In the midst of a situation so confusing it made his head spin, Alon managed to gather three pieces of information from the naturally unfolding conversation.

The first was that the alliance between Count Zenonia and Duke Altia had apparently been orchestrated by Alon.

The second was that this faction, called “Kalpha,” had been formed due to a letter Alon had sent to Count Zenonia.

And third, the gifts he had been receiving were actually from nobles who wanted to join this faction, and the gifts were part of their process of seeking permission from the faction leader.

Through the torrent of words spilling from Duke Altia and Count Zenonia, Alon could piece these facts together, though with difficulty.

Keeping a neutral expression while feeling disbelief, he stared at the two.

Even though he had some grasp of the situation, there was still much he didn’t understand.

—No, to be more precise, there were countless things he wanted to question.

If Alon weren’t some kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde-like split personality, he hadn’t ordered or commanded anything through Count Zenonia.

In other words, he’d never told them to form an alliance… really, he swore he hadn’t…!

‘No, all I did was send a letter to express my dislike for other nobles. How did things escalate to this point?’

Alon’s head spun as he looked at the two, trying to grasp what was going on.

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‘Is this what they call the realm of genius, where the criminal can’t comprehend the moves of a mastermind…?’

Alon recalled a video from the previous world, which said that ordinary people take words at face value, while geniuses hear multiple layers of meaning in a single phrase.

With a slightly complex gaze, he looked at the two again.

—Now that he thought about it, Deus wasn’t the one responsible after all…

He recalled the countless gifts that had been pouring in for months.

Alon had indeed found it odd. No matter how influential Deus might be, he didn’t think his fame was so great that other nobles would send expensive gifts to forge connections.

It was only now that he realized that the letters he received were filled with praises—not for Deus, but for Alon himself.

—This isn’t easy.

Alon kept silent, realizing that through a series of coincidences, he had unknowingly helped form the faction himself.

By the time he pieced together the facts, his instincts told him there was no jumping off the “Kalpha” train anymore.

He’d already accepted too much.

Of course, if he truly wanted to leave, there were ways out, but they were hardly ideal choices.

Now that both the royalist and aristocratic factions clearly saw him as an enemy, leaving this faction would be more of a loss than a gain.

To be honest, if the losses were bearable, he would have pressed the “escape” button without hesitation.

…But what if he told them it was all a misunderstanding—what would those two do then…?

Alon glanced at Duke Altia and Count Zenonia.

Their conversation had just ended, and they were both looking at him now. To anyone else, they would appear to be beautiful, elegant nobles.

But Alon knew better. He knew how frightening Count Zenonia truly was.

And although Duke Altia wasn’t the character he’d seen in the game but someone who should have disappeared, Alon wasn’t taking her lightly either.

After all, masterminds always have their reasons, and they possess a sensitivity that ordinary people can’t comprehend.

Even if Alon explained everything clearly, there was a high chance these two would simply think, ‘How embarrassing, let’s just kill him,’ which seemed to be their natural thought process.

Of course, Alon didn’t know them well, but in this game, most characters labeled as “masterminds” tended to be deeply flawed individuals.

Thus, whether he liked it or not, he had to remain as the leader of Kalpha.

Yes, whether he liked it or not.

…At least, until he could come up with a good enough reason to step down later.

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However, Alon had no desire to stay in the leadership role for long.

He knew that being the leader of a faction came with many responsibilities, despite the numerous benefits.

In short, for Alon, whose motto was to live leisurely as a noble without working for the rest of his life, the leadership role didn’t suit him. So he made a decision.

He would lead for a while and then retire when the time was right.

“So, what do you plan to do now?”

“Hmm.”

Just as he reached that conclusion, Duke Altia’s voice broke through, causing Alon to let out a brief groan.

From their conversation, it seemed that Duke Altia and Count Zenonia believed Alon had some grand plan behind the formation of the faction, but naturally, he had no such plan.

No, there couldn’t have been any plan.

After all, he only found out today that he was the leader of Kalpha.

But since he couldn’t tell them the truth, Alon rolled his eyes and decided to stall for time.

“For now, let’s start by cleaning up the underworld.”

“…Clean up?”

“Yes. That way, it will be easier for us to operate.”

Of course, Alon had no idea how things would actually become easier.

But since he couldn’t even remember what topics had been discussed at the assembly earlier that day, bringing up a political subject would obviously be a bad idea. This was his best attempt at using his head.

…It was clumsy, but for Alon, it was the best he could do.

“Well then, I have some matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave.”

Alon stood up, turned around immediately, and began walking away.

He hurried his steps, as he didn’t have any solid answers if they asked further questions.

Thus, with a somewhat brisk pace, Alon made his way out, eventually running to his carriage in an empty hallway, worried that someone might stop him.

“Count?”

“Let’s head straight to the colony.”

He made up his mind to leave for the colony that very day.

‘The letter should have arrived by now. I hope I can get some help like I did with Deus.’

With those thoughts, Alon’s carriage began moving.

…It was a midsummer night.

***

Meanwhile,

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“Clean up the underworld, huh…”

Count Zenonia murmured, recalling how Count Palatio had disappeared like the wind, as if he had nothing more to say.

Duke Altia, after a brief moment of thought, opened her mouth.

“When he says ‘clean up the underworld,’ there’s only one thing that could mean, right?”

“Indeed. We’ve already had our territory firmly under control for a long time. So if he’s telling us to clean up…”

“There’s no other option but the remaining territories.”

“Indeed.”

At that point, Count Zenonia and Duke Altia fell silent, but soon, both of them smiled, as if by mutual agreement.

What they were about to suggest was a dream that would have been impossible when they acted individually.

But now, with their alliance and the formation of the faction, it was possible.

“Unifying the underworld.”

“That sounds fun.”

Count Zenonia and Duke Altia smiled deeply.

“I’m curious to see what he’s planning. He’s becoming more and more intriguing.”

“Indeed. I’m eager to see what he has in store for us.”

Clink.

With those words, the wine glasses they held clinked elegantly against each other.

“I’m looking forward to it. Truly.”

Their admiration for Alon spread along with the fragrance of the wine.

***

A week later.

As Alon was heading south to the desert city after leaving Teria,

“Hmm~”

A man, the “Agent,” was gazing at a distant carriage.

It was the carriage carrying Count Palatio, the man who was his target.

Watching the carriage steadily moving south, the “Agent” pulled out a quill from his pocket and thought to himself.

‘I’m intrigued by the Abyssal Core, but there are still some things that bother me.’

Of course, the “Agent” could easily approach Count Palatio at any moment, and with just a stroke of his quill in the air, he could end his life.

However, the reason he was still hesitating was none other than the rules shared among those who bore the name “Agent.”

“I was told not to make troublesome enemies if possible…”

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In truth, Count Palatio did not fall under the category of a “troublesome enemy.”

Rather, the ones considered troublesome were those in Caliban, specifically Deus, who seemed to have a great debt of gratitude toward Alon.

‘He will definitely take action.’

Of course, the Agents were not afraid of Deus moving against them.

Each of them was as skilled as a Swordmaster, and they were confident that they could kill even the Sword of Caliban if they desired.

However, regardless of skill, it was always best to avoid creating unnecessary bad blood with those who wielded significant power in the public eye, as it could lead to unwanted complications.

Even if a considerable sum of money was involved as payment, the same rule applied.

Still, the reason the Agent accepted Carmine’s request was because the reward he offered was too tempting to pass up.

‘Three Abyssal Cores…’

The Abyssal Core.

It was a special item secretly distributed in the underworld by Duke Komalon. When absorbed through a specific process, it granted the user extraordinary powers. It was something money couldn’t buy.

This was because, unlike the Abyssal Gems, which enhanced physical abilities, Duke Komalon rarely circulated Abyssal Cores.

Thus, Abyssal Cores were sold for exorbitant prices on the black market. However, the Agent didn’t take the job just to sell them.

‘How powerful would I become if I used it…?’

The Agent’s lips twisted into a characteristic sinister smile, thrilled at the mere thought.

Quickly shaking off those idle thoughts, the Agent focused on the fast-approaching carriage.

He picked up his quill.

And then.

“Sorry, but it’s just business.”

With a quiet mutter, the Agent’s hand began to draw a horizontal stroke with the quill—

“?”

The Agent suddenly noticed something.

His right hand, which had just been holding the quill and emitting black ink into the air, was gone.

For a moment, the Agent wore an expression of confusion, unable to comprehend the situation. But soon, as unbearable pain surged through him, he tried to scream.

“Guh—!?”

Before he could, an even sharper pain hit him, and his body, which had been floating in the air just moments before, was hurled into the forest.

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The next thing he saw as he slammed into a tree, clutching his severed right arm, was—

“!?”

A boy with black hair and blue eyes.

He looked young, not even an adult yet, with a youthful appearance.

The Agent quickly deduced that the person who had cut off his hand was none other than the boy standing before him, and he tried to speak—

“!”

But he realized that his mouth wouldn’t open, as if it had been forcibly sealed by something.

“How unfortunate.”

The boy, still wearing a bright smile, spoke in a voice that didn’t match the situation—cheerful and lively.

And then.

As the Agent stared at the boy’s face.

Crack—!

His neck twisted two full turns, and he met his death.

The Agent died with a bewildered expression, as if he hadn’t realized how he had died.

The boy, who had been watching him, turned around.

“If only your target wasn’t the Count… no, if only it wasn’t him, you wouldn’t have died by my hand.”

With that, the boy disappeared, leaving only the Agent’s corpse behind in the forest.

A corpse with its neck twisted twice.