Summoned a Hero But Got a Villain Instead-Chapter 106: The Walk of Aura Itself

The royal viewing platform had gone silent.

This was the silence of prey realizing they'd been hunted all along.

King Rowen gripped his throne's armrests until his knuckles went white.

Adrian was sweating through expensive silk. The Arch Sage's ancient hands trembled on his staff.

Count Varic's crimson eyes were fixed on the arena floor like watching doom approach.

The Headmaster calculated escape routes and found none.

They were all staring at Dante standing on the blood-soaked sand below. Silver hair lifting in the wind. Black coat hanging loose. He looked like someone who'd just finished a morning walk, not someone who'd annihilated their best.

Then his head tilted upward. Slowly. Deliberately.

His eyes found them.

Dante's lips curved. He raised one hand and gestured.

The sky went dark.

SCREEEEEEEEEEE!

The wyvern descended like a meteor. Massive wings blotted out the sun. Crimson scales gleamed. The crowd screamed and dove for cover.

The impact shook the earth. Dust exploded outward.

Standing on the monster's back, hands in pockets, coat billowing, was Dante. A final boss making his entrance. A god descending to pass judgment.

The wyvern lowered itself with surprising gentleness, and Dante stepped off. Not jumped. Not climbed down. Just stepped off like disembarking from a carriage. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

He didn't look back at the creature. Didn't acknowledge it. It was just another tool. Another piece on his board.

He began walking toward the platform. Hands in pockets. Unhurried. Like a man with all the time in the world.

Behind him, his shadow army moved. Eric with shield raised. Rina's ghostly form gliding. Kael's corrupted body jerking forward. Minotaurs. Shadow Spiders. Wyverns circling overhead. An army of death following their master.

Rowen's mind fractured. This was it. Dante was coming to kill him. His hand moved desperately, signaling his guards.

Kill him. Stop him. DO SOMETHING.

Eight royal guards. Two moved forward. Drew swords. Charged down the steps.

The other six looked at Dante's army and ran. Armor clanking. Oaths abandoned.

The two loyal guards made it five steps.

SHHHHHHNK.

Both split horizontally. Perfect cuts through armor and flesh. Blood painted the white steps red.

Lucien stood there. Former hero and his Rival. Now undead. His sword was crystallized blood, gleaming and dripping. His face was empty of anything human.

Dante didn't glance at the bodies. Kept walking.

The Headmaster stood. Hands moving in complex patterns. Summoning his most devastating spell. Enough power to vaporize a dragon.

Veyrion's gaze fixed on him.

The spell collapsed. Mana dispersed. The Headmaster sat back down. Slowly. Carefully.

Beside Dante walked Lucaris. No weapon—his warhammer had shattered. But those enormous fists, those tree-trunk arms, that scarred face made him more terrifying. Violence that needed no weapon.

The platform had twenty stone steps. Dante climbed them. One at a time. Each footfall echoed like a death knell.

His army stayed at the base. Patient. This was Dante's moment.

When he reached the top, he paused. Looked at each of them. King Rowen. Adrian. The Arch Sage. Count Varic. The Headmaster. The nobles.

No one moved.

Then Dante walked between their seats. Right through the middle. Hands in pockets.

He stopped in front of Rowen's throne.

Looked down at the man who'd signed his death warrant. Who'd sent assassins. Who'd smiled so smugly just hours ago.

Rowen tried to stand. To salvage some dignity. To show strength in the face of—

His legs gave out. Not from weakness. From terror so absolute that his body simply refused to obey.

And then it happened.

Warmth spread down his leg. The dark stain spread across his royal purple robes. The smell was immediate. Undeniable.

The King of Verlaine had pissed himself.

In front of his court. His allies. His people.

Dante looked down at the spreading stain. Then back up at Rowen's face, which had gone from pale to crimson with shame.

His expression shifted to concern. Almost gentle.

"Oh dear," he said. His tone was light. Friendly. Conversational. "I hope I didn't startle you, Your Majesty. That would be terribly rude of me."

The sarcasm was a blade wrapped in silk. Every word was a threat disguised as courtesy.

Rowen couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Just sat there drowning in his own humiliation.

Dante spread his arms in a gesture of openness. Peace. His smile was warm and completely terrifying.

"Please, don't be scared of me," he said earnestly. "I'm not here for violence. I'm not here to hurt anyone."

He looked around at all of them. That same pleasant expression fixed on his face.

"I just want peace."

The Arch Sage, recovering some semblance of composure, found his voice. It came out steady despite the fear. "What do you want, Hero Dante?"

"Ah," Dante said brightly, like they'd just asked about the weather. "Peace."

Silence stretched. Heavy. Disbelieving.

The Arch Sage's ancient face hardened. His voice dropped to something harder. More demanding. "Don't mock us. What do you truly want?"

Dante tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, that's exactly what I want. Peace. Quiet. The ability to live my life without constant assassination attempts and political scheming."

He paused. Let that sink in.

"But you've all disturbed mine quite thoroughly, haven't you?" His tone remained pleasant. Reasonable. "Multiple times, in fact. So don't I deserve something in return? Some small compensation for the inconvenience?"

Adrian found his voice. The merchant in him understanding negotiations. "Name your price."

"I want to establish a guild."

That caught them off guard. They'd expected demands for gold, territory, revenge. Not... bureaucracy.

Count Varic leaned forward, red eyes narrowing. "A guild? For what purpose?"

Dante's expression became earnest. Almost boyish in its sincerity.

"A guild that solves problems," he explained patiently. "For people. For kingdoms. Whatever issues arise that need specialized attention—monsters, criminals, territorial disputes, supernatural threats, political complications. We handle it. Efficiently. Quietly. Permanently. And in return, we charge a small, reasonable fee."

He spread his hands like the most reasonable man in the world.

"Isn't that a noble deed? Helping those in need for modest compensation? Contributing to society? Being productive citizens?"

Count Varic's centuries of political instinct kicked in. His red eyes narrowed. "Stop dancing around it. Tell it properly. What's your real gain?"

Inside, Dante's mind was perfectly clear. Clinical. Strategic.

A guild would spread his influence across multiple nations like a spider's web. Every branch office was a listening post. Every contract was a connection. Every solved problem was leverage. The intelligence network alone would be invaluable.

The money would be enormous. More than enough for his entire team to live in absolute luxury for the rest of their lives. Mansions. Servants. Whatever they wanted. They'd earned it. They deserved it.

But most importantly, most critically it would establish a legitimate foundation. A structure with bureaucracy, contracts, reputation. Something that could run itself.

When he eventually went underground to pursue his darker ambitions, to hunt the real prey, his team could stay behind. Manage operations. Maintain the public face. Live normal lives.

While he moved in the shadows, becoming something else entirely.

But he couldn't say any of that.

Out loud, he laughed. A genuine, warm sound. "Oh come on. I'm playing my human part here. Trying to be a productive member of society and all that."

His expression shifted. The humor dropped away like a mask removed.

"Let's be clear," he said. His voice was steel wrapped in velvet. "I want my guild—the Aegis of the Fallen—established in each of your countries. Not hidden in back alleys. Not operating in legal grey areas. Fully legitimate. Fully recognized. Fully protected."

He began counting on his fingers.

"Branch offices in your capitals. Operating expenses covered for the first year. Official licenses and permits. Legal protection for our operatives. Tax exemptions for services rendered to the crown. And most importantly—"

He paused for emphasis.

"Your active promotion. You'll spread word of our services through official channels. Royal decrees. Public announcements. You'll make it known that the Aegis of the Fallen is the premier solution for problems both mundane and extraordinary. That we have the full backing of your throne."

His smile returned. Cold. Sharp. Victorious.

"That's the only thing I want. Simple, isn't it? A small price to pay for avoiding... further unpleasantness."

"That's the only thing I want. Simple, isn't it?"

Then he turned to look directly at Rowen. At the man sitting in his own shame. At the king who'd tried to have him killed.

"Don't I deserve it, Your Majesty?"

The question hung in the air like a noose.

Rowen couldn't answer. Couldn't even look up. Could only sit there in his soiled robes while his world crumbled.

And from the stands from the few brave or stupid souls who'd remained to watch came laughter.

Quiet at first. Then louder. Then spreading like wildfire.

The King of Verlaine. The mighty monarch. Reduced to this. Humiliated. Broken. Powerless.

Dante just stood there. Patient. Hands in pockets. That same pleasant smile on his face.

Waiting for his answer.

Knowing they had absolutely no choice but to give him exactly what he wanted.