I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist-Chapter 173: Isaac Crawford Is Alive

The reason they all froze wasn't the sound of footsteps—no, it was something far more chilling. A presence. An ominous force that sent a warning through their bodies.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into view. It was Isaac. But he wasn't alone.

A second sound followed him—something dragging against the ground, a scrape that sent a shiver down their spines.

Cline and the others stood rooted in place as they took in the sight before them. Rumlan—bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious—was being dragged along the dirt by the scruff of his neck. His body was limp, his face swollen beyond recognition.

Isaac's knuckles were drenched in crimson, fresh droplets of blood trailing behind him.

His gaze flicked across the scene, briefly settling on Merlin—pinned to the ground—before shifting toward Cline and the others.

"Fear is the greatest weapon," Isaac said.

-BOOM!

A silver aura exploded from his body, surging outward like a storm. The very air around him seemed to warp as his form began to change.

His hair darkened into an ink-black shade, tied back neatly. A polished black waistcoat, elegant and noble, wrapped around his frame. His trousers and boots, sleek and pristine, looked as though they were worth more than the entire town behind them.

And his face—what once was Yvan's now became something else entirely. Refined. Strikingly handsome. But his most defining feature was his eyes. Silver-grey, gleaming with an eerie, cold intensity. It was Isaac's true appearance.

The transformation left them speechless.

Isaac ignored their reactions. He yanked Rumlan forward, forcing him to his knees. The battered man swayed unsteadily, his head lolling from exhaustion and pain.

Then, Isaac pulled out a knife.

Grasping a fistful of Rumlan's hair, he tilted his head back and pressed the blade against his throat.

Silence fell.

No one moved. No one dared to breathe.

Isaac's gaze swept across them, ensuring every single one of them was watching.

Then, he spoke again.

"Fear is my weapon."

-SPURT!

With a swift motion, the blade carved through flesh.

Blood erupted in a violent spray.

Rumlan's body convulsed once before going slack. His head, still wearing a frozen expression of horror, remained in Isaac's grip as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

A heartbeat later, Isaac tossed the severed head toward Cline. It rolled across the dirt, stopping mere feet away.

"...!"

Cline flinched and moved away from Merlin.

He scrambled backward, nearly tripping over himself. The others instinctively stepped away, their faces pale, their hands trembling.

It wasn't the severed head that sent terror rippling through them—not exactly. It was the face.

Every single soul in the Empire knew that face. It had been plastered across towns and cities, a symbol of fear ingrained into the hearts of millions. A weapon of propaganda, a warning—his image had been used to remind the people of the consequences of defying the Empire's will. And it had worked.

Cline, Tonan, and the others recognized him instantly.

"I—Isaac Crawford…" Tonan's voice trembled as he stumbled backward, his face drained of all color.

Isaac stepped forward. Slowly.

With every step he took, the men shrank away, fear swallowing them whole. Merlin could see it—the way their bodies tensed, their hands shook. The sheer presence he exuded had them paralyzed.

She pushed herself up, watching him as he moved past her.

Something was different.

He was taller now, his features more mature, giving him the appearance of someone in his early twenties. But more than that—he looked terrifying. A presence far more menacing than before.

"A few months of absence… and the ants already took their freedom for granted." His tone was quiet and cold. "And now, they scurry and spread."

He took another step forward.

-BOOM!

An invisible force crashed down upon them.

Those closest to him collapsed instantly, their bodies hitting the dirt with lifeless thuds. The others tried to flee, but even as they ran, they moved sluggishly—each step a struggle as if invisible chains dragged them down.

Another step.

The ones still standing crumbled, knees slamming into the ground. Sweat poured down their faces, their bodies trembling under the suffocating pressure.

"R—Release it…" Tonan gasped.

One of the men still managing to stumble away turned, confused. "W—What?"

"Release it!!!" Tonan screamed, just before his head slammed against the ground, unable to bear the crushing force.

The man hesitated only for a second before nodding and darting off with all his strength.

Isaac didn't stop.

He reached Cline, who barely managed to lift his head, his breath ragged.

"Y—You…monster is still alive—"

—BANG!

A gunshot rang out.

Cline's skull exploded like a crushed watermelon, a violent spray of blood and bone erupting into the air.

But not a single drop touched Isaac.

The blood arced toward him, then abruptly veered away, pulled by an unseen force.

The remaining men let out high-pitched, terrified cries, their instincts screaming at them to run—but their bodies refused to obey. An invisible weight pinned them down, pressing against their limbs, crushing their will to resist. Their breaths came in short, frantic bursts, but they could do nothing except stand there, frozen, waiting for death.

Isaac moved methodically, stepping in front of each of them with terrifying calm. One by one, he raised his revolver.

-Bang!

The gunshot echoed through the air, sharp and merciless. Blood sprayed as another body collapsed, lifeless. Then another. And another. Each shot was precise, each kill executed without any emotions in play. The crackling of mana was the only sound that filled the space, followed by the thud of bodies hitting the ground.

None of them could fight back. They were trapped in terror, unable to do anything except await their turn. Isaac didn't say a word. He didn't gloat, didn't threaten—he simply pulled the trigger, his expression unreadable as he blew their heads apart with every shot.

When it came to Tonan, the man's fear finally broke through the paralysis. He gasped, his voice trembling as he stumbled over his words.

"W–Wait! I-I can give you everything—"

-Bang!

His plea was cut short, his skull bursting open like the others. Isaac didn't even flinch. Whatever Tonan had to offer, it clearly wasn't worth listening to.

Merlin watched in silence, shocked.

She had underestimated him—severely. There wasn't even a hint of hesitation in his actions. No remorse. No second thoughts. He killed as if it were second nature, as if this level of brutality was just another routine.

Once the last body had fallen, Isaac finally paused. He flicked open the cylinder of his revolver and emptied the spent cartridges, letting them clatter to the ground.

Merlin's gaze landed on the discarded casings and she squinted her gaze. They weren't ordinary bullets. There was something strange about them—some kind of gravitational force, an energy infused with mana.

She frowned, thinking. Then, realization struck.

The cartridges had been empty from the start. Isaac had been filling them with his own mana before firing. But why? Why go through such a complicated process? There were revolvers designed to channel mana directly—why use cartridges at all, especially empty ones?

She couldn't make sense of it.

But one thing was clear: Isaac wasn't just using his revolver as a weapon. He was using it as a conduit, a tool to control his mana. Perhaps that was why she hadn't been able to wield it herself.

In this empire, people relied on specific objects—artifacts—to harness their magic. It was a fundamental principle of combat. And while her staff functioned under a different set of rules, Isaac's revolver followed a unique, personal logic she had yet to understand.

When it was over, Isaac turned toward Merlin.

His cold, grey eyes locked onto her, and she flinched under his gaze. There was something disturbing about the way he looked at people—detached, unreadable, as if he were staring through them rather than at them.

"Why did you come back?" He spoke up.

"Wh–What?" Merlin stammered, caught off guard.

"Why didn't you run?" Isaac repeated. "You had the chance to escape, but instead, you came back. Why?"

He had seen it clearly. The moment she managed to get out the inn, she could have turned and fled like any rational person would. Instead, she had run toward him.

Merlin hesitated. "I—I forgot something," she muttered awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

Even as she said it, she knew how unconvincing it sounded. And of course, Isaac wasn't foolish enough to believe her. He knew what kind of person she was already.

Isaac didn't press her further, but his eyes remained fixed on her. Under his stare, Merlin's gaze slowly shifted away.

She opened her mouth, hesitating. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Thank—"

-BOOOOM!!

Before she could finish, an explosion shattered the air.

A hundred meters away, an entire house erupted into flames, the force of the blast sending debris flying. A powerful gust of wind surged toward them, thick with mana so dense it crackled in the air.

And then, something roared.

It wasn't human. It wasn't natural.

Merlin's breath caught in her throat as a monstrous figure leapt into view.

A lion—but horribly twisted. Its form was grotesque, its body stretched and distorted in unnatural ways. It was massive, towering at least five meters tall, its limbs long, its claws curved like blades. Dark and red veins pulsed along its skin, brimming with mana, but the energy it emitted was... wrong. Twisted. Corrupt.

The creature's burning eyes swept across the battlefield until they landed on them.

Isaac's eyes narrowed in disgust seeing the creature.

One of the things he hated the most in the world was the creatures eaten away by their mana.