I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist-Chapter 167: The Last Empire

"What?"

Amanda stood frozen, her expression twisting in disbelief.

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Yvan's words echoed in her mind, yet they refused to make sense.

Before her, the boy she loved—her boyfriend, the person she had been so excited to see—stood with an expression so grave it sent a chill down her spine.

This wasn't how today was supposed to go.

She had spent extra time on her appearance, making sure she looked perfect for him. After all, Yvan had called her out today, saying he had something important to talk about. It had filled her with a bubbling excitement. Was he going to say something sweet? Make another heartfelt confession, even though they were already together?

Or—wild thought—was he going to suggest something crazy, like moving in together?

They were still high schoolers, so it was unlikely, and their parents would never agree… but ideas like that had danced in her head on the way here, filling her heart with anticipation.

And yet…

Yvan's gaze was heavy, almost cold.

"Let's break up, Amanda."

The words hit her like a slap.

"W–What are you saying, honey?" She whispered, reaching for him instinctively.

But when their hands met, Yvan didn't hold hers like he usually did. Instead, he gripped it firmly, his touch filled with hesitation, as if he were anchoring himself in place.

His face was a storm of emotions.

She could tell—this wasn't easy for him.

He looked tormented, conflicted, as if the decision he had made was crumbling the moment he faced her.

But still, he forced himself to stand firm.

"You know I haven't been doing well recently," Yvan said with a strained voice. "We shouldn't stay together."

Amanda's heart clenched.

"I know that much," she said, her voice trembling. "But… so what? I'll help you. You can't just push me away because of that. Don't you trust me?"

Yvan gritted his teeth forcing his emotions down.

"You know how much I trust you, Amanda."

Then, he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed. His hands trembled.

"But… I can't trust myself anymore," he said.

"I've reached a point where… I don't even recognize myself. I'm capable of doing things I never thought I could. And if—" He swallowed hard, "if I ever hurt you… even without meaning to… I could never forgive myself."

"Yvan… what are you talking about?" Amanda asked, stepping closer.

"I think… I love other women."

Amanda's breath caught in her throat.

"…What?"

"I love other women," Iva, repeated. "And… they love me too."

Amanda stared at him, trying to process what he was saying.

It didn't make sense. It couldn't.

Just moments ago, she had been imagining a future with him—now, he was standing before her, telling her he loved others? Who? Since when?

Yvan clenched his fists. He didn't know how to explain it in a way that made sense.

All he knew was that Amanda wasn't the only one. There were others. Women he had never even met in real life, and yet, they existed in his mind, haunting him. He could feel their love as strongly as he felt Amanda's, and the mere thought of never meeting them, never knowing if they were real, was driving him insane.

Of course, this was only one of the many reasons he couldn't drag Amanda into his chaos. But it was the simplest one—the one she would understand best.

When he finally looked at her again, her face was streaked with tears.

"Amanda…"

Her body trembled.

Silently, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

Her lips parted, but no words came out at first.

Then, barely above a whisper, she mouthed something—something he couldn't hear, but the pain in her eyes spoke louder than anything.

***

"…why?"

"...!"

Ivan's eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. A sharp pain throbbed in his head, forcing him to clutch his temples. It took him a moment to collect himself, but something immediately felt… wrong.

His body—something about it was different.

His hands trembled slightly as he looked down, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The realization hit him like a freight train.

This was his Earth form. Yvan's form.

"What the hell is happening?" He muttered under his breath, confusion etching his face.

He slowly rose to his feet, feeling the soft yet unstable texture of sand beneath him. The rhythmic crash of waves filled his ears, the salty scent of the ocean clinging to the air. Cool water lapped at his legs, the tide reaching just high enough to send shivers up his spine.

His gaze darted around frantically, scanning the vast expanse of golden sand stretching out in all directions. His chest tightened.

This place…

It wasn't just some random shore.

He knew this place.

This was a crucial strategic point—one he had visited a handful of times before. A landing zone where enemy ships often arrived, unloading troops in their attempts to invade the Empire.

The Last Empire.

The one where Isaac served as Secretary.

"No… this can't be…" The words slipped from his lips in a barely audible whisper as he took in his surroundings once more, his mind racing.

Had he really ended up in this world?

But how?

Then it hit him—the Relic.

His hand flew to his chest, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

The Relic… he had absorbed it. He had interfered with its connection to his Stigma, and now… he was here.

How was that even possible?

Before he could even attempt to piece together an answer, a sudden cry echoed through the empty shore.

"Ah!"

Ivan's head snapped to the side. A few meters away, a woman lay sprawled on the sand, gasping as she was rudely awakened by the icy splash of seawater against her face.

Merlin.

His gaze locked onto her as she groggily pushed herself up, her fingers sinking into the wet sand. Her blonde hair clung to her face in messy strands, her breathing still unsteady. She looked utterly lost—just as confused as he had been moments ago.

So… she hadn't expected this either.

Merlin had assumed the Relic could harm Stigma Holders. She had known it possessed hidden abilities, but she hadn't known what they were.

Clearly, she hadn't anticipated this.

"Wh–Where am I?" She mumbled.

Her dazed pinkish-red eyes roamed her surroundings until they landed on him.

For a split second, she froze. Then, tension visibly rippled through her entire body.

"M–My apologies, may I ask who you could be?" She asked, forcing herself upright. Her grip on her staff tightened, her posture wary.

She didn't recognize him.

Of course, she wouldn't.

Right now, he wasn't Ivan—he was Yvan. And to her, he must have looked like a complete stranger because of the Switches completely changing his appearance and presence signature.

The last thing she likely remembered was Ivan shielding himself with his Stigma against the Relic. Then, darkness had swallowed her whole.

If she thought her attack had failed and that Ivan had escaped unscathed… then she would also assume—

That Unadora had already fallen.

Merlin's grip on her staff tightened.

She had failed.

The realization weighed heavily on her, but there was no time to dwell on it now. If Unadora had truly fallen, she had to find a way back—no matter what it took.

She turned to the man before her, still wary.

"Isaac," he finally answered after a pause.

Merlin's brows furrowed. "Um, Mr. Isaac, may I ask where we are? Are we in the Holy Continent?"

Her gaze swept across the barren landscape, taking in the vast stretch of sand, the endless waves crashing against the shore, and the distant hills. Nothing about this place was familiar.

She had traveled far and wide, visiting countless regions across the world, but this… this was unlike anything she had ever seen. Of course, she hadn't been everywhere, but she was certain—this wasn't the Holy Continent.

"The Last Empire," Isaac replied simply.

Merlin's frown deepened. "The Last Empire?" She seemed only more confused. She had never of any Empire with that name.

"The Last Empire of Izhantra," Ivan clarified, his gaze shifting toward a distant, towering structure several dozen of miles away.

Atop a lone hill, a black castle loomed against the murky sky, its ominous spires piercing the heavens like jagged fangs. A chilling wind swept through the air, carrying the scent of salt and something else—something old, something familiar. The cold, the gloom, the oppressive atmosphere…

Everything was exactly as he remembered.

But that raised the real question—when exactly had he ended up?

The last time he stood in this place, the Empire had still been standing. But he hadn't expected it to last much longer. Not because he was arrogant, but because… he had been vital to its survival.

And he had failed.

His fists clenched at the memory, his nails digging into his palms.

He could still hear the Emperor's final words to him. Still see the look in his eyes.

Then he had fallen into a trap.

A well-crafted, meticulously planned ambush.

Betrayed. Surrounded. Before he even had a chance to grasp what was happening, the strongest rebel force he had ever faced had cut off every escape route.

They had been handpicked and trained by her.

Nimue.

The name alone sent a sharp pang of irritation through him.

The only woman who had ever managed to reach past the walls of his heart.

He had let her in.

And he had paid for it with his life.

Was that all she ever wanted?

To manipulate him? To use him and then cast him aside?

Ivan had no answers. But he would find them.

His feet moved forward before he even realized it.

He had unfinished business in this world.

"W–Wait!" Merlin called out, scrambling after him.

She hesitated only for a moment before falling into step behind him.

Whoever this man was, he clearly knew this place better than she did.

And right now, that was all the reason she needed to follow.