I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist-Chapter 166: Black Night In Dreonah [End]

Mikhail groaned, shaking his head in mild annoyance. "I really despise people who try to manipulate me."

In their relentless quest for control over conquered nations, Ivan had changed strategy—one that, at least on the surface, appeared more 'peaceful'. Instead of executing every royal or high-ranking noble in his path, he offered them a choice: death or submission. A cruel illusion of mercy.

The Duke now lying in a pool of his own blood had been an influential figure, an asset that could have proven useful. But Mikhail didn't care. And judging by Ivan's indifference, neither did he. Not because Ivan had suddenly abandoned his usual policy, but because something had enraged him this time.

Mikhail could feel it. Even though Ivan's expression remained eerily calm, there was an undercurrent of wrath beneath the surface. The moment their enemies had dared to use Seraphiel's Relics against him, they had sealed their fate. That was a line that should never have been crossed. And now, Ivan intended to turn Unadora into an example—a lesson to all who thought excessive preparation could save them when their time came.

Mikhail turned his gaze back to Minerva, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Your father is moments away from death, and yet you think you have time to stand here and grieve?"

"...!" Minerva flinched. Her body trembling, but she instinctively snapped her gaze back toward her father, desperate to reach him before it was too late.

With a stomp, she propelled herself forward, sprinting toward the dying Duke. But before she could get far, Mikhail struck.

She never even saw the kick coming. The force sent her flying backward, her attempt to shield herself with her arm doing little to lessen the impact. A crack echoed through the air as her arm snapped under the pressure.

Pain exploded through her body, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to scream. A bitter groan escaped as she bit down on her lip, drawing blood in her effort to stay silent. Still, her vision blurred with unshed tears—tears of anguish, of helplessness.

She had been right there. So close. Yet even with her father within reach, she could do nothing to save him.

Mikhail was simply too strong.

Still, she refused to give up.

Minerva pushed herself to her feet, cradling her broken arm against her body. Every breath was agony, every movement sent waves of pain coursing through her, but she refused to stop.

"F–Father…" She choked out painfully.

Step by step, she forced herself forward.

She had already lost her mother. She couldn't—she wouldn't—lose her father too. He was the only family she and Diana had left. Diana, who had cried more than anyone when their mother died. Diana, who would break completely if their father was taken from them as well.

She couldn't let that happen.

Mikhail watched her struggle, his expression devoid of the slightest shred of sympathy. He had none to give. No one had ever shown him, Ivan, or their people any pity. So why should he feel any for them?

Then—

-BOOM!

The ceiling above them crumbled in an instant. Debris and dust rained down as a figure crashed violently into the ground, the impact shaking the entire hall.

"Ugh!"

Mikhail's gaze flickered downward, and a smirk curled at his lips.

It was Kenneth.

The Paladin was in a wretched state—his shining white armor was cracked and dented, hanging from his battered body like a useless weight rather than protection. His entire form was covered in blood, wounds torn open across his flesh. He coughed, crimson spilling from his lips, each breath labored and ragged.

Minerva's eyes widened in horror.

Kenneth groaned, trying to force himself up despite his condition. But before he could even manage to rise—

A black spike shot through the air, piercing straight through his chest. Blood gushed from the wound as he let out a strangled gasp. His body convulsed violently.

A spike of Stigma.

Minerva's head snapped upward, following the trajectory of the attack. Through the gaping hole in the ceiling, she saw him.

Ivan.

Suspended in the air, illuminated by the pale moonlight, his dark figure exuded an overwhelming presence. He looked less like a man and more like a god descending from the heavens—a being of absolute power.

And in that moment, she finally understood.

She understood how Britannia had fallen. How Camelot had been reduced to ruins. How Arthur Pendragon himself had been defeated.

Against a monster like him, there was never any hope.

Ivan descended calmly completely unscathed. With a simple, almost dismissive motion, he kicked the spike that impaled Kenneth's body—

-BOOM!

A violent explosion erupted from the impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground. Cracks spread outward like veins across the stone floor, even reaching the pillars behind Minerva. She barely managed to keep herself upright.

Kenneth's body spasmed one last time. Then, as the last breath left his lungs, he went still.

"The Holy Church should have sent their entire army of Holy Knights instead of just one or two insects," Mikhail mused with a chuckle. He bent down, prying Kenneth's holy sword from his lifeless grasp. A fine weapon. It would serve him well.

Ivan, meanwhile, barely spared the fallen Paladin a glance. His cold gaze shifted instead to the dying Duke sprawled on the floor, then to Minerva.

Mikhail followed his line of sight and smirked. "Let me introduce you—Duke Rosenwald of Unadora and his precious daughter." His voice was light, almost amused. Then, tilting his head, he asked, "What do you think, Ivan? Should we let them live? They're high-ranking. Could be more useful alive."

His black eyes flicked back to Minerva.

"This one has potential. She could be very useful if she were to serve us."

A small silence followed.

Ivan said nothing, simply staring at Minerva with his dark, abyssal eyes.

Minerva met his gaze for a moment, trying to hold firm. But the longer she looked into those empty black pools, the more her resolve crumbled. She felt as though she were staring into a void that reflected nothing—not her, not her fear, not even recognition.

"...M–Minerva…"

At that time, a weak, rasping voice broke through the silence.

Minerva gasped, whipping around.

"F–Father!"

Duke Rosenwald had managed to regain some semblance of consciousness. His trembling fingers twitched as he tried to reach for her.

But before she could take another step—

"Kill her."

The words rang out coldly.

Minerva froze mid-step. Every muscle in her body locked up as an icy terror crawled up her spine.

She turned back, her lips parted slightly in shock.

Ivan's expression was unreadable as he spoke again, his voice void of hesitation.

"Kill her in front of her father."

After a sigh, a grin spread across Mikhail's face. "As you wish."

Before Minerva could react, he was already in front of her. His movements were so fast she barely registered them before a crushing grip closed around her throat.

She gasped.

Her breath was stolen in an instant as he hoisted her off the ground with terrifying ease. Her legs kicked wildly, her free hand clawing desperately at his arm, her nails raking against his skin—but it was useless. His grip was too strong, his fingers like iron digging into her windpipe.

Her vision blurred.

Her lungs burned.

Her face turned red, then deeper, the color darkening as suffocation set in.

"N–No! Minerva—!"

Her father's hoarse cry reached her ears, but he couldn't move. His body, already too weak, refused to obey him. All he could do was watch—helpless, powerless—as his daughter thrashed in Mikhail's grasp, choking to death.

And all the while, Ivan simply observed.

Emotionless. Unmoved.

But somewhere in the depths of his mind, memories stirred. Fleeting images of the past surfaced—fragments of moments shared with King. A whisper of something… as if he were trying to reach him, trying to change his mind.

But it was futile.

Ivan had perfect control over his emotions and King's emotions about Minerva weren't strong enough to make him change his mind because only Queen mattered to King.

-BOOM!

At that time, a deafening explosion tore through the castle. A blinding pillar of light erupted from a specific room, piercing straight through the ceiling like a spear from the heavens. The sheer magnitude of mana used was staggering—potent, overwhelming, and terrifyingly immense.

Ivan and Mikhail immediately snapped their heads toward the source.

"What the hell was that?" Mikhail muttered, his brow furrowing in alarm.

Meanwhile, Minerva—despite her injuries and the pain coursing through her body—allowed her expression to soften, if only slightly.

They were gone. Her sister had escaped to safety. That was enough.

"They're gone," Ivan said, slowly narrowing his eyes;

"Gone? Don't tell me…" Mikhail's eyes widened in realization.

-BOOM!

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Before another word could be spoken, a violent surge of fire and wind roared from behind, aiming straight at Ivan's back. However, before the elements could reach him, his Stigma flared to life, absorbing the attack effortlessly.

Standing behind him, drained and bloodied, was Merlin. Deep gashes marred her forehead, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps. But she still stood, gripping her staff tightly.

"The King and the nobles… they're all gone," Merlin said with a tired smile. "You'll never conquer Unadora without them! Its people will never bow to monsters like you!"

As she spoke, a beautiful artifact materialized before her—a circular relic adorned with sharp, thorn-like spikes, hovering in the air like an ominous halo.

A Relic of Seraphiel.

-BAM!

In an instant, Ivan vanished from his spot. The next moment, his fist slammed into Merlin's stomach with a devastating force, sending her hurtling through the castle's grand entrance. She barely had time to react before he was upon her again, moving with terrifying speed.

Before she could even activate the relic, Ivan grabbed her and soared through the air before throwing her violently on the ground.

-BOOM!!

"It's useless," he said coldly, his black eyes locked onto hers.

In a blink, he appeared directly in front of her, his hand closing around her throat. Without hesitation, he slammed her into the side of a nearby house, shattering the stone structure upon impact.

"A—Agh!!" Merlin choked out, pain exploding through her body. But even as her vision blurred, she tightened her grip around the relic, pouring the last remnants of her mana—and even her very life force—into it.

The relic pulsed violently, its black glow darkening into a deep abyssal black.

Ivan's grip tightened around her throat, his Stigma flaring at full force, enveloping the relic entirely.

But then—

The relic reacted.

It didn't reject the Stigma. It absorbed it.

Ivan's eyes narrowed as the relic hungrily devoured his Stigma, as though it had finally found what it had been seeking. The glow deepened, shadows writhing around it, condensing into a swirling mass of darkness.

The black vortex expanded, consuming everything in its path—until, in a sudden violent collapse, it shrank in on itself and vanished.

When the darkness faded, both Ivan and Merlin were gone.