I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Kingdom of Unadora.

Capital of Dreonah.

Tonight, an eerie silence blanketed Dreonah, heavier and deeper than ever before. It was the kind of quiet that pressed against the skin, unnatural, suffocating—as if the entire city was holding its breath.

For days, the kingdom had braced itself, sharpening its swords, fortifying its walls, and whispering prayers to gods who might not answer. The invasion was coming. Gevurah was coming.

The largest and most fearsome sect devoted to Seraphiel's Faith—a faith denounced by most as heresy, its goddess labeled fallen, sinful—Gevurah had grown beyond mere cults that came before it. Others had tried to spread Seraphiel's name. Others had dreamed of conquest. But ambition alone was never enough. Gevurah had something the others lacked—power. The kind of power that crushed empires beneath its heel.

Unadora had seen it happen. They had watched Britannia fall. And when its mighty walls crumbled, when its rulers knelt in front of Gevurah's might, Unadora knew they would be next. They had spent every moment since preparing. Training. Strategizing. Strengthening.

They thought they were ready.

They all thought they were ready.

The knights of Unadora stood, their hands gripping their weapons so tightly their knuckles turned white. The Hunters who had been recruited for this very moment swallowed hard, their confidence wavering. But then, they looked up.

A shadow loomed above them—a massive black airship. Its presence swallowed the night sky like the man standing at its helm.

Just a glimpse of him was enough.

Dark hair. Dark eyes.

A presence that sent ice crawling down their spines. They couldn't even stare at him for long—it was unbearable. As if he were something beyond human, something that had stepped into this world from a place they weren't meant to comprehend.

At that moment, a single question gripped every mind, choking out all other thoughts.

How are we supposed to defeat that monster?

Even Merlin, standing high above, found herself struggling for an answer.

Beside her, Kenneth still held onto his smile, but it had begun to shift. His usual easy confidence trembled at the edges, curling into something more fragile. Unease.

This was the first time he had ever seen the man spoken of in hushed, fearful tones within the Holy Church. The one named as the greatest enemy of the Savior's Faith.

The man who led the army that razed Camelot.

Ivan Zakharovich Kozlow.

He stood there, motionless, without armor, without a weapon. No gleaming sword. No ornate battle gear. Just a simple black shirt and pants, as if he were taking a casual stroll through the city. And yet—his presence alone eclipsed that of every knights in Dreonah combined.

Silence continued until Merlin finally spoke.

"What you are doing is an invasion," she said. "It is the greatest of crimes. You leave countless innocents dead in your wake, all to forcefully spread your Faith. But even if you manage to convert our people, do you truly believe any of them will take your teachings seriously? Who would accept a faith built on violence and brutality? A faith that coerces its followers into waging war on entire continents? No one will ever embrace such a thing."

Her words echoed through the capital, reverberating against the stone walls of Dreonah.

Maybe she was trying to shake them, to plant doubt in their minds. Maybe she was only buying time. But if it was the former—it had no effect.

Not a single soldier of Ivan's Legion faltered. Not one showed hesitation. If anything, they only seemed more serious, their expressions hardening.

And still, Merlin waited for Ivan's answer.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Seraphiel never asked me to wage war."

His voice was low, yet it reached every single ear as if whispered directly into their minds.

"I am the one who decided to spread her Faith through wars."

For the first time that night, silence came not from fear, but from shock.

Even Merlin found herself momentarily speechless.

Then, Ivan continued.

"I leave you with a choice. You may surrender peacefully now, or face destruction."

His gaze flickered toward the barrier surrounding Gevurah, then to the warships stationed across the capital, their weapons already trained on him, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Ivan stared down at all of them behind the walls.

"Kneel."

The knights of Unadora—they would never surrender. That much was clear. Their loyalty to the kingdom ran too deep, their oaths unbreakable. But the Hunters?

They hesitated.

They had come for coin, not to throw their lives away in a war they had no stake in. And right now, standing before him, looking into the abyss of his power—they couldn't shake the feeling that if they fought, they would die.

And for what? Gold?

Was this really worth it?

Merlin bit her lip. Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

Her words had meant nothing.

Not a single hesitation, not a single crack in them.

"Then you will have your fight, Gevurah!"

-BOOM!

At her signal, the night sky erupted. A thunderous explosion of mana shook the air as the cannons of every airship fired at once. Fifty cannons unleashed their power, their burning payloads tearing through the sky at devastating speed.

The force of the combined assault was deafening. Soldiers had to cover their ears, their bones rattling from the sheer force of the blasts.

Yet—Ivan did not move.

Instead, Mikhail stepped forward.

Raising his hand, he released his Stigma.

The moment he did, a crushing weight fell upon everyone on the other side of Unadora's walls.

It was as if the air itself had thickened, pressing down on their shoulders, making their chests tighten. A foreign, overwhelming force struck fear straight into their souls.

For many, it was the first time witnessing a Stigma—the blessing wielded by Seraphiel's followers. And it had to be Mikhail's of all people—one of the most terrifying of them all.

Dark energy pulsed outward, forming a massive dome around Ivan's airship.

The cannonfire struck the dome head-on—but none of it reached the ship.

Each blast, each explosion, was swallowed whole. The night sky flared with mana eruptions, illuminating the battlefield in bursts of brilliant light—but when the dust settled, the black airship remained untouched.

Kenneth narrowed his eyes, watching as the dark energy twisted and pulsed. "So this is a Stigma..."

The black substance wasn't just raw energy—it felt alive. It pulsed with emotions. Mikhail's emotions. His will, his rage, his very essence intertwined with the Stigma's form, making it something far more than just a defensive barrier.@@novelbin@@

"It is," Merlin nodded. "Do you have the artifact I gave you?"

Kenneth sighed, clearly reluctant. "I do. But I can't say I'm thrilled about using something that belongs to Seraphiel."

Merlin's expression darkened. "It's our only chance."

But before she could say another word—

A shadow shot out from the airship.

Moving at inhuman speed, she descended like a black meteor toward Unadora's gates.

Ludmila.

Her silhouette was nothing but a blur as she flew toward the fortress, faster than the eye could track. The soldiers stationed atop the walls barely had time to react before an unnatural, bone-deep chill crept up their spines.

They could feel it. Her Stigma.

Dark energy spiraled around her hand, twisting and writhing like a living thing—then, with a single motion, she summoned a longsword.

Her pitch-black eyes narrowed slightly.

Then, she swung.

-BOOOOOM!