I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

The fastest way to reach Britannia without the aid of any artifact was by airship. However, airships were prohibitively expensive, even for the wealthiest members of society. They were a symbol of opulence, a means for the elite to flaunt their immense wealth. Simply boarding one was enough to announce your status to the world.

The reason for their exorbitant cost lay in the fuel source. While mana stones were plentiful enough to power everyday vehicles like cars, they were insufficient for something as sophisticated as an airship. Instead, these majestic vessels required Black Stones—a rare and costly resource. Only royalty and the highest-ranking nobles could afford the luxury of using Black Stones for frequent travel.

In Ivan's case, his family had not always been wealthy coming from a village to begin with. However, after conquering Britannia and Camelot, access to Britannia's Black Stones and airships became a given. As the reigning Emperor of Britannia, Ivan merely had to ask, and an airship was promptly provided for him.

On this particular night, the airship whisked him away to a remote, secluded corner of Ocryphia. The journey was shrouded in secrecy, though a few distant onlookers might have caught a glimpse of the magnificent vessel. Not that Ivan cared. He was not hiding out of necessity, but rather, out of choice.

If his cover were to be blown, he would simply deal with the consequences. Anyone foolish enough to challenge him would be met with swift, merciless retribution. Everything unfolded according to his will. While he preferred a peaceful approach to avoid wasting resources and antagonize the whole world straight away, he had no qualms about resorting to violence if needed.

The airship in question was none other than the Royal Airship of the Pendragon Family. Naturally, all emblems and markings that could link it to Britannia had been meticulously removed. As the finest airship in Camelot's fleet, it boasted both stunning aesthetics and unrivaled comfort.

Under normal circumstances, such a prestigious vessel would not be deployed for a single passenger. Even during Arthur's reign, it was reserved for significant diplomatic missions with other kingdoms. But this time was different. Ludmila had sent the very best without him even asking. It was her way of pampering Ivan, a gesture of care from someone who cared little for the world beyond her intimate circle.

Regardless of any troublesome visitors they might encounter along the way, or any witnesses they might leave in their wake, Ludmila was unconcerned. She knew Ivan wouldn't care either. He would never turn his anger on her, even if she instigated a massacre; in fact, he would kill anyone for her if she so desired. But Ludmila would never exploit his love in such a way, much like Kamila. Both women loved Ivan too deeply to take advantage of his affections for their own selfish ends.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The crew aboard the airship hailed from Gevurah. It was almost impressing how a Gevurah crew had managed to land on the borders of Ocryphia to extract one of the most dangerous men in the world for a swift return to Britannia. But then, when it came to Ivan, things had a way of unfolding smoothly, because they didn't fear anything.

The journey to Camelot took only a few hours. The crew remained vigilant, aware that encountering other airships was not beyond the realm of possibility. However, once they crossed into Britannia's seas, all concerns vanished. Since Gevurah's conquest of Britannia, no ship had dared approach within several miles of its shores.

As the airship finally descended over Camelot, the early morning light revealed the city beneath them. The inhabitants paused in their tasks, their eyes widening in disbelief. Above them loomed the unmistakable silhouette of the Pendragon family's customized airship, now repurposed as a symbol of Gevurah's dominion. Bitter gazes followed the vessel, reminding them of their kingdom's fall, before the people reluctantly returned to the labor of rebuilding their city.

"..."

Ivan stood on the deck in his true appearance gazing ahead at the distant royal palace, just a few miles away. It had only been two weeks since he last set foot here, but it felt like an eternity. Perhaps it was because he had never been separated for so long from 'them'.

"Lord Ivan?" One of his men approached cautiously, watching as Ivan stood on the guardrail on the deck, the wind tugging at his pitch-black hair, which was tied back. He wore his usual full black attire: silk pants, a classic medieval shirt, a surcoat draped over it, and sturdy boots. He was dressed simply, without the heavy armor or protection typical of royals, as nothing and no one could truly harm him.

Ivan paid no attention to his crew's calls. With a light kick against the guardrail, he launched himself into the air, soaring at a breakneck speed. Within mere seconds, he crossed the vast distance between the airship and the royal palace, landing effortlessly on one of the upper balconies. To the onlookers below, and even those aboard the airship, he was nothing more than a blur—a shadow racing through the sky, too fast for the human eye to fully register. He didn't bother waiting for the airship to touch down; he was far quicker on his own.

The balcony he landed on led to one of the palace's higher floors, its doors were already open. Without hesitation, Ivan stepped inside, moving as if he owned the place—which, in a way, he did.

Down the corridor, a small group was deep in conversation, oblivious to his arrival.

"It seems Camelot is rebuilding faster than anticipated," Gwenyra said with an optimistic tone.

Lucan, a former noble of Arthur's court, nodded but couldn't hide the bitterness in his expression. "Only because our people are being forced to work day and night," he replied, his voice tinged with resentment. "That's the sole reason for this so-called progress."

"Lord Lucan..." Gwenyra warned lightly.

The others walking with them—Jostin and Laura—remained silent, either unfazed by Lucan's harsh words or simply indifferent to his complaints. It was difficult to tell.

"My apologies," Lucan murmured after a pause. He knew Gwenyra was the one tirelessly striving for Britannia's future, working as the bridge between Ivan and their reluctant allies. At just eighteen, she had taken on the mantle of Empress of this New Britannia Empire with grace and resilience. Without her diplomatic touch, the rule under Gevurah might have been far harsher, perhaps even tyrannical.

Yet, the irony was not lost on him: while Gwenyra toiled day and night for their people, the Emperor himself remained invisible, a mysterious figure whose whereabouts were often unknown. No one knew where Ivan had been, nor what he was up to. He was a ruler who appeared and disappeared like a phantom.

Gwenyra sighed softly, turning her gaze back to the path ahead. She understood his reasoning, but—

"...!"

Her breath hitched as she froze, eyes widening at the figure stepping through the glass doors of the balcony.

Lucan followed her gaze, but the moment his eyes locked onto the newcomer, he crumbled to his knees, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of Ivan's Stigma.

"...!"

Both Jostin and Laura dropped to one knee behind Gwenyra, their heads bowed low.

"..."

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When Ivan's cold gaze fell upon her, Gwenyra's entire body shuddered. She wanted to kneel, to submit, but her legs refused to obey. The oppressive aura weighed heavily on her, yet she could still stand. It took her a moment to realize why—it was the marital cross hanging around her neck. Not an ordinary symbol, but one blessed by Seraphiel herself. Their union, though loveless, had divine protection.

Ivan's eyes lingered on the cross, and with a flicker of restraint, he lessened the intensity of his Stigma.

Lucan, still collapsed on the ground, gasped for air, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

"A-Are you alright, Lord Lucan?" Gwenyra asked, her voice trembling with concern as she regained her composure.

"Yes... thank you, Your Majesty…" He replied weakly, not daring to lift his gaze to Ivan again.

"Where is Urvan?" Ivan's voice was cold and detached as he ignored Lucan's pitiful state, directing his question to Jostin and Laura.

"Just ahead, Milord." Jostin quickly rose to his feet and began to lead the way.

"Move," Laura snapped, her eyes narrowing at Gwenyra, who was still glancing worriedly at Lucan.

"But—"

"I-I am fine, Your Majesty... Please, go on." Lucan forced a strained smile.

With a reluctant nod, Gwenyra turned and followed Ivan, casting one last, apologetic look over her shoulder. The memory of her last encounter with Ivan—their wedding day—flashed in her mind. Their marriage was clearly one of political convenience, not affection.

Yet, to her surprise, Ivan had never once tried to force himself on her, never sought to humiliate or control her as so many nobles might have done. Despite being the responsible of Britannia's Fall, he had principles.

Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. The thought gave her a strange sense of relief, especially knowing that the four monstrous figures who served him obeyed his every command without question.