I Am The Game's Villain-Chapter 737: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [19] Gathering Under The Tree

Chapter 737: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [19] Gathering Under The Tree

Hours blurred together inside the quiet room, the air thick with the faint scent of rose oil and powder. Celeste sat motionless before the tall mirror, her reflection surrounded by a flurry of movement.

Her snow-white hair—usually tied into a simple braid—had been brushed out until it shimmered like woven silk. Under the soft lamplight, each strand glowed faintly, cascading down her back in smooth, rippling waves. A pair of hands carefully wove a few locks together, pinning them in place with silver ornaments that glinted like frozen tears.

Another maid leaned in to apply the final touches of makeup to Celeste’s face, her voice breaking the stillness.

"You look truly breathtaking, Your Highness," she said clearly awed by Celeste’s beauty.

Celeste didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on her reflection.

Behind her, two more maids worked delicately on her gown, brushing away invisible specks of dust and adjusting the white satin layers that flowed like clouds across the floor.

"Now, we’ll help with the gown, Your Highness," one said softly.

But before they could continue, the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman. It was Lera—Celeste’s personal maid and caretaker since childhood.

"Everyone, let the Princess rest a little," she said.

One of the younger maids hesitated. "But... we’re almost done, and the ceremony—"

"Do you want her to faint halfway through it because you refused to let her breathe?" Lera interrupted sharply, her gaze narrowing.

The maids froze, exchanging uneasy looks. Their faces turned pale before they bowed quickly and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind them.

When silence returned, Lera let out a soft sigh and approached her ward.

"Princess... what kind of face are you making right now?" She asked gently.

Celeste didn’t reply.

Lera smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness. "You really do look like your mother," she whispered.

Celeste’s lips parted slightly. "Mother... married the man she loved."

Lera nodded. "She did. But unlike then, everyone supports this union, Your Highness—just like now—"

"I haven’t accepted it," Celeste interrupted suddenly, her voice trembling. She clenched her fists tightly in her lap, her knuckles whitening. "I–I didn’t accept it."

Lera knelt beside her.

"Princess," she began softly, "this marriage was decided in haste. The council wanted to show stability after the Utopian War, after the tragedy at Moonfang with Behemoth... and the scandal around the Head of the Raven House."

She already knew. Celeste understood all the reasons—the political maneuvering, the desperate need to appear strong—but understanding didn’t mean acceptance.

Lera continued. "From here on, you must stay strong. Prince Cyril may become your husband, but you are the Prophetess. You hold the final word in all matters between you and him. Endure for a few years, Your Highness. Once peace returns and your position solidifies, your voice will outweigh even your own family and the Council of Central Vedelia."

Celeste turned her head slightly to meet Lera’s eyes. The woman wasn’t jesting or offering empty comfort; her words were serious.

"A few years..." Celeste repeated bitterly..

To live alongside Cyril as his bride.... Yet she knew Lera spoke truth; Cyril could not control her. Even so, the title of wife felt like an iron chain she couldn’t break.

Lera gave her a small, reassuring smile and stood. "Come now. Let’s finish dressing you. The gown may be heavy, but I’ll help you bear it."

Celeste’s expression turned less rigid, her shoulders relaxing just a little as Lera lifted the ornate layers of her ceremonial gown.

***

"It has been quite a long time since we’ve held a ceremony like this," Alector said, his gaze sweeping across the vast place.

They stood within the base of the Holy Tree of Eden, a sacred marvel whose colossal roots formed natural pillars that shimmered faintly with golden light. The interior had been transformed for the occasion—garlands of luminous mana crystals hung from the living walls, casting soft hues of blue and green that danced across the polished marble floor. Rows of seats had been arranged in perfect symmetry, each reserved for the highest nobility of Sancta Vedelia.

Alector folded his hands behind his back, standing beside Harvey Indi Zestella, who was watching the gathering crowd with a distant expression.

"The last time such a union was celebrated..." Alector began.

"Was during my marriage to Sara," Harvey interrupted quietly.

Alector nodded, the faintest hint of melancholy crossing his face. "Yes... the union of the previous Prophetess. Over twenty years now."

His voice softened as memories seemed to take hold of him. "Sara was the perfect Prophetess. No one connected more deeply with the people. She had their hearts—their faith—more than anyone before her. She should have surpassed them all."

Harvey’s lips tightened. "Perhaps. But it was her kindness that killed her in the end. I don’t want my daughter to repeat the same fate."

Alector chuckled lightly, though there was no joy in it. "Your daughter, from what I’ve seen, isn’t as lenient as Sara was. But she carries the same light in her heart."

"She does..." Harvey nodded. His voice faltered, turning heavy with guilt.

Forcing his own daughter into a marriage she didn’t want—even if it was for the sake of Sancta Vedelia, it didn’t make him feel good. It was a choice no father should make. Yet the survival of Sancta Vedelia left him none.

After a moment, Alector spoke again, his tone quieter. "Your daughter asked me something, not long ago. She wanted to know why that boy—Amael—wasn’t considered a suitable partner for her."

Harvey sighed sharply. "She’s young. Still caught in childish infatuations."

"Perhaps," Alector said with a faint smile. "But she’s not wrong about him. If only he hadn’t stolen the Seed and handed it to Utopia... things could have been different. The boy is talented—courageous even."

"Regardless of talent, that boy must never have any influence over the Prophetess."

They both turned as Claudia approached.

Claudia," Alector greeted, inclining his head. "You’re early. I don’t see Duncan?"

"He’ll arrive later," she replied curtly. "The ceremony will last for hours, after all."

Her gaze swept over the surroundings. "More importantly, Lord Alector—I trust you’ve ensured that boy won’t be anywhere near this place?"

Alector nodded. "Every guard in Central Vedelia has been instructed. Amael Olphean is forbidden from entering the capital—especially near the Tree."

"Good," Claudia said, her expression unreadable.

Harvey tilted his head slightly. "Are you truly so afraid of him, Lady Claudia?"

"I am not afraid of the boy himself. I am afraid of what follows him. Ever since he came to Sancta Vedelia, chaos seems to trail in his shadow—incidents, attacks, calamities."

She paused, her tone lowering. "And in my prophecy, I saw him again... bringing destruction to this very place—here, at the heart of Central Vedelia."

Harvey’s expression darkened. "What...?" He breathed, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Now, now, Claudia, admitted that prophecy wasn’t so accurate," Alector said, letting his gaze drift across the gathered nobles. "Regardless of what he’s done, I can’t imagine that boy attacking Central Vedelia. What would be his purpose?"

Claudia crossed her arms. "Who knows. Maybe he comes for Celeste—he loves her, after all."

Harvey blinked. "He’d attack the heart of the realm for Celeste?" He tried to laugh it off and failed; the notion sounded exaggerated even to him. Still, the thought left a sour taste. "I have a hard time believing that..."

Claudia shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. If he does come, he’ll die. That’s what I saw."

"You saw it in your prophecy?" Harvey asked, surprised despite himself.

Claudia nodded. "Yes. It would be better if he never set foot here, but at least, if he does, he will not leave alive."

"If Alea heard you say such things aloud, Claudia, you’d be courting trouble."

They turned then, a ripple through the assembly, to find a girl standing just inside the light. At first glance she looked barely into her teens but there was a maturity in her posture that betrayed a far older age.

"Beatrice," Claudia muttered.

"I am surprised to see you here, Queen Beatrice," Alector said.

"Hm, I am as surprised as yourself but I was bored in my castle alone with none of my sons and grandchildren," she said before looking around. "I don’t see the others yet." Her eyes flicked and paused briefly over Namys before moving on.

Harvey forced a smile. The relations had frayed; he wondered which Heads would bother to show at all. Alea, with her icy distance and growing hostility toward Central Vedelia after what happened with Amael, she might stay away. James Raven could come, but likely delayed as Ravenia was still celebrating. Tanya Teraquin’s relationship with Central Vedelia had cooled too, after her son’s role in the Utopian War. In short: any number of absences were possible.

However he trusted Reiner and Jefer would be there.

He sighed quietly nonetheless. They needed unity today more than ever.

"As Heads of the Kingdoms of Sancta Vedelia, this is... disappointing." The words snapped attention toward the speaker.

A middle-aged man with blond hair and glasses stood framed by the glow of the mana crystals. He wore a plain white robe that somehow made him look both scholarly and severe. Alector’s face went instantly stern. "Lord Albert."

Harvey murmured the name, being familiar.

"Albert is one of the Council of Central Vedelia," Alector replied.

Harvey widened his eyes slightly and greeted.

Albert approached with a smile. "Melfina’s son you must be. I hope she has recovered after Edenis Raphiel’s—troublesome visit. What a futile trip that was." He shook his head, almost pitying. "Edenis Raphiel does not take us seriously—only Lord Aslan showed himself as an authority there. That tells you everything."

"Will the others from the Council be coming as well?" Alector asked, turning to Albert.

Albert smiled faintly, adjusting his spectacles. "No. I was sent alone to represent them. Despite the layers of protection here, some are still... uneasy about another incident involving one of the Great Houses of Sancta Vedelia." He spoke plainly, without the slightest attempt to soften his words.

If Alea or Tanya had been present, the comment would no doubt have been met with sharp retorts—perhaps even open mockery. But for now, silence hung in the air.

Beatrice, however, couldn’t resist. She let out a short, amused laugh. "As always, so full of talk, you people from the Council."

Albert inclined his head slightly toward her. "Ah, Queen Beatrice. I remember we did warn you not to meddle in Edenis Raphiel years ago, did we not? If you had heeded our advice, perhaps you wouldn’t be in... your current state."

Beatrice scoffed, folding her arms tightly. "If you call cowardice wisdom, then yes, perhaps."

Albert chuckled. "Let’s simply hope everything proceeds without trouble today. Otherwise... certain changes might be necessary."

Beatrice narrowed her bestial eyes. "And what kind of changes would those be, Councilor?"

Albert’s smile was courteous. "Until now, we’ve allowed the Heads of the Kingdoms to govern their lands freely. But when the same Heads can’t manage their own internal crises, and those problems start spreading toward Central Vedelia—even the Holy Tree itself—we can hardly sit idle, can we?"

Claudia stepped forward. "Incidents may have occurred, yes, but all were resolved swiftly. None of our enemies have ever reached the Holy Tree."

"Indeed," Albert replied, "but the toll has been considerable. Perhaps your methods have become... outdated?" His polite tone made the insult sting even more. "From here on, Central Vedelia will take a more active role in matters of governance and security throughout Sancta Vedelia. I trust you won’t feel overwhelmed by our presence."

A vein throbbed visibly on Beatrice’s forehead. "If I still had my strength," she muttered under her breath, "I’d smack that smirk right off his face."

"Queen Beatrice..." Alector sighed.

Albert only laughed lightly, brushing off the tension. "Now then," he continued, scanning the room, "I still haven’t seen our beloved Prophetess. I do hope she hasn’t run off with that troublesome evil and treacherous boy from Celesta. That would be quite the scandal and rather disappointing for the Zestella family."

"She hasn’t," Harvey replied frowning.

"Ah, that’s good," Albert said. "And what of the groom?"

"Here."

The voice came from behind. They turned as Cyril Magnus Raven entered, his crimson hair tied neatly back, his suit tailored to perfection. He carried himself with the easy arrogance of nobility, hands tucked into his pockets, crimson eyes flickering.

Albert smiled approvingly. "Cyril Magnus Raven—the future of your house. You now bear the responsibility of cleansing the sins of both your father and grandfather."

Harvey frowned. "Sins? What exactly did James do?"

Albert gave him a sidelong look. "He allowed his father’s misdeeds to go unpunished. Naturally, he’ll be investigated after the ceremony."

"Wait, what?" Harvey began, but Alector quietly raised a hand, signaling him to let it go.

Albert smiled faintly. "If he’s innocent, he has nothing to fear."

Cyril chuckled under his breath. "You speak a lot, Lord Albert. But don’t worry I won’t make the same mistakes as my grandfather. In truth, I agree with the Council: Sancta Vedelia has grown weak." He spread his arms slightly. "What better way to begin a new era than with my union to Celeste? Wouldn’t you agree?"

Albert looked at him for a moment before offering a measured nod. "A fine sentiment."

Cyril smirked, clearly satisfied, and glanced around. "Now... where’s Celeste?"

"She’ll be here soon," Harvey replied.

Without another word, Cyril turned and strode away.

Beatrice watched him go, her brow furrowing. "Something’s wrong," she muttered.

Alector turned to her, concern flickering across his face. "What do you mean, Beatrice?"

She didn’t answer right away. Her ears twitched slightly, her head tilting as if listening to something beyond mortal hearing. She sniffed the air faintly, her eyes narrowing.

"...I don’t know yet," she said finally, her voice low. "But something’s off."

Beatrice pushed her way through and stepped out into the chill evening. The air felt thin under the vast boughs of the Holy Tree. Alector frowned and followed her.

She stood with her face tilted up, watching the moon. It wasn’t the moon’s usual pale silver; it was tinged with a dangerous, bruised red that made the world look briefly like a wound.

"Don’t you think the moon looks... too red?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the sky.

Alector gave a small smile. "It’s the period of the year, Beatrice. Atmospheric—"

She shook her head, impatient. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. "No. This feels wrong. Cancel the engagement. Delay it."

Alector blinked, taken aback. "What are you saying? You’re not joking, are you? This is no time—"

"I’m not joking." Beatrice replied. She drew in a breath and glanced toward the crowd of attendants and laborers moving below the tree. Sweat and nervousness clung to the air not only from the work, but from something sharper, a distant animal anxiety that made her skin prickle.

"Where’s Jefer?" She asked suddenly. "Brian will be late with the students. But Jefer I called him for today."

"Hm. I haven’t seen him," Alector replied.

Beatrice’s lips pressed together. "Strange." She sniffed the air like a hunting hound, then frowned. Something else closer now threaded the night.

Alector heard it next: the hard thud of feet, the rattle of panic. He moved first, his staff flicking a shimmer of mana into being. With a quick motion he slotted a barrier into place near the tree’s root-path, a lattice of pale light that would stop anyone foolish enough to break through.

"Ugh!"

"Agh!"

Two pained groans exploded against the barrier as Rodolf and Victor slammed into it and crumpled to the ground.

Beatrice hurried forward. "Rodolf?"

"Mom?!" Rodolf croaked, more relief than rebuke in his voice.

Alector stiffened and looked between them, suspicion already coiling. "What are you both running here for?"

Victor wasn’t steady. He was breathless. He looked at Alector and Beatrice panicked. "I—It’s Cyril!" He gasped. "You have to stop him!"