I Am The Game's Villain-Chapter 739: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [21] John’s Biggest Hate

Chapter 739: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [21] John’s Biggest Hate

A few minutes earlier.

After Victor and Rodolf had appeared and revealed everything, the atmosphere had shifted. The truth they spoke was almost impossible to believe, yet Beatrice had been the first to accept it. Her instincts had been screaming for the past hour that something wasn’t right—an itch beneath her skin, a sense of wrongness she couldn’t name. Victor’s revelation only confirmed what her heart already knew.

They had explained everything to Harvey and Evan, urging them to reach Cyril directly and demand the truth from him, while also securing the Prophetess at once. The matter was far too delicate to risk hesitation. Victor and Alector had joined the two for added assurance.

Rodolf had wanted to go as well, but something stopped him. He lifted his head slightly, nostrils flaring as he caught a faint scent in the air.

"Percy...."

He froze.

"What about Percy?" Beatrice asked, noticing his sudden tension. A frown furrowed her brow.

Rodolf’s fists clenched tight. "He’s with Cyril," he said through gritted teeth. "He... used Roda to bait Jefer—and nearly killed him. Jefer’s barely alive, Mom."

"What...?" Beatrice’s voice broke, disbelief twisting her features.

"I’m not lying!" Rodolf snapped, eyes flashing with anger. "We have to find this bastard. He and Cyril are up to something dangerous."

Without another word, he turned and bolted toward the direction of the scent, and Beatrice followed close behind, her heart pounding.

As they ran, Beatrice spoke between breaths. "Why would Percy do something like that? Did Cyril do something to him? Manipulate him, perhaps?" She could hardly bring herself to believe it—her grandson, the quiet one, the boy who always lingered at the edges of gatherings but whose eyes softened around family.

Rodolf’s expression darkened. "No. He did it on his own. I always felt something was off about him. The smell, the way he moved—it never sat right with me."

Beatrice shot him a sharp look. "You’ve never treated Percy as your equal, even though he’s older than you."

Rodolf threw his arms up. "Not my fault Mom had kids so far apart that I ended up the same age as my brother’s son! That’s on her, not me—"

-BAM!

"Ugh!!" Rodolf grimaced, a lump already forming on his head where Beatrice’s knuckles had landed.

"Try to be kind toward him," she said sternly.

Rodolf scowled, rubbing his head. "You’re saying that even after what he did to Jefer and Roda?! I’m not being kind to that piece of shit! I’m going to cripple that bastard!"

Beatrice sighed heavily, slowing her pace for a moment. "Brian... how could he even let his son do something like this?"

Rodolf let out a low, bitter laugh. "Brian doesn’t care about anything except you, Mom. The only reason he had kids at all was because of you. I don’t even remember him shedding a tear when Clida died."

"Clida..." Beatrice whispered the name like a wound reopening. "Her death was my fault. I never should have taken her to Edenis Raphiel. Do you think that’s why Percy—"

Rodolf cut her off. "Clida chose to follow you. Percy knows that. And that’s not an excuse to do what he did to his own sister and uncle."

Beatrice’s lips parted to reply, but before she could, Rodolf stiffened. The smell grew stronger...

"In the contrary..." A voice said softly.

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks.

Just ahead, under the vast and ancient canopy of the Holy Tree of Eden, Percy stood waiting

Rodolf’s hands tightened into fists once again.

"In the contrary," Percy said coldly, "that’s a perfectly justified reason."

"Percy..." Rodolf’s glare hardened.

Percy, however, looked past him—his gaze resting on Beatrice. "Why do we have to compromise with the likes of Edenis Raphiel, Grandmother?"

Beatrice narrowed her gaze. "Percy, you don’t understand what you’re doing."

He gave a small, humorless smile. "I thought that too... for a long time. I hesitated. I doubted myself."

As he spoke, shadows stirred behind him. From the mist under the roots of the Holy Tree, a dozen men stepped forward, each clad in thick armor that reflected the faint white glow of the sacred leaves above.

Werewolves.

And not ordinary ones.

"I’m not particularly fond of Cyril either," Percy continued, shaking his head slightly, "but... he isn’t wrong."

Right after those words, the armored werewolves pulled out small black capsules—pills that pulsed faintly with crimson veins.

Rodolf’s eyes widened in alarm. He recognized them instantly. Behemoth’s Pills, the forbidden catalyst used to force a werewolf into their Bestial Form, tearing through their limits at the cost of their sanity.

"Mom, stay back!" Rodolf shouted, stepping forward and releasing his Prana. The ground cracked beneath his boots as yellow energy erupted around him.

A heartbeat later, the werewolves swallowed the pills. The transformation was immediate. Bones cracked, muscles swelled, and dark fur tore through armor plates. Their Prana flared violently, sending shockwaves through the air.

"Percy! Stop this immediately!" Beatrice raised her voice.

But Percy didn’t answer. He merely watched, expression unreadable, as the transformed beasts lunged forward.

"Mom!! Get out of here!" Rodolf shouted, his tone desperate as he clashed with the first of them, his Prana clashing against their maddened roars. "You’re useless here! Go!!"

Beatrice’s fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms. Her heart screamed to stay—to drag Percy back from whatever madness this was—but logic won out. She turned and sprinted toward the interior of the Holy Tree, her robe snapping behind her.

The moment she entered, her heart sank.

The place that should have been glowing with celebration—the hall of Celeste’s engagement ceremony—had turned into a massacre. The mana crystals flickered above a scene of chaos: nobles striking down one another, servants screaming, and crimson staining the white marble floor.

And among them were others—men and women in ragged clothes, their faces twisted and cruel. Not nobles. Not guests. Ruffians.

Beatrice spotted one of them creeping behind Namys. Without hesitation, she grabbed a sword from a fallen guard and swung it in a clean arc, slicing across the man’s back. He collapsed instantly.

"Queen Beatrice!" Namys called out relieved. She was kneeling amid the wounded, her hands glowing with healing light, sweat dripping down her temple.

"How did such people even enter these sacred grounds?!" Beatrice asked, disbelief in her voice as she scanned the chaos.

Namys gritted her teeth. "The Prison of Central Vedelia was attacked! Most of the inmates escaped—and now they’re here!"

"What?!" Beatrice’s eyes widened. "That’s impossible! How could they bypass every barrier and ward? Even Cyril couldn’t—"

"I think..." Namys said darkly, "Lazarus prepared this long ago."

Beatrice froze.

Of course. He could move freely here, with none daring to question him.

"That piece of filth..." Beatrice grunted through clenched teeth. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

Once, she could have. Back when her Demigod’s strength still burned brightly. But now, weakened as she was, even she would struggle to stand against what was unfolding.

"For now, we must help everyone we can!" Namys urged. "The others will come soon, and then we’ll—"

Her words stopped abruptly.

Both she and Beatrice felt it—a shiver that crawled down their spines. A heavy, suffocating energy rolled through the air.

They ran outside.

Above them, the sky burned red. A massive mana circle had unfurled across the heavens, spreading like blood through water until it formed a dome over all of Central Vedelia.

"This...!" Beatrice’s eyes widened, her voice trembling.

She didn’t even recognize the spell’s pattern, but her instincts screamed. It was large-scale—catastrophic—something meant to engulf the entire city.

"Protect the Tree and this place!!" Claudia’s voice thundered from behind them.

The surviving knights, shaking off the confusion of the earlier frenzy, rallied to her command. They began forming a defensive perimeter around the Holy Tree, shields raised, mana circles summoned to form the defenses/

"Wait! We have to help everyone outside!" Namys shouted, rushing toward them.

She could already feel the panic engulfing Central Vedelia as whole and not this place only.

"No."

Albert intervened, shaking his head with a stony expression.

"Not a single knight of Central Vedelia will abandon the Holy Tree. We swore to protect it."

Beatrice stepped forward, anger flashing in her eyes. "The citizens are under attack! They’re being slaughtered! Even prisoners are roaming free! We can’t just stand here!"

Albert’s gaze didn’t change. "If the Holy Tree falls into the wrong hands, Sancta Vedelia and all its kingdoms will follow. Our duty is clear."

Namys bit her lip so hard it drew blood. She turned and stormed off.

Beatrice let out a frustrated sigh before following her. She knew that look—Namys was heading straight into the city. To fight. To save whoever she could.

And Beatrice couldn’t let her face that alone.

She was worried about Rodolf but she believed in him to punch some senses into Percy. In the hope of course he wouldn’t kill his nephew...

Meanwhile, Albert turned to Claudia.

"The prophecy you saw," he said quietly, "this—the destruction of Central Vedelia—is it happening now? Today?"

Claudia’s eyes fluttered shut. The memory she’d been carrying was a cruel, vivid thing: a city erased, smoke swallowing spires, rivers of people screaming beneath a sky of purple flame. She could still hear the echoes—blood and cries and the metallic stench of battles.

"Not exactly the destruction," she said at last, her voice tangled. The words came slowly, as if she were sorting through fragments of a dream. "But the scenes... they were close. If we don’t act, the casualties will be catastrophic."

"The Holy Tree is our priority. You, as Prophetess, know what that means."

Claudia nodded seriously. "I know. But the threat outside must be handled, too."

He looked toward the horizon, where the red dome held the city in a hush that felt like a held breath. "Alector and the others are fighting Lazarus’ grandson and his forces," Albert said. "Once they deal with him, things might stabilize. The boy at the center of your prophecy however wasn’t him but Alea’s son?."

"Yes," Claudia answered. "I saw him."

Albert frowned, uncertain. Prophecies never sat nice and neat, and the edges blurred as he tried to fit the pieces together. If Amael was involved, then the whole pattern shifted; the likelihood of the prophecy unfolding felt too real.

***

A few miles away from the Tree, John ran through streets that had surrendered to chaos. Above him the dome pulsed like a giant wound; the moon had gone a sickly, blood-tinged red.

Cries and the slap of hurried footsteps echoed from alleys. People moved like startled animals, some dazed, some driven by a sudden, brutal ferocity. John had thought he might be ahead of it—that he could reach the Tree before the worst—but the calamity had arrived far sooner than anyone expected.

"What are you doing?! Dear please!!" A woman screamed nearby, a thin, desperate voice that cut through the noise.

John followed the sound and saw the scene: a woman clutching her child to her chest while a man across from them raised an axe. His eyes were smeared red, dull and hungry. The man’s arm went up to strike.

John didn’t think twice. He launched forward, slamming his body between the axe and its intended victims. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted, taking the blow himself.

"What are you doing? Knock it off—that’s your wife and child!" John spat. Then he drove his fist into the man’s midsection. The attacker staggered, stunned, and in that instant a second swing came for John’s head. He ducked with a tilt of his neck, easily avoiding it.

He glanced up, squinting at the red dome. "Is that the power of the spell?" John muttered. The mana dome flattened thought and judgment into a single pulse; people’s wills had been bent into a furious, mindless frenzy. How could they stop something so wide? Cyril, John thought. Whoever cast that dome had to be cut down to free the city.

That was the most logical answer to the problem.

For the moment, all he could do was restrain them.

John’s fist met the man’s jaw strongly.

The attacker dropped to the cobbles, out cold.

"Dear!" The woman cried, tears streaking her face as she stumbled toward her husband. She didn’t notice John’s quick, efficient movements—he yanked a length of rope from a nearby stall and bound the man’s limbs and body, knotting them tight.

Then spinning on his heel he broke into a sprint once more. His boots splashed through puddles of blood and water as he raced down the next street.

He hadn’t made it more than a few blocks when the world ahead of him roared.

A deafening crash echoed through the district—then came the surge.

A torrent of water slammed into the cobblestones like a collapsing dam, exploding outward into a raging wave that swallowed the street whole. The sheer force of it tore through the marketplace, uprooting stalls and cars, sweeping people off their feet in seconds.

"Kyaa!"

"Help me!!"

"What is that—?!"

Screams filled the air. People clung to lamp posts, windows, anything solid, but the current was merciless. The water’s hue wasn’t clear—it shimmered faintly with a green glow.

John’s eyes narrowed. That color... that mana.

He turned sharply, gaze tracing the source up the row of flooded rooftops until he spotted a lone figure standing above the chaos.

There—on the edge of a building, arm raised high—was Adrian Dolphis.

Massive green mana circles spun around him, each one pulsating with unstable mana. Water gushed endlessly from them, bursting forth like living serpents before slamming into the streets below.

John froze for a second, trying to process. "What the hell is he doing...?"

Then it clicked.

He wasn’t attacking people directly—he was cutting off the main routes to the Holy Tree. Flooding the surrounding districts to block reinforcements. A defensive maneuver... but not one Adrian should be making now.

"When did he even wake up...?" John muttered under his breath, frowning. The last time he’d seen Adrian, he’d been unconscious. He thought Amael had beaten him bad enough to send the poor guy into a coma.

Without wasting another moment, John leapt onto a half-collapsed balcony, then vaulted upward, climbing his way toward the rooftop. The roar of rushing water was deafening.

But before he could call out, Adrian’s head snapped toward him, fast and unnatural.

John froze mid-step. Those eyes—bright, crimson red.

"...!"

"I see," John muttered. "You’re also controlled."

But something was different. The others he’d seen—those under the dome’s spell—had been like puppets, erratic and aimless. Adrian, though... his movements were too focused, too precise. Whatever controlled him was at least less sloppy than what that half baked yet powerful large scale spell was doing to the population.

"That spell... it targeted people randomly," John thought aloud, crouched low on the edge of the roof. "But Adrian should’ve been able to resist it easily... unless—"

He never got to finish the thought.

-BOOM!

The rooftop beneath him erupted.

A geyser of water exploded upward with crushing force, flinging John backward through the air. He barely managed to twist mid-fall, landing hard on a lower ledge as the shockwave tore tiles apart around him.

Coughing, he wiped blood from the corner of his lip. "Damn it... this bastard’s not holding back."

Adrian’s crimson eyes locked onto him fully now, expression empty. The water circling him shimmered dangerously, ready to strike again.

John groaned, brushing dust off his jacket. "I should just leave this to the others..." He muttered to himself. Then his jaw tightened.

But he couldn’t. Not with that name in his head.

Adrian was Amelia’s older brother and if something happened to him, he knew Amelia would be sad and would be crying.

"I really hate brother-in-laws..."