I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist - Chapter 180

Capítulo 180: [Flashback] [Isaac Crawford] [6]

“Your parents—”

Before she could finish, Isaac’s hand shot out, fingers closing around her throat.

Isaac’s grey eyes couldn’t have been any colder.

The mere mention of his parents was enough to make his temper flare, a raw nerve that had never quite healed. But hearing their names from her—one of the leaders of the very organization responsible for their deaths—was more than enough to push him to the edge.

His fingers tightened around Nimue’s throat.

Yet, she didn’t flinch. Didn’t struggle.

To his surprise, despite the restraints that should have bound her, she lifted a hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. Her touch was gentle, her voice even softer when she spoke.

“I understand loss better than most, especially when it comes at the hands of murderers. When I was fourteen, I watched my parents die. My village was set ablaze, reduced to nothing but ash and screams, all because we were different. The knights of the Empire carried out the slaughter, and for years, I burned with hatred. I wanted to kill the Emperor myself.”

Isaac’s grip faltered ever so slightly.

“But then I learned the truth.” Nimue’s purple eyes met his. “The Emperor never gave that order. He never sanctioned the massacre. Those who committed the crime were acting on their own, using their power as a weapon against the helpless. So tell me, Isaac Crawford…can you blame the sins of a few on an entire people? Can you truly hold Charentra responsible… when your parents weren’t even killed by Charentra at all?”

Isaac’s brows furrowed.

Nimue continued. “The ones who murdered them were mercenaries—hired blades who claimed to be from Charentra, who used our name as a convenient scapegoat to cover their tracks. At the time, I was already within Charentra’s ranks, and I know this—there was never an order to assassinate the Emperor. Why would we? We knew what would happen if he fell. We knew the consequences of such an act. And yet, Charentra was the one blamed. Charentra was the one hunted.”

She was right.

Since the Emperor’s assassination, the Empire had waged a ruthless campaign of eradication against Charentra—entire factions wiped from existence, their people slaughtered like cattle. And the one leading this brutal purge?

None other than Isaac himself.

“I am certain Haran knows that as well.”

“He is the one who gave us orders to eradicate Charentra,” Isaac replied to her.

“Because he has no choices. He just became the Emperor, and he has to act so the court won’t turn against him. He has to show himself strong to everyone’s eyes; otherwise, he will end up like his own father,” Nimue said seriously. But in the end, the ones who win are the very people who assassinated the Emperor and your parents.”

“Who?” Isaac asked immediately.

“They are—”

-BOOOM!!

At that time, a huge explosion rang out, the shockwave reaching even them.

Isaac immediately looked outside the window and saw a huge portion of eastern wall completely shattered.

“Is that you?” Isaac asked Nimue coldly.

“Did you listen to me, Isaac Crawford, all this time?” Nimue sighed.

“Stay here.” Isaac said as he turned around and immediately left.

He didn’t think Nimue was going to leave even though she wasn’t bound anymore. It’s not like the bounds were efficient, as she managed to break through them.

Isaac jumped outside the window and ran until reaching the eastern walls.

Whoever they were, they were not Charentra.

Isaac knew that the instant he stepped beyond Cateran’s ruined gate.

The air outside the town was tinged with dust and the lingering burn of his own mana; the jagged hole he had carved into the wall still gaped behind him like a wound in stone. The Imperial troops were repositioning—shouts, clanking armor, the scrape of boots against rock—but all that noise seemed to recede as his gaze locked onto the figures waiting ahead.

A dozen men stood in formation across the road.

They wore long, dark coats over reinforced armor, the metal worked with smooth, almost elegant lines that did not belong to any unit under the Empire or Charentra. Masks hid their faces entirely—smooth, featureless plates of black, broken only by narrow slits where their eyes should be. They stood perfectly still, as if the world around them did not exist.

Isaac’s hand tightened around the rifle at his side.

“Who is that?” He muttered under his breath.

No insignia. No banners. No colors.

Just black metal and silence.

The one at the center took a single step forward, boots crunching against scattered rubble. As if that were a signal, all twelve men reached for their weapons in perfect synchronicity. A dozen swords hissed free of their sheaths.

The blades were a deep, unnatural black—no reflection, no shine.

Behind Isaac, he heard the startled intake of breath from one of his knights.

“Lord Crawford—!”

“Stay back,” Isaac said coldly, without turning. “All of you.”

His men froze, torn between obedience and fear.

The masked swordsmen did not move, but the atmosphere shifted. Isaac could feel it—a faint pressure in the air, like the moments before a storm, except this storm was not natural. It whispered against his skin, crawled along his nerves, tugged at the edges of his mana.

Interesting.

Isaac lifted his rifle.

The weapon appeared in his hand with a faint shimmer of silver, called forth from his dimensional storage—a long, sleek construct of engraved metal and etched channels that positively hummed when his mana brushed against it.

He took one step forward.

“You’re in my way,” he said, devoid of emotion. “Move, or die.”

They did not reply.

Not even a twitch.

His eyebrow twitched.

So be it.

He raised the barrel, mana coiling through the channels of the rifle, silver lines flaring to life along its length. The magical energy surged, reacting instantly to his will, compressing into a single point at the mouth of the barrel.

He fired.

The report cracked through the air like thunder.

A silver bullet tore forward, a streak of condensed destruction screaming down the road. The ground quivered along its passing, dust leaping from the impact of its compressed shockwave.

The frontmost masked man stepped into its path.

No hesitation. No attempt to dodge.

He simply raised his sword.

The black blade moved in a smooth, precise arc.

The moment steel and bullet met, Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

There was no normal clash of matter and force. Instead, he felt it—his mana, summoned and shaped a heartbeat earlier, jolting as if something had seized it mid-flight. The bullet’s trajectory twisted just slightly, less than a hair’s breadth, but enough.

Instead of blowing through the masked man’s chest, the bullet veered to the side, grazing his shoulder and exploding behind him in a violently misdirected burst. Rock and earth erupted, leaving a ragged crater to the right of the formation.

“…What?”

Isaac’s gaze sharpened.

The masked man who had intercepted the shot staggered half a step from the impact, coat flaring with the blast of wind, but he did not fall. The black blade in his hand trembled faintly, as if dispersing something.

The bullet had hit. Yet it had not.

Those swords—

He did not have time to think further.

The entire line moved at once.

They surged forward in silence, black blades drawing dark arcs through the air. There was no battle cry, no sound beyond the measured pound of boots; it was like watching a single organism advancing, a dozen bodies acting with one intention.

Isaac took another step forward to meet them, rifle already shifting in his hands.

He squeezed the trigger again.

-BANG!

The second bullet streaked toward the nearest swordsman on his left flank. The man twisted, raising his blade with mechanical motion. Once more, when bullet met steel, Isaac felt that unnatural pull—the slightest distortion of his mana, like fingers clawing at it.

The bullet swerved.

It grazed the edge of the mask instead of passing through the face beneath, then exploded harmlessly behind him in another misaligned blast. The masked man’s head jerked, but he simply corrected his stance and came forward without pause.

They were deflecting his bullets.

No—they were doing more than that.

They were interfering with his mana.