I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Crack—

A loud thud echoed. It was a sound Mev had never heard while fighting. Right after, something bounced off the blade and crashed to the ground. Dust rose in the midst of it.

Woosh!

Ian landed in front of her, knee down, striking with his sword.

Crash! Bang! Whack!

A relentless assault followed. The thing on the ground, unable to withstand the impact, bounced up. Mev could finally see what it was—a black skull, too large to be human.

...Was that the main body? Mev realized it quickly, though how Ian found it amidst everything was a mystery. What mattered was that Ian had succeeded in a difficult task and that he was attempting to shatter the skull.

“....” Mev slowed her horse, contemplating whether to help Ian.

Swoosh—

A bright red light burst from the skull’s eye sockets. The same light she saw before.

"■■■-! ■■■■ ■■■!" A ghostly scream erupted from its jaw. A dark red magical wave spread from the skull in all directions.

"Ugh...!" Mev’s eyes widened in shock. Even Mev, surrounded by holy power, felt paralyzed by the curse. If she hadn’t slowed down, she would have fallen off her horse.

Then...? Mev looked toward Ian. As expected, he, too, was frozen in mid-action.

Swish!

The skull levitated, surrounded by dark resentment.

“....” Mev clenched her teeth, realizing the skull was trying to return to its original form. She had to break free from the paralysis. Just as she was about to unleash her holy power, Ian reached out and grabbed the skull.

I knew it, you bastard. With a feeling of hardness in his grip, Ian smiled.

Like with Andolf, named monsters always had a trick to escape danger. The Dullahan was no exception. Ian was prepared. His result was a momentary slow, not paralysis, lasting just over a second. His high Mental Fortitude and magic, along with a few mischosen skills, created this synergy.

“...!” Though the skull had no eyes, Ian felt its panic. He smiled slightly and slammed the skull into the ground.

Thud!

With magic added, the skull was deeply embedded in the ground. The spreading resentment dispersed. Ian then raised his sword.

Crack!

The one-sided beating resumed. There was no fancy technique or flashy skill involved. Ian simply kept striking down with his sword, regardless of which side of the blade it was, sharp or flat, lifting it up and down to strike. What differentiated it from a normal clubbing was that his sword was now filled with Wind Blade and brimming with magic. Despite this, the sword was getting damaged due to its lack of durability.

Crack! Smash!

Ian continued his relentless attack, grabbing and throwing the skull whenever it tried to escape.

“....” Mev watched silently with her sword lowered. The paralysis had long worn off, but she felt it wasn’t the right time to interfere. It was astonishing to see such a fearsome monster being overwhelmed by such simple violence. More surprising was that it was working. The red glow in the skull’s eyes wavered noticeably.

Crack! Snap! Crunch!

Cracks appeared in the skull, leaking contaminated magic like smoke.

Smash!

Finally, Ian’s sword lodged into the center of the skull’s forehead. Right after, the red glow in the eyes flared up explosively.

"■■■-! ■■■■! ■■■!" The Dullahan cried out as if in a desperate death throes or a plea. To Mev, it sounded like a pitiful end.

"■■! ■■■ ■■■■■!" The screaming skull, still impaled on the sword, was lifted into the air.

"Fuck you." Ian’s lips slightly moved.

Crack!

He smashed the sword into the ground. Spider-web-like cracks spread through the skull, and black magic swirled out of it.

Ahhhhhhhh—

A pained scream echoed, and the glowing eyes flickered out. As the glow faded, the surroundings were enveloped in an eerie silence and darkness.

“Phew…” Ian, who had been staring down the skull, finally kneeled. The skull looked old and worthless as if it could crumble with a single touch.

"...Your grudge is none of my concern," Ian muttered quietly.

He remembered Dullahan’s last moments. Old grudges that he neither cared to understand nor dwell upon.

The sword was easily pulled out. Ian laid down the nearly useless sword and reached for the top of the skull, covered in broken bone fragments. He felt a faint magical presence. As he picked up a piece.

Whoosh!

Something small and black shot out from the eye socket. Reacting quickly, Ian caught it reflexively. Something wriggled in his clenched fist, followed by a sharp pain.

"...?" Ian frowned, not from the pain, but from the corrupt magic flowing into his body. It was damp, sticky, and contaminated. But that wasn’t all. Unexplainable fear, endless hatred, and rage surged like a tidal wave. Screams and cries echoed in his head, and his vision turned red.

"Huh..." However, Ian wasn’t swayed by the madness. He was only a bit surprised. Such resentment couldn’t shake his mind in the slightest. Maybe if he was thrown into a game as a ruined character, but that was a different matter.

"...Damn noisy." It wasn’t that Ian wasn’t annoyed. Ian tightened his grip. He then pushed his magic into whatever was in his hand, along with the contaminated magic filled with resentment. The squirming in his hand intensified.

Why, does it feel bad to be on the receiving end? Ian didn’t blink and continued to pour his magic into it. The wriggling finally ceased. Ian’s grip relaxed as the movement stopped.

"...!" The real surprise for Ian happened at that moment. It felt as if a new sensory organ had developed in his hand. It was a sensation similar to when he first felt magic coursing through his body, like having an extra hand or foot. This new sense conveyed not just feelings but also simple yet clear emotions: submission and obedience.

It has consciousness? And it’s communicating with me? Amazed, Ian opened his hand. In the center of his palm lay a thin, black line. It was a snake, barely five centimeters long, a slender black serpent. The snake looked up at Ian with tiny eyes, conveying the same emotion again: complete submission.

So, it’s like my pet now? As if responding, the snake slithered into his glove. Ian quickly removed it to find the snake coiled around his middle finger, biting its own tail, resembling a ring crafted in the shape of a serpent. A glint of interest appeared in Ian’s eyes.

Is this...? This snake was the ultimate prize from the Dullahan, a unique grade ring, the Swamp’s Resentment. It came with a constraint: without sufficient Mental Fortitude and Intelligence stats, the wearer would fall into a state of madness. In the first chapter, it was an item he couldn’t even use. He hadn’t expected the wearing condition to manifest this way, let alone it being an actual snake.

"What was that just now? I felt a sinister magic." Mev’s voice came from behind. She had dismounted her horse and approached, lifting her face covering.

"This ring released that magic." Ian raised his right hand.

"You just put it on like that? Although all the spoils are yours, are you sure it’s safe?" Mev’s eyes widened in surprise.

"As you see. I’m unharmed." Ian shrugged.

"You really have a knack for surprises, Ian. Beating a ghost into submission. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself." Mev examined him closely, then looked at him with admiration.

"It’s the first time I’ve actually done it." Ian chuckled, rummaging through the skull’s bone fragments.

"Since the spoils are mine..." Ian pulled out a familiar black orb attached to his fingertip. Another essence bead of corrupted magic. He continued, "I’ll take this as well."

Mev nodded.

"Will you give me that skull? It seems valuable as evidence," Mev added as Ian pocketed the essence bead.

"Gladly." Ian handed over the skull.

She carefully received it, wary of breaking it.

"Empowering an ancient spirit. I wonder what their purpose was." Mev gazed at the cracked eye sockets and muttered.

"Who knows the mind of a black mage? Maybe there’s no grand plan at all." Ian replied nonchalantly and stood up. The goals of a soon-to-be doomed man were none of his business. Now, he just wanted to examine his newly acquired ring.

“....” Mev sighed, her eyes full of worry, seemingly too concerned for just the nation’s future. Meanwhile, Ian had little interest in her story.

"We’ll find out everything when we meet him. He was a talkative one." Ian turned and walked down the quiet hill. He continued, "Let’s go check if Philip is still alive."

Crackling—

The campfire lit up the darkness. Philip was preparing a meal, skewering jerky and ham, emitting a savory smell as they cooked. Ian, sitting to one side, didn’t even glance at the food. He was absorbed in the black ring on his finger, or more precisely, the information window of the ring that only he could see.

Swamp’s Resentment. This ring was the first unique-grade accessory he had acquired in this world, and its performance was as exceptional as its rarity. The ring not only boosted various stats, but the ability to use its curse to induce a state of madness in exchange for a bit of life energy was especially notable. This was a feature that had also been present when this world was still a game.

It was quite useful back then. Ian had used it to create distance or buy time to complete spells when enemies got too close. It was also effective in battles against multiple opponents, as the confusion removed the distinction between friend and foe. Now that this world had become real, he expected it to be useful in even more situations.

I should test how the curse manifests. As long as I don’t get caught using it... While Ian was lost in thought…

"Damn it…." A low voice accompanied the appearance of a rough-looking man from the shadows. It was Miguel. Covered in dirt and blood, he slumped next to the campfire, raising a cloud of dust.

“....” Philip, who had been preparing the food, frowned but refrained from scolding him, understanding that Miguel’s disheveled state was due to burying his fallen comrades. Philip glanced at Miguel while flipping the meat.

“Phew….” Miguel’s face, staring into the fire, was the very picture of despair. It made sense. Not only had he lost the contract, but he had also lost all his companions. The tragedy was even more bitter as it happened after they had faithfully completed their task. Philip knew well how hard Miguel had tried to save his men.

Finally, with a sympathetic look, Philip cautiously spoke up. "You really showed great loyalty to your comrades, Miguel. I see you in a new light."

"Loyalty, what loyalty? I did it to save myself. Leaving behind dead comrades is like inviting a curse." Miguel snorted softly.

"Is that a superstition?" Philip asked.

"If I survive and my comrades die, won’t they feel wronged? That’s why I give them a proper burial. To prevent them from becoming evil spirits or restless souls. Damn, what a hassle to the very end..." said Miguel.

Despite his grumbling, his eyes were filled with bitterness. Philip, hesitating, offered him a skewer of ham instead. Mev, catching his gaze, nodded toward Miguel.

"Here, have some." Philip quickly offered the skewer to him.

"Thanks." Miguel accepted it without refusal, chewing on the ham.

"The real problem starts now. Losing my whole team again... This is the third time I’ve been the only survivor. Can you believe it? Three times," said Miguel.

"That’s... some kind of luck," said Philip.

"More like bad luck. Who would want to work with me now? Everyone but me dies. At this rate, I’ll be known as the Grim Reaper, not a hunter. Three times is enough...." Miguel’s speech gradually turned into self-pity and lamentation. Perhaps this was his true feeling.

Philip, a bit sick of it, subtly turned his attention away. He offered skewers to Mev and Ian, then spoke up as Miguel continued to grumble. "We’re getting delayed more than expected, my lord."

"Hm.” Mev nodded, sharing the concern.

Ever since Ian joined, they had been fighting almost daily. Moreover, they had lost two horses, meaning their pace would slow down even more from the next day.

"It’ll take at least a week to reach the Tomb Forest, even longer since we have to take a detour. We might run out of time to search other places."

"We have no choice but to hope it’s not in vain." Mev sighed as she spoke.

"Were you heading to the Tomb Forest?" Miguel suddenly interrupted. Upon Philip’s nod, Miguel chuckled. "Then you don’t need a week. Even if you stop by a village, five days should be enough."

"That’s impossible. We have to go around the valley, which will take longer." Philip’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

"No need to go around. Just cut straight through. There’s a shortcut only long-time mercenaries like me know. It’s a bit dangerous, but…," said Miguel.

"Can you guarantee that?" Ian, who had been quietly pondering, cut in.

"Yes, I can. It’s risky, but I’ve been through there." Miguel swallowed and replied.

"That doesn’t matter, right?" Ian looked at Mev, who nodded readily.

The group’s gaze naturally shifted to Miguel, who broke into a sweat.

"What, what do you want me to do?" said Miguel.

"Guide us. To the Tomb Forest." Ian flicked a coin toward Miguel, who caught it reflexively. "I’ll hire you as our guide."

Miguel stuttered in response, "I need to know why you’re going to that cursed forest..." His voice trailed off, captivated by the golden glint in his hand. He continued, "...Is this an imperial gold coin?"