I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Chapter 68 [Demon Subjugation Exam] [6]

"A shame," Ivan muttered, shaking his head slightly. "I was aiming for the head. Guess I still need more practice with a bow."

Ludivine stood frozen, her mouth agape in disbelief.

Ivan had landed a blow on the demon.

Whether it was due to sheer luck or catching the creature off guard, it didn't matter—he had done it. And not just any blow. The strike was so strong that a gaping hole now was on the demon's stomach, revealing the scene behind it as if through a grotesque window. Any ordinary man would have succumbed instantly, but this was no ordinary body; it was entirely possessed, refusing to dying despite the mortal wound.

Even so, it didn't change the fact: Ivan had succeeded where Ludivine had failed. None of her arrows had managed to hit their mark, yet somehow Ivan, the novice, had landed a strike.

But Ivan wasn't wrong.

With a single glance, Ludivine could tell he was far from experienced with a bow. His grip was awkward, the stance amateurish, and his posture almost casual. It was as if he didn't grasp the gravity of the enemy standing before him.

Haine glanced down at the gaping hole in his torso. Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet Ivan's.

"You should have stayed still," Haine said, his voice turning cold. "I was planning to grant you a swift death."

Dark mana swirled ominously around the wound, knitting the edges of flesh back together. The hole began to close, but the restored skin turned black as if charred by corruption.

Ivan nocked another arrow calmly. "That's generous of you," he replied sarcastically. "But pain's never been much of a deterrent for me."

With a sharp sound, the arrow streaked through the air, slicing through the wind. It raced toward Haine, but this time the demon was ready. The projectile, though swift, lacked the speed of even Ludivine's arrows.

Haine caught it effortlessly, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "A lucky shot earlier. That's all it was," he sneered, snapping the arrow in two. "You're weak, boy. Just like all humans."

With a dark grin, Haine propelled himself forward, his body a blur of motion.

Ivan, still aiming, abruptly shifted his focus downward, drawing his bowstring taut before releasing an arrow aimed at the ground just in front of him.

-BOOM!

"What—?!"

Haine stumbled as the ground erupted in a violent explosion. Dirt, debris, and jagged rocks filled the air, obscuring his vision. He halted, momentarily disoriented, as fragments of earth pelted his body.

Through the swirling dust, another arrow flew straight toward him, cutting through the smoke of dust.

"Clever," Haine growled amused. "But still too slow!"

He reached out and caught the arrow mid-flight, a twisted smile spreading across his face.

Haine's triumphant smirk faltered the moment the arrow's tip began to glow with mana. The energy condensed into a powerful gust of wind that erupted violently, hurling Haine several meters back.

'A demon...'

The realization struck her. This was the first time Ludivine had ever seen a demon up close. Not just a fleeting glimpse or a distorted silhouette from the safety of distance, but an undeniable and overwhelming presence looming right before her eyes. Even if he wasn't fully transformed, the power radiating from Haine was suffocating.

He wasn't entirely a demon—at least not yet. A half-demon, perhaps. But even in this incomplete state, Haine was frightening. She had trained to be an exorcist, prepared to face horrors others only whispered about. Yet nothing could have truly prepared her for this moment.

Her trembling hands clenched into fists. She knew why Haine couldn't fully transform—his body would likely disintegrate under the strain, leaving him unable to land even a single blow on Ivan. But knowing that did little to lessen the sheer terror clawing at her mind.

"R—Run!" Ludivine managed to scream, her voice cracking as she forced herself to recover from the paralysis of fear. Her wide, frantic eyes darted toward Ivan, asking him to flee.

There was no way Ivan could face this monstrosity. Haine was several times stronger now. Only the professors might be able to do anything.

To fight him was suicide, plain and simple. Ludivine could only hope Ivan would have the sense to escape, to bide time, and perhaps save himself. After all, the demon wanted her, not him. If anyone could make it out of this alive, it was him.

But Ivan wasn't running.

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn't even listening to her. His expression was still calm, as though the transformation before him was no more remarkable than the changing of seasons.

It was maddening. Ludivine could scarcely believe what she was seeing.

'Don't tell me...He's planning to fight it?'

The absurdity of the notion sent a wave of panic crashing through her. Was Ivan truly insane? Did he have no concept of the danger he faced? She wanted to scream at him but the words caught in her throat as she watched him raise his bow again, fluidly notching another arrow.

Her fears were confirmed. He was going to fight.

Even Haine faltered for a moment, his slit-pupil eye narrowing in suspicion. He regarded Ivan as one might an insect crawling on the ground—something insignificant, pitiful, and utterly beneath him. Yet Haine couldn't entirely suppress his curiosity. Why wasn't this human fleeing? Had he gone mad? Did he truly think he stood a chance against a force like him?

But Ivan didn't care for Haine's thoughts, his silent mockery, or even the dread radiating from Ludivine. His gaze was fixed on Haine. He saw Haine as nothing. Less than nothing.

To Ivan, Haine wasn't a demon, a half-demon, or even a man. He was simply a target. A practice dummy. A convenient way to refine his archery.

Had Haine known the depths of Ivan's confidence—had he understood that Ivan saw this encounter as nothing more than an exercise to perfect his handling of the bow—he might have been defeated without Ivan having to land a single blow.

It was inevitable—how could Ivan see himself losing? And to no one, much less a trash-ranked demon?

This searing disdain, this irritating arrogance, wasn't entirely Ivan's own. It echoed from someone else entirely—Isaac Crawford, one of the famous antagonists from Zenon's novels. The same Isaac who now resided within him.

For a brief moment, Ivan's eyes shifted to a cold, unfeeling grey, the very same hue that had marked Isaac's gaze.

The eyes of the man who had never missed a target and with Godly aim.

"Let's end this swiftly."