I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

"Hurry your ass up!"

"I—I'm doing it!" Charlie stuttered as Laura's boot made contact with his rear, sending him stumbling forward.

Sweating, he hurried to set up the last of his cameras, each one capable of transmitting live images across the world via his company's satellites. He needed perfect angles, especially for something as monumental as this wedding, so he painstakingly positioned the cameras around the throne hall, adjusting for optimal shots.

The grand hall was already filled with nobles, most of whom were present not out of genuine joy or interest, but for the sake of appearances. Their stiff postures and forced smiles betrayed the real reason they were there: it was another display of loyalty, a show for the public.

Some glanced suspiciously at Charlie as he darted between tripods and cables, wondering who he was or why he had been allowed into such an important event. In the end, they dismissed him as just another cameraman, unimportant and easy to ignore.

Traditionally in Britannia, a wedding of this caliber wouldn't involve cameras or modern technology, but the nobles simply chalked it up to Gevurah's eccentricity. They assumed it was an attempt to immortalize the ceremony of their revered Commander, nothing more.

Little did they know that behind those lenses stood one of Arcadia's most celebrated journalists. Charlie, the best reporter for Daily Arcadia, was about to broadcast the wedding to the entire world. Yet no one had bothered to tell the nobles—they were kept blissfully ignorant, at least until the ceremony ended. And even if they discovered the truth, Laura and the others would make sure they stayed silent, one way or another.

'How did I get roped into this?!' 

Charlie wanted to cry. Once a top-tier reporter with a slew of awards under his belt, his career had been on a steady climb. But this... this felt like too much.

Sure, he'd wanted his career to reach new heights—but not heights that might get him straight to heavens!

Muttering to himself, he finished adjusting the last camera, his hands shaking slightly as the enormity of the situation weighed on him.

"Is he done yet?" A voice suddenly asked.

Charlie froze, mid-adjustment, his heart nearly stopping at the sound. Slowly, he turned toward the entrance of the hall.

Standing there was Kamila, a world-toppling beauty with her shimmering blonde hair and unsettling pitch-black eyes. For a moment, Charlie's breath caught in his throat. She was mesmerizing, the kind of beauty that could make even the most hardened man lose his words.

"Nearly finished, Lady Kamila," Laura replied respectfully.

Kamila's eyes shifted toward Charlie, and in that instant, the awe he had felt moments before transformed into pure terror. His heart, which had been racing with nervous excitement, froze in dread.

–Thud!

Charlie collapsed to his knees, the weight of Kamila's Stigma crushing him. His stomach churned violently, and before he could stop himself, he retched.

"B-b-blargh!" He vomited, spilling the remnants of whatever he'd eaten the day before onto the polished floor.

He remained on all fours, trembling, the cool air of the throne room chilling his sweat-soaked skin as Kamila's eyes bore into him.

All the nobles in the hall turned to look at Charlie, their expressions awkward as he gasped for air on his hands and knees. But the moment they saw Kamila standing there, they averted their gazes in fear, their bodies stiffening. No one dared to meet her eyes.

Charlie was still struggling to catch his breath. He had already felt suffocated by Laura and Jostin's Stigmas, but Kamila's was on another level entirely—it was as though the gates of hell had swung open right in front of him. 

Kamila, grimacing at the pitiful sight of Charlie retching on the floor. She thought she had suppressed her Stigma enough. 

Then, her eyes flickered with realization. "He's not wearing a bracelet?" 

Laura cursed under her breath. "I forgot. My apologies, Lady Kamila."

Without wasting a moment, Laura reached toward her ring, and a sleek black bracelet materialized in her hand. It was a special bracelet crafted by Gevurah to dull the perception of a Stigma's presence. Gevurah soldiers typically used it to train in Stigma control, but today, they employed it to prevent the nobles from fainting in their presence. Even with the bracelet, it was still hard for most people to face someone like Kamila without trembling in fear.

"Here, wear this," Laura said, tossing the bracelet at Charlie's feet.

Charlie grabbed it instantly, fumbling with it as he slipped it onto his wrist. The effect was immediate—the suffocating weight lifted, and he gasped, taking in deep, calming breaths.

But Kamila's displeasure was still there. Her gaze drifted to the unsightly mess Charlie had made on the pristine floor, and her lips curled in irritation.

Her eyes scanned the room before settling on a random noble seated nearby. She pointed at him, her voice cold. "Clean it."

The noble's face went pale, his eyes wide with disbelief. "E–Eh?" 

He was clearly not accustomed to such demands.

"Are you deaf?" Kamila repeated, her gaze narrowing dangerously.

"…!" The noble, who was more used to ordering his servants to clean up such messes, was now on his knees without a second thought. He scrambled to clean the vomit, using brushes and bleach left behind by the workers who had prepared the hall earlier.

Charlie, still pale and shaken, awkwardly rose to his feet, his knees weak. "Ah... sorry about that man…" He muttered, his voice barely audible as he avoided the noble's murderous glare.

The noble, now reduced to scrubbing the floor in front of everyone, gritted his teeth in silent rage, but Kamila's presence loomed too large for him to even think of protesting.

With a quick glance behind her, Kamila looked the five individuals standing in elegant attire, garments befitting the royalty they were. "Enter and take your seats in the front rows."

Arthur Pendragon, Guinevere, Uther, Aldan, and Elaine—each donned in regal, finely-crafted attire—stood there. Though it was the wedding of their daughter and sister, none of them displayed even a hint of joy. 

Their movements were restrained, though well-concealed by the flowing royal garments, hiding the explosive bracelets clamped around their wrists, ankles, and necks, ready to detonate at a moment's notice.

"Y–Your Majesty?"

"It's the Emperor…"

"King Arthur…"

The gathered nobles turned one by one, their faces etched with shock as they beheld the Pendragon family, alive and well. 

Kamila tilted her head slighlty. "Who gave you permission to stand?" 

As though their legs were struck by an invisible force, the nobles immediately dropped back into their seats, heads bowed, stifling whatever words they had wanted to say. 

Unfazed by that, the Pendragon family moved to the front rows on the right side, directly facing the throne. 

From across the room, Charlie's eyes lit up with sudden clarity. He quickly grabbed a camera, focusing it on the royal family, capturing every angle, every expression with meticulous care. 

Laura and Jostin exchanged bewildered glances at how swiftly he switched gears, adapting to the situation.

"Incredible... the entire Britannian royal family, alive," Charlie whispered, a nervous grin spreading across his face. 

For a full month, their fate had been shrouded in mystery. Rumors had swirled that Ivan had executed the royal family, sparing only the First Princess. Yet here they were, proving those rumors wrong.

Charlie's heart raced with excitement. He was likely the first outsider to witness this revelation.

But amidst his excitement, a question gnawed at the back of his mind.

'Why didn't he kill them?'

It was a well-known tactic of conquerors to eliminate the previous rulers, securing their claim. Yet Ivan had left Arthur Pendragon alive. 

Gevurah's methods were different, and Charlie couldn't help but wonder why.

"What a joke," Uther muttered under his breath, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He couldn't stomach what was unfolding before him.

Forced to sit as though they had willingly surrendered the throne to Ivan, forced to bear witness to a marriage they had never consented to. It was a mockery of everything they stood for.

Uther wasn't naive either. The cameraman—whether broadcasting the event live or preparing to send the footage worldwide—was making sure their image was carefully curated. 

And once the surrounding kingdoms saw the royals alive and apparently well, seated at the marriage of their own kin, no one would lift a finger to help. The illusion of their compliance would be too convincing and it was also the perfect excuse for them to not intervene wasting their forces.

"Silence, Uther," Arthur said with a serious gaze.

Arthur had finally secured Ivan's word that no harm would come to Gwenyra. The very last thing he needed now was for Uther to provoke any of these monsters and risk having his daughter pay the price for it. 

Uther shot his father a cold glare before looking away, disgust twisting in his chest. 

How could his father, once a pillar of strength, have become so weak, so submissive?

But Uther had no intention of withering into a puppet with strings pulled by Ivan. Not for long, at least. 

He was of Royal Blood!

He would stay quiet for now, bide his time, and obey for appearances' sake. But escape was already forming in his mind, a plan building. He wouldn't rot in this gilded cage.

As Uther's thoughts ran deep in his mind, one by one, the nobles turned their heads toward the entrance.

The bride had arrived.