I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 735: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [17] The Day Before The End

"John!"

The sharp cry from Amelia broke John’s trance. He blinked, refocusing on the crowded, lively avenues of Ravenia’s capital.

Lunch had concluded, and the students were slated for an afternoon of tourism. While the faculty had issued the standard warnings—stay close, remain within the perimeter, avoid conflict—everyone recognized the instructions as mere formalities. With this being the final excursion of the school year, even the most rigorous professors lacked the will to enforce strict discipline amidst the vibrant atmosphere of the Blood Moon Festival in the heart of the capital.

"What is it?" John grumbled, keeping his back to her. He scanned the environment—merchants shouting over their goods, the sound of youthful laughter, and crimson festival streamers dancing in the gentle wind. The scene appeared tranquil, yet a sense of unease gnawed at him.

The density of knights was excessive.

Armored patrols were everywhere, maintaining a vigilant watch over the civilians. Even for a festival week, such a heavy military presence felt abnormal. Their movements were too precise, their expressions too grim, as if they were braced for an imminent disaster.

He knit his brows. This wasn't right. Not at this point in the timeline—not according to his knowledge. On this final day, the concept of coincidence had ceased to exist.

Amelia moved to his side, tracing his gaze. "What has caught your eye? Don't tell me you're hunting for Amael just like Celes is?" she whispered.

John remained silent. He didn't need to speak; a few paces ahead, Celeste walked with a heavy silence, her eyes drifting across the masses. Her characteristic radiant hope had vanished, replaced by a hollow, wandering stare.

Alicia had promised her that Amael would appear here. Yet, he was absent.

Or perhaps... he was present, but simply chose to remain hidden.

That possibility wounded her more deeply than she cared to show. She could still recall his expression during the clash with the Behemoth—that raw, genuine emotion that defied deception. Why this cold distance now? Why this agonizing silence?

Perhaps he had learned of her betrothal to Cyril. Perhaps he assumed she had simply submitted to it.

But she had resisted. She had struggled, debated, and begged—all to no avail. As the Prophetess, her fate was never her own to command. Still, a desperate, irrational part of her believed that if Amael were by her side, she might have found the courage to reject her destiny.

Now, that lingering hope felt like a blade twisting in her chest.

She let out a soft sigh and looked down. "Why..." she breathed, her voice cracking, her pale blue and white eyes shimmering with the glint of restrained tears.

"Princess."

Celeste’s head jerked up, her breath hitching as she recognized the speaker.

"A–August?" she stammered.

The veteran commander stood before her, flanked by the elite Zestella Royal Guard.

"Lord Zestella has requested your presence," August announced with a shallow bow. "We are tasked with escorting you to Central Vedelia immediately. The wedding preparations must commence."

"...!" Celeste stood paralyzed, her frame turning stone-cold.

"Wait! Isn't the rite set for tomorrow evening?" Amelia cried out, rushing forward in distress. "She is technically still under school jurisdiction until tonight!"

August’s face remained a mask of duty.

"The schedule has been moved forward, I’m afraid. The ceremony will occur tomorrow morning."

Celeste’s mouth opened, but she found no words. The festive world—the music, the laughter, the banners—seemed to dissolve into a gray blur.

Tomorrow morning.

Less than twenty-four hours remained before her life would be eternally chained to Cyril’s.

August stood there, his face reflecting a hidden, agonizing conflict. To the world, he was a hardened veteran of the Zestella Royal Guard, a man defined by iron discipline. But to Celeste, he was the figure who had raised her, a grandfather in all but blood. Now, he was the messenger forcing her toward a future he loathed.

He was well aware of Cyril’s nature. Everyone was. The noble was a man of manufactured smiles and buried malice, seeing people as nothing more than pawns for his ambition. He bore too much resemblance to Lazarus. He was unworthy of someone like Celeste, whose heart possessed a warmth that could soften the coldest soul.

Yet, August was powerless. The decree had been issued by Lord Zestella and ratified by the Heads of the Great Houses. This wasn't a union; it was a cold business deal. It was a strategy to suppress the scandal of the imprisoned Lazarus Raven and polish the image of the Sancta Vedelia.

Celeste was merely the sacrificial lamb.

"Then I’m coming too!" Amelia declared, her voice shaking before she steadied her resolve.

August turned toward her, a tired sigh escaping his lips. "Princess Amelia, I cannot escort someone of your rank without proper clearance. It would lead to... complications."

Though polite, the subtext was blatant—if Reiner Dolphis found out, August’s head would roll. A Princess of Dolphis did not simply 'tag along.' It required protocols, escorts, and formal petitions—none of which could be arranged during a school trip.

Amelia understood the reality, her hands balling into tight fists. She detested her own helplessness as she watched Celeste being taken away.

"It’s alright, Amelia," Celeste murmured, offering a faint, melancholic smile that failed to reach her eyes.

"No, hold on!" Amelia whirled toward John, seizing his arm. "John, you’ve been communicating with Amael, haven't you? Tell him to get here! Right now!"

John blinked, pausing for a beat before he answered softly, "He won’t come yet. He is... busy."

"Busy?!" Amelia’s voice rose in sharp incredulity. "Busy with what?! Does he not love Celeste? She’s—she’s about to be married off, for heaven's sake!"

Her voice trembled as she fought back tears.

"Amelia," Celeste spoke up again. "That is enough."

"But—"

"Thank you," Celeste whispered, stepping forward to pull Amelia into a tight, sisterly embrace.

Amelia bit her lip, returning the hug with all her strength. "I will be there tomorrow, I promise! And if Cyril tries anything, I’ll kick him myself!"

Celeste managed a weak smile. "I know you will."

As they parted, Celeste’s gaze softened. She cast one final look toward John, her eyes shimmering. "Tell him... that I didn’t give up on him. That he—" Her voice caught, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek before she wiped it away. "He was the one who let go first."

Without another word, she turned and followed August to the waiting vehicle.

John watched her departure in silence. Amelia, as expected, shot him a look of pure venom.

He made a face. "What do you want from me? Maybe he just doesn't want to see her."

Amelia’s eyes went wide. "I can’t believe Celes fell for a man like that!"

"He has his own burdens to carry," John shot back.

That startled her. "Huh? I assumed you’d be on my side."

John didn't respond. He pulled out his device and sent a rapid message to Amael, noting simply that Celeste had departed for Central Vedelia. He provided only the facts, devoid of emotion or judgment.

Beside him, Amelia folded her arms. "Fine. But we are attending that wedding. Together." She gripped his arm again, less harshly this time.

"Yeah..." John answered distractedly, his focus already elsewhere.

He had no intention of traveling with her. He would go alone, ahead of the pack. By the time Amelia arrived, he would already be positioned in Central Vedelia.

John narrowed his red eyes, lost in thought.

***

A short distance behind John, Alvara sat with the regal bearing of a monarch. With her slender legs crossed elegantly, she tilted her parasol to block the prying eyes of the crowd. For a fleeting second, the gold of her eyes darkened.

"Your Highness."

A tall elven man knelt beside her in a show of quiet reverence. He was clad in the armor of Tanya Teraquin’s elite guard, one of the few loyalists Alvara had selected for this mission.

"Hm." Alvara’s response was a mere vibration in her throat, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

The elf bowed lower. "We have confirmed Lady Sephira’s departure for Central Vedelia. She is traveling in the company of Sirius Raven."

Alvara shifted her parasol, letting out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Such a troublesome girl."

"As we suspected, then? Do you believe she played a role in Prince Kendel’s escape?"

"No," Alvara stated. "He had help from another source. No matter how many traitors we purge, a few always manage to crawl out from the sewers."

The elf paused. "Then... what are your commands, Your Highness?"

"Ready the transport," Alvara said, rising with grace. "We are heading to Central Vedelia."

The guard bowed deeply. "Immediately."

***

The afternoon was fading, yet I remained trapped in the secret chamber within Lazarus’s quarters. Victor and I had ransacked every shelf and document, searching for a single clue that could explain the situation. We found nothing.

"Amael!" Victor barked, slamming his hand onto the desk and sending papers flying. "Are you listening to me?!"

"What?" I looked up, startled.

"What are you even searching for? We’re out of time!" he cried, his face twisted in agony. "If Cyril is picking up where Lazarus left off, everyone is in grave danger. We have to alert the Houses. We have to stop him."

I exhaled, the breath feeling heavy in my chest. "And say what, exactly? 'Cyril plans to invoke the Blood Moon Spell—please intervene'?" I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "We tell them that with less than a day until his wedding to Celeste? Do you think they’ll listen, or just throw us in a cell to keep their precious ceremony on track?"

Victor went silent, the weight of my words sinking in.

"Then what is the plan?" he asked. "We must prevent him from casting it—"

"No." The word fell like lead. "We won't reach him in time. By the time we get to Central Vedelia, the deed will be done. He likely left this morning to finalize the preparations."

I had truly underestimated that snake.

Victor’s grip tightened on a book. "I—I have to leave. Selene—I need to find Selene." He moved toward the exit, then paused, looking back at me. "Amael. Celeste is in danger as well. What are you looking for?" Frustration bled into his voice as he watched me sift through another pile of ancient scrolls and records.

"I'll meet you there. Go," I told him.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Rodolf burst in, gasping for air. "You're both here!"

"Rodolf?" Victor grabbed him by the shoulders. "Did you find her? You found Roda, didn't you?!"

Rodolf grunted, shoving Victor’s hands away. "Yeah. I found her. She’s alive. Get off me." He glanced at me. "But there’s more. Percy was behind it."

Of course he was...

"Percy?" Victor was stunned. "Why would he—Roda is his own sister."

"He’s been Cyril’s pawn from the start," I remarked.

Victor’s shock was visceral; Rodolf’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle ripple. "I’m going to tear him apart," he said, his voice devoid of any humor.

"Are you coming to Central Vedelia with us?" Victor inquired.

"You're damn right I am. That bastard is there right now." Rodolf spat on the floor.

"I’m going as well. Cyril has Selene," Victor added.

"Nyr? What is wrong with you?" Rodolf snapped, seeing me still occupied with the papers. "This isn't the time for reading! Tomorrow is the finale of this Game! We have to stop the coming disaster!" He shoved a stack of parchment at me, trying to force me to my feet.

I didn't answer. My hands moved instinctively, scanning titles and skimming text. Nothing was making sense. Not a single useful piece of information was here. Only things that made the situation worse!

Victor pushed toward the exit. "Come on! Rodolf is right—we leave now. Amael said he’d meet us later."

Rodolf grunted in agreement and followed him out.

As the sound of their footsteps faded, the room felt like it was closing in on me. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the rustle of paper. I slumped over the desk, my forehead resting on the wood, gripping the edge until my knuckles turned white.

The wood creaked, then snapped.

A jagged crack spread across the surface. Documents scattered. I sat up and struck the table again, even harder this time.

"Damn it all..."

Not this spell again.

Was there truly no way to stop it?

***

Late Evening at Central Vedelia...

The tunnels of Central Vedelia’s subterranean prison were a maze of cold stone and oppressive silence. A single pair of footsteps rang out through the shadows.

Cyril Raven walked with an air of calm confidence.

He halted before a heavily reinforced cell. Without a moment's pause, he raised his hand. A wisp of crimson mana flowed from his fingers before he struck, shattering the door and its reinforced seals in a single blow.

Cyril entered.

The cell was cramped, damp, and shrouded in darkness. Chained to the far wall by enchanted shackles that pulsed with sealing runes was a man.

Lazarus Raven.

A thin smirk touched the prisoner's lips as he saw his grandson.

"You took your time, Cyril," Lazarus remarked.

"My apologies, Grandfather," Cyril replied. "Gaining entry to this place—even with the Blood Arts you provided—was a challenge. But tonight was the perfect opportunity."

Lazarus gave a dry chuckle. "The union with the Prophetess... how fitting. They have no inkling of what is truly about to unfold, do they?"

Cyril’s mouth curled into a smile. "None. and the only individual who might have guessed has been dealt with."

"Excellent," Lazarus said. "The death of Elizabeth and the disappearance of Alicia were minor setbacks, but they won't stop the ritual. We have the necessary components."

"We do indeed, Grandfather."

Lazarus nodded, a glint of pride in his crimson eyes. "Then be quick. Release me. We must depart this place undetected."

"Nobody will notice a thing," Cyril said with a soft laugh. "They are all under the influence of my spell."

Lazarus knit his brows. "You utilized the Witch’s blood for that?"

Cyril simply smiled. "Do not worry, Grandfather," he whispered, extending his glowing hand toward the shackles. "There is plenty left for what comes next."

"Cyril... what are you—"

-SPURT!!

The question ended in a sickening, wet sound.

Cyril’s hand lunged forward, passing straight through his grandfather’s ribs. Warm, thick blood sprayed across Cyril’s face. Lazarus gasped, staring in horror at the blood-soaked arm impaling him.

"C—Cyril—!" His voice failed as Cyril rotated his wrist, his fingers closing around a pulsing heart.

"I am grateful for everything, Grandfather," Cyril whispered, his crimson eyes burning with a feverish light. "But you are too old to continue playing this game."

With a violent yank, he tore the heart from the chest.

Lazarus’s final scream was a short, raspy sound, cut short as the life drained from his body. Cyril shut his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, absorbing the blood—demigod blood, potent and intoxicating, surging through his veins like molten fire. It was a perfect match for his own lineage.

It was power. Absolute, unbridled power.

When his eyes snapped open, they blazed with a more intense light, the pupils within them throbbing violently.

Before him, Lazarus Raven was now nothing but a shriveled shell, a skeleton draped in broken iron.

Cyril gazed down at the remains, then knelt. On the stone floor near the body lay a ring featuring a single red gemstone. Cyril retrieved it and slid it onto his finger. The fit was perfect.

"Now."

He turned to leave.

"It is time to wake the Witch."