I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Chapter 113 Night Reapers

Headquarters of the Night Reapers

The [Night Reapers] were the most renowned and feared organization of assassins in the world. Their mission was clear: eliminate individuals who posed a significant threat to global stability, ensuring a safer future. They operated not merely as killers but as silent guardians, excising the rot of danger before it could spread.

While they frequently accepted high-priority requests from influential figures across nations, the Night Reapers relied primarily on their intelligence network—a web so advanced it was unmatched in its depth and reach.

The organization maintained several branches worldwide, but their heart and nerve center lay on a remote private island ominously dubbed Reaper's Heaven. This secluded stronghold housed the elite of their ranks and served as a crucible for the most promising talents. Only the best of the best were groomed here, molded into the shadows' sharpest weapons.

...

...

The island's cafeteria buzzed with chatter and laughter because of a certain event.

"Hey, King! I heard Nightingale rejected you again! AHAHAHA!"

The mocking remark rippled through the room, drawing a wave of laughter from the gathered assassins. At the center of their amusement sat a handsome young man with silver hair tied in ponytail and azure blue eyes. He looked barely sixteen years. He methodically speared peas onto his fork, eating them one by one, his expression quite annoyed.

The boy, known as King, had become the target of their jest for a simple reason: his pursuit of Nightingale.

Nightingale was a legend within the Reapers, a Rank 0 assassin—the highest echelon within the organization. Beautiful, deadly, and ten years his senior, she was the embodiment of perfection in the eyes of many. King was no exception. Despite the age gap and her repeated rejections, his infatuation burned bright.

Her usual excuse for brushing him off had become quite famous:

"Come back in five years, kid. Then I'll think about it."

The laughter swelled around King, but he didn't react immediately. Instead, he turned his sharp gaze toward the source of the taunt—a grizzled veteran assassin sitting across the room. Slowly, he picked up a pea with his fork which started freezing.

Then, with a soft whistle, he flicked the frozen pea.

-CRACK!

The pea shot through the air at a speed that made the room fall silent. It sliced a thin, bloody line across the veteran's neck before embedding itself with a resounding sound into the wall behind him.

The older assassin gulped audibly, his hand instinctively brushing the shallow wound. His glare sharpened immediately.

King smirked, leaning back with mock casualness. "Oh, no! I missed! I was trying to put a nice little hole in that ridiculously thick neck of yours. Honestly, is that a neck or a tree trunk?"

"You little bastard!" The veteran growled, pushing to his feet.

King stumbled but quickly regained his balance. Nightingale's green eyes darted to the door, her expression hardening.

"Everyone! Outside! NOW!" She barked.

As the others scrambled to follow her orders, Nightingale sprinted toward the exit with King close on her heels. The tension immediately rose up as the assassins poured out of the headquarters and into the open air.

Outside, an eerie silence blanketed the scene.

King slowed to a stop as he took in the sight before him. The gathered assassins stood frozen in place, their faces pale, their mouths agape. Every gaze was fixed on the sky above, their wide eyes filled with disbelief, fear and something close to divine admiration.

He followed their line of sight, tilting his head upward.

The moon hung low in the sky, luminous and vast, radiating a silver-gold hue that bathed the island in its ethereal glow.

But it wasn't the moon that captured King's gaze.

Floating in front of the celestial orb was a figure—a woman, yet something far beyond mortal comprehension.

Her beauty defied the limits of humanity. It was unearthly, transcendent, the kind of radiance that could only belong to a being of divine origin.

A Goddess.

Her silvery-blonde hair cascaded down to her waist in shimmering waves, drifting slightly in the cool night breeze alongside the flowing folds of her white gown. Her eyes, a mesmerising gray-white hue, were as deep and unreadable as the void of space.

Two majestic horns protruded elegantly from the sides of her head, completing the vision of divine majesty. Everything about her was mesmerizing—every detail, every breathless moment of her presence felt like a scene stolen from an ancient myth.

The island was silent. Not a single assassin dared to move or even speak, their awe rendering them statues beneath the moonlight.

Even King, who prided himself on his braveness, was struck speechless. He stared, unblinking, as if he feared the vision would vanish if he looked away.

The woman—no, the Goddess—looked down upon them with cold, disinterested eyes. There was no warmth in her gaze, no compassion. It was as though she were staring at insects, beings too insignificant to warrant her concern.

Nightingale, standing at the forefront, narrowed her eyes and broke the silence. "Who are you?"

The Goddess didn't flinch, didn't so much as acknowledge the tension or the question's demand.

But after a moment, she spoke.

"Queen."