I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Gevurah was founded thirty years ago by Zakharik Igorevich Kozlow and a small group of like-minded individuals. But its story stretches back much further—nearly a thousand years ago—rooted in the earliest revolts of the Seraphiel Cult.

Back then, any group trying to establish Seraphiel's Faith as a legitimate belief system was crushed without mercy by the Holy Church. Branded as followers of the 'Evil Goddess', these people were hunted down and executed in unimaginably horrific ways. Yet, despite the continuous persecution, there were always those who refused to give up.

Over the centuries, countless uprisings against the oppressive grip of the Holy Church took place. But no matter how fiercely they fought, victory seemed impossible. There were several reasons for this:

First the overwhelming power of the Savior's Faith.

The Savior's Faith wasn't just a dominant religion—it was a near-global force, deeply ingrained in Arcadia and beyond. Their influence stretched across nations, making it nearly impossible for Seraphiel's followers to gain a foothold.

Secondly, the scattered followers. Seraphiel's believers were few and far between, spread thin across the world. Gathering them into a unified movement was a logistical nightmare, leaving many to fight alone or in small, ineffective groups.

Thirdly, no strong Leader. Every movement needs a figurehead—someone with the strength to lead in battle and the charisma to inspire loyalty. Unfortunately, past leaders had either the strength or the charm, but never both. Without someone to rally behind, Seraphiel's followers remained fractured and directionless.

For nearly a millennium, this cycle repeated—uprisings sparked and then swiftly extinguished—until sixty years ago, when a new vision began to take shape.

The idea for Gevurah wasn't Zakharik's originally. It came from his father, a man who dreamed of creating a sanctuary for Seraphiel's faithful. A place where they could live in peace, free from the fear of being hunted or burned at the stake.

Zakharik's father had a grand vision: to unite the greatest leaders of Seraphiel's Faith from across the globe and build a sanctuary where their people could live in peace. He dreamed of a place untouched by the Holy Church's cruelty—a home for those who worshipped Seraphiel without fear.

But dreams, especially bold ones, came with a cost. As one of the last prominent leaders of Seraphiel's Faith, Zakharik's father was discovered by the Church. He was burned at the stake, his death meant to serve as a warning. Zakharik, forced to witness his father's execution, didn't falter. If anything, it strengthened his resolve.

Rather than scatter his efforts like so many before him, Zakharik devised a bold plan. Instead of chasing down Seraphiel's followers one by one, he targeted the key leaders of each faction in different countries. With patience and eloquence, he brought them together, forging the foundation of what would become Gevurah.

Zakharik became the Father of the Assembly, and these leaders, in turn, became its Co-Founders.

They chose a remote, isolated island to build their sanctuary, far from prying eyes. Together, they constructed Gevurah from the ground up, brick by brick, in complete secrecy. Today, that dream has blossomed into a thriving city-state.

Seraphia, now housed over a million residents. Every day, more followers of Seraphiel find their way to this safe haven, many of them unaware of its existence until they arrive. It is the one place in the world where Seraphiel's faithful can live normal, peaceful lives.

The city was built to blend into the world it came from, more medieval than modern. Yet it's comfortable and self-sustaining, with no poverty or lack of resources. Homes line the cobblestone streets, and small markets and businesses thrive through carefully concealed trade networks. Ships carrying goods and supplies meet far from the island, ensuring Seraphia remains hidden. A powerful Stigma Barrier keeps the island cloaked from the eyes of outsiders, even from passing ships.

Seraphia may lack cutting-edge technology, but it is rich in spirit. Children laugh and play in the streets. Families gather to share meals. Friends and lovers stroll through town, their conversations filled with hope rather than fear.

At the heart of Seraphia stands its most iconic structure: a towering, black, square-shaped building that serves as the seat of Gevurah's Council. Within its walls, the Assembly meets to decide the future of Seraphiel's followers. Discussions range from day-to-day governance to the looming shadow of war.

For a time, after the fall of Britannia, the Council's activity had slowed. But recently, things have begun to stir again.

Because The conquest of the Holy Continent was far from over. While the fall of Britannia had been a monumental victory and a source of immense pride for its residents, it was only the beginning of Gevurah's campaign.

In recent days, a steady stream of airships had touched down behind the imposing Black Council building in Seraphia. These airships carried Legion Commanders and other key figures from across the world. Many had been stationed in Britannia's towns or leading operations in foreign territories, but their presence was now required back home. The summons had come directly from Alexei Zakharovich Kozlow, the eldest son of Zakharik and a prominent member of the Council. Though technically a councilor, Alexei was more often his father's right hand, executing his plans with orders.

No one questioned the recall. Orders from the Council were absolute. And everyone understood the reason: the focus of their war effort was shifting to Unadora, their next target.

Inside the Black Council building, the atmosphere was a bit tense. The corridors buzzed with activity, as men and women in black uniforms—the soldiers of Gevurah—moved These were the fighters, distinct from the civilian population of Seraphia.

In Seraphia, there was a clear divide between the two groups. Civilians weren't forced into the fight unless they were unemployed or otherwise unable to contribute to Seraphia's economy. Work was a core principle of life in Seraphia—everyone had a role, whether in the war effort or the community.

At the heart of the Council building lay a smaller, highly secured structure where the most important meetings took place. Guards stood vigilant at every entrance, and only the Legion Commanders or Council members were allowed inside.

The Great Hall was the usual gathering place for pre-war strategy sessions. Today, however, it was not a full war council. This was a meeting to inform and prepare, a chance to set the stage for the next phase of the campaign. Perhaps that explained the absence of the Founders themselves, whose seats at the large rectangular table remained empty.

Instead, attention was on the U-shaped table directly in front of the Founders' chairs. One by one, the Legion Commanders filed in.

Seven seats were arranged around the table, each reserved for a Legion Commander of Gevurah. As of now, only three were occupied.

"Are we the only ones who know how to show up on time?" A sharp-looking man with slicked-back brown hair and glasses muttered. His neat black suit complemented his composed demeanor, and a black cross pinned to his chest glinted faintly in the light. He let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly annoyed by his colleagues' tardiness. It was Maxim, Commander of the Fourth Legion.

Behind him, a young woman standing silently offered a wry smile.

"This isn't the first time. We shouldn't be surprised anymore."

A feminine voice replied.

Maxim turned toward her. She had long green hair tied neatly behind her. What set her apart, however, were her pointed ears—a sign of her Elven heritage. Natalya, the Commander of the Fifth Legion, was a rarity: an Elf who had converted to Seraphiel's Faith. She sat with her arms crossed, waiting patiently, while behind her stood a boyish young man trying just a little too hard to hold a formal posture.

"I suppose you're right," Maxim chuckled before casting his gaze toward the third person in attendance.

The last of the trio sat silently, her pale face not showing much expression. Her faintly pointed ears marked her as non-human—she was from the vampire race, another unlikely convert to Seraphiel's Faith. Drusilla, the Commander of the Sixth Legion, didn't so much as glance in Maxim's direction when he addressed her.

"What do you think, Drusilla?" He asked, though her silence was all the answer he needed.

Maxim sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's always the three of us on time."

"Ah!"

A burst of laughter interrupted him, followed by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall.

"Not everyone's as uptight as you, four-eyes."

A young man swaggered into the room, his sleeveless shirt revealing his toned arms covered in Stigma tattoos. He carried a bottle, drinking from it with the casual recklessness of someone who didn't care what others thought. His muscular frame was hard to ignore, but the wobble in his step showed well his lack of sobriety.

After taking another swig, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and grinned broadly at the others.

"Artem," Maxim groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Artem's smirk widened as he turned his attention to Natalya and Drusilla. "Well, if it isn't my two favorite ladies. You're both growing up so fast," he joked, letting out a chuckle before hiccupping.
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Natalya's lips pressed into a thin line. As Artem staggered over to take a seat beside her, the strong smell of alcohol became impossible to ignore. Grimacing, she promptly stood up and moved to sit next to Drusilla, shooting Artem a cold glare as she passed.

Unbothered, Artem threw his head back and laughed, taking another hearty swig from his bottle before slamming it onto the table. His gaze swept the room.

"So, where the hell are the other bastards?"