutting through the desolate field.

"My lord," the squire said, looking up at the knight, "I believe you should decide soon."

The squire had light brown skin and curly black hair, with eyes that carried a faint hint of a smile. Despite his expression, his body was solidly built, and he wore heavy armor that rivaled that of most knights.

"What decision?" A calm, feminine voice echoed from behind the knight's visor.

Judging by appearance alone, few would have realized she was a woman. Her visor, save for the eye slits, concealed her entire face, and her full-plate armor, inlaid with magic stones, was thick and imposing.

"As I've mentioned before, I think it's time for you to establish a base, my lord."

A faint sigh emanated from behind the visor. "We've already been over this, Nasser. I have no intention of—"

"—pledging loyalty to anyone, except for Sir Ian. I know," Nasser interjected smoothly, his tone light yet practiced. Without breaking stride, he added, "But you don't have to swear loyalty to anyone. You could simply form a patronage contract."

A pause fell, broken only by the rhythmic clinking of armor.

"You've toured nearly the entire frontier, haven't you? If you were to propose such a contract, there won't be a single lord who would refuse." Nasser said with a smile. "No, in fact, they'd compete for the honor. The Crimson Pilgrim, Sir Mev Riurel—slayer of countless monsters across the frontier, seeking a patronage contract? Who could resist such a proposal?"

A low hum escaped through Mev's visor.

He continued, "This isn't about making my own life easier. With a patron, we could find the work that truly needs us instead of wandering, only to end up dealing with some random ghost that pops out of an attic."

"So," Mev finally said after a moment of silence, "Who would you suggest as my patron?"

"There's only one suitable choice, isn't there?" Sensing that his long effort was about to bear fruit, Nasser smiled wider and gave his answer. "The Bastard King."