I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 733: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [15] Missing Students
Previously on I Am The Game's Villain...
Percy remained motionless amidst the charred remains and jagged wood on Ravenia’s edge, where a narrow alleyway still released steam into the biting dawn air. A massive concussion had torn through the darkness, followed by a blast so fierce it shattered glass and sent foxfire dancing over overturned wagons. Since this district sat apart from the city’s bustling core, most citizens would dismiss the event as a drunken brawl spiraling out of control—a brief disturbance destined to be forgotten among the capital's daily tragedies.
Percy, however, understood the reality of the situation perfectly.
About six Ravenian knights prowled through the destruction. Their search had lasted the entire night, sifted through broken brickwork and disturbed earth. Percy’s restraint was reaching its breaking point. Daylight was approaching and the metropolis was beginning to stir, yet they had discovered no corpses.
"This is... quite strange," he muttered to himself.
"That Blood Art possessed more power than I anticipated," Cyril remarked, appearing beside him with a dry, rasping laugh. He surveyed the demolished street with a look of pure satisfaction. "If you are still searching for them, they were likely blown to atoms. There is nothing left to find."
"No." Percy’s voice was low, his jaw set firmly as he stared at the ground. "My uncle is not a man who leaves things to fate. He would have sacrificed everything to ensure Roda's safety."
Cyril gave a sharp, mocking laugh. "Wasn't that the whole point? To use Roda as a lure and then vaporize him. Have you forgotten the plan? Or are you—shockingly—actually concerned for your little sister?"
Percy offered no response. Eliminating Jefer was a simple matter of business, but Roda was different. She was his remaining flesh and blood. He had placed enough faith in Jefer to believe Roda would survive the detonation.
"Do not fret," Cyril added. "Even if they survived, their escape is impossible. I have stationed sentries at every major exit from the city, and guards are patrolling the center. Should anyone surface, they will be seized before they can alert the staff in the central capital." He casually kicked a scorched timber as if it were a minor annoyance.
In truth, Cyril’s interest in the living or the dead was purely tactical. Even if Jefer had survived, the Blood Art would have left him too mangled to be a threat. Cyril’s objectives didn't require a whole Jefer; he simply needed the man who had been shadowing him to be removed from the board at the critical moment, and that was achieved.
"You truly have no regard for family, do you?" Percy questioned.
Cyril’s mouth curled into a sliver of dark amusement. "After all the paths I’ve taken to reach this position, you choose now to ask me that?"
"I am not your mirror, Cyril. I fight for the honor of my House, not for personal gain," Percy retorted.
"I am aware." Cyril chuckled softly. "That is exactly why I committed my sister’s future to your hands. Sancta Vedelia requires men of your ilk—subservient. You will be a man of consequence in the days to come, Percy—provided you don't snap." Cyril’s crimson eyes narrowed into predatory slits, a clear warning. "Tell me—has your resolve faltered? Will you fail me just as Adrian did?"
"No." Percy gave a single, firm shake of his head. "I have crossed the point of no return."
"Excellent." Cyril grinned. "Then stop wasting time here. Proceed to Central Vedelia. There is work to be finalized."
Percy paused. "And what will your role be?"
Cyril began to walk away, not bothering to look back. "I will finish the preparations," he said with a smirk.
***
The Blood Moon Festival's sixth day dawned under a sky still stained by the event's signature scarlet tint. Within the royal fortress, the dining hall had returned to its usual state—the clink of silverware, the hum of gossip, and the comforting aroma of toasted bread and tea. On the surface, everything seemed routine, yet John was plagued by a growing sense of dread beneath the facade.
The very atmosphere felt... tainted.
He scanned the room. The Knights of Ravenia occupied their standard posts, silent and watchful. The lack of obvious trouble only served to intensify his paranoia.
Why does it feel like a storm is brewing?
"Hey," Victor called out, sliding into the seat opposite John and Amelia. "Have either of you spotted Selene?"
Amelia paused mid-bite. "Hm? No," she replied, looking toward John, who offered a simple shake of his head. "Shouldn’t she be with you? The two of you are usually inseparable," she added with a teasing glint.
"Yeah, well..." Victor rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Maybe she’s feeling under the weather. But come to think of it, I haven’t seen Roda around either."
At the mention of her name, Rodolf, who was sitting nearby, snapped his head up. His lupine ears flickered. "She had better return shortly, Victor," he growled.
"I didn't do anything, man!" Victor exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. "She wasn't even part of my group!"
"Why don't you focus on your meal instead," Cylien sighed, reaching over to tug on one of Rodolf’s furry ears.
Rodolf let out a groan but subsided, his ears drooping. The display made Amelia giggle. "He’s like a giant puppy sometimes," she whispered.
For several minutes, the table hummed with festival spirit, students sharing rumors and maids rushing to top off drinks. However, John’s focus remained elsewhere. His eyes roamed the packed hall.
"By the way," he finally spoke up, "Is that guy still missing?"
Amelia tilted her head in confusion. "Who?"
"Cain. You know, the one who was constantly following Elizabeth around."
The timing of Cain’s disappearance was suspicious, occurring right as Amael and Alicia vanished. Even more bizarre was the fact that nobody seemed to care—or even notice his absence.
"Cain?" Amelia echoed, her eyebrows knitting together.
John nearly choked on his breakfast. Even Amelia had no memory of him?
The situation was becoming pathetic, even from his perspective.
"Who is this Cain?" Victor asked with a smirk, throwing an arm over John’s shoulder. "Another one of your secret friends?"
"Cain Redgrave," John stated, his frown deepening. "Do you seriously not recall him?"
The Redgrave clan was an ancient noble line of Valachia—it was impossible for people to forget a member of such a prestigious family.
"Redgrave?" Amelia pondered. "That is one of the dominant Houses in Valachia, right? But I don't recall meeting any of them. Perhaps he’s a third-year student?"
John went cold. Their expressions were entirely sincere. This wasn't simple forgetfulness; it was as if the man had been erased from existence.
Before he could argue, Amelia’s gaze shifted. "Oh look, there’s Alvara," she noted suddenly. "Likely on her way to torment someone again."
John turned to look.
Alvara moved through the hall with her characteristic poise, lazily spinning her new umbrella. But instead of her usual cold glare, she wore a smile—a soft, satisfied curve of her lips. She claimed an empty table with elegance, crossing her legs while a swarm of trembling maids hurried to serve her.
One had to wonder why so many attendants were focused solely on her.
"Wow," Amelia murmured. "She didn't even throw her cup today. Is she actually in a good mood?"
"You're being dramatic," Victor grumbled.
"No, really," Amelia insisted. "She looks... different."
John remained silent. He knew the reason behind Alvara’s joy, but he couldn't bring himself to explain it. His eyes moved across the table to Celeste.
She was sitting perfectly still, hands folded, her expression vacant. Her eyes seemed to stare into nothingness.
Tomorrow, she was scheduled to wed Cyril.
By tonight, she might be gone from Ravenia forever.
Amelia saw it too. Her cheerfulness evaporated as she reached out to squeeze Celeste’s hand. A flash of anger appeared in her eyes as she silently cursed Amael, wondering how he could leave Celeste in such a state.
Unable to glare at him, she directed her frustration toward John instead.
John muttered a complaint and looked away. He didn't know Amael’s true endgame—nobody ever did—but he assumed the guy simply didn't want to offer Celeste false hope.
In reality... Amael might be capable of crashing Cyril’s wedding. He was sufficiently reckless and powerful to attempt something that insane, especially since Cyril was clearly up to no good. But marriage? Marrying Celeste himself? That was a different league of impossible. Even John, who lacked political intuition, understood the absurdity of that idea.
The leadership of Sancta Vedelia loathed Amael. It wasn't just distrust; it was pure hatred. To them, he was a living scar from their defeat in the Utopian War. They would never permit their Prophetess—their ultimate symbol of sanctity—to fall into the hands of the man who had shamed them and become a figurehead for their enemy, Utopia.
John could envision the catastrophe. If Amael tried to take Celeste by force, it wouldn't just be a scandal—it would spark a total war. And Celeste would be caught in the crossfire.
With those dark thoughts, John’s eyes drifted to Priscilla Tepes a few tables away. She looked uncharacteristically stressed while conversing with Brian Moonfang. Their exchange appeared grave and filled with worry.
As for Celeste’s father, Harvey Indi Zestella, he had already departed for Central Vedelia to oversee the final wedding arrangements.
"There are too many people missing," Priscilla noted, frowning as she checked a list. "Don't you find it odd, Brian?"
She wasn't wrong.
Selene. Earth. Percy. Roda. Sirius. Sephira.
None were present.
When the morning roll call was made, their quarters were found empty.
"They likely stayed out late," Brian suggested after a moment, trying to sound casual despite his twitching ears. "Sirius and Sephira have been close lately. It wouldn't shock me if they snuck off, even with the Festival rules in place."
"Percy and Roda are family," he continued, "so perhaps something came up. As for Selene... since Elizabeth passed, she’s been... distant. You know that, Priscilla. Maybe she’s with Earth—he might be trying to support her. They are step-siblings, after all."
Priscilla remained skeptical, her gaze drifting toward the large windows. "It bothers me," she admitted.
"I'll dispatch a few people to find them," Brian said. "But for now, let’s keep everyone together. If they return, tell them no more wandering off alone."
Priscilla nodded slowly. For a fleeting second, the name Jefer crossed her mind.
Could he be behind this?
She quickly dismissed the thought with a shake of her head.
She was likely just being paranoid.
***
I walked through the streets of Ravenia’s capital, feeling the crisp morning air on my skin. Despite the hour, the city was already bustling—merchants shouting, carts rattling, and laughter ringing through the stone corridors. The Blood Moon Festival infused the air with a frantic energy, even on the outskirts.
I kept my hood low to obscure my features. Out here, far from the noble districts, I was just another traveler blending into the throng.
I had heard the blast last night. Initially, I dismissed it as a magical mishap or a drunkard’s folly. But the more I tried to ignore it, the more my intuition screamed. Something was wrong. I had to see for myself.
As I reached the district of the explosion, the atmosphere changed.
And then—
"This..." I stopped dead, my eyes widening. I felt that sensation.
I began to speed up, nearly sprinting, but halted when I saw Ravenian Knights cordoning off the area. They were in a high-alert formation. Some were standing guard while others meticulously searched the rubble.
That was suspicious enough. But then... the scent hit me.
A faint, metallic sweetness beneath the smell of smoke and pulverized stone.
Blood.
But not just any blood.
Her blood. The blood of Elizabeth—not the one from this time, but the original Vampire Witch herself.
The scent was unmistakable, burned into my memory. However, I knew one thing for certain—Elizabeth wasn't physically here.
As potent as the scent was, it didn't belong to her person. She was still trapped in the spell of Sloth, lost in a dream-coma unless someone had forcibly woken her... which was possible, but unlikely. She could shatter Sloth’s grip if she felt the need, but there was no sign of her actual presence. That left only one conclusion: her blood had been utilized here.
The high-born vampires viewed the Vampire Witch as a lingering plague. Yet, despite their loathing, they knew the truth: her blood was a treasure. Lethal. Holy. To some, it was an ancient, intoxicating vintage—pure and devastating. In the wrong hands, it wouldn't create beauty; it would create ruin. Exactly like this.
And I knew one man who still held a supply of that blood.
Duncan Tepes.
He had used it in a cruel experiment on his pregnant daughter-in-law years ago—a reckless act that should have been fatal.
So... why now? Why here?
My thoughts raced back to the events of the Game. In that timeline, Lazarus Raven had attempted to use the Vampire Witch’s blood for his own ends. He failed and ended up rotting in a cell. Or did he die? I couldn't recall the exact detail.
But Lazarus was currently imprisoned here. He couldn't have done this.
Then who?
Cyril.
It had to be him.
I narrowed my eyes and moved toward the restricted ruins.
"Halt! This area is closed!" a knight barked, stepping into my path.
I reached into my cloak and revealed a small pendant, its crest glowing faintly.
The Olphean Emblem.
"I have business here," I stated, showing him the mark.
The knight turned pale. "Wait—that’s... the Olphean Emblem! Who are—?"
I didn't wait for him to finish. I walked past him, my boots crunching on the debris.
"Stop! You aren't allowed in there!" another yelled, reaching for my arm.
I dodged him effortlessly, using my momentum to scale a half-ruined wall. I perched on a fractured roof, looking down at the devastation.
The air was heavy with the cocktail of blood, ash, and mana.
I pulled out my phone and searched for a specific contact.
Rodolf.
The guy had an incredible sense of smell. If anyone could track the players involved here, it was him. He should have been enjoying the festival breakfast or a class trip, but I knew how to motivate him.
My fingers tapped the screen rapidly.
[Just saw Roda entering an inn with Victor. They were alone.]
I sent the message.
A small smirk appeared as I pocketed the phone. That would get him moving.
But then—
A shiver.
An icy sensation crawled down my spine. I froze and looked back. Nothing. The street was quiet, the knights oblivious.
What was that?
Then, from within, Nemes laughed softly.
{The end drew nigh.}
"What?"
{The true vessel of Samael shall anon be borne.}
I grimaced. "Scheming behind my back again, I see. Two years together and you still can't be honest with me."
Nemes’s smile only widened, her voice dripping with malice.
{I want my Eveningstar.}
"There are millions of stars up there. Take whichever one you want," I muttered, not looking up.
Nemes fell silent before whispering a final chilling phrase into my mind.
{The Aithra shall be Samael’s own.}
Aithra again...
I grit my teeth and looked over the ruins one last time. Whatever Nemes was planning, whatever was set to happen tomorrow—it was going to be an absolute disaster.
And the fact that she was talking again after all this time?
Yeah. That was the opposite of reassuring.