Raising Villains The Right Way
Alon fell silent at Yuman’s words.
More accurately, he was deep in thought.
‘What is he talking about?’
Behind his stoic expression, he concealed his bewilderment as he replayed Yuman’s words in his mind.
‘Carrying the same burden as me? Perhaps an even heavier one…? What is this supposed to mean?’
Alon looked at Yuman. The clear respect and awe in Yuman’s eyes were undeniable, proving that his words were not a joke but genuine.
“…???”
Alon grew even more perplexed.
‘Does he really think I’m that impressive? Is it something like that?’
He recalled the recent admiration and favor the priests had shown him, but quickly shook his head.
No matter how he thought about it, Yuman’s words weren’t the usual expressions of respect or reverence.
Thus—
“Pardon me, but… what exactly do you mean?”
“Hm?”
“You said I carry the same burden as you. What do you mean by that?”
Alon decided to ask directly. Since he didn’t seem to grasp subtle hints, this time Alon posed the question plainly.
Without hesitation, Yuman explained.
“I meant exactly what I said. We share a similar burden, though yours is heavier than mine.”
“…Me?”
“Yes.”
Even though Yuman had clarified, Alon was even less certain of his intent.
However, one thing became clear:
‘He’s definitely mistaken about something.’
There was clearly some misunderstanding.
At a glance, Alon could see no similarity between himself and Yuman.
Even by rank alone, Alon was born into the noble Palatio family, while Yuman was an orphan raised in an orphanage. Their upbringings were worlds apart—Alon had grown up leisurely, slicing into the meat served at his family’s table, living as he pleased, while Yuman had been selected as a Saint at a young age after a difficult life in the orphanage.
Beyond that, their personalities, tendencies, and even values were completely different.
From what Alon knew of Yuman, there was absolutely nothing they had in common.
‘Should I point this out?’
He deliberated inwardly.
Not only had he realized that Yuman was misunderstanding something, but also that Yuman’s kindness stemmed from this misunderstanding.
In other words, clearing up the misunderstanding here and now could potentially lead to that kindness disappearing.
Caught in this dilemma, Alon thought:
‘I should say something.’
Ultimately, he made up his mind.
He decided to set the record straight.
Of course, he didn’t want to damage their relationship. After all, Yuman was the right-hand man of Eliban, the protagonist of Psychedelia, and the Saint of the Holy Kingdom.
However, based on his past experiences, Alon knew that the longer such misunderstandings were left unresolved, the bigger the problems they could cause once revealed.
Thus, after careful consideration, he finally opened his mouth.
“Saint.”
“Yes, Marquis?”
“I believe there’s some misunderstanding. Let me clarify: I am not in the same position as you.”
Alon spoke decisively, determined to resolve Yuman’s misunderstanding.
However—
“Yes, I understand. The Marquis bears a burden far greater than mine. Perhaps even walking a path unacknowledged by anyone.”
…???
At Yuman’s response, as though he fully comprehended, Alon opened his mouth again.
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“…I mean it exactly as I said. This isn’t me being modest—I’m saying that I’m truly not in the same position as you.”
Alon made every effort to explicitly convey that Yuman’s assumption was a mistake. As he finished, he felt a slight headache coming on.
He didn’t know what kind of misunderstanding had occurred, but such situations usually ended up leaving both parties awkward when cleared up.
Dreading the inevitable awkward atmosphere, Alon was bracing himself, but—
“Oh, I see.”
Yuman, contrary to expectations, responded lightly, with an even more pronounced look of respect in his eyes.
“My apologies. I seem to have been rather insensitive.”
“Pardon?”
“It seems I’ve made a misstep. I still have much to learn.”
“Wait, are you sure you understand me correctly? As I said, I’m not in the same position as you at all…”
“Yes, I understand completely.”
Yuman replied with a smile.
The lukewarm reaction was far from the awkwardness Alon had anticipated.
This led Alon to an instinctive realization:
‘Does he… not believe me?’
As Alon mulled over this thought, Yuman spoke again.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused offense. I had no intention of distorting your resolve.”
“No, that’s not the point. You’re misunderstanding—”
“Yes, I understand perfectly, Marquis.”
Before Alon could finish, Yuman spoke in a way that implied “Sure, sure, I get it. Don’t worry about it.”
His attitude, as if he fully grasped the situation and was merely feigning ignorance, left Alon speechless.
‘What… the person involved is telling you it’s a misunderstanding… what is this?’
Alon felt dumbfounded internally.
“Well then, Marquis, I shall pray for the blessings of Sironia’s goddess upon you.”
With that, Yuman exited the room.
Alon, left staring blankly at the door Yuman had passed through, found himself unable to say anything.
Three days had passed since then. By now, Alon’s mana depletion symptoms had mostly subsided, and Yutia came to visit.
“Are you feeling better, sir?”
“Yes.”
Seeing Alon nod, Yutia, who had accompanied Yuman daily, smiled with relief.
She then reached into her robes and handed Alon a black fragment.
“Is this… an Abyssal Core?”
“Yes. It seems, just as you suspected, Anderde had been using Abyssal Cores. We’ve identified at least forty of them.”
“…Forty?”
“Yes, and that’s just what we’ve found so far. There may be even more.”
At Yutia’s words, Alon stared at the hollow, gray cube devoid of its power and pondered.
“Using Abyssal Cores to create Outer Gods…”
Of course, Alon had no prior knowledge of this.
In Psychedelia, Abyssal Cores weren’t introduced until years later. Even then, they were simply treated as a mechanic to scale monsters’ levels to match the player’s progress.
In short, Psychedelia never delved into information about Abyssal Cores, so Alon had no knowledge of the matter whatsoever.
“Even if these Outer Gods are artificially created, the distinction is clear. Still, the fact that Abyssal Cores can produce Outer Gods is not something to be ignored.”
Since Abyssal Cores could circulate, it meant such incidents could happen anywhere.
Having reached that conclusion, he spoke.
“Yutia.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you uncover anything about where these Abyssal Cores are being distributed, can you let me know?”
“Understood.”
He decided to leave Yutia a hint to investigate the distribution of Abyssal Cores. He knew that the Holy Kingdom operated its own informants directly rather than relying on information guilds.
‘Those people are quick to handle heretical matters. If I leave it to Yutia, I’ll probably get information faster than through the guild.’
As Alon continued discussing Abyssal Cores with Yutia, a certain thought suddenly crossed his mind.
‘Could it be… the Forgotten One?’
The idea struck him briefly, but he quickly shook his head, regaining composure.
A fully realized Outer God born from such a phenomenon wouldn’t be this careless.
Ending his thoughts there, Alon spent the next two days conversing further with Yutia.
Around that time:
“Are you leaving now, sir?”
“Well, I’ve wrapped up what I came here to do.”
“That makes sense.”
Alon began preparing to leave the Holy Kingdom, but not alone—
“Oh, hello…! Marquis!”
“Myaon…? What a coincidence. We’ll be leaving together this time too, I see.”
He was joined by the mercenary group he hadn’t seen the entire time he was in the Holy Kingdom for the title Investiture ceremony.
“Y-Yes…! What a coincidence!”
“It’s been a while… but why are you suddenly using formal speech?”
“Ah—well, it’s because… oh! Now that you’re a Marquis, the rank difference suddenly feels… overwhelming?”
Myaon seemed unsure whether their excuse made sense, and Alon was left perplexed.
“Please take care of the Lord.”
“Understood.”
“Do you hear me?”
“Y-Yes…!”
Watching Myaon snap to attention at Yutia’s words, Alon instinctively glanced at her.
“Well then, I’ll be waiting for your letter.”
“Of course. I’ll write as soon as I return.”
Her calm farewell left Alon with little to say.
‘It should be fine.’
With a light goodbye, Alon departed the Holy Kingdom.
Shortly after Alon’s departure from the Holy Kingdom—
Deep inside Yutia’s office, a report was being delivered.
“Three more have been discovered.”
Sergius stood before Yutia, giving his report.
“What’s the count?”
“If we include the ones just found, there are 43 in total. But there are likely far more buried in the underground waterways.”
Despite both being Cardinals, Sergius spoke to Yutia with formal language, his demeanor stiff. Yutia, on the other hand, accepted his formality as though it were the most natural thing.
Neither found this dynamic uncomfortable. If anything, Sergius felt a peculiar sense of ease in this arrangement, as though it was how things should be.
Perhaps that was why—
“Cardinal Yutia.”
“What is it?”
“May I ask you a question?”
For the first time, Sergius found himself asking something he had never dared to before.
“What is it?”
“…Why did you let the Chief Cardinal go as far as he did without intervening?”
Sergius knew the truth.
He was aware that Yutia had long known what the Chief Cardinal was plotting. After all, a year ago, she had instructed him to investigate Anderde’s activities in the underground waterways.
Not only that, she had even orchestrated the theft of several Abyssal Cores they had been gathering in statues through him.
In fact, the reason the Machina that appeared a week ago had failed to stabilize into the form of an Outer God and remained as unstable vines was due to the lack of Abyssal Cores.
This meant that Yutia could have stopped the Chief Cardinal’s plans long before they reached fruition.
And so, unable to suppress his curiosity, Sergius had asked the question—
“Ah…”
Realizing he had overstepped, his face filled with panic.
“Why didn’t I stop it, you ask…?”
Yutia chuckled lightly, as though amused, before responding.
“Let me explain.”
She slowly opened a drawer in her desk.
Wuuung—
From it, nine Abyssal Cores, brought by Sergius, floated into the air.
After inspecting the floating cores briefly, Yutia destroyed them without hesitation.
CRACK—! CRACKLE!
With a single motion, she shattered the Abyssal Cores—each worth a fortune on the black market, enough to require the sale of an entire fiefdom to purchase even one.
After obliterating them, she spoke:
“It wasn’t to steal these.”
With a flick of her fingers, the shattered fragments fell to the office floor.
“This trash has no value to me.”
Sergius, swallowing hard as he stared at the fragments, was startled when Yutia addressed him.
“Hey, Sergius.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what gods eat to grow?”
“Gods… eat?”
“Yes, all gods, including the great goddess Sironia.”
At Yutia’s question, Sergius hesitantly answered:
“…A god is a complete and perfect being, is it not?”
A cautious response.
Yutia, smiling, shook her head.
“No, that’s not the case.”
“Gods require two things: faith and reverence.”
“Faith… and reverence?”
“Yes. And this time, it was simply ‘reverence’ from the people that was needed.”
As a deep smile spread across Yutia’s lips, a vivid memory replayed in her mind.
The scene from a week ago.
Under the blue moon, Alon firing a lightning spear at the Outer God.
“A moment more brilliant and beautiful than anything else.”
—The magnificent image of the Great moon.
“—A sight that would never fade from anyone’s memory.”
Her smile curved wider, her expression serene yet eerie.
“Reverence meant for him alone.”
Her eyes glinted with a dark amusement.
Within the crimson depths of her gaze, the scene replayed over and over—the radiance, the grandeur, the awe of that moment.
“And that… is the reason.”
With her answer, Sergius could do nothing but swallow dryly and nod.
For in her eyes, a sharp and unmistakable madness shone—a dangerous glint that warned him never to overstep.

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