I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Ivan walked beside Gwenyra and Laura, trailing behind Jostin as he led them toward the throne hall. The closer they got, the more they could hear raised voices echoing through the grand corridor.

The hall was already a blend of noise, dominated by the complaints of a rather short, young man.

"It's been four days! I cannot afford to stay here any longer! The Cathedral requires my presence!" He protested. The speaker was none other than Urvan, pacing before the throne.

"You're making too much noise, Urvan. I'm sure the Cathedral can survive without you for a few days," Mikhail replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he shrugged his shoulders.

"They cannot, Lord Mikhail! That's precisely the problem!" Urvan shot back. He turned pleadingly toward Dimitri, hoping for some support. "Please, Lord Dimitri, I must return at once."

"Don't overestimate yourself."

But Dimitri remained indifferent, his expression as cold as marble. Urvan knew he had a better chance of swaying Mikhail, but even that seemed like a futile effort. Dimitri was resolute; he had no intention of disobeying Ivan's orders. Urvan was to stay, whether he liked it or not.

Ludmila, on the other hand, watched the exchange with a detached, almost bored expression. She stood by one of the tall windows, her gaze drifting lazily to the world outside. Like Mikhail and Dimitri, she had sensed the arrival of the Airship long before, but none of them had bothered to inform Urvan. Teasing him had become a sort of silent game among them, a way to pass the time.

However, her indifference vanished the moment she noticed the newcomers at the entrance. Her eyes lit up, and a genuine smile spread across her lips, transforming her previously dull demeanor.

"Ivan," Mikhail called with a grin as he turned to face the entrance. "You've finally arrived."

Urvan spun around, the color draining from his face. In a heartbeat, he dropped to one knee, his earlier bravado evaporating into thin air. All his grievances died on his lips as he knelt, head bowed low. It had been some time since he last laid eyes on Ivan, and the sight was enough to remind him of the man's terrifying presence. Ivan's Stigma had grown noticeably stronger; it was almost tangible in the air, a force that made Urvan's heart race with a mixture of awe and fear. How could someone's Stigma grow so powerful in mere months?

"Urvan," Ivan called as his black eyes bore down on the kneeling man.

"Your Excellency," Urvan stuttered, eyes still fixed on the floor. "I haven't had the chance to congratulate you on your triumph over Camelot. It is a great honor."

"I have a task for you, Urvan," Ivan said, ignoring the praise. "You will remain here for the next week and see to it."

"Of course, Your Excellency," Urvan replied hastily. "If it is your wish, I shall remain here as long as you deem necessary, even a lifetime if required," he added with a smile.

Mikhail couldn't help but grimace at Urvan's sudden shift in demeanor. The man who, just moments ago, was vehemently protesting his stay, was now pledging his undying loyalty with sickening eagerness. It was almost laughable how quickly he became meek in the presence of Ivan.

"Anything from Father?" Ivan asked.

"Yes, Your Excellency, but…" Urvan hesitated, casting a cautious glance at Gwenyra, as well as Laura and Jostin. The matter was highly confidential, something he couldn't divulge in their presence.

"I will see you later, then," Ivan decided, dismissing him with a nod.

Urvan bowed in acknowledgment and was about to take his leave when Ivan stopped him abruptly.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Wait," Ivan said, shifting his gaze to Mikhail. "Where is Karna?"

"He and his mother have been settled in one of the estates, just as you instructed," Mikhail said, gesturing with his head for Ivan to follow.

With a puzzled expression, Urvan fell in line behind them, uncertain why he had been asked to wait.

Before they could proceed further, a soft voice called out, "Ivan."

Turning around, Ivan found himself enveloped in Ludmila's gentle embrace.

"I missed you," she murmured, tightening her hold, fingers digging into his back as if anchoring herself. Despite her confidence in her own skills, she could never quite shake the lingering fear that something might happen in his absence. But with Ivan close, a calm settled over her, a sense of invincibility as if nothing in the world could harm her.

Ivan remained silent, allowing her to hold him for as long as she needed.

"Where's Kamila?" He asked after a while.

"Interrogating the prisoners," Ludmila replied, still resting her head on his shoulder.

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"Have they broken yet?" He asked.

Ludmila shook her head. "No, they remain silent but shouldn't we kill them already?"

"Then they live until they speak," Ivan replied.

"As you wish," she nodded, though a flicker of doubt passed through her eyes as she noticed someone watching them from a distance. It was Gwenyra.

Caught in the act, Gwenyra quickly turned away, following Urvan down the hall.

"She's doing her job well," Ludmila said.

"Who?" Ivan asked.

Ludmila couldn't help but smile. It was just like him to disregard anyone outside their circle.

"Your Empress," she clarified. "You were wise to spare her."

"Killing doesn't always solve problems," Ivan replied, his voice unexpectedly thoughtful. "We must act with caution, not arrogance."

Ludmila blinked in surprise. This wasn't the Ivan she had known—a man quick to action and ruthless in his decisions.

"Do you understand?" He asked, gently brushing his hand through her silver hair. He was determined not to repeat past mistakes, to avoid the tragic fate he knew was coming if he let his arrogance take over.

A faint blush warmed Ludmila's cheeks before she offered him a soft, relieved smile. She could feel his genuine concern for her.

"Yes."

…

…

In Camelot, a grand mansion that once belonged to a high-ranking noble—swiftly ousted from power—now served as the residence of Karna Mishra and his mother, by decree of Ivan. Adjacent to this estate stood a newly constructed building, erected by the diligent residents of Camelot. It was a fully equipped workshop, complete with every tool and amenity a smith could dream of, and then some. The expansive space was solely for Karna's use, another one of Ivan's generous provisions.

Karna was widely regarded as one of the finest blacksmiths in the world, if not thefinest. At the very least, he possessed the potential to reach that pinnacle. Ivan, recognizing this, was all for to provide him with every resource necessary to excel. However, being an unwilling guest kidnapped or not meant that Karna was under constant guard. These sentinels served a dual purpose: to protect him and to ensure that neither he nor his mother ever attempted an escape, though such a notion seemed implausible.

As Mikhail approached, two guards from Ivan's elite legion swiftly opened the gates, dropping to one knee in respect particularly toward Ivan himself.

They walked through the lush gardens, the fragrance of late-blooming flowers filling the air, and soon reached the mansion's grand entrance. Without so much as a knock, Mikhail pushed open the doors, striding inside with the others trailing behind.

"Mom! I hate broccoli!" A young man's voice echoed from the dining hall.

"It's good for your health, Karna! Eat everything on your plate!"

Inside, a playful quarrel was unfolding between Karna, who sat at the dining table with a disgruntled expression, and his mother, a beautiful woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She watched her son grumble as he reluctantly chewed on the offending vegetable, with a warm and affectionate smile. But that smile faltered the moment she noticed Mikhail entering the room.

Karna followed her gaze, his eyes widening in alarm. He immediately sprang to his feet, positioning himself protectively in front of his mother.

"It smells delightful in here," Mikhail smiled with a casual laugh, casting a glance at the spread laid out on the table. As he spoke, he subtly enveloped Karna and his mother in his protective Stigma, aware that Ivan was now present and his Stigma could hurt them.

Mikhail's Stigma was the second strongest after Ivan and with Ivan suppressing his own Stigma it was doing the job.

The moment Karna and his mother laid eyes on Ivan, the color drained from their faces, fear replacing the brief moment of domestic peace.

"Allow me to make the introductions, Karna," Mikhail started. "This is Ivan, the Emperor of Britannia, the very man who granted you this splendid mansion and the luxurious life many could only dream of."

"E–Emperor…" Karna stammered, his mind racing as he pieced together the identity of their unexpected visitor. He had heard tales of Britannia's downfall, all orchestrated by one man—Ivan Zakharovic Kozlov, the most feared figure in Gevurah.

Without hesitation, Karna dropped to his knees, bowing his head in a gesture of submission, his mother quickly following suit.