I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy

Chapter 288

However, at this moment, what filled the captain’s mind was not fear, but questions. Questions about the identity of the slowly approaching death: How had this man caught up to them in that attire? How was he wielding both a relic-like shield and a cursed sword simultaneously? And how was he capable of such powerful magic?

"...!"

The instant the feeling of the wooden box strapped to his back spread into the grip of his left hand, the captain snapped back to his senses. A sense of duty, engraved deep into his subconscious, had moved his body.

Tat-tat!

Without warning, the man suddenly lunged at him. The captain hurled the box above his head while aiming his crossbow at the man with his right hand. The purple trail of magic whipped toward him almost at the same time.

Slash! Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The arc of magic narrowly missed the captain’s face, carving a deep gash into the ice wall behind him.

Thud—

A second later, his severed right arm, cut below the elbow, fell to the ground.

The man, crouched low as he rushed forward, wasn’t even looking at him. He fixed his gaze on the box the captain had tossed into the air.

Flutter...

More precisely, on the blackbird that shot out from the box, flying swiftly beyond the barrier. It was a messenger hawk, meant to inform the headquarters of the mission's failure.

The man's gaze, without a trace of regret, shifted back to the captain. The captain stood there, not even bothering to stop the bleeding from his severed arm. There was no reason to resist, having fulfilled his role.

As if sensing that thought, the man's pace slowed once more. Although his steps may have been unhurried, his eyes, devoid of any sign of carelessness, remained fixed on the captain as he spoke.

"Who hired you, and what was the mission?"

"..."

The captain remained silent. Now, only one duty remained.

Clench—

To create his own death.

Twisting his jaw, he bit down on the poison capsule hidden behind his molars. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto the ground.

"... Great."

Ian stopped in front of the fallen captain, muttering indifferently. Suicide—it was a predictable end.

His expression showed no disappointment as he gazed down at the convulsing assassin. Calmly, he retracted the Platinum Barrier and dismissed the quest completion window that had appeared before him. After all, he hadn’t expected to extract any valuable information from the assassin. The fact that he had eliminated all of them was what truly mattered.

It wouldn't have been easy if the assassins hadn’t let their guard down and slowed their pace, or if Ian hadn’t amplified the Glacier Wall twice using the essence bead and Chaos Power.

Ss...

Ian glanced up at the Glacier Wall, evaporating like dry ice as it vanished. The body that had been hanging limply in the middle fell lifelessly to the ground. Nodding to himself, Ian returned the essence bead he was holding in his left hand to his pocket dimension.

Whirr...

Without hesitation, Ian bent down and tossed the trembling black sword, as if reluctant to return, into the subspace. The assassin who had taken his own life now hung limp, devoid of strength. Ian reached out and forcibly removed the mask. His brow furrowed slightly afterward.

So that's why they kept their faces hidden.

The assassin's face had a gaping hole where the nose should have been. They had deliberately disfigured their own face. Most likely, it was to make their original appearance unrecognizable. Perhaps they could even disguise themselves by attaching a fake nose. After all, the nose has a significant impact on a person's overall appearance.

Whatever the case, it didn’t change the fact that it was an utterly deranged method.

Would I have looked like this if I had chosen the scout class and corrupted it?

Ian let out a short scoff as he habitually searched the assassin’s body. For the first time, he was glad he had become a mage. Although corruption turned mages into grotesque beings too, this was a moment of minor relief.

After confirming there were no clues pointing to who was behind the attack, Ian took the throwing knife tucked under the assassin's arm and stored it in his pocket dimension. Only one remained in the row of scabbards on his belt.

He also yanked off the thin necklace around the assassin’s neck. Attached to it was a small whistle, no bigger than a pinky, and a tiny metal vial.

So, he was the leader. Makes sense, considering he sent the bird.

The vial contained a high-grade antidote, capable of curing any poison in the game. Ian stored it away in his pocket dimension as well, then picked up the assassin’s severed arm from the ground.

He needed to detach the crossbow strapped to the wrist. The Assassin’s Rapid Fire Crossbow was of a rare grade, with a single bolt remaining in the integrated metal chamber. It seemed to have a mechanism where pulling the string again would reload it after each shot. After stripping the assassin of his cloak, Ian finally stood up. The Shadow Cloak was also of rare grade, granting an agility boost of one point.

...It’s got an extra ability that wasn’t shown in the info screen.

Ian brushed himself off and casually shrugged his shoulders, as not a drop of rain had soaked through. He moved on without hesitation, swiftly searching through the dismembered, cold bodies of the assassins.

None of them carried an antidote, but there were other gains to be had. He filled the cylinder with poison-laced bolts and added four more paralyzing poison-coated throwing knives to his arsenal. He even picked up a relatively intact, though grotesque, sword named Viper Blade. It wasn’t exactly to his taste, but it would serve as a useful backup weapon, nonetheless.

"..."

With his looting complete, Ian pulled his hood low and took in the scene, where only the sound of rain echoed. The bodies of the assassins would rot here in the forest, undiscovered by anyone. The realization didn’t stir any deep feelings in him. He was merely ensuring he had missed nothing important. Satisfied, Ian shrugged and turned away. There were still loose ends to tie up.

***

The rain was letting up; the downpour becoming a drizzle. In a few hours, it would likely stop completely. Judging by the sky, though, it wouldn’t be surprising if it started again soon.

—Godfather. If you can hear me, please respond. Godfather?

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Ian’s lips at the familiar whisper in his mind. So, they didn’t get lost.

—I'm here.

—I knew it wasn’t just my imagination that I felt something... Thank goodness. Did you finish everything?

—Yes. But...

Ian’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked toward the edge of the forest where the shadows ended.

—Why is it just you answering? Where’s Philip?

The one who was usually the loudest was oddly silent. Elia’s response came almost immediately.

—Sir Philip is... currently praying.

—Praying...?

Ian quickened his pace. If Philip was praying so deeply that he couldn’t even respond, something must have happened.

—What’s the situation?

—Well, I’m safe. The horses too, if you didn’t already know. But Asme got injured.

As Ian approached the forest’s edge, he clicked his tongue briefly. Of course, mages were traditionally vulnerable to assassins. While Asme used her magic in unconventional ways, she was still, in essence, a mage.

—If those bastards got to her, she wouldn’t just be injured.

—I think she’s been poisoned. Sir Philip’s trying to purify it with a prayer, but it’s been a while, and he still hasn’t responded.

It wouldn’t work. This isn’t a curse.

Ian thought as he stepped out of the forest, spotting the silhouettes of the carriages lined up ahead. A faint light flickered from the princess’s carriage window.

"Sir Ian...?" Phaden’s voice sounded from the side.

Ian glanced toward him. Phaden, holding one corpse by the leg, was looking back at him.

His helmet was off, showing he’d been cleaning up on his own.

"It’s me."

"... Good. With that cloak on, I thought the assassin had returned." Phaden tossed the body off the road and quickly approached.

"I heard there’s an injured person." Ian didn’t break stride, nor did he spare a glance at Phaden, who nodded as he walked alongside.

"Asme’s been attacked. A bolt struck her arm, and the poison’s spreading. Just like what happened to Shelby..."

His dark expression was likely because of the loss of his squire. He glanced subtly at the hood Ian had pulled down low.

"Have you dealt with all the assassins?"

"I have."

"... Thank you. You avenged him on my behalf. It was my responsibility, but I’m ashamed I couldn’t do it myself."

"Forget it. I didn’t do it for vengeance." Ian replied dryly, nearing the two carriages parked side by side.

"Get back to your work. I’ve got things to take care of as well."

With a quiet word of thanks, Phaden turned back to his task.

—Godfather!

Elia’s whisper echoed through his mind. She stood beneath the tree on the other side, with the horses by her side, taking shelter from the rain. He wondered why she was out there, only to realize she had been protecting the horses. However, it seemed more like the white horse was the one protecting Elia.

—Stay there.

Whispering in response, Ian approached the princess’s carriage and flung open the door, revealing the scene inside.

Asme lay stretched out on the seat, unconscious. Kneeling on the floor beside her, hands resting on her left arm, was Philip, deep in prayer. A soft light emanated from his entire body, illuminating the inside of the carriage.

"You’ve returned, Sir...."

Seras, seated behind Philip, turned to look at him. Though her face was expressionless, she was pale, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Ian glanced at her, but said nothing as he climbed into the carriage. He immediately inspected Asme’s condition.

Her face, pale as lead, showed no signs of consciousness. Thick, blackened blood trickled down from her left arm, where her sleeve had been rolled up. The wound was between Philip’s hands. Blood pooled in the hole left by a removed bolt, and the surrounding veins had darkened, spreading the infection. Blood pooled in the cavity, and the veins nearby had turned black as the poison spread.

It was clear she hadn’t died yet thanks to Philip’s prayer. His divine power was suppressing the poison, but it wasn’t enough. With time, the poison had undoubtedly spread further, and Asme’s pallor confirmed it.

... It’s a shame.

Despite his murmured remark, Ian extended his hand and forced Asme’s mouth open. In his other hand, he now held the antidote vial. Popping the cork, he poured the suspicious liquid into her mouth. Asme unconsciously swallowed it.

Seras, clenching her jaw, looked up at him with a mixture of hope and fear. Ian quickly removed his steel gauntlet from his right hand, wasting no time.

Hisssss—

The cursed ring, Swamp's Resentment, responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for the moment. It slithered down from Ian's finger, writhing in discomfort as it sensed the divine energy still lingering around the wound. Even so, the snake-like entity sank its fangs into the poisoned flesh.

"That’s enough. You’ve done well."

Ian placed a hand on Philip's shoulder. The radiant light surrounding him dispersed into golden dust. Exhausted, Philip slumped backward, falling onto the floor.

"Hah... phew... You've arrived. And, as always, brought something useful," he said, looking up at Ian with a tired grin.

Ian chuckled briefly.

"Will... Asme be okay now?" Seras, who had been watching the black snake drain Asme's poisoned blood, asked cautiously. Ian’s smile faded as he reached out toward the wound.

Hiss—

The Swamp's Resentment recoiled like a spring, then coiled itself back around Ian’s finger. As he quickly slipped his steel gauntlet back on, Ian finally spoke.

"She'll be fine after a good rest."

"Thank... thank you both, truly. I am deeply grateful." Seras stood abruptly and bowed deeply.

Philip, waving off her thanks with a hand, glanced at Ian, sensing his silence. Ian, without a word, extended a hand and pulled Philip to his feet.

"Go fetch some bandages. And tell the lady to bring the horses back. We’ll leave as soon as everything is ready."

"What...? Oh, yes, of course," Philip replied, slightly confused but not questioning further as he left the carriage.

Seras, after a quick glance at Asme, turned back to Ian.

"Forgive me for asking, but... could we delay our departure for just a few hours, Sir Ian? Until Asme’s condition stabilizes a bit more?"

"You are free to do so," Ian replied, his voice calm and even as he finally turned to face her, "But we’re leaving now."

"W-What...? What do you mean, Sir?" Seras blinked in confusion.

Ian, already turning away, added in a steady tone.

"It means I’m canceling the contract."