I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 740: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [22] Central Vedelia Under The Blood Moon Spell

Central Vedelia was gripped by a level of turmoil never before seen in recorded history.

Neither the devastation of the Blood Moon War nor the assault by Deborah Dolphis during the Third Great Holy War had plunged the heart of the continent into such absolute insanity.

In those past conflicts, the massive gates of the city had endured relentless battering from hostile legions, yet no enemy had ever managed to penetrate deep enough to threaten the Holy Tree of Eden, Vedelia’s sacred core. The last time the inner sanctum of Central Vedelia had been compromised was eight centuries ago during the Racial War, a time when every civilization fought for possession of the Tree. Since that era, the city had remained an impenetrable fortress—until this moment.

However, the strike that breached it today was not delivered by steel blades or raw mana.

The weapon was treachery.

Cyril had betrayed them all, invoking a Forbidden Blood Art empowered by the ancient blood of the original Vampire Witch. By utilizing Selene—who remained a vessel for the Witch despite being empty—he had unleashed the Blood Moon Spell.

While this manifestation was not as expansive or catastrophic as the legendary version that once shrouded all of Sancta Vedelia for a decade, its potency was more than sufficient.

It was enough to submerge Central Vedelia in a sea of crimson radiance.

The instant the blood-red moon appeared in the sky, those unfortunate enough to look upon it were lost.

Their vision clouded, their sanity shattered, and their wills were subjugated by the spell’s influence.

Chaos erupted as allies turned on one another; friends became foes, children attacked their parents, and lovers tore at each other in a frenzied rage.

The capital was swallowed by madness.

Knights raced through the narrow streets, only to find themselves paralyzed by the horror. They were unable to bring themselves to strike down their own people, particularly as their own brothers-in-arms began to succumb to the lunar curse.

Mana erupted in violent bursts across the cityscape; shimmering magic circles and fractured sigils lit up the night sky above the inferno of burning homes.

"What... what is happening?"

Christina’s voice shook as she pressed a hand to her lips, surveying the ruins of the city. The air was thick with the sound of screams and magical explosions, as the holy capital of Sancta Vedelia transformed into a chaotic slaughterhouse.

Beside her, Alea was motionless, her sharp gaze wide with shock.

She had been reluctant to attend this ceremony from the start—her cold relationship with the other High Families made the journey to Central Vedelia feel like an unwanted chore. She had only come out of a sense of duty... and now, she was witnessing this?

This was no longer a wedding. It was a massacre.

A piercing shriek of desperation cut through the noise.

"No! Somebody help!"

Christina turned toward the plea. A man was on the ground, crawling away in terror from a woman who approached with jerky, unnatural movements, looking like a marionette guided by unseen strings.

Acting without thought, Christina sprinted forward, channeling mana into her limbs to knock the woman back with a heavy blow.

"What is going on here?!" she demanded, looking between the two.

"I–I don’t know! She just started lunging at me for no reason!" the man stammered, his face pale with fright.

"They are under someone’s control," Alea remarked coldly, moving to Christina’s side. She studied the woman with an analytical gaze.

"Controlled?" Christina asked, blinking in confusion.

Alea gave a grim nod. "This carries the scent of a Blood Art... perhaps a powerful curse."

Christina looked up at the scarlet moon hanging ominously above, her heart sinking. "Who could be capable of such a thing...?"

"I am uncertain," Alea whispered, her eyes turning as sharp as blades. "But we cannot slay them—they are innocent citizens. Use restraints if you are able."

Christina nodded, her resolve hardening.

Alea glanced toward the silhouette of the Holy Tree in the distance. Just then, another blast shook the ground, followed by the harrowing sounds of human terror.

She tightened her grip. "Damn it..."

***

The conflict raged on around the protective perimeter of the Holy Tree. Within the barrier, knights were busy capturing and subduing the bewitched; however, the battle outside was far more savage.

Rodolf spat out blood as a werewolf’s fist whistled past his chin. The beast loomed over him—a mass of matted fur and powerful muscle, its fangs bared in a snarl—before swinging again and catching Rodolf in the ribs.

"Argh!" he groaned, feeling a burst of agony as he was sent sliding across the pavement. Before he could regain his footing, another beast lunged at him with claws like curved blades.

"GET BACK!" Rodolf roared, his focus narrowing. He channeled Prana into his legs, delivering a crushing kick to the side of the charging monster. The force of the blow echoed as Rodolf rolled away, his lungs burning. He scrambled up and sprinted toward Percy with a yell. "Percy!!!"

Three more monsters blocked his path. Rodolf didn't slow down. Suddenly, he spotted a glow in his peripheral vision—a Prana Breath was forming in the jaws of a nearby werewolf.

"Shit!" He thrust his hand out, manifesting a shield of concentrated Prana.

-BOOOM!

The resulting explosion sent a wave of dust and debris into the air. Though the shockwave was intense, the inner sanctum of the Holy Tree remained undisturbed. A shimmering divine shield, powered by both the Tree and the unconscious seal of Freyja within, stood unbreakable.

Rodolf slid back, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. He wiped his face, his fury surpassing his physical pain. "You coward! Face me!" he screamed.

Percy remained silent, his expression hauntingly calm. Around Rodolf, a dozen werewolves closed the distance. Their transformed bodies looked unstable and strange—the enhancement pills had granted them strength, but at a terrible price. Their muscles were tearing, their joints were failing under the strain, and their fur was soaked in dried blood. They had made a fatal mistake taking that substance.

Despite their deteriorating states, they charged. Prana hissed from their lungs as they attacked.

Rodolf responded by triggering his own Bestial Form—choosing speed over bulk. His limbs stretched and his muscles coiled like springs. He became a blur, a golden phantom weaving through the strikes. A roundhouse kick sent one attacker flying into a fountain; he twisted out of the grasp of another, throwing the beast into a third opponent. They fell like broken toys.

Using a corpse as a platform, he leaped toward Percy, the Prana beneath his skin humming with heat.

Percy didn't move, standing as still as a statue. Two werewolves flanked him, preparing to fire their own Prana Breaths.

"To hell with this!" Rodolf snarled, diving to the side as a beam of Prana tore through the stone where he had stood.

"Give up, Rodolf," Percy finally spoke. "I have no desire to kill you."

"You think you're capable of it?" Rodolf snapped, his eyes glowing like yellow slits.

"I don’t want to kill you," Percy said again, his voice devoid of emotion, sounding distant and cold.

"You wanted Jefer dead! You wanted Roda dead!" Rodolf spat. "You—"

"Jefer was a necessity," Percy interrupted. "As for Roda... that was not my intent."

Rodolf’s hands shook with rage. A massive pillar of yellow Prana erupted from his body, illuminating the surrounding carnage. With a primal roar, he charged, every fiber of his being focused on the strike.

The twelve werewolves rose again, Prana surging through them like a terminal fever.

Percy’s face remained impassive. Watching the desperate assault, he sighed softly.

"It is futile."

***

On the northern side of the Holy Tree, the atmosphere was thick with frost and the scent of iron.

Evan Indi Zestella fought like a demon, his blade a streak of freezing light as he clashed with Cyril.

Cyril was enveloped in a terrifying radiance, his veins pulsing as if filled with liquid fire. His breath came out as red steam, and the ground scorched wherever his aura touched.

Evan swung, sending a wave of ice forward like a frozen ocean. It was useless—Cyril’s counter-attack shattered the ice like fragile glass.

"I have no more patience for these games, Evan," Cyril said with a sinister laugh before disappearing from sight.

"...!"

Before Evan could react, blood sprayed. A blade slashed across his back, sending a jolt of white-hot pain through his nerves. He lunged forward to avoid a fatal follow-up, but blood soaked through his clothes as it poured from the wound.

"Brother!!"

Celeste screamed, her eyes brimming with tears. She was trembling, struggling to maintain her focus. She yearned to help him, but she was pinned to her spot.

She looked down at the man at her feet.

Her father lay there with a ruined chest, his breathing shallow and rattling. The injury Cyril had inflicted was catastrophic—nearly piercing his heart. Only her Fate was keeping his soul attached to his body.

She was tirelessly channeling Fate into him, weaving the threads of his life together. If her concentration slipped for even a second, he would be gone.

If only Namys were here, she thought with a pang of bitterness. The healer could have stabilized him. But Namys was elsewhere, tending to the wounded in the city center, leaving Celeste isolated and trapped.

"Run, Celeste!!" Evan yelled.

She looked up, startled. "B–Brother..."

"Get away from here!" Evan barked, his voice strained by the agony of his injuries.

Cyril reappeared, and their blades met in a collision that vibrated through the earth. The sheer power of Cyril’s blow numbed Evan’s arm all the way to his shoulder. Staggering back, Evan summoned a massive wall of ice between them. The barrier froze the air itself, but Cyril simply smashed through it.

"Agh!"

The cry of pain came from a different direction. Celeste turned, her heart breaking at the sight.

Victor was locked in a duel with Selene. His movements were sluggish and heavy with hesitation. He couldn't bring himself to fight with lethal intent. His eyes were filled with sorrow as their swords clashed.

However, the woman before him was no longer Selene. Her eyes were wild and vacant—a vessel inhabited only by bloodlust. She attacked with mechanical precision, her obsessive focus fixed entirely on Victor.

This was not her doing.

None of it was.

Cyril had transformed her into this monstrosity.

To invoke the Blood Moon Spell, he required more than mere incantations; he needed the Witch’s blood and a suitable host. Selene served as the vessel, while the blood was drawn from the original Vampire Witch. To finish the dark rite, he had desecrated the remains of Elizabeth, merging them with the tainted blood.

The result was a profane union of three entities: the Witch’s essence, Selene’s physical form, and Elizabeth’s remaining power.

This had been Lazarus’s design from the beginning.

Yet, such forbidden magic always demanded a toll.

The resurrection was flawed and unstable. The Witch’s thirst for blood had entwined with Selene’s hidden longings, turning her into a predator. Her soul was being consumed by the Witch’s hunger, and her love for Victor had curdled into a dark obsession.

And Elizabeth...

Her body was now a mere tool for hatred. She was no longer a living being—just a weapon of pure spite, fueled by the Witch’s blood and driven by mindless fury.

"V–Victor..."

For a fleeting second, Selene’s voice cracked. A single tear fell, shining against the red glow of the moon.

Victor faltered, his sword hand wavering.

"...!"

That brief lapse was fatal. Selene’s leg lashed out, her heel striking him squarely in the stomach.

"Arghhh!"

The impact shattered his ribs. He felt the sharp internal pain as he was hurled backward into the rubble. He rolled through the dust, coughing up blood and gasping for air.

Selene did not relent. Moving with predatory speed, she raised her rapier and lunged again, her eyes cold and feral.

Victor barely managed to raise his guard.

-BOOM!

Their weapons met in a burst of mana that sounded like a thunderclap. Victor deflected the blow, but he wasn't quick enough. The point of Selene’s blade pierced his shoulder.

"Arghhh—!" He clenched his teeth, blood streaming down his arm. His red eyes searched hers, pleading. "Selene... I know you are still in there. Please... fight this. Come back to me."

For a moment, a spark of recognition returned to her eyes. A brief moment of clarity.

Then, the darkness returned.

Her face contorted as the Witch’s hunger took hold once more. She shoved the rapier deeper, forcing Victor to retreat as pain flared through his body. He struggled to stay upright.

Selene raised her hand, her claws ready to strike at his heart.

Suddenly—

-BAM!

A dark blur slammed into her, throwing her across the clearing. She crashed into a stone wall with enough force to shatter it, disappearing into a cloud of stone dust.

Victor looked up in surprise as a figure stood before him.

"Professor..." he gasped, recognizing Priscilla Tepes.

"I suspected something was amiss," she remarked, her eyes fixed on the spot where her niece was trying to stand. "But I did not imagine it was this severe."

She looked at Victor with a gentle expression. "I know you wish to avoid hurting her—as do I. But consider this, Victor. When she finally wakes up... do you want her to realize she murdered you?"

Victor’s heart skipped a beat.

She was right... the guilt would destroy Selene.

Priscilla took a breath, her face softening. "I have a method to restore her senses," she stated.

Victor’s eyes lit up. "You do?"

She nodded. "It is an art I used to use on Elizabeth... back when her emotions would overwhelm her and her power became uncontrollable."

A shadow of grief passed over Priscilla’s face at Elizabeth's name. Her voice wavered for a second before she regained her composure.

"I can apply a Blood Art to reach Selene," she explained. "It will be painful for her, but it can break the Witch’s hold if I can access her mind. However... you must weaken her first, Victor. Subdue her. Keep her still long enough for me to complete the seal. Do you understand?"

Victor looked at Selene, who was trembling with a mix of fury and pain as she rose again. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Yes," he said softly. "I'll do it. Just... please save her."

...

...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield near the Holy Tree, Celeste had no time to celebrate Priscilla’s arrival.

A violent impact shook the earth—

-BAM!

Evan was thrown to the ground, sliding across the cracked stone and leaving a trail of blood. He was covered in wounds, his breathing ragged and heavy.

"Brother!" Celeste cried out, her hand reaching toward Cyril in a desperate reflex.

Dozens of ice spears materialized and launched at Cyril with lethal velocity.

Cyril seemed surprised by the sudden outburst but evaded them with ease, his sword shattering the remaining ice into a fine mist.

He laughed, his eyes glowing with a crimson light. "Your desperation is almost... endearing, Celeste."

Her face twisted with pure hatred.

Cyril’s gaze shifted back to Evan, who was struggling to stand as blood dripped onto the holy earth. "Don't worry," he said with a cruel grin, "I’ll send you to join your father shortly. You won't have to be alone."

Evan forced himself up to his knees, his sword arm trembling. The malice coming from Cyril was overwhelming, and worse, the man seemed to be growing more powerful by the second.

The energy of the Blood Moon was constantly flowing into Cyril, knitting his wounds and strengthening his aura. His ability to regenerate had already surpassed the limits of any known vampire.

That was when Evan saw it—thin trails of blood were rising from the city, being drawn into the red dome above. It wasn't just a spell; it was an energy source.

Cyril, Selene, and Elizabeth were all being fed by it.

The Blood Moon Spell was a massive siphon.

"Do you have any final words, Evan?" Cyril asked, lifting his blade.

"Stop this right now!" Celeste screamed again.

Cyril ignored her, smirking. "Look at her, Evan. Weeping for you. Begging for mercy. It’s pathetic."

He raised his sword for the killing strike.

"I said... stop."

The weight of that single command froze him in his tracks.

Cyril’s body locked up mid-motion. He turned his gaze toward Celeste, and the sight made his heart turn to ice.

She was bathed in a brilliant white light, a divine radiance that cut through the red fog. Her eyes were glowing with a pure, blinding white. As her tears fell, they froze into solid ice, clattering onto the ground like diamonds.

The temperature around them crashed. The air itself shivered as frost began to crawl across the earth.

Cyril took a step back, instinctively. He had seen many things, but never this.