I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 744: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [26] Rodolf’s Rage

"Ughh!"

Rodolf let out a pained grunt as a kick reinforced with Prana slammed squarely into his stomach. The force of the blow resonated through the air, knocking the breath from his lungs and causing him to retch a spray of crimson. His frame was hurled across the decimated courtyard, tumbling through the debris before he twisted his body mid-flight to regain his footing.

The instant his boots touched the earth, a massive werewolf lunged at him, its fur standing on end and eyes blazing with feral light. Rodolf’s hands reacted instinctively.

—BAM!

His palm struck the creature’s snout with devastating precision. The impact shattered the Prana barrier shielding its face, and the beast’s skull was forced sideways with a sickening crunch before it was sent skidding into the dirt.

—BOOOOM!

Upon impact, the ground fractured beneath the creature, sending a plume of dust and blood into the air.

Rodolf landed heavily, his boots carving deep grooves into the shattered tiles. He wheezed, drawing in jagged breaths as his muscles throbbed with agony. His attire was shredded and drenched in blood—a mixture of his own and his enemies'. His fur was now a matted mess of crimson, and jagged claw wounds scored his ribs and shoulders.

He stood in the center of a bloodbath. Ten werewolves lay dead, their massive bodies scattered across the courtyard with twisted limbs and vacant stares. The heavy scent of iron and scorched fur hung thick in the atmosphere.

Every single one of them had tapped into their Bestial Form, pushing their physical limits beyond mortal capacity—yet Rodolf had emerged victorious. Barely.

Only two opponents remained. They were panting heavily, eyes filled with a primal frenzy, though their fur had turned dull and patchy—a clear side effect of the pills used to force their transformations. Their strength was fading, but their bloodlust remained unchecked.

Letting out low growls as saliva dripped from their fangs, they charged toward him once more.

Rodolf bared his teeth in a snarl. His yellow eyes flickered weakly, the glow dimming but not yet extinguished. His focus then shifted.

Standing motionless behind the two attacking beasts was Percy.

He had remained a silent observer throughout the entire skirmish, simply watching the carnage unfold.

A low, guttural sound escaped Rodolf’s throat, born of both fury and fatigue. "You just gonna keep watching, huh?"

Then, he moved.

With a thunderous roar, he sprinted to intercept the approaching werewolves, his body shifting mid-stride. The radiance of his Alpha Form flickered as bones snapped and fur receded, reverting him to his Beta Form. He was smaller and leaner now, but his speed had increased significantly.

The tiles cracked under the pressure of his feet as he vanished into a blur.

Like a ghost, Rodolf slipped between the two werewolves, his form weaving through their desperate swings like smoke. He materialized behind them, his leg already high in the air, with Prana coating his shin in a brilliant yellow luminescence.

—CRACK!

His kick slammed into the first werewolf’s midsection. The impact was absolute—ribs snapped, lungs collapsed, and the creature’s eyes rolled back as its limp form was sent hurtling through the air.

The second beast roared, turning on instinct as its white claws slashed across Rodolf’s chest.

"Ughhh!"

The talons bit deep, carving through fur and muscle alike. Blood sprayed across the stones. The force of the strike sent Rodolf tumbling back into the ruins, smashing through masonry and crashing into the dirt with enough violence to create a crater right next to the shimmering roots of the Holy Tree of Eden.

He struggled for air, pain radiating from his shattered ribs, yet his focus remained razor-sharp.

The final surviving beast howled and leaped into the sky, intending to crush him from above. Its claws were wreathed in feral Prana, poised to tear him to shreds.

A blood-stained smirk curled on Rodolf’s lips. "Got you."

He unhinged his jaw as Prana swirled violently within his throat. The very air began to tremble as golden energy condensed into a turbulent sphere.

The werewolf’s eyes widened in mid-air—but it was far too late.

—BOOOOOOM!!

A violent Prana Breath erupted from Rodolf’s mouth, swallowing the creature in a torrent of golden radiance and heat. The subsequent explosion rocked the earth, tossing dust, embers, and fur in every direction.

As the haze dissipated, the charred and broken remains of the werewolf fell from the sky, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

The ensuing silence felt like a brief mercy to Rodolf. The acrid scent of burnt Prana lingered.

"Ah... ahh..."

Rodolf panted, his frame shaking as the final traces of his Bestial Form receded. His claws retracted, his fur vanished, and he returned to his human appearance. He dropped to one knee, blood trickling down his chin, every breath feeling like liquid fire in his chest.

From across the ruined field, Percy approached—composed, calm, and entirely untouched by the battle.

"You’re truly something, Rodolf," Percy remarked casually, his voice carrying a hint of genuine admiration. "I did well to bring so many of them with me."

Rodolf looked up, baring his teeth like a cornered animal. "You... piece of shit..."

Percy came to a halt a few paces away, hands tucked in his pockets. He looked down with a cold detachment that made Rodolf’s blood boil.

"Why do you keep struggling so stupidly?" Percy questioned. "You’ve never cared about politics, so it’s only natural you don’t understand what I’m doing."

Rodolf spat a glob of blood onto Percy’s boot. "F—fuck off! You tried to kill Jefer... and you nearly killed Roda!"

"Uncle Jefer killed Connor," Percy stated flatly.

Rodolf went rigid, his yellow eyes stretching wide. "What...?"

Percy let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

"Based on that look, I imagine you already had your suspicions. But you never acted, did you? You lied to yourself, thinking Jefer was incapable of it. After all, he was the golden child of the Moonfang House—the youngest Head, a Monarch cherished by his brothers and even by Edenis Raphiel."

Rodolf’s fists clenched tightly. "You did all this... out of jealousy?!"

"I’m not that pathetic," Percy replied, shaking his head slowly. "I did it for us."

His tone grew dark as he stepped closer, his eyes shimmering with Prana.

"As long as Grandmother and Jefer hold the reins, the Moonfang House will never ascend. We will remain nothing but slaves to Central Vedelia—regarded as weak, obedient dogs by the rest of Edenis Raphiel. You’ve witnessed it yourself. If Sancta Vedelia possessed any real order, the Utopian War wouldn’t have occurred. And right now..." his eyes scanned Rodolf’s broken form, "you wouldn’t be lying in the dirt, beaten and bleeding."

Rodolf growled, forcing his battered body to stand despite the agonizing pain.

"I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, Percy—until you wake the hell up and stop spouting this third-rate villain crap!"

Percy sighed, lifting his hand. "As expected of someone who only knows how to fight. A musclehead to the core. You never could understand things beyond your fists."

Prana began to coalesce around his palm, gathering at a rapid pace.

"Shit—!" Rodolf attempted to move, but his muscles failed him. He had reached his absolute limit.

Then—

—BOOOOM!

A sudden gale slammed into Percy, forcing him to leap back. His boots skidded across the earth before he regained his balance, his eyes narrowing at the newcomer.

"He may be a musclehead," a woman’s voice remarked calmly, "a big one, on top of that."

Silver hair caught the light as she descended with grace, her emerald-green eyes locking onto Percy with sharp intensity. "But at least he doesn’t betray his own family."

Rodolf’s eyes widened in shock. "C—Cylien?!"

Cylien glanced at him, her expression a mix of a pout and a scold. "You really thought you could hide anything from me, Rodolf?"

Rodolf’s face contorted. "Idiot! What the hell are you doing here?! Leave now! Percy’s lost his damn mind!"

"Then help me," Cylien said simply. She tossed a small vial toward him that glowed with a faint blue light. "Drink it."

Rodolf caught the container, pulled the cork with his teeth, and downed the contents instantly. The liquid seared his throat, but he could feel his strength returning. It wasn't full recovery, but it was enough to stand.

"Didn’t have a prana vial instead?" he grumbled, wiping his mouth and spitting more blood onto the dirt.

"Why would I carry something like that?" Cylien asked dismissively.

"I don’t know—maybe for me? I’m your boyfriend, remember?" Rodolf grinned despite the blood on his face.

Cylien arched an eyebrow. "I wonder about that."

Rodolf blinked. "C—Cylien?"

She let out a dramatic sigh. "I don’t know if my sister will ever accept me marrying the uncle of a traitorous nephew," she remarked, pointing lazily toward Percy.

"Forget that piece of shit!" Rodolf barked. "Once I’m done beating his ass, I’ll make him beg Aerin for forgiveness!"

"I’d rather die than beg that woman," Percy countered, his expression darkening.

He knew better than to provide any satisfaction to the arrogant and prideful Aerinwyn.

"You don’t get a damn say in this!" Rodolf snarled, his Prana beginning to flare around him once more.

Percy’s smirk vanished. He looked between the two of them and closed his eyes. Suddenly, his Prana exploded outward like a massive shockwave.

—BOOOOOM!!!

The air vibrated with intensity, causing pebbles to lift off the ground from the sheer pressure. A blinding yellowish aura swirled around Percy, thick with murderous intent.

Rodolf shielded his eyes from the gale. "This bastard... since when did he get this strong?!"

Cylien sighed beside him, her voice laced with annoyance. "Maybe if you paid a little more attention to your nephew, you’d know."

"I would’ve if he wasn’t a smug, brooding brat trying to play a tragic hero!" Rodolf snapped. "He reminds me too damn much of Nyr!"

"Just because Nyr always beats you at everything doesn’t mean you should project your insecurities onto every emotionally distant man you meet," Cylien said sweetly.

"W—what?!"

Cylien merely shrugged, her eyes glowing with green light as she turned her attention back to Percy. Her silver hair billowed in the wind as mana began to swirl around her palms.

Rodolf groaned and stepped up beside her.

***

"Selene!!"

Victor’s voice cracked as he sprinted toward her.

Only moments ago, he and Priscilla had been embroiled in a desperate struggle against Selene—not out of malice, but necessity. Priscilla had made him realize a harsh truth: to save Selene, mercy wouldn't suffice. Sometimes, you had to fight someone to bring them back to their senses.

Selene’s strength had been overwhelming. Ever since Cyril had tainted her with the blood of the Original Witch, her mana and demeanor had shifted. Every blood spell she unleashed rippled with a twisted energy. Somehow, Victor and Priscilla had managed to drive her back. He couldn't even recall when his fear-induced trembling had stopped—only that his battle instincts had taken over.

In the end, Victor had managed to restrain her. He held her in a desperate grip, and Priscilla acted immediately—her crimson mana erupted in a swirl of blood, binding Selene like heavy chains.

"Stay back, Victor!" Priscilla commanded before he could get closer.

Selene was trapped at the center of a luminous formation—dozens of mana circles rotating slowly around her, pulsing like a heartbeat. Her dark hair drifted in the air, and her eyes, vacant and clouded, showed no sign of recognition.

Victor’s throat felt tight. "Will she be okay?" he asked, his voice thick with concern as he watched Selene’s blank stare.

"She will," Priscilla answered without turning. Her voice was steady, though sweat beaded on her forehead as she held her hand out. "Don’t worry. Just... leave her to me."

Victor hesitated. He recognized the technique—the Blood Restraint. It was a harsh method, but effective. Still, seeing Selene immobilized and lifeless made his heart ache.

Sensing his distress, Priscilla added quickly, "I’ve done this before—on Elizabeth. It’s the same process. She’ll be fine, but I need to concentrate. Cyril is the one behind this. You should be stopping him instead."

At the mention of that name, Victor’s jaw set. Cyril. The man responsible for all this misery. His grip tightened until his knuckles were white and veins stood out on his arms.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah. I’ll leave Selene to you. I’ll handle him."

He turned on his heel, his hair whipping behind him as he raced toward the Holy Tree. The battle with Selene had pulled him quite a distance away from it.

But just then...

A massive column of white mana shot into the heavens ahead. Victor shielded his eyes, and as the light dimmed, he recognized the source instantly.

"Celeste..." His breath hitched. "Celeste!!"

Without a second thought, he dashed toward the site of the explosion. Dust and debris stung his face as he moved, his blood pumping with adrenaline.

But before he could cover half the distance—

—BOOOM!

The earth in front of him erupted, and something slammed into the ground. The resulting shockwave sent Victor skidding back. He raised his sword by instinct, his eyes narrowing.

A voice shouted through the haze: "Victor! Don’t let her move!!"

It was Alector.

Victor’s eyes darted forward—and then he saw her.

Rising from the crater was a figure surrounded by a faint red mist that smelled of rot and blood.

It was Elizabeth—or what remained of her.

Her eyes glowed with a dull red light, and her movements were disjointed and unnatural, like a puppet on strings. Dark-red vapor seeped from her skin, coiling around her like a secondary aura.

Victor’s stomach churned. He didn't hesitate, summoning his massive two-handed sword in a flash of crimson light as his blood answered his call.

Elizabeth’s head snapped toward him with a sickening crack, and she lunged.

"Damn—she’s fast!" Victor exclaimed, swinging his blade up just in time.

Their weapons met with a thunderous clash.

—BOOOM!

The shockwave shattered the ground behind him, ripping through the stone. Elizabeth’s elongated, blackened claws pressed against his steel with monstrous power.

"Cyril..." Victor growled through gritted teeth. "How could he even dare do something like this?"

He hadn't been close to Elizabeth. He had always kept a distance from her, much like he did with Alvara. Both were dangerous, ruthless women who didn't suit his temperament. But she was still a comrade he had fought alongside. Someone who had begun to change, however slightly, because of Connor.

To see her body desecrated and used as a twisted tool filled him with pure loathing.

"Cyril," he spat, pushing back against the undead woman’s strength, "you’ve gone too far this time..."

—BOOOOM!

Flames erupted from Victor’s form in a blinding flash, his crimson mana surging like an unleashed tempest. His eyes burned with the same blood-red light, the mark of his awakened bloodline shining brightly. The earth beneath him cracked and began to melt from the sheer heat of his mana.

Elizabeth stumbled back with jerky motions, but Victor gave her no room. He charged with newfound speed, his massive blade leaving arcs of fire in the air as he brought it down with devastating force.

—BOOOOOM!

The strike cleaved the earth open. The weight of the blow carved a massive trench, sending molten soil and debris flying. Elizabeth was tossed aside like a doll, her left arm completely severed by the blast.

But before Victor could recover, the severed limb dissolved into a dark red mist—and grotesquely reformed. The haze solidified into a new arm, thinner and sharper than before.

Victor gritted his teeth. "She’s regenerating again... damn it!"

Before he could strike again, the air around Elizabeth shimmered. Ten massive white mana circles appeared, surrounding her entirely. They formed a perfect, holy cage from every angle.

It was Alector’s intervention.

The old man emerged from the smoke, his robes tattered and his breathing ragged, his staff shaking slightly. Yet, his eyes remained fierce.

"That’s enough now," he declared.

He had been battling Elizabeth longer than Victor knew. The undead witch had been a nightmare—her vitality seemed bottomless, her body sustained by Cyril’s foul magic and the blood spilled on the field. Alector had been forced to wait, biding his time to prepare a devastating countermeasure.

That moment had arrived.

He raised his staff high. "I call upon the blessing of the Holy Tree of Eden!"

The mana circles pulsed with brilliant white light. Sacred energy flooded the battlefield, pushing back the shadows with its pure radiance.

Victor flinched as a sudden, searing heat spread through his right arm. Looking down, he saw the mark of the Apostle of Nihil glowing under his skin, pulsing in sync with Alector’s magic.

"...What the—" He froze, feeling a resonance within him. It wasn't pain, but a deep connection. Even if the Apostle of Nihil wasn't directly tied to the Holy Tree, a fragment of divine thread still linked them.

Trusting his gut, Victor raised his right hand toward the light. A brilliant beam erupted, merging with Alector’s spell. The mana circles flared with ten times the intensity, fusing white and gold energy together.

Elizabeth let out a scream.

The sound was high-pitched, inhuman, and terrifying. Her form buckled as the dark mist surrounding her began to disintegrate.