I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

'What in the hell is that?!'

Uther clenched his fists, struggling to avoid even glancing at Ivan. His entire body trembled, as did the rest of his family. Even Arthur, normally so composed, was not immune to the overwhelming fear that filled the room.

'This damn monster!' 

Uther thought, biting down on his lip so hard that blood welled up. Ivan's Stigma, despite being heavily suppressed, was far more terrifying than his slightly released Stigma a month ago.

Arthur's face had turned ghostly pale. As a seasoned warrior, he could sense it—the raw power Ivan now wielded was far beyond anything from before. His strength had grown exponentially, to a degree that bordered on absurdity.

Uther's wife and their three children were on the verge of fainting, despite their strong Pendragon bloodline. 

Meanwhile, Ivan walked forward, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around him. Nobles crumpled to the ground like leaves in the wind, passing out left and right, while others clung to consciousness by a thread. It was as if Ivan was a walking disaster.

'I can do nothing about this.' Ivan thought, his expression devoid of guilt. 

He had suppressed his Stigma as much as possible, but it was clear that the people in the room were simply too weak or maybe it rather him whose Stigma was abnormally strong. Compared to them, he might as well have been a god.

His Stigma was growing rapidly, and he knew it had much to do with his merging with the other six Antagonists. His Stigma wasn't just growing—it was synchronizing with the personas of his counterparts and their own Faith over their own doings was only feeding Ivan's Stigma. It wasn't just only Ivan's Stigma anymore. This kind of evolution hadn't happened in the original story, and it left him pondering what else might change.

Suddenly, a soothing light filled the hall. Gwenyra, who had been watching the unfolding disaster with growing alarm, swiftly raised her hand. "Light Domain!" 

Her palm glowed with a soft, radiant light. A golden wave spread through the throne hall, enveloping the struggling nobles and those who had already fainted. The warmth of the Light Attribute keeping at bay painfully the icy dread that Ivan's presence had instilled. It was as if the room was bathed in the gentle touch of sunlight, slowly reviving the people and easing their labored breathing. Though many were still weak and groggy, they at least no longer seemed at death's door.

Gwenyra, unlike her family, wasn't wearing any bracelets to suppress her power or threatened to explode at notice, allowing her to use her Light Attribute at full strength. Even so, it took everything she had to keep her domain intact against the sheer weight of Ivan's suppressed Stigma. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she strained to maintain the barrier, her golden light barely holding back the overwhelming miasma that threatened to swallow the room whole.

"She's quite proficient with the Light Attribute," Ludmila muttered, a hint of surprise in her voice.

But even Gwenyra's skills weren't enough to fully counter the oppressive force of Ivan's Stigma. The room still quivered under the weight of his overwhelming Stigma.

"Kamila," Ivan called, having enough.

Kamila lifted her hand and released her own Stigma. Like Ivan, Kamila's Stigma was unique, but hers specialized in defense. Though still monstrous in its own right, it had a less suffocating effect on the nobles compared to Ivan's raw power. In this instance, it could act as a shield, forming a barrier against Ivan's unchecked force.

As Kamila's defensive Stigma spread out, blending with Gwenyra's golden Light Domain, the oppressive atmosphere began to stabilize. The room was now cloaked in a blackish-gold aura, finally holding Ivan's terrifying Stigma at bay.

Gwenyra, sensing the shift, breathed a sigh of relief. The unbearable weight pressing down on her lessened significantly with Kamila's intervention.

Kamila could have acted sooner, but she had deliberately held back. Her intent was clear—to show the nobles that resistance, no matter how valiant, was futile in the face of Ivan. She wanted them to understand that no miracle from the outside or inside could save them.

And her message had landed.

As the nobles regained their composure, they cast horrified, uncertain glances toward Ivan. The man who had led the brutal assault on their empire, the conqueror of Camelot, was not the monstrous beast they had imagined. Instead, standing before them was a young man, only seventeen, with skin so pale it seemed ethereal. His jet-black hair was roughly slicked back, partially revealing a face that could only be described as unnervingly beautiful. A perfect blend of elegance and strength, his features were androgynous yet sharp, exuding a strange sense of royal dignity. His flawless, porcelain skin and emotionless expression only heightened his otherworldly allure.

No one dared meet his pitch-black gaze. They feared that doing so might truly make them faint on the spot.

Behind Ivan stood another breathtaking figure—a woman wearing a black dress, whose beauty rivaled that of Gwenyra, much to the nobles' silent resentment. This woman, like Kamila, was breathtaking, a vision of perfection that matched the standards of any imperial princess.

As they took in the sight of Ivan, Kamila, Ludmila, Mikhail, and Dimitri, the nobles felt as though they were looking at beings from another world. 

"Now you understand what I meant," Lucan said to Lady Meadow, stifling a bitter, almost hopeless laugh.

Lady Meadow stood motionless, as though lost in a sea of her own thoughts, her silence heavy with disbelief. She couldn't respond. There was nothing to say. The last thread of hope the nobles had clung to—their dream of reclaiming the Empire—was shattered the moment they laid eyes on Ivan.

Gwenyra's heart raced as she saw him approaching. Without a word, she turned her head down and pivoted away, her body shuddering. Ivan's presence enveloped her, his scent—heady and intoxicating—overwhelming her senses. It was only the second time she had been this close to him, yet his aura was still suffocating and frightening. He was no ordinary man certainly.

Ivan's gaze fell on Ludomir, who was still on his knees, arms outstretched in worship.

"Get off the ground, Ludomir. This is getting ridiculous," Mikhail groaned from the side, clearly irritated by the display.

But Ludomir seemed deaf to everything but the sight of Ivan, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You are truly Seraphiel's Envoy," he whispered reverently. "You've come to save us all from this dark and cruel world!"

"Ludomir," Ivan's voice cut through Ludomir's worship. If it were Yvan in control, Ludomir would've been kicked aside by now, too embarrassing to tolerate any longer.

At last, Ludomir rose, his smile impossibly wide, and with arms outstretched, he addressed the gathering as if officiating a sacred ceremony. His voice rang out with a warmth that captured everyone's attention.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered here today, in the presence of Seraphiel, the one true Great Goddess, to witness the union of Lord Ivan and Princess Gwenyra."

Ludomir turned to Ivan first, his smile widening. "With Seraphiel's divine guidance and blessing, do you, Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow, take Gwenyra Pendragon to be your wife, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

Ludmila and Kamila exchanged a glance, wondering whether they should kill Ludomir even though they would spoil all the images. The words 'to love and cherish' felt exaggerated and unnecessary knowing that it was clearly a wedding for the image. 

But what shocked them more—what sent a tremor of disbelief through Gwenyra—was Ivan's answer.

"I do."

Gwenyra's body stiffened, waves of shock and confusion crashing over her. She hadn't expected this—none of it. The spokesman seemed too invested in it and his speech was also too uselessly real.

"Do you, Gwenyra Pendragon, take Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow to be your husband, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"I—I do," Gwenyra's voice wavered a bit.

Ludomir continued, his gaze shifting toward Ivan. "With Seraphiel's watchful eye, do you, Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow, promise to be faithful to Gwenyra Pendragon, to honor her, to provide for her, and to always support her, through both joy and sorrow?"

"I do," Ivan replied, though his mind was far from the words being spoken. He was fully absorbed in the ceremony, barely hearing Ludomir. His fingers resting around the black cross that hung from his neck, a connection to the one thing that mattered most to him—Seraphiel. In this moment, his only concern was to honor her, to ensure that nothing he did would offend the goddess who had saved him in his darkest times. His bond with Seraphiel was unbreakable, the deepest tie he had ever known.

"Do you, Gwenyra Pendragon, promise to be faithful to Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow, to honor him, to cherish him, and to be his steadfast companion through all of life's challenges?"

"I do." This time, Gwenyra's voice was steadier. Ivan's seriousness had somehow made her take the vows more earnestly than she had anticipated. Though this was supposed to be a political union, a simple arrangement of power, his intensity drew her in, and she found herself nodding toward something deeper.

"Then, by the power vested in me, and with Seraphiel's divine blessing, I pronounce you husband and wife!" Ludomir's arms spread wide in a gesture of triumph, but the silence that followed was quite resounding.

His dark, expectant eyes flicked toward the gathered nobles.

"Hii!" One startled noble gasped before clapping hesitantly. The sound echoed awkwardly in the grand hall, but soon others followed, filling the space with scattered applause.

"Smile," Ludomir urged, a grin spreading across his own face that was more scary than comforting. The nobles, unsure and uneasy, quickly forced awkward, strained smiles. Soon the hall was filled with thunderous clapping, though the joy behind it felt hollow.

"Here, Your Eminence," Ludomir said, his tone suddenly warm, as he presented a black box. He opened it with care, revealing a gleaming black chain with a black cross hanging from it—Seraphiel's Cross. But this was no ordinary cross; it was a marital symbol, the Gevurah equivalent of a wedding ring. The cross itself was identical to the one Ivan wore, but this one had a delicate crown of golden petals running down the center, beautifully designed, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. It was a rare beauty, elegant and symbolic.

Ludomir held the cross out reverently, waiting for Ivan to take it.

Ivan took the black chain from the box and turned toward Gwenyra, who instinctively flinched. 

Ignoring her, Ivan reached out and lifted her white veil, lowering it with the same casualness one would lower the hood of a cloak. Her face, now fully revealed, was stunning—so much so that any man would have been struck breathless for a moment, captivated by her beauty. Yet Ivan barely spared her a glance as he stepped closer, making her heart race with anxiety.

Gwenyra's awkwardness deepened as she felt the intensity of his presence. Then, with careful precision, Ivan reached behind her neck, his cold fingers brushing her skin as he fastened the black chain around her.

"...!" The brief touch sent a shiver through Gwenyra, as though she had come into contact with something far too powerful, too foreign. She froze, her entire body tensing in response to the unknown sensation. Fear coursed through her—fear of Ivan, of this new world she was being drawn into.

"This suits you better than any ornament," Ludomir's voice interrupted her thoughts, drawing attention to the marital cross now resting against her chest. He smiled approvingly, his gaze lingering on the symbolic chain. "Make sure to keep it close, always, and treat it with the care it deserves."

Ivan, emotionless and indifferent, appeared ready to leave the moment his task was complete. He moved with the detachment of someone who had just clocked out from a long, tiresome shift, his mind already elsewhere.

But Ludomir wasn't finished yet. As if courting death, he spoke again.

"You may now kiss your bride, Your Eminence!"