I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist-Chapter 168: Ivan And Merlin

"Excuse me, Mr. Isaac, may I ask where we are?"

"The Last Empire," Ivan muttered, irritated

Was she deaf, or just plain annoying? And why the hell was she still following him?

Right now, his mind was deeply entangled with Isaac's persona—perhaps because this was Isaac's birth world. It made everything else, including Merlin, seem like an afterthought. Or worse, not a thought at all.

The real question was whether the Empire was still standing. That mattered more than entertaining the incessant chatter of a stranger.

"I know, but I've never heard of such an empire," Merlin pressed, frowning. "Could you at least tell me which continent it's located in?"

"The Eastern one," Ivan answered bluntly.

Merlin came to a sudden halt. Her eyes widened slightly.

"T–The Eastern?" She repeated, now feeling even more confused.

The only continent in the East was the Holy Continent… wasn't it?

"Are you certain?" She asked hesitantly. "The Eastern Continent should be the Holy Continent…"

Ivan let out a sharp groan, barely suppressing his growing annoyance.

"If you have nothing better to do, stop following me."

He didn't have time to entertain pointless questions. The journey ahead would take days on foot, and this world's mana was different—unstable, unfamiliar. The only reason Isaac could even use it was through his revolvers. Any direct control would be too volatile.

"Please wait, Mr. Isaac!"

Merlin quickened her pace, cutting in front of him before he could brush her off completely. She planted herself in his path, hands clenched into fists.

"I am Merlin, from the Kingdom of Unadora," she said. "There is a war happening there. Please, I need to get back to the Holy Continent! I will pay any price you ask!"

"..."

Ivan's gaze raked over her, from the top of her drenched head to the edges of her soaked robe. The fabric clung to her body, outlining curves she had clearly tried to conceal beneath its heavy folds. Water dripped from her sleeves, pooling at her feet.

His expression was unreadable, but the way his eyes lingered made Merlin flush.

She immediately misinterpreted his look.

"Y–You! I didn't mean that!" She blurted out, hastily covering her chest with her arms. Her face turned red as she glared at him.

"I'm not interested in you or your body, and I have no idea what Unadora is," Ivan said flatly. Without another glance, he turned and walked off.

Merlin stood there, stunned.

Had he just brushed her off—just like that?

Anger flared in her chest. She had only asked for help!

"Fine! I don't need your help anyway," she snapped, gripping her staff tightly.

She took a deep breath, calming herself, and lifted the staff high. The cool morning air wrapped around her as she whispered, "Answer my call, spirits of wind…"

Silence.

The only response was the gentle breeze rolling over the shore.

Her fingers tightened around the staff as she waited. And waited.

Nothing.

A flicker of unease stirred in her chest, but she pushed it aside and tried again.

"Answer my call…"

Still, nothing. No rush of power, no familiar pulse of mana. Only the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Merlin froze. A cold dread settled in her stomach.

Her mana—it wasn't working.

Her hands trembled as she whispered once more, this time almost begging for it, "A–Answer my call…"

The wind whistled past her ears, indifferent.

Something was blocking her magic.

Her face turned pale as realization dawned. She had never experienced anything like this before.

Panicked, she snapped her gaze toward Ivan's retreating figure.

"W–Wait!!"

Without thinking, she hurried after him, her earlier anger forgotten. Ivan let out an irritated sigh but didn't bother stopping.

The sand beneath them gave way to firmer ground as they ascended the slope, leaving the beach behind. But as Ivan crested the hill, he abruptly came to a halt.

His eyes darkened at the sight before him.

Corpses. Dozens of them.

The land ahead was littered with the dead, their armor stained with dried blood. Some had fallen on their swords, others lay tangled with their enemies. The stench of decay clung to the air.

Merlin reached his side and gasped, covering her mouth.

"What… what happened here?" She mumbled shocked.

Ivan didn't answer. He knelt beside one of the fallen soldiers, inspecting the body.

The man's armor was black, emblazoned with the emblem of the Empire. These weren't ordinary warriors—they had belonged to the Empire's army. And yet, they hadn't fallen by each other's hands.

There was another force at play.

His gaze flicked to the other corpses. These ones wore no emblems, no signs of allegiance. Mercenaries, perhaps? No… he knew exactly who they were.

The Rebels of Charentra.

"They've been dead for at least a week…" Merlin said hesitantly as she knelt beside him, her brows furrowed in concern.

A week…

Did that mean the war wasn't over?

Was there still time to reach the Emperor?

Ivan's grip tightened around the hilt of a discarded sword as he straightened. His mind raced through the possibilities, but one thing was clear—he had no time to waste.

Without a word, he stepped past the bodies and kept moving forward.

Merlin hesitated, then sighed. Glancing down at the ground, she spotted a sword near one of the corpses. With a reluctant sigh, she picked it up and secured her staff onto her back—it wasn't as if she could use magic anyway. Her spatial storage was gone, which meant she had little choice but to carry what she could.

And so, she followed.

Ivan's gaze lingered on the woman before him. She was clearly confused, her wide eyes darting around as if trying to make sense of her surroundings. Yet, despite her helplessness, his expression remained unreadable.

"Are you from that Empire, Mr. Isaac?" Merlin asked curiously.

"Why are you following me?"

Ivan's reply was curt, his tone dry as desert sand.

Merlin hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm lost… I'll keep walking until I find a place where I can get help."

Ivan merely glanced at her.

She truly looked disoriented—utterly lost in this world, as if she had been dropped into a battlefield she had no part in. He had a strong suspicion as to why she couldn't use mana. The density here was different, thicker, harder to manipulate. It likely clashed with her own natural flow, making it impossible for her to control. But he wasn't about to tell her that.

Still, for now, he had no reason to turn her away. She could follow him until they found civilization.

It was the perfect balance—Isaac's cold detachment merged with Yvan's lingering empathy he had on Earth.

As they walked, the stench of death grew stronger. The ground was littered with corpses, their bodies bloated and decomposing under the sun. Some were still clad in remnants of Imperial armor, others in the ragged uniforms of the rebellion.

Ivan's brows knitted together.

'How did they not make it to the shore?'

The question struck at him.

There were no corpses below there.

And who had been fleeing, and from whom?

Had the Imperial soldiers tried to escape from the rebels, only to be slaughtered before they could get away? Or had the rebels been the ones fleeing, only to meet their death at the hands of the Empire?

Neither scenario made sense to him. Something was off.

Whatever had happened here, it reeked of something far worse than a mere battle.

But Ivan didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed to reach the nearest town and find someone who could explain what had transpired. The problem was, without horses, that journey would take longer than he liked.

Of course, he could run, but right now, his priority was adjusting to his own body. The Stigma, the mana—it all felt foreign, as if he had been thrust into a body that wasn't quite his own. He needed control. Mastery. Because if he ever came face-to-face with the ones who had killed him…

This time, there would be no mercy.

This time, he wouldn't be the naive fool he once was.

Behind him, Merlin followed in silence. He had all but ignored her since they began walking, and it was clearly starting to irritate her. But she bit back her frustration, focusing instead on her own predicament. She needed her mana back. One way or another.

Without mana, she was utterly defenseless.

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Merlin had always been the strongest mage—at least, that's what she had believed. But without her magic, that strength meant nothing. She had no other combat skills to fall back on, no swordsmanship, no physical prowess. Just raw magical talent that was now out of reach.

Outwardly, she kept her composure, but inside, a creeping anxiety gnawed at her. Mana had been with her since birth, surrounding her, protecting her like an invisible shield. And now, for the first time, she felt its absence—like a missing limb, a piece of her very existence stripped away.

Maybe that was why she kept following Ivan.

Logically, it made no sense. He was a complete stranger, a weirdo who just happened to wake up in the same place she had. And yet, something about him felt… solid. Reliable.

He didn't seem like a bad person—aloof, maybe, but not cruel. And the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence in his every step, had an odd effect on her. It steadied her nerves, even if she wouldn't admit it.

So, in the end, she chose to follow him.