I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist-Chapter 175: [Flashback] [Isaac Crawford] [1]

Born into the high nobility, Isaac was the son of the late Secretary of the Empire of Izhantra—a man who had once stood at the heart of the imperial court. His mother, too, hailed from an esteemed noble bloodline, and together, they wielded significant influence, earning the deep trust of the former Emperor.

But trust and power had never been enough to shield them from fate.

During an assassination attempt orchestrated by the Rebels of Charentra, Isaac's parents fought valiantly, standing their ground until the very end. They died in service to the Empire, their lives extinguished alongside the Emperor they had sworn to protect.

In the wake of that tragedy, the heir to the throne ascended as the new Emperor. Though older than Isaac, he saw something in the young boy—something that forged an unspoken bond between them, built on shared grief, mutual ambition, and a true sense of duty.

Isaac was only eleven at the time, but his heart had already hardened against the rebels—those lowborn traitors who dared to strike at the Empire. Hatred burned in his veins, fueling his every step forward.

His upbringing had been strict, shaped by the stern and disciplined hand of his father. From an early age, he had been molded into a successor worthy of his family's legacy. His mother, though softer in nature, shared the same devotion to the Empire. Their beliefs were clear, absolute: the nobility and the Empire were one. To protect one was to protect the other.

And so, Isaac trained relentlessly. He studied harder. He sharpened his mind and his body, pushing himself beyond his limits. He refused to be weak. By the time he was fourteen, he had risen high enough to stand at the Emperor's side—an achievement that sent shocks of discontent rippling through the noble court.

Many scoffed at the decision. A boy among men? A child granted such a prestigious role? It was unthinkable.

Yet, despite their objections, Isaac Crawford was named the new Secretary of the Empire. At fourteen years old, he stepped into the halls of power—not as a boy, but as a force to be reckoned with.

At first, the nobles—especially the elder ones—saw Isaac's appointment as nothing short of an insult. A mere boy chosen over them? A child occupying a position they had coveted for years? It was a decision that sent waves of discontent through the court, stirring whispers of resentment and disbelief.

But neither the new Emperor nor Isaac cared in the slightest.

And soon enough, their doubts were silenced.

Isaac proved his worth in a way that left an unforgettable mark on history. At just fourteen, he made a decision that cemented his reputation—a decision that sent shockwaves far beyond the Empire's borders.

Before a live world broadcast, he personally executed every last prisoner captured from Charentra. One by one, he ended their lives with his own hands, showing no hesitation, no remorse. It was the first time the world saw Isaac Crawford, and it would not be the last.

That day, his name was no longer just that of a noble boy who had been given power. It became a force of nature, a symbol of terror.

His influence, his reputation—his very existence—rose to terrifying heights. Those who had once sneered at him now whispered his name in fear. The same nobles who had opposed his appointment soon thanked the gods that he was their ally rather than their enemy.

Isaac Crawford was ruthless. To stand against the Empire was to stand against him—and he had no mercy for those who dared to threaten what he had sworn to protect.

And Charentra?

They were his first and most personal target.

It was vengeance, yes. But more than that, it was duty. When hatred and obligation intertwined, they became something unbreakable—a will that burned within him until the day he died.

At twenty-five, Isaac met his end at the hands of Charentra. But for the ten years leading up to that moment, he had been their living nightmare.

A true nightmare.

By the time he turned twenty, the mere mention of his name sent chills down the spines of his enemies. To the rebels of Charentra, he was death incarnate.

How many had he killed with his own hands? The number stretched beyond thousands.

And he didn't just kill them. No—Isaac had a sadistic ritual, a message woven into every execution. He made sure the world watched as he slaughtered them, ensuring Charentra saw their own comrades die by his hands.

Again and again.

Until his name became synonymous with terror itself.

Obviouslty it wasn't just becasue Isaac had a saditist fetish to be truth. But he was doing it becasue he knew the strength of fear. Fear was his greaytest weapon and Isaac was wielding it perfectly. He wanted to terrifying not only Charentra but everyone else.

Those of Charentra, those who would think of joining Charentra, those who woul think anything that goes against the Empire's principles.

And it was working—almost too well.

Thousands of rebels from Charentra had abandoned the cause, terrified of being caught by Isaac. Their defiant ranks crumbled like a house of cards, and with every deserter, the Empire grew stronger, reinforcing its grip across all domains. What had seemed like an inevitable collapse had, instead, become a resurgence of power.

It was shocking. No one had expected it.

The previous Emperor had been assassinated alongside his trusted secretary and a host of influential nobles. By all logic, Izhantra should have fractured beyond repair. The heir was too young, and everyone had anticipated a ruthless struggle for the throne, a self-destructive war that would tear the Empire apart from within. But that war never came.

Instead, the new Emperor and his newly appointed Secretary had not only stabilized the Empire but made it stronger—more ruthless, more unyielding. It was a natural reaction to the assassination, but few had expected them to wield their authority with such merciless efficiency.

And at the heart of this transformation was Isaac.

It was he who had convinced the young Emperor of his methods, showing him that terror itself could be a weapon—one more potent than any army. Fear turned enemies into cowards, into deserters, into ghosts. And it worked. That was all that mattered.

But Charentra had not yet fallen.

Despite the damage, despite the fear Isaac had sown, Charentra's leadership remained intact. As long as their strongest minds and fiercest warriors lived, the rebellion would persist. Isaac understood this better than anyone. That was why he believed in complete eradication—no half-measures, no mercy. Charentra had to be wiped out, down to its very roots.

And so, the hunt continued.

Isaac pursued them relentlessly, employing every tactic at his disposal. He hired mercenaries, placed bounties on their heads, turned them into pariahs, made them unwelcome in every city and village under Izhantra's rule. He ensured that no one would dare offer them shelter, that they would find no safe haven anywhere. freewёbnoνel.com

But it still wasn't enough.

Charentra, battered and cornered, chose to fight back instead of retreating.

Ivan narrowed his eyes as the news reached him. His voice, dangerously calm rang out.

"What did you just say?"

The messenger flinched as if struck. His hands trembled, and he instinctively took a step back, cowering under the coldness of Ivan's gaze.

"Hii!" The sound was barely more than a whimper.

"Calm down and explain," came a different voice—measured, patient, but no less authoritative.

The Emperor of Izhantra sat upon his throne with a serious expression. Unlike most of his predecessors, he bore a softer expression, one that suggested patience rather than impulsive cruelty. But there was no mistaking the steel beneath the surface.

The messenger swallowed hard before speaking.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Cateran has been attacked by Charentra. They've taken ten hostages."

Ivan's expression didn't change, but something in the air around him did. It grew colder.

"Just that?" His voice was indifferent.

This was nothing new. Charentra had launched countless attacks before. Every time, the Empire sent its forces to crush them. A minor skirmish in Cateran was hardly worth his time.

But the messenger's trembling had yet to subside. And that was what caught Ivan's attention.

"N-No, Milord," the man stuttered. "We have information that one of Charentra's leaders is there." He hesitated before adding, "She goes by the name of Nimue."