I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist - Chapter 135

Chapter 135: For Seraphiel

Ivan wasn’t born a devoted worshipper of Seraphiel. That was his mother’s role, through and through. She was the one who dragged her four children, morning and night, to the small village temple. For her, prayer wasn’t just a ritual—it was life.

She believed so strongly in Seraphiel that it was probably why she fell for Ivan’s father. Back then, Zakharik was already building Gevurah, the organization that would one day make his name. He first came to their village to meet Ludmila’s mother, the village leader and protector. Zakharik had one mission: to convince her and anyone useful in the village to join his cause.

He visited often, speaking with Ludmila’s mother, trying to win her over. But during those visits, Zakharik met someone unexpected—Ivan’s mother. She had nothing to do with Gevurah or fights. She was the humble daughter of a farmer, someone who’d once treated Zakharik’s wounds. That simple act of kindness sparked something between them. They found excuses to meet during every visit, their bond growing stronger until it bloomed into love. They married and had children, building a life together despite the odds.

Years passed, and although Zakharik was absent more often than not, he always returned to see his family. But one day, everything changed. They were found out.

For the first time in his life, Ivan prayed to Seraphiel.

But she didn’t come that day.

Why would she? Ivan had never been as devout as his mother. To her, faith was second nature. To him, it was something distant, almost intangible. Still, he pleaded—if not for himself, at least for his mother.

But she wasn’t saved.

Ivan’s prayers went unanswered. Seraphiel was just one Goddess trying to protect all her followers across the world. It wasn’t personal. But for Ivan, that was the moment everything changed. He started believing in her, not just because he wanted to—but because he needed to.

Even as the torture began, even through the pain, Ivan prayed. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second. He begged for his village to be spared. If not the village, then his sisters, Ludmila and Mikhael.

He kept praying. Over and over.

And then one day, Seraphiel answered.

She came to him.

Not in the dramatic way he’d read about in books—there were no thundering clouds or blazing lights. She didn’t descend to save the village. Instead, she appeared quietly in his consciousness.

For the first time, Ivan saw her.

Seraphiel.

She was beautiful, more than anything he could’ve imagined. His mother had always described Seraphiel as a Goddess of War, a protector unjustly hated by the other gods. She had told him stories of Seraphiel’s battles, her strength in defending her people.

But when Ivan looked at her, he realized his mother’s words had barely scratched the surface.

Seraphiel was more perfect than described in books or by his mother.

The first time Ivan saw her was during the darkest moment of his life. He was being cut alive, pain ripping through him, his body trembling on the edge of breaking. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

Seraphiel simply approached him and pulled him into her embrace.

That embrace was everything Ivan had ever needed.

No words could ever capture the warmth and peace he felt in that moment. It wasn’t just comfort—it was hope, strength, and purpose, all wrapped into one. From that day forward, everything changed.

Though she couldn’t intervene directly, Seraphiel gave him the strength to endure. She reignited his will, driving him to resist the Holy Church, to defy the agony and hold on. Six months later, Ivan emerged as the man he was always meant to be, shaped by her unseen hand. Seraphiel had forged him into something greater.

Among her followers, none had ever claimed to see her—not truly. Faint whispers, vague sensations, maybe fleeting visions in dreams—that was the closest anyone had come. Some claimed otherwise, but they were liars. Ivan, however, was different. He had seen her.

Perhaps he wasn’t the first mortal to lay eyes on Seraphiel, but he was undoubtedly the only one who had been this close to her.

After his father rescued him, Ivan’s path became clear. He didn’t just follow Seraphiel—he became her. Messenger. Envoy. A vessel for her will to reshape the world in her image. And in over a decade of service, Ivan had never failed her. Not once.

Normally, Ivan would visit Seraphiel’s temple daily to pray. But since leaving, his visits had become infrequent—once, maybe twice a month, if time allowed.

Today, however, he came not for a meeting, not to strategize or plan. He came to pray.

Some might see this as an open challenge to the council locked in their war meeting, particularly to his older brother. Ivan didn’t care. His timing wasn’t provocation; it was simply the day he’d chosen.

No one, not even his brother, could order him around.

He answered to his father alone—and only when it concerned Seraphia’s well-being or their grand plan to spread Seraphiel’s faith across Arcadia.

Otherwise, Ivan wouldn’t even bother obeying his father—not anymore. His pride and ego had grown sevenfold, and he had little patience for orders. That didn’t mean he was about to abandon Gevurah, though. That would be idiotic. Gevurah was still the fastest way to spread Seraphiel’s faith, and Ivan wouldn’t let personal grievances get in the way of that.

Inside the temple, Mikhail waited.

It had already been ten minutes since Ivan began praying. He was on one knee, holding Lost Paradise, his sword and a powerful Relic of Seraphiel—one of the strongest that had ever existed.

Mikhail had already said his prayers, so now he sat on one of the wooden benches, waiting silently for Ivan to finish.

While Mikhail was a devout believer in Seraphiel, even he couldn’t compare to Ivan’s fervor.

As he waited, the sound of boots tapping against the stone floor echoed behind him. Mikhail didn’t bother turning around; he already recognized the presence from the familiar Stigma she carried.

A young woman of exceptional beauty, with long pitch black hair cascading to her waist, stepped into view and quietly took a seat beside him. She kept a careful distance, her pitch-black eyes fixed on Ivan, her younger brother.

“What are you doing here, Yulia?” Mikhail asked.

“…” Yuliana, however, didn’t respond. Her gaze remained locked on her younger brother, who was deep in prayer. It had been months since she’d last seen him.

“If you missed him—or were worried—you should’ve come to the wedding,” Mikhail said, with a chuckle.

Yuliana remained silent.

Mikhail let out a soft sigh, turning his head slightly toward her. “You can fool others with that stoic mask of yours, but you can’t fool me, Yulia. You and Anya are the only people he truly loves, the only ones he can call family. Try to act like it.” His voice softened, though it still carried a hint of coldness. “Ivan might rather not want you around him, but you know how he really feels.”

“…”

Yuliana’s lips parted after a long pause.

“Tell him he’s leading the attack on the capital of Unadora in a month.”

Her gaze lingered on Ivan for a moment longer before she rose to her feet. Without another word, she turned and walked away, the sound of her boots fading into the distance.

Mikhail glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I won’t let anyone mess with your cute little brother. Don’t worry, Yulia.”

Five minutes later, Ivan finished his prayer. His eyes opened as he slid Lost Paradise back into the black void. Rising to his feet, he turned without a word and began walking away.

“Your big sister was here, by the way,” Mikhail said, standing up to follow. “Though I’m guessing you already felt her.”

Ivan didn’t reply, brushing past him.

Mikhail sighed, shaking his head. “You guys are something else.”

The pair exited the temple and leapt onto the deck of their airship, but the scene waiting for them wasn’t exactly welcoming.

Ludmila and Kamila stood facing a drunken figure: Artem.

“Come on, Ludmila,” Artem slurred with a laugh, reaching out toward her. “Why stick with that cold, emotionless guy? Join my Legion instead. Aren’t you bored of him by now?”

Ludmila’s eyes narrowed as she stepped back. “Leave.”

Kamila, standing beside her, crossed her arms, staring Artem down. “Why are you even bothering to talk to this trash, Ludmila? Just kick him out already.”

Artem’s grin widened. “Oh? Kamila? Damn! You’ve grown up even more beautifully in my absence!” His hand reached out toward her. “Let’s see—”

-BAM!

Before Artem could lay a finger on Kamila, Dimitri appeared out of nowhere, aiming a powerful kick at his head.

But Artem barely flinched. He raised his arm, and a black shockwave of Stigma rippled outward, crushing the air with a deafening crack. Dimitri’s expression twisted in as his attack failed to make Artem budge.

Artem grinned, casually taking another swig from a fresh bottle of liquor. “Ah, Dimitri! You’ve grown too, huh? How old were you last time I saw you? Ten or something?”

-BAM!

Artem’s smirk shattered—along with his cheek—as a punch slammed into him before he could react. The force sent him flying, but he managed to twist mid-air and land on his feet atop one of the airship’s large cabins.

“Oh…” Artem spat blood onto the deck below, sobering up quickly. His eyes flicked downward and landed on Mikhail, who stood with a smile.

“He was fourteen, dumbass,” Mikhail called out casually.

Artem wiped his mouth, only for his gaze to shift and meet a chillingly familiar sight. Pitch-black eyes, cold as death itself, stared up at him. A shiver ran down his spine, the same as it always did each time he met Ivan.

“Mikhail… and,” Artem muttered, a grin slowly creeping onto his face as he met Ivan’s stare. “Ivan. It’s been a while.”

Seeing Ivan remain completely unfazed, Artem’s smirk only widened. His muscles tensed as he shot forward.

“Let’s see how strong you’ve become!”

In an instant, he was right in front of Ivan, his fist rocketing toward his face. Yet Ivan neither flinched nor moved.

But just as Artem’s punch was about to land, it stopped—mere inches from Ivan’s calm expression.

A hand had caught his wrist.

Alexei now stood beside them.

“We don’t fight each other, Artem,” he said coldly.

Artem’s eyes flicked between Alexei and Ivan before he let out a low chuckle, stepping back. With a final glance at Ludmila and Kamila, he turned and leapt off the airship, disappearing into the night.

Mikhail sighed shaking his head. “Why don’t you just kill that bastard already, Alexei?”

Alexei met Mikhail’s gaze. “I said—we don’t fight each other.”

“Then don’t expect us to come back here often.” Mikhail shook his head with a faint smile. “Do you not see how shaken Ludmila and Kamila are? Someone like him has no place in Seraphia.”

Alexei remained unmoved. “That’s for the Council to decide. You should focus on preparing for the assault on Unadora’s capital.”

Ludmila narrowed her eyes. “You’re asking us to take the capital again? Just send Artem and his Legion. He seems eager enough for a fight.”

“I agree,” Kamila added. “We’re already drowning in Britannia’s mess.”

Alexei shook his head. “The second capital must fall as perfectly as Camelot. That’s why we chose Ivan.”

Mikhail let out a short laugh. “Huh? If you want guaranteed success, just send Eudoxia.”

Silence fell.

Nearly everyone on deck turned to glare at him as if it was the dumbest answer possible.

Alexei’s expression darkened. “Eudoxia can’t be controlled. We keep her for extreme situations.”

“Eudoxia can be controlled.”

Ivan spoke up suddenly.

He strode past his brother

“I am not.”

Alexei watched him go, his gaze unreadable.

Before disappearing into the quarters, Ivan left them with one final answer.

“I’ll do it.”

A brief pause.

“For Seraphiel.”