I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Chapter 5 [Prologue]: Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow [4]

The moment Arthur met Ivan's eyes—those deep, unfeeling pools of pitch black—it felt as if he were staring into a void that mirrored his own broken spirit. It was the exact same look Ivan had given him moments ago, when his fiercest punch had been reduced to nothing, and again when he had been forced to kneel, humiliated and powerless.

The weight of that gaze, so calm and so dismissive, shattered something deep within Arthur's soul.

Arthur was terrified.

Utterly and completely terrified.

The realization struck him with a force far greater than any blow—Ivan had never once considered him a threat, not even from the very beginning. Arthur had thrown everything he had, but to Ivan, it was as insignificant as a breeze.

Arthur spat blood, his strength failing him as he collapsed to his knees.

"Dear!"

"F–Father!!"

The Queen's anguished cry echoed through the throne hall, and one of his daughters rushed to his side, trying desperately to hold him up.

Ivan, meanwhile, continued to study Excalibur, his eyes tracing the runes etched along its blade—runes that shimmered with ancient power. The weapon was meant to be wielded only by those of the Pendragon bloodline or by those truly deemed worthy of its power.

"H–How..." One of the princes stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief. Ivan was holding Excalibur with such ease, a feat that defied everything they knew about the legendary sword. It was as if the blade had surrendered to him without question, acknowledging a supremacy that none of them could comprehend.

Ivan's mind, however, was already elsewhere.

'Destroying it would be safer for me. Mordred can wield it, after all,' he thought, recalling Arthur's illegitimate son, Mordred Pendragon, who was soon to join the Academy. Mordred was the protagonist of The Fallen Prince, a novel Ivan was all too familiar with.

'I never read the story to the end, but from what I understand, Mordred is destined to kill me with this sword.'

'So the conclusion is inevitable unless... I kill Mordred first?'

Ivan considered it.

He was more than capable of ending Mordred's life now, snuffing out the threat before it could fully materialize. But there was a complication. Mordred wasn't just destined to kill him; he was fated to bring monumental change to the world. Killing Mordred would be a direct defiance of fate itself—a fate that held more power than any single being, even someone as strong as Ivan.

"S–Sister..." The youngest princess whimpered, her voice barely audible as she gasped for air, overcome with terror. Her brothers remained rooted to the spot, their faces pale and expressions haunted.

Ivan extended his hand, and Kamila promptly placed another black knife into his palm, the dark metal gleaming ominously in the dim light.

"NO!!! Please, I beg you!" Guinevere cried out desperately. "We'll do anything you ask! We'll accept your faith—just don't harm her! Don't hurt my daughter!"

But Ivan remained indifferent.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

To him, this was necessary.

An example had to be made.

A demonstration of power, one that would quash any lingering thoughts of revenge among the royals.

And he had to kill her in front of them.

"Look at me," Ivan said looking down at Gwenyra.

But Gwenyra couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She trembled violently, her entire body shivering under the oppressive weight of his presence. She felt suffocated.

"Hahh!"

Dimitri's grip tightened on Gwenyra's hair, yanking her backward with a brutal force that left her staggering. Her sapphire blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears, fixed on Ivan with fear. Each tear that fell seemed to etch her delicate features with sorrow, and yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, there was a quiet strength in her gaze.

Ivan, who had never been moved by such displays of emotion, felt an unfamiliar prick deep within his chest. It wasn't truly him—his heart had long since hardened against such feelings. But something, or rather 'someone' within him, stirred. He found himself kneeling on one knee before Gwenyra, his sudden action startling his four companions who watched with wide-eyed disbelief.

Ivan's presence had always been dominant. He was the kind of man who bent others to his will, never the one to kneel. Yet here he was, on one knee, his face showing an unsettling shift in demeanor. The silence that followed was heavy, laden with confusion and shock.

With a tender slowness, Ivan reached out, his fingers brushing against Gwenyra's tear-streaked cheek. She flinched under his touch, her body shivering at the coldness of his hand. Her eyes clenched shut, as if to shield herself bracing herself to die but...

"It would be a shame to kill such a beauty."