Two years had passed since Alon rescued all the Five Great Sins, marking the fourth year since he began exchanging letters with Yutia.
There were now six years left until the start of the original story.
The Count Palatio was dead.
The official cause of death was heart failure.
However, anyone within the Count’s household or those well-informed would have easily known the real cause of death.
It was an overdose of drugs.
In a death fitting of a dark fantasy world, the Count Palatio had passed away.
However, no one mourned his death.
The servants and retainers accepted the news of his death with a sense of calm.
This was no surprise, given that the Count Palatio had been completely broken, running his last stretch toward death with rampant drug abuse. It would have been strange not to expect such an outcome.
Moreover, his life had been wasted in indulgence, consumed by women and drugs. Even after his death, not a single noble expressed condolences.
This also applied to his two remaining sons. The eldest son, Leo, had anticipated this outcome long ago and remained indifferent.
Rather than mourning his father’s death, Leo seemed more preoccupied with the ongoing conflict with the Blue Moon organization, constantly discussing it with the retainers loyal to him.
Alon felt the same.
From the beginning, his father had turned a blind eye as the eldest and second sons openly tormented him. Surprisingly, Alon had never spoken to the Count even once since he had taken over this body.
Their relationship was one of mutual indifference.
Thus, the Count’s death passed in silence, without a single tear shed, and quietly came to an end.
Yet, nothing really changed.
Since the time Alon had taken over this body, the Count Palatio had done nothing, leaving the retainers to manage the family while they lined their pockets.
And at this point, Alon…
“Young Master, I must say, it’s truly astonishing.”
“…Reaching the 2nd tier in just two years without entering the Magic Tower or having a master… do you think that’s a talent that makes sense?”
Alon had been learning magic for self-defense.
‘Though it’s only half-baked.’
Alon gazed at the three small spheres spinning in his palm before letting them dissipate with a light sigh.
‘It’s good that I have talent, but still…’
Two years ago, Alon had discovered his talent for magic and had been overjoyed.
In the world of Psychedelia, magic was something that could only be used if one had the necessary talent.
Moreover, Alon’s talent for magic was quite exceptional.
Considering that it typically took about four years for a mage to reach the 2nd tier, the fact that he had achieved it in just two years without a master was remarkable. While not exactly a heaven-sent prodigy, he was still a rare case of someone who had managed to become powerful through sheer natural talent.
Even Alon himself felt that his ability to control mana with precision was far superior to that of others.
What he had just done—levitating three electric spheres and making them orbit in his palm—was a useless trick, but it was a skill that could only be performed by those who could control their mana with extreme precision.
‘…If only my mana core was bigger.’
However, the reason Alon referred to his talent as “half-baked” lay here. His natural mana core was much smaller than average.
Not just small—a lot smaller.
Although it was possible to expand one’s mana core through continuous training, in Alon’s case, it was so unnaturally small that he had little hope of significant improvement.
A mana core is akin to one’s physical stature, something one is born with.
‘If it comes down to it, I do have a method, but…’
As Alon licked his lips and continued thinking, Evan asked,
“Young Master, what do you plan to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
Evan, having almost called him a commoner out of habit, quickly corrected himself. Alon understood what he was asking and replied,
“…You’re planning to leave the estate?”
“Not completely. Just to a lower position.”
“Lower… do you mean to Rodmill?”
At Evan’s question, Alon nodded.
Geographically, it was a village about four days’ travel south of Palion, the Count Palatio’s territory. It was under the Count’s control but was flourishing moderately.
“I plan to move there.”
Evan asked, unable to understand.
Though Evan might not grasp the reasoning, this was the final step in Alon’s plan.
From the start, his goal had been to rescue the Five Great Sins from their misery, change the future, and live out his life comfortably as a noble in a world where the United Kingdoms weren’t destroyed.
‘In that regard, Rodmill is an excellent choice.’
First, there was a mansion there that belonged to the 3rd Count Palatio.
Second, the village was in a state of moderate growth, making it unlikely that Leo, who would soon become the Count, would pay much attention to it before his death.
Third, it was far enough from the Count’s estate—about four days’ travel—that Alon could remain uninvolved in the hero’s story of justice and retribution when the original plot began.
In short, as long as Alon moved to Rodmill, his plan would be successfully completed.
However, finding it bothersome to explain all this to Evan, he simply gave a brief response.
“Everything has its time.”
“…Young Master, you always say that when you don’t want to explain.”
Alon didn’t bother replying to Evan’s remark. Instead,
“Since we’re on the topic, let’s start packing.”
He began preparing to head to Rodmill.
Exactly one month later,
Leo, the eldest son of the Count Palatio’s family and a major figure in the underworld as the leader of Avalon, was contemplating something as he watched his younger brother board a carriage with a knight in tow, leaving the estate.
‘What should I do?’
Whether to kill Alon or not.
To be honest, Leo didn’t find Alon to be much of a threat.
It had been that way since they were children.
If the late Tonio had always been a threat, baring his fangs in his bid for succession, Alon, on the other hand, had always been busy bowing his head, constantly watching others and staying out of trouble.
Sure, something had changed a bit in him over the past few years, but his attitude hadn’t shifted.
In truth, Leo had originally planned to quietly dispose of Alon, having him overdosed on drugs at the same time as their father’s death. But since Alon had chosen to leave for Rodmill on his own, there was no reason to go through with it.
Alon had willingly stepped aside for Leo and seemed to have no intention of becoming his enemy.
There was no longer any reason to kill Alon.
Yet, the eldest son was still contemplating.
Ironically, there was no particular reason for his hesitation.
It wasn’t that he feared Alon would move to the outskirts and seize the position of heir.
Nor was it that he found Alon’s subservience as a family member disgusting.
In fact, Leo had never felt any familial affection for Alon, or for the entire Count’s family, for that matter.
In the end, the reason Leo was debating whether to kill him was simply that Alon annoyed him.
A month ago, when Alon had come to him, bowing his head and saying he would go to Rodmill, it had somehow rubbed him the wrong way.
Maybe it was because he had just heard that one of Avalon’s branches had failed to meet its targets, leaving him in a foul mood.
Whatever the reason, Alon’s life now hung in the balance.
“Quietly follow the carriage.”
In less than a minute, Alon’s fate was decided.
From Leo’s perspective, Alon was someone he could kill on a whim.
So, with that in mind, he gave the order.
But the person who appeared behind him suddenly asked,
“…Do you mean to kill him?”
Leo felt a pang of confusion.
Two years ago, this young man had proven himself useful and had become one of Leo’s trusted subordinates after numerous trials. He was not someone who would question an order.
When Leo gave a command, he followed it without question, without hesitation.
“Do you think family means anything to—”
So, despite frowning slightly, Leo opened his mouth to correct what he assumed was a misunderstanding.
But instead of words, what came out of Leo’s mouth was blood.
He spat up crimson blood, his face contorting in shock as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.
Still unable to grasp the situation, Leo looked down.
A sword had been thrust into his heart.
His eyes began to fill with a burning rage, but the man who had stabbed him replied indifferently.
“This isn’t betrayal. I was never your loyal subordinate to begin with.”
“W-what are you saying…?”
“I was merely waiting for you to give the order.”
With that single sentence, Leo’s expression, twisted with anger and confusion, began to turn to one of horror as a single face popped into his mind.
The face of Alon, the third son of the Count’s family.
But even then, Leo couldn’t understand.
After all, Alman—no, Hidan—had been by his side for over two years.
He had allowed Hidan to stay by his side without suspicion, even allowing him to guard his back for over a year.
In other words, Hidan could have killed him at any time if he wished.
So, with his eyes filled with disbelief and confusion, Leo looked at Hidan, who finally offered an explanation.
“We don’t act without orders. We’re merely the sword of that person, moving only as that person wields us. This is our creed, the unbreakable rule taught to us by the Red Moon. But—”
“…When someone tries to harm the Great Moon, our swords will move on their own.”
“And that is why you’ve been allowed to live until now.”
With that, Leo collapsed to the ground, his face hitting the dirt, but his eyes still burned with rage as he struggled to speak.
“My… men… they… won’t—”
“Don’t worry. The moment you gave that order, Avalon was destined to be wiped off the continent.”
Hidan, a member of the Blue Moon organization and one of Yutia’s direct subordinates, continued,
“…It’s a pity. The Great Moon gave you a chance.”
With those final words, Hidan turned and walked away.
Leo never understood their meaning and died shortly after.
A cold, emotionless death.
Three days after arriving in Rodmill, Alon was called back to the Count Palatio’s estate.
The reason was that Leo, the eldest son of the Count Palatio’s family, had died.
And with his inexplicable death,
Alon, who had been leisurely toasting bread in a remote corner of the mansion because there were no servants available, was hurriedly called back to the estate.
By then, he had already gained a new nickname that people whispered in hushed tones:
The Hidden Power of the Count’s Family.

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