Raising Villains The Right Way
Celaime Mikardo, the master of the Blue Tower and an 8th-tier magician capable of wielding Origin, could not comprehend the current situation.
“He opened it? How on earth?”
He blinked his eyes, but the scene before him remained unchanged.
Marquis Palatio had opened a door—one that had taken Celaime two full years of grueling effort to unlock—in less than 30 seconds. And now, the Marquis was walking through it.
Still stunned, Celaime snapped back to his senses and tried to call out to the Marquis. However, by the time he gathered himself, the man had already crossed the first barrier and disappeared into the interior.
Celaime hurried to the now-opened first barrier, inspecting it with disbelief.
To the untrained eye, it appeared as just another wall, but Celaime, a magician of his level, understood what lay before him. He knew the incredible complexity required to open this seemingly ordinary passage.
Only a magician of the 8th tier, like himself, could hope to dedicate the time and energy needed to unlock such a door. Yet there was something even more startling:
“…The way it was opened… it’s exactly the same as how I did it.”
The method Marquis Palatio had used to unlock the barrier was identical to the one Celaime had painstakingly discovered over the course of a year.
“What… is going on?”
Confusion and questions swirled in Celaime Mikardo’s mind. He turned to peer further into the passage Marquis Palatio had entered.
While Celaime had always harbored some curiosity about the Marquis, the extent of his interest was limited. After all, the man was someone his arrogant disciple, Penia, admired—a man who still used outdated, primitive magic techniques.
But meeting the Marquis in person had tempered Celaime’s curiosity.
Sure, the rumors and Penia’s actions hinted that the Marquis might be someone extraordinary, but Celaime’s first impression of him didn’t align with such lofty expectations.
‘His mana is low, his magical achievements barely scrape the 4th tier, and he hasn’t even awakened his inner eye. Even giving him credit for using primitive magic, he’s still below average.’
The numerous flaws Celaime noticed made him regard the Marquis as an inferior magician, a junior lacking in potential.
He even wondered, albeit briefly, what on earth Penia had seen in this man to inspire such fear and admiration.
But these thoughts were fleeting. Celaime soon found himself trailing the Marquis, following him to the second barrier.
And there, in front of the second barrier—the one even Celaime had yet to breach—stood the Marquis, seemingly lost in thought.
Watching him, Celaime hesitated to speak. Instead, he decided to observe, curious about what the Marquis might do.
The second barrier was something Celaime had never managed to open.
In truth, he doubted whether it was even possible to unlock it.
Like the first barrier, the second looked unremarkable at first glance. But to Celaime’s awakened eyes, it revealed itself as a labyrinth of thousands of intricately layered magic circles.
Thousands upon thousands of complex and intertwined magical constructs—so convoluted that even Celaime had yet to fully grasp their entirety.
Despite this complexity, Celaime’s keen intellect had already deduced the theoretical method to unlock it:
“Find the key magic circle among the thousands.”
However, he had not yet succeeded in identifying that key.
If the barrier were a literal door, it would be one riddled with tens of thousands of keyholes.
Testing each magic circle individually was practically impossible, as it required unraveling and interpreting thousands of intricately intertwined constructs—a task that would take decades, if not longer.
Celaime, recalling this fact, felt a pang of despondence.
And yet, Marquis Palatio—or rather, Alon—turned his head slightly, as if sensing Celaime’s interest.
Of course, Alon had no real reason to pay attention to Celaime. Building a rapport with the master of the Blue Tower could be useful, but it wasn’t critical to his plans.
Alon’s wariness stemmed instead from the peculiar expectation reflected in Celaime Mikardo’s eyes.
Earlier, when Alon had opened the first barrier without much thought, Celaime had stared at him, mouth agape, his expression utterly incredulous.
Now, Celaime was standing just a few paces away, watching him with childlike curiosity, as if waiting for him to perform another miracle.
‘He said it took him a year to open the first door?’
Alon didn’t think Celaime Mikardo was foolish.
On the contrary, he found him monstrous.
According to what Alon knew, the two barriers guarding this hermit’s sanctuary were said to be unsolvable by twelve 7th-tier magicians working together for half a year.
For Celaime, an 8th-tier magician, to have unlocked the first barrier on his own was a testament to his extraordinary abilities.
Precisely because of this, Alon found the man’s expectant gaze incredibly burdensome.
Alon opened the gates to the Hermit’s Hideout… Simply because he knew the correct answers.
‘The key to the first barrier lies in mana interference. Twist the straight mana flow into a half-circle, and it opens… The second barrier? The key is the fifth magic circle from the top-right diagonal corner.’
With such knowledge, Alon could easily open the doors by merely channeling his mana. Yet, the palpable expectation radiating from Celaime behind him made it impossible for him to act without hesitation.
If Alon were to effortlessly open the gate with a mere flow of mana, Celaime would inevitably realize a bitter truth—that the grueling year of research he had poured into the task had been utterly pointless.
“Hmm…”
Alon didn’t have to care about Celaime Mikardo’s emotions. But as someone who studied magic himself, he understood the crushing despair that would come with such a realization.
‘…Should I just use some magic?’
By the time Alon decided to offer Celaime a well-intentioned lie, Celaime, observing Alon’s hesitation, began to interpret it as a struggle.
‘Perhaps the second barrier is more challenging for him, after all?’
The flicker of expectation in Celaime’s eyes faded as he tried to temper his own hopes.
And then, in that moment—
“Hoo…”
Marquis Palatio let out a small sigh and formed a seal with his hands.
Celaime, intrigued, watched intently. Although he had heard that the Marquis used primitive magic, this was the first time he had seen it in practice.
As he carefully observed Alon’s technique, he noticed the Marquis murmuring something faintly under his breath. Then, a small orb formed between Alon’s thumb and forefinger.
Celaime felt it immediately.
“What…?”
A primal sense of danger surged through Celaime Mikardo. Instinctively, he furrowed his brow and began to gather mana to cast a defensive spell. His reaction was nearly instantaneous—a reflexive response.
But then—
“!”
What Celaime saw stopped him in his tracks.
Behind Alon, hovering in the air, were two enormous, unblinking eyes.
Celaime’s thoughts froze—or rather, he forcibly stopped them.
The moment he perceived those eyes, the moment they registered in his vision, he realized something undeniable:
Understanding what lay before him would lead only to one possible outcome—death.
The one thing Celaime couldn’t prepare for, however, was his own eyes.
Having reached the 8th tier, his vision was honed to intuitively discern nearly anything it perceived. Unlike his mind, his eyes continued to analyze the phenomenon on instinct.
And then, it began.
The world around Celaime darkened.
When his gaze finally focused, he saw it:
A circular abyss—a void so profound it seemed to pull his very being into its depths.
What followed was a flash of pale pupils within that darkness.
The last thing he saw was—
“Kugh…”
—A massive eye.
A colossal presence so overwhelming it reduced him to an insignificant speck.
It was looking directly at him.
‘I’m going to die.’
The realization struck him, and for a brief, hollow moment, Celaime’s mind blanked.
Then—
KUGUGUGUGUNG!!!
A thunderous sound roared in his ears.
“!”
Snapping back to his senses, Celaime looked ahead.
There it was.
The second barrier, which had resisted all his efforts for over a year, was now slowly creaking open, the heavy door grinding against itself.
Beyond the opening stood Marquis Palatio, looking back at him.
His expression was devoid of emotion—utterly indifferent.
“…Ha.”
Seeing this, Celaime Mikardo let out a dry laugh, almost involuntarily.
‘He’s been hiding his true power all along. That’s what it was…!’
Even though it lasted less than a second, the mere act of witnessing it had left Celaime Mikardo’s mana in disarray and his hands trembling uncontrollably as he tried to cast his magic.
And yet, he couldn’t stop laughing.
Even with the shadow of death looming so close, his laughter refused to cease.
It was his unrelenting curiosity that kept him going.
The same insatiable drive that had elevated him to become the master of the Blue Tower and an 8th-tier magician.
Now, that very curiosity was captivated by the overwhelming magical knowledge that Marquis Palatio clearly possessed, knowledge that surely concealed power far greater than what Celaime had just glimpsed.
And so, Celaime laughed.
Watching this reaction, Alon, the Marquis, couldn’t help but think:
‘…Wait, is he actually enjoying this?’
In the middle of using his magic, Alon had thought, ‘Surely, as an 8th-tier magician, Celaime Mikardo wouldn’t be fooled by something as superficial as this simple demonstration.’
Yet there he was—beaming radiantly, as though delighted beyond words. Alon found himself momentarily stunned by the unexpected sight.
Having passed the second barrier, Alon finally stepped into the inner chamber of the Hermit’s Hideout.
The interior was underwhelming—dimly lit, resembling the simple interior of a rustic, fantasy-style dwelling nestled within a cave.
But Alon hadn’t come for the scenery. Without hesitation, he approached a desk tucked into the corner of the sanctuary.
And there, he found what he sought.
“Got it.”
Unlike the dark bracelet he had obtained before, this time, the object was a bracelet painted pure white—the *White Hand of the Wanderer*. Alon placed it carefully into his belongings, allowing himself a brief smile.
Then—
“?”
He noticed a piece of parchment on the desk, inscribed in an ancient language. Lowering his gaze, he read the text:
—To the half-hearted magician who refused to compromise, who did not forget the forgotten words… I leave behind my legacy.
Alon paused.
The phrasing struck him as familiar—it was nearly identical to what he had encountered when acquiring the <Egg of the Shadow Dragon>.
“Hmm…”
After staring at the parchment for a while, Alon shrugged and set it back down.
As he turned, his gaze fell upon Celaime Mikardo, who was still smiling—brightly, almost uncomfortably so.
Slightly unnerved, Alon addressed him:
“I’ve taken everything I needed. If there’s anything you want, Master of the Blue Tower, feel free to take it.”
In truth, there was little of magical value left behind; no books or texts on magic were anywhere to be seen.
“Is that so? Then I’ll graciously accept,” Celaime replied, walking toward the desk Alon had just vacated.
There, he noticed the parchment Alon had briefly inspected. Picking it up, Celaime realized it was written in an ancient language he couldn’t read. Without a word, he quietly tucked it away.
Under normal circumstances, he might have asked Alon about it. However, Celaime interpreted the Marquis’s act of leaving it behind as a subtle message—perhaps a silent request to let the matter rest.
‘He likely wants me to keep this to myself.’
Believing that questioning Alon would yield no answers, Celaime decided to take the parchment to the Master of the Red Tower, who was known for his expertise in deciphering ancient texts.
Celaime’s thoughts drifted. Despite the parchment’s content, what he truly wanted was to converse with Alon about magic.
His curiosity was not something that could simply be stifled.
And so—
‘…I’ll need to find a way to get closer to him.’
As Celaime pondered how to bridge the gap, an idea struck him.
“Ah, Penia!”
Remembering his disciple, Celaime suddenly understood why the arrogant Penia had been so enamored with Marquis Palatio.
It didn’t take long for him to devise a plan:
‘Rather than remaining strangers, wouldn’t it be easier to get closer to him if he were my disciple’s husband?’
Whether he was prioritizing his disciple or his own insatiable curiosity was unclear.
But one thing was certain:
‘I’ll make sure this works.’
Filled with determination, Celaime looked at Alon with an intensity that could almost be described as fiery.
“…Why do I feel uneasy?”
Seeing Celaime’s expression shift into something oddly determined—his laughter now bordering on unsettling—Alon couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding.
Something strange was brewing, and Alon could feel it.

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