I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 739: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [21] John’s Biggest Hate
Previously on I Am The Game's Villain...
A few moments prior.
The mood had shifted drastically once Victor and Rodolf arrived to expose the hidden truth. Though their claims seemed nearly impossible to fathom, Beatrice was the first to accept them. For the past hour, her intuition had been sounding an alarm—a restless agitation beneath her skin and a nagging sense of wrongness she couldn’t identify. Victor’s news merely gave form to the dread her heart already felt.
They laid out the situation for Harvey and Evan, pressing them to confront Cyril immediately for the truth while securing the Prophetess without delay. The stakes were far too high to allow for any hesitation. To ensure nothing went wrong, Victor and Alector accompanied the duo.
Rodolf intended to join them, but he suddenly paused. Tilting his head, his nostrils flared as he caught a specific scent drifting through the air.
"Percy..."
He went rigid.
"What about Percy?" Beatrice inquired, noting his immediate alarm. A deep frown creased her forehead.
Rodolf’s knuckles turned white as his hands balled into fists. "He’s coupled up with Cyril," he growled through clenched teeth. "He... he used Roda as a lure for Jefer—and nearly ended him. Jefer is barely clinging to life, Mom."
"What...?" Beatrice’s voice trembled, her face contorting in shock.
"I’m telling the truth!" Rodolf barked, his eyes burning with fury. "We have to hunt that bastard down. He and Cyril are plotting something catastrophic."
Without another word, he pivoted and sprinted toward the source of the scent. Beatrice followed in his wake, her heart racing with anxiety.
As they ran, Beatrice managed to speak through her heavy breathing. "Why would Percy commit such an act? Could Cyril have done something to him? Perhaps some form of manipulation?" She struggled to reconcile this with her image of her grandson—the reserved boy who stayed in the shadows of family events but always looked upon his kin with kindness.
Rodolf’s face clouded over. "No. This was his own choice. I’ve always sensed something wrong with him. His scent, his movements—it never felt right to me."
Beatrice gave him a stern look. "You have never treated Percy as an equal, despite him being older than you."
Rodolf threw his hands up in frustration. "It isn't my fault Mom had children so far apart that I’m the same age as my brother’s kid! That’s on her, not me—"
-BAM!
"Ugh!!" Rodolf winced, rubbing the knot already rising on his head where Beatrice’s knuckles had struck.
"Try to show him some grace," she commanded sharply.
Rodolf scowled, nursing his head. "You’re telling me to be kind after what he did to Jefer and Roda?! I’m not showing that piece of shit any mercy! I’m going to cripple that bastard!"
Beatrice exhaled a heavy sigh, slowing down for a brief second. "Brian... how could he allow his son to go down this path?"
Rodolf let out a short, cynical laugh. "Brian doesn't care about anything but you, Mom. You’re the only reason he even bothered to have children. I don’t recall him shedding a single tear when Clida passed away."
"Clida..." Beatrice whispered, the name feeling like a fresh wound. "Her passing was my burden to bear. I should have never brought her to Edenis Raphiel. Do you believe that’s why Percy—"
Rodolf cut her off before she could finish. "Clida made the choice to follow you. Percy is aware of that. It’s no justification for what he did to his own sister and his uncle."
Beatrice opened her mouth to respond, but Rodolf suddenly went still. The scent had become overwhelming.
"On the contrary..." a soft voice drifted toward them.
Both of them stopped dead in their tracks.
Standing just ahead beneath the massive, ancient branches of the Holy Tree of Eden, Percy waited for them.
Rodolf’s hands tightened into fists once more.
"On the contrary," Percy remarked with a cold edge, "that is a perfectly valid reason."
"Percy..." Rodolf’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare.
Beatrice’s gaze sharpened. "Percy, you don’t realize the gravity of what you are doing."
He offered a faint, joyless smirk. "I used to think that way... for a long time. I wavered. I doubted my own path."
As he spoke, the shadows behind him began to shift. Emerging from the mist beneath the roots of the Holy Tree, a dozen men appeared. They wore heavy armor that shimmered under the pale white radiance of the sacred leaves.
Werewolves.
And these were no common warriors.
"I’m not particularly fond of Cyril either," Percy added, shaking his head slightly, "but... he isn’t wrong."
Following his words, the armored werewolves produced small black capsules—pills that throbbed with faint, blood-red veins.
Rodolf’s eyes widened in shock. He recognized them instantly. Behemoth’s Pills—the forbidden catalyst that forces a werewolf into their Bestial Form, shattering their limits at the cost of their mind.
"Mom, get back!" Rodolf yelled, stepping into the fray as he unleashed his Prana. The earth cracked under his feet as a surge of yellow energy erupted around him.
A second later, the werewolves downed the pills. The change was instantaneous. Bones snapped and reset, muscles ballooned, and dark fur burst through the gaps in their armor. Their Prana flared with violent intensity, sending ripples through the air.
"Percy! End this madness at once!" Beatrice shouted.
But Percy remained silent. He simply watched with an unreadable expression as the transformed monsters lunged forward.
"Mom!! Get out of here!" Rodolf screamed, his voice filled with desperation as he collided with the first beast, his Prana clashing against their primal roars. "You can't do anything here! Go!!"
Beatrice clenched her fists so hard her nails drew blood. Her heart begged her to stay—to pull Percy back from this insanity—but her logic took over. She turned and sprinted toward the heart of the Holy Tree, her robes fluttering behind her.
The moment she stepped inside, her spirit sank.
The hall intended for Celeste’s engagement celebration had become a slaughterhouse. Above the carnage, mana crystals flickered over a scene of pure chaos: nobles were butchering one another, servants were screaming in terror, and the white marble floor was stained crimson.
Among the crowd were others—men and women dressed in rags with twisted, predatory faces. These were not guests or nobles. They were thugs.
Beatrice noticed one of them sneaking up behind Namys. Without a second thought, she seized a sword from a fallen soldier and swung it in a perfect arc, cutting through the man’s back. He dropped instantly.
"Queen Beatrice!" Namys cried out in relief. She was kneeling among the injured, her hands radiating healing light as sweat poured down her face.
"How did these criminals even gain entry to these sacred grounds?!" Beatrice demanded, scanning the room in disbelief.
Namys gritted her teeth. "The Prison of Central Vedelia was stormed! Most of the prisoners are out—and they’ve come here!"
"What?!" Beatrice’s eyes went wide. "That’s impossible! How could they get past every ward and barrier? Not even Cyril could—"
"I suspect..." Namys said grimly, "that Lazarus set this in motion a long time ago."
Beatrice froze.
It made sense. He was someone who could move through these halls freely, unchallenged by anyone.
"That disgusting filth..." Beatrice growled. "I should have finished him when I had the opportunity."
There was a time she could have. Back when her Demigod powers burned with full strength. But now, in her weakened state, even she would find it difficult to withstand the unfolding disaster.
"For now, we have to save as many as possible!" Namys urged. "The others will arrive shortly, and then we’ll—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Both she and Beatrice felt a sudden chill run down their spines. A heavy, oppressive energy began to fill the atmosphere.
They rushed outside.
The sky above had turned a burning red. A massive mana circle had expanded across the heavens, bleeding through the air until it formed a shimmering dome over all of Central Vedelia.
"This...!" Beatrice’s voice shook as her eyes widened.
She didn’t recognize the specific spellwork, but her instincts screamed in warning. It was a large-scale, catastrophic working designed to trap the entire city.
"Defend the Tree and this perimeter!!" Claudia’s voice boomed from behind them.
The surviving knights, shaking off their initial shock, rallied to her call. They began to establish a defensive line around the Holy Tree, raising their shields and summoning mana circles for protection.
"Wait! We need to assist those outside!" Namys yelled, running toward them.
She could already sense the terror gripping Central Vedelia as a whole, not just this singular location.
"No."
Albert stepped in, his expression hard as he shook his head.
"Not one knight of Central Vedelia will leave the Holy Tree. We are bound by oath to protect it."
Beatrice stepped forward, her eyes flashing with rage. "The people are being attacked! They are being butchered! Escaped prisoners are running wild! We cannot simply stand by!"
Albert’s resolve didn’t waver. "If the Holy Tree is seized, Sancta Vedelia and every kingdom within it will crumble. Our path is clear."
Namys bit her lip until it bled. She turned and hurried away.
Beatrice sighed in frustration before following. She recognized that look—Namys was heading into the city to fight and save whoever she could.
Beatrice couldn't allow her to face that danger alone.
She worried for Rodolf, but she had faith that he could beat some sense into Percy. She only hoped he wouldn't end up killing his own nephew...
Meanwhile, Albert looked toward Claudia.
"The vision you had," he said softly, "this destruction of Central Vedelia—is it happening right now? Today?"
Claudia closed her eyes. The vision she carried was a brutal, vivid memory: a city wiped away, smoke choking the towers, and rivers of people screaming under a sky of purple fire. She could still hear the echoes of the screams and the metallic tang of blood.
"Not exactly that destruction," she finally admitted, her voice strained. She spoke slowly, as if piecing together a broken dream. "But the images... they were very similar. If we fail to act, the loss of life will be immense."
"The Holy Tree remains the priority. As the Prophetess, you understand the weight of that."
Claudia nodded solemnly. "I do. But the chaos outside cannot be ignored either."
He gazed toward the horizon, where the red dome held the city in a suffocating grip. "Alector and the others are engaging Lazarus’ grandson and his troops," Albert noted. "Once he is dealt with, the situation may stabilize. However, the youth at the center of your prophecy wasn't him, but Alea’s son, correct?"
"Yes," Claudia replied. "I saw him clearly."
Albert frowned, filled with doubt. Prophecies were never simple, and the details blurred as he tried to connect the dots. If Amael was truly involved, the entire situation changed; the threat of the prophecy coming true felt far too certain.
***
A few miles from the Tree, John sprinted through streets that had fallen into total disorder. Above him, the dome throbbed like an open wound, and the moon had taken on a sickly, bloody hue.
Cries and the sound of frantic footsteps bounced off the alley walls. People were acting like cornered animals—some were dazed, while others were consumed by a sudden, savage bloodlust. John had hoped to stay ahead of the chaos and reach the Tree first, but the disaster had struck much faster than anticipated.
"What are you doing?! Please, stop!!" A woman’s desperate scream pierced through the noise nearby.
John followed the sound and came upon a scene where a woman was shielding her child as a man stood over them with an axe. His eyes were a murky red, vacant and ravenous. The man swung the weapon downward.
John moved instinctively. He threw himself between the axe and the victims, seizing the man’s wrist and twisting it to absorb the impact himself.
"What the hell are you doing? Snap out of it—that’s your own family!" John growled. He then slammed his fist into the man’s stomach. The attacker recoiled, dazed, and in that moment, a second blow aimed for John’s head. He tilted his neck slightly, avoiding it with ease.
He looked up, squinting at the crimson dome. "Is this the work of that spell?" John whispered. The mana dome seemed to crush reason and judgment into a single impulse; the people's wills were being twisted into a mindless rage. How could a spell of this scale be halted? Cyril, John realized. Whoever was maintaining that dome had to be eliminated to save the city.
That was the only logical solution.
For now, all he could do was hold them back.
John’s fist connected solidly with the man’s jaw.
The attacker fell to the stones, unconscious.
"My love!" the woman sobbed, tears falling as she rushed to her husband. She didn't see John’s rapid, practiced movements as he grabbed a length of rope from a nearby stall and tied the man up securely.
Spinning on his heel, he resumed his sprint. His boots hit the puddles of blood and water as he tore down the next street.
He had only covered a few blocks when the world in front of him erupted in a roar.
A massive crash shook the district, followed by a sudden surge.
A wall of water slammed into the cobblestones like a burst dam, exploding into a violent wave that flooded the entire street. The impact was powerful enough to tear through the market, flipping stalls and sweeping people away in an instant.
"Kyaa!"
"Help me!!"
"What is happening?!"
The air was filled with screams. People desperately grabbed onto lamp posts or windows, but the current was relentless. The water wasn't clear; it had a faint, shimmering green glow.
John’s eyes narrowed. That hue... that mana signature.
He turned his gaze upward, following the source of the flood to the rooftops until he spotted a lone figure perched above the wreckage.
There, on the edge of a building with his arm raised high, was Adrian Dolphis.
Huge green mana circles rotated around him, each one vibrating with volatile power. Water poured endlessly from the circles, lashing out like serpents before crashing into the streets below.
John paused for a second, trying to understand. "What is he thinking...?"
Then he realized.
He wasn't targeting the civilians directly—he was sealing off the main paths to the Holy Tree. He was flooding the area to stop reinforcements from arriving. It was a defensive tactic... but not one Adrian should be carrying out.
"When did he even wake up...?" John muttered, frowning. The last time he’d seen Adrian, the man was out cold. He had assumed Amael had thrashed him into a coma.
Without wasting another second, John jumped onto a crumbling balcony and vaulted upward, scaling the building toward the roof. The sound of the rushing water was overwhelming.
But before he could shout, Adrian’s head snapped toward him with unnatural speed.
John stopped in his tracks. Those eyes—they were a vivid, glowing red.
"...!"
"I get it," John whispered. "You’re being controlled too."
But something was off. The others he had encountered under the dome's influence were like mindless puppets. Adrian’s movements, however, were calculated and precise. Whatever was pulling his strings was far more sophisticated than the crude spell affecting the rest of the population.
"That spell... it hit people at random," John mused, crouching on the roof's edge. "But Adrian should have been able to fight it off easily... unless—"
He didn't get to finish his thought.
-BOOM!
The roof beneath him burst apart.
A pillar of water shot upward with immense force, sending John flying through the air. He managed to twist his body mid-fall, landing heavily on a lower ledge as debris rained down around him.
Coughing, he wiped a smear of blood from his lip. "Damn it... he’s playing for keeps."
Adrian’s red eyes were now locked onto him, his face devoid of emotion. The water swirling around him glowed ominously, prepared for the next strike.
John groaned, dusting off his jacket. "I really should just leave this to someone else..." he grumbled. Then his jaw set firmly.
He couldn't walk away. Not with that name in his mind.
Adrian was Amelia’s big brother. If anything happened to him, Amelia would be devastated.
"I seriously hate brothers-in-law..."