I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

"Urgh… this hurts," Aaron groaned, wincing as he tried to push himself up.

"G–Get off!" Theresa, who had been knocked to the ground in the chaos, shoved Aaron away, her face flushed with embarrassment. Mordred, on the other hand, had sidestepped the collision with ease, leaving Theresa to take the brunt of it.

"Hey…" Aaron, wincing, managed to pull himself upright, glared back at her.

But Theresa's attention had already shifted. Her glaring eyes were locked on Travis, who had made no move to help her dodge the body thrown in her direction. Brushing the dust from her clothes, she tried to ignore the curious stares from their classmates.

However, those stares quickly turned toward Ivan, the one responsible for this.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, their eyes wide with disbelief. The sight of Aaron's blood smeared on the ground had left them stunned. Ivan had slammed Aaron's head into the ground with such force that crimson stains marked the ground, then casually tossed him toward the group of girls. Whether it had been intentional or merely careless, no one could tell.

Yet Aaron, with blood trickling down his temple, stood there laughing like a madman, practically praising Ivan for the thrashing instead of retaliating.

Theresa clenched her fists, as she turned her glare onto Ivan. The image of what he'd done to that poor Karna still fresh in her mind, she could barely contain her anger.

"Are you blind or just reckless? Why the hell did you throw him at me?" She snapped.

Aaron cut in before Ivan could respond. "What's your problem, Theresa? It's not like he aimed for you."

"What's my problem?" She repeated angrily. "I was sparring with Travis, you idiot! Or did you forget that already?"

Aaron turned to take in their surroundings, realizing belatedly that they had drifted far from their original spot. In the heat of his fight with Ivan, he'd lost track of everything else. Ivan, on the other hand, seemed completely indifferent.

Theresa turned back to Ivan. "Well? Got anything to say for yourself?"

"No," Ivan replied flatly.

"You—!" Theresa took a step forward, her fury about to boil over, but Travis placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Let it go, Tessa," he said and she reluctantly backed down.

It was rather quick.

Travis stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he sized up Ivan. "Alright, how about you spar with me instead?"

Ivan turned his gaze on Travis for a moment before turning away, his silence a clear dismissal.

"What's the matter? Afraid you'll lose?" Travis provoked, trying to get a rise out of him.

But Ivan remained silent, not even acknowledging the provocation.

"He's obviously scared," Theresa scoffed.

"Enough, all of you," Erika spoke up. She had witnessed the entire ordeal and couldn't help but be impressed by Ivan's hand-to-hand combat skills.

Aaron was ranked 12th among them, yet Ivan, who was only ranked 77th, had taken him down so easily. It didn't add up. Could it be that Ivan's true strength lay solely in physical combat? Perhaps he was skilled with his fists but lacked proficiency in exorcisms.

That seemed to be the only logical explanation for why Ivan was ranked so low. Perhaps he had simply failed the entrance exams, though Erika couldn't be certain.

"Erika, I want to spar with him," Travis said, pointing directly at Ivan. Ever since that humiliating day when Ivan had outshone him in front of Karna Mishra, he had been itching to beat him up.

Erika's gaze sharpened as she looked at him. "It's 'Professor' or 'Ms. Meyer' to you, Travis. We're not outside the academy."

Travis merely shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand.

With a sigh, Erika turned her attention to Ivan sternly. "Leon Cromwell, that was supposed to be a sparring match. You nearly injured Aaron seriously."

Before Ivan could respond, Aaron quickly jumped in. "It's nothing, Professor. I'm perfectly fine. Besides, I was the one who asked Leon to go all out."

He again jumped to defend Ivan.

Aaron's loyalty to Ivan had become a spectacle at this point. It was almost as if he wasn't the Heir but Ivan was.

Erika shook her head but decided to let it slide, clapping her hands to draw everyone's focus. "Very well. You may resume, but be more cautious this time."

Aaron exhaled in relief, thankful that Ivan had avoided serious reprimand.

"..."

Theresa's glare burned into Ivan. This time, he didn't ignore it. He met her eyes with a cold, indifferent stare before turning away, a gesture that only infuriated her more.

The sparring resumed, but this time the pace was slower, more controlled. Ivan adjusted his technique, gauging Aaron's progress. He was impressed by how quickly Aaron was improving, adapting to the harsh training. The boy had potential, the kind that could even awaken a Stigma if nurtured properly.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Remember, the upcoming exam will evaluate all aspects of your abilities," Erika reminded them, signaling the end of the session. "Make sure you're prepared."

With that, the class dispersed.

In the locker room, Aaron lagged behind the others, struggling to catch his breath. His body was bruised and aching from the sparring. Even though Ivan had pulled his punches, he was still merciless by any normal standard. But Aaron knew this was the only way he could grow stronger.

Ivan had been forged in the crucible of inhuman trials, brutal experiences that began when he was merely five years old. Those days of torment had transformed him into the unreachable man he was today. For Aaron, enduring Ivan's ruthless training was a small price to pay for the strength he so desperately sought.

The showers were divided, of course—girls on one side, boys on the other. Ivan made his way to one of the stalls, pressing the tactile faucet until it activated. He turned the temperature dial down to its coldest setting. The icy water cascaded over his body, and for a moment, he felt a semblance of relief.

As the freezing water hit his skin, he closed his eyes, letting the memories flood in—the fire, the searing pain that had once ravaged his flesh. It was a pain that defied belief, a pain so intense that, at five years old, he had wished for death. He had begged every god he knew of to take him away from that agony. He had even called upon Seraphiel, pleading for an end to his suffering.

The acrid scent of burning wood filled his nostrils, a ghost of the fire that had consumed his village in Ruthenia. It had been a peaceful place, a haven for those who worshiped Seraphiel, until they came. The Holy Church had declared them heretics, and so the village was razed to the ground.

He could still see his mother's face, smiling gently even as she was humiliated, defiled, and ultimately murdered before his eyes. Her smile never wavered, even as life slipped away. In her dying moments, she had held him close, her embrace warm and comforting despite the horrors unfolding around them.

Ivan, his older brother, his sisters, Ludmila, Kamila, Mikhail and Dimitri all residents of the village had been taken captive by the Church. They were subjected to unspeakable tortures, day after day, while their captors laughed and justified their cruelty in the name of righteousness. Ivan had borne the brunt of it, taking on the pain, the hatred, the despair, so his siblings could hold on to some semblance of hope.

A week later, when all seemed lost, his father had arrived. He had saved the survivors, the remnants of their once-thriving village, and together they had fled into Arcadia. They had founded 'Gevurah', a place for the persecuted followers of Seraphiel. Since that day, they had been gathering others, hiding from the Church's watchful eyes, and preparing for the day they would hit back.

But no matter how many years passed, the memories of those torturous days never left Ivan. They were seared into his mind, etched into his soul, as if by a branding iron. Every cold shower was healing, a way to numb the scars that still burned hot under his unblemish skin. And every flash of heat that lingered in his memory reminded him of why he fought, of what he lived for.

It was revenge, pure and simple. But it was also more than that. It was the dream of a world where his sisters, Ludmila, Mikhail, Kamila, and Dimitri could live in peace. Ivan would go to any length, break any law, defy any god, to create that world for them.

A few minutes later, Ivan finished his shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. As he opened the cabin door, he nearly collided with Jaxon.

"Oh! Dude!" Jaxon greeted him with a wide, cheerful grin.

Ivan shot him an indifferent glance and tried to move past him, but Jaxon, also clad in a towel, quickly matched his pace.

"You fought well against Aaron, man, but picking a fight with Travis? That's a seriously bad idea, y'know!" Jaxon said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I don't remember picking a fight with him," Ivan replied, irritated.

"Maybe not, but Travis has his sights set on you now."

"I don't care."

Jaxon's eyes widened as he continued, "Even Princess Theresa seemed pissed at you! You'd better apologize before she uses her influence to make your life a living hell at the academy—oh!" He reached to sling an arm around Ivan's shoulders but quickly drew back, eyes wide. "Damn, you're freezing! Are you dead or something? Ahaha! But hey, you smell pretty damn good!"

Ivan had no idea how to respond to Jaxon's relentless chatter, so he simply nodded occasionally as they dressed, hoping to avoid further annoyance.

"What the hell are you doing here, Jaxon?" Aaron's voice cut through as he approached them, glaring daggers at Jaxon.

It was obvious Aaron was jealous. Jaxon seemed to be getting along better with Ivan, who appeared to be actually listening to him for once.

"Oh, Aaron! Man, you really got your ass handed to you by Leon! But hey, you even got close enough to touch Theresa! How soft was she, huh?" Jaxon teased, elbowing Aaron with a wicked grin.

Aaron's expression darkened. "I'm not interested in that rowdy woman," he retorted. "I already have a much better fiancée."

"Oh, shit! Really?! Who is she?" Jaxon's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"I'm not telling you that. Now leave."

"Hey! Come on, dude!"

"I am not your dude!" Aaron snapped back but Jaxon didn't seem to end rambling.

Ignoring the bickering pair, Ivan finished dressing and walked out of the locker room, leaving their voices to fade behind him.

On the other side of the locker room, Ivan caught a glimpse of the girls emerging from their showers, still chatting and laughing among themselves. His eyes were drawn to one in particular: Cattleya Starlight.

Her soft blonde hair, usually tied back with a headband, now hung loosely around her shoulders, slightly damp and framing her face in a way that made her look unexpectedly different. Even her elegant mannerisms, the way she walked with a poised grace, hinted at her privileged upbringing.

Cattleya was surrounded by a small entourage of classmates who clearly idolized her, hanging on her every word. To Ivan, it seemed impossible to even consider striking up a conversation with her, despite his status as a Cromwell. But the real obstacle wasn't his family name—it was his temperament. Yvan, just as on Earth, his short fuse and lack of patience made it difficult to deal with girls like Cattleya. He knew he'd struggle to tolerate her for long.

As if sensing his gaze, Cattleya turned her head, her sapphire eyes locking onto his. She arched one delicate brow. "Do you want something?" She asked, her lips curling slightly in distaste, as if she'd caught him oggling.

Ivan almost sneered in response but managed to restrain himself, choosing to look away instead.

"How rude," Cattleya muttered with a laugh

"He's just infatuated with you, Lady Cattleya," one of her followers chimed in with a smirk.

"Indeed, just like all the other men," another added, prompting a chorus of giggles.

With bootlickers like these constantly stroking her ego, it was no wonder Cattleya had grown so arrogant and self-assured.

But Ivan knew that breaking through her pride might be the only way to reach her—and he was confident he knew exactly how to shatter that haughty facade.