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

Chapter 744: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [26] Rodolf’s Rage

"Ughh!"

Rodolf grunted in pain as a prana-coated kick slammed directly into his gut. The impact echoed, the air bursting from his lungs as he coughed out a spray of blood. His body was sent flying across the ruined courtyard, crashing through rubble before he twisted midair and managed to steady himself.

The moment his boots hit the ground again, another figure leapt toward him—a massive werewolf, its fur bristling, eyes glowing. Rodolf’s hands shot up.

-BAM!

His palm strike connected with the creature’s snout. The blow shattered through the prana barrier protecting its face, and the beast’s skull snapped sideways with a wet crunch before it was hurled back into the dirt.

-BOOOOM!

The ground split beneath its body as it hit, a cloud of dust and blood bursting outward.

Rodolf landed heavily, his boots digging furrows into the cracked tiles. His chest heaved as he sucked in sharp breaths, every muscle screaming in pain. His clothes were torn and soaked with blood—both his and that of his enemies. His fur was now matted crimson, and deep claw marks ran across his shoulders and ribs.

Around him lay a scene of carnage. Ten werewolves, all of them slain. Their hulking bodies sprawled across the courtyard, limbs twisted, eyes lifeless. The smell of burnt fur and iron filled the air.

Each one of them had used their Bestial Form, their bodies pushed beyond mortal limits—yet Rodolf had beaten them all. Barely.

Now, only two remained. They were breathing heavily, their eyes wild, their fur dull and patches missing—the side effects of the pills they’d taken to force their transformations. Their power was burning out, but their madness wasn’t.

They growled low, saliva dripping from their fangs, and lunged toward him.

Rodolf growled through his teeth. His yellow eyes flickered faintly— the glow weakening, but still alive. Then his gaze shifted.

Behind the two charging beasts, a figure stood still, Percy.

He hadn’t moved once during the battle. Just watching.

Rodolf snarled low in his throat, a sound that was part rage, part exhaustion. "You just gonna keep watching, huh?"

Then he moved.

With a roar, he charged to meet the oncoming werewolves—his body morphing mid-sprint. His Alpha Form shimmered, bones snapping, fur receding slightly until he reverted to his Beta Form. Smaller, leaner, but faster.

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he vanished from sight.

In a blur of motion, Rodolf slipped between the two werewolves, his body weaving through their swings like smoke. He appeared behind them, leg already raised high—prana coating his shin in a blinding yellow glow.

-CRACK!

His kick drove straight into the first werewolf’s abdomen. The sound was strong—ribs shattered, air burst from its lungs, and the creature’s eyes rolled back before its limp body was sent crashing through the air.

The second one roared, spinning on instinct, claws gleaming white as it slashed across Rodolf’s chest.

"Ughhh!"

The claws tore deep, cutting through muscle and fur. Blood spattered across the ground. The impact sent Rodolf flying back into the ruined ground, smashing through broken stone and crashing into the earth hard enough to leave a crater right beside the glowing roots of the Holy Tree of Eden.

He gasped, pain flaring through his ribs, but his mind remained sharp.

The surviving beast howled and leapt high into the air, aiming to crush him from above. Its claws glimmered with feral Prana, ready to rip him apart.

Rodolf’s lips curled into a bloodied smirk. "Got you."

His mouth opened wide, prana swirling violently inside his throat. The air around him began to vibrate as golden energy condensed into a roaring sphere.

The werewolf’s eyes widened mid-leap—too late.

-BOOOOOOM!!

A massive Prana Breath erupted from Rodolf’s mouth, engulfing the creature in a torrent of golden fire and light. The explosion shook the ground, scattering dust, flames, and fur in every direction.

When the smoke cleared, the werewolf’s body fell from the air, charred and broken, crashing to the earth with a dull thud.

The silence that followed was almost relieving for Rodolf. The smell of burnt prana lingered in the air.

"Ah... ahh..."

Rodolf gasped for breath, his body trembling as the last remnants of his Bestial Form faded away. His fur receded, his claws dulled, and his frame shrank back to its human shape. He collapsed to one knee, blood dripping down his chin. Every inhale burned like fire in his lungs.

From across the shattered field, Percy walked toward him—calm, composed, and obviously not a scratch on him.

"You’re truly something, Rodolf," Percy said lightly, his tone almost admiring. "I did well to bring so many of them with me."

Rodolf lifted his head, baring his teeth like a cornered wolf. "You... piece of shit..."

Percy stopped a few steps in front of him, hands in his pockets, looking down at him with the kind of cold detachment that only made Rodolf’s blood boil.

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

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

"Uncle Jefer killed Connor," Percy said.

Rodolf froze. His yellow eyes widened. "What...?"

Percy chuckled softly.

"Judging by that reaction, I suppose you already suspected something. But you never acted on it, did you? You convinced yourself Jefer couldn’t have done it. After all, he was the diamond child of the Moonfang House–the youngest Head, a Monarch loved even by Edenis Raphiel and by his brothers."

Rodolf clenched his fists. "You did all this... out of jealousy?!"

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

His tone darkened as he stepped closer, eyes burning faintly with prana.

"As long as Grandmother and Jefer remain in control, the Moonfang House will never rise. We’ll always be slaves to Central Vedelia—treated as weak, timid dogs by the rest of Edenis Raphiel. You’ve seen it yourself. If Sancta Vedelia had any real order, the Utopian War wouldn’t have happened. And right now..." his gaze flicked down to Rodolf, "you wouldn’t be lying in the dirt, beaten and bleeding."

Rodolf growled low in his throat, forcing himself to stand despite the 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, raising 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 glow around his palm, gathering quickly.

"Shit—!" Rodolf tried to move, but his limbs refused to respond. His body had reached its limit.

Then—

-BOOOOM!

A blast of wind slammed into Percy, forcing him to leap backward. His boots skidded across the dirt before he steadied himself, eyes narrowing toward the new arrival.

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

Silver hair shimmered in the air as she descended gracefully, emerald-green eyes locking sharply onto Percy. "But at least she doesn’t betray his own family."

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

Cylien turned toward him, her pout only half-serious. "You really thought you could hide anything from me, Rodolf?"

Rodolf’s expression twisted. "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—glowing faintly blue. "Drink it."

Rodolf caught it, uncorked it with his teeth, and gulped it down without hesitation. The liquid burned his throat, but he could already feel his energy returning. Not much—just enough to stand and fight.

"Didn’t have a prana vial instead?" He muttered, wiping his mouth and spitting another stream of blood onto the ground.

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

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

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

Rodolf blinked. "C—Cylien?"

She sighed dramatically. "I don’t know if my sister will ever accept me marrying the uncle of a traitorous nephew," she said, 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 retorted, almost grimacing.

He knew better than to stoke the ego of the arrogant and prideful Aerinwyn.

"You don’t get a damn say in this!" Rodolf snarled, his prana flaring faintly around him again.

Percy’s smile faded. He glanced between the two of them, and then closed his eyes. His Prana exploded outward like a shockwave.

-BOOOOOM!!!

The air vibrated violently, pebbles lifting off the ground from the pressure. A blinding yellowish aura swirled around Percy’s body, thick with killing intent.

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

Cylien sighed beside him, her voice dripping with exasperation. "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 back. "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 only shrugged, her eyes glowing faintly green as she turned her focus back to Percy. Her silver hair lifted in the wind, and mana began to swirl around her palms.

Rodolf groaned and followed her.

***

"Selene!!"

Victor’s voice tore through his throat as he sprinted toward her.

Moments ago, he and Priscilla had been locked in a fierce fight against Selene—not because they wanted to hurt her, but because they had to. Priscilla had made him understand something painful: if he truly wanted to save Selene, mercy alone wouldn’t be enough. Sometimes, you had to fight someone to bring them back.

Selene had been strong. Ever since Cyril infused her with the blood of the Original Witch, her behavior and mana had changed. Every blood spell she cast rippled through the air with quite twisted mana. Yet somehow, Victor and Priscilla managed to push her back. He didn’t even remember when his body stopped trembling from her attacks–only that his instincts had taken over.

By the end of it, Victor managed to pin her down. He locked his arms around her in a desperate hold, and Priscilla wasted no time—her crimson mana surged outward in a swirl of blood, binding Selene’s body like chains.

"Stay back, Victor!" Priscilla snapped before he could step closer.

Selene was caught in the middle of a glowing formation—dozens of mana circles spinning slowly around her, pulsing like a living heart. Her dark hair floated slightly in the air, and her eyes, dull and unfocused, reflected no awareness at all.

Victor’s throat tightened. "Will she be okay?" He asked, worried, his gaze fixed on Selene’s blank expression.

"She will," Priscilla replied without looking at him. Her voice was calm, but sweat dripped down her temple as she held her palm out. "Don’t worry. Just... leave her to me."

Victor hesitated. He’d seen this technique before—the Blood Restraint. It wasn’t gentle, but it worked. Still, seeing Selene trapped like that, motionless, made something twist inside him.

Priscilla must’ve noticed his worry, because she added quickly, "I already used this once—on Elizabeth. It’s the same process. She’ll be fine, but I need to focus. Cyril’s the one behind this, isn’t he? You should be stopping him instead."

At the mention of that name, Victor’s teeth clenched. Cyril. The bastard responsible for all of this. His hands clenched until his knuckles turned white, veins visible under his skin.

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

He turned sharply, his hair whipping behind him as he bolted toward the Holy Tree. He had been dragged quite far from the Tree in his fight against Selene.

But at that time...

A massive pillar of white mana burst into the sky ahead.. Victor shielded his eyes, and when the glare faded, he recognized it instantly.

"Celeste..." His breath caught. "Celeste!!"

Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the explosion. Dust and debris whipped against his face as he moved, his blood surging with adrenaline.

But before he could even make it halfway—

-BOOOM!

The ground ahead exploded, and something crashed into the earth. The shockwave sent Victor skidding backward. He raised his sword instinctively, eyes narrowing.

A voice called out through the smoke: "Victor! Don’t let her move!!"

It was Alector.

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

Out of the crater, a figure slowly rose. The faint red mist swirling around her body smelled of blood and death.

It was Elizabeth—or rather, what was left of her.

Her lifeless eyes gleamed faintly red, and her movements were jerky, unnatural—like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. The dark-red smoke seeped from her skin, coiling around her like a second aura.

Victor’s stomach twisted. He didn’t hesitate as he summoned his massive two-handed sword in a burst of crimson light, his blood responding instantly to his call.

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

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

Their weapons collided with a thunderous impact.

-BOOOM!

The shockwave ripped apart the ground behind him, tearing through stone. Elizabeth’s elongated fingers, now claw-like and blackened, pressed against his sword as she pushed with monstrous strength.

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

He wasn’t close to Elizabeth—not really. He had always kept his distance from her, just like he did with Alvara. Both women had been powerful, dangerous, and far too ruthless for his liking. But she was still someone he had fought beside, someone he knew. Someone who had changed, even if just a little thanks to Connor.

And now, to see her like this—her body desecrated, turned into some twisted weapon it filled him with disgust and rage.

"Cyril," he spat, pressing harder against the dead woman’s strength, "you’ve gone too far this time..."

-BOOOOM!

Flames erupted from Victor’s body in a blinding flare, his crimson mana bursting outward like a storm unleashed. His eyes glowed the same blood-red hue, the mark of his awakened bloodline burning fiercely within him. The ground beneath his feet cracked and smoldered under the heat radiating from his mana.

Elizabeth staggered back with jerky movements, but Victor didn’t let her retreat. He charged forward, faster than before, his massive sword leaving trails of fire in the air as he swung it down with terrifying force.

-BOOOOOM!

The impact split the earth open. The sheer weight of his strike gouged a massive trench through the ground, sending waves of debris and molten soil flying in every direction. Elizabeth was thrown back like a ragdoll, her left arm torn clean off in the blast.

But before Victor could even breathe, that same arm dissolved into a swirling mass of dark red mist—and then, grotesquely, it reformed. The haze solidified again into a new arm, thinner, sharper, claw-like.

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

But before he could charge once more, the air around Elizabeth shimmered—and ten enormous white mana circles appeared in midair, encasing her completely. They surrounded her from every side—left, right, front, behind, above, and even beneath—like a perfect, holy cage.

It was Alector’s doing.

The old man strode forward from the smoke, his robe torn and his breathing uneven, staff trembling slightly in his grip. But his eyes hadn’t lost their fire.

"That’s enough now," he said.

He had been fighting Elizabeth longer than Victor realized. The undead witch had been an absolute nightmare—her vitality seemingly endless, her body fueled by the foul spell Cyril had pumped into her, fed by the blood shed. Alector had been forced to bide his time, waiting for the right moment, preparing something devastating in silence.

And now that moment had come.

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

The mana circles around Elizabeth pulsed with white light. The sacred energy spread outward, bathing the battlefield in radiance so pure it seemed to push back the shadows themselves.

Victor instinctively flinched—a sudden searing heat spreading across his right arm. He looked down and saw the emblem of the Apostle of Nihil glowing faintly beneath his skin, a pale white light burning in rhythm with Alector’s spell.

"...What the—" He froze, feeling something stir within him—not pain, not fear, but resonance. A connection. Even though the Apostle of Nihil wasn’t directly bound to the Holy Tree, there was still a fragment of that divine thread linking him to it.

Following his instincts, Victor raised his right hand toward the light. A brilliant beam shot forth, intertwining with Alector’s spell. The mana circles flared brighter—white and gold fusing together—and the entire formation strengthened tenfold.

Elizabeth screamed.

The sound was shrill, inhuman, and utterly horrific. Her body convulsed as the dark smoke around her began to disintegrate, purified by the converging light. Her blackened veins flared red, then white, before fading entirely.

Victor groaned softly, his muscles trembling from the unfamiliar surge of holy energy. He wasn’t used to this kind of spell, but somehow, he knew exactly how to guide it as if the Tree itself whispered what to do.

Alector pressed on, sweat glistening down his temple. The circles began to shrink slowly, folding inward, their light condensing tighter and tighter until they enveloped Elizabeth completely.

For a long, breathless minute, the battlefield was nothing but light and noise.

Then—

-BOOOOM!

A final flash burst outward, followed by a wave of white energy that pushed Victor back several steps. He threw up his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. When the dust finally cleared... there was nothing left. No smoke. No body. Not even ashes.

Elizabeth was gone.

Victor breathed slowly, lowering his sword. "...Wow," he muttered, staring at the spot where she’d stood. "I don’t even know what that was, but—damn. Impressive."

Alector gave a tired smile, leaning slightly on his staff. "You did well, boy. Without your help, that spell might’ve failed."

"I just—" Victor rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "—thought I could help."

Alector nodded approvingly, his expression shifting from relief to seriousness. "Unfortunately, we’re far from done. Cyril won’t stop until—"

He never finished the sentence.

The air ripped open above them, and Alector reacted instantly. His staff slammed into the ground, conjuring a massive barrier of light around them.

-BOOOOM!

The impact hit like a meteor. The barrier shattered into shards of radiant glass, forcing Alector to summon another—then another—then another, each one breaking faster than the last.

Victor threw his arm up against the shockwaves, eyes wide. "Hey old Alector!!"

When the final explosion faded, Alector was on one knee, gripping his staff for support. His breathing was ragged, and the aura around him flickered weakly. That last attack had nearly killed him.

Victor rushed forward. "Are you alright?! What was—"

Alector’s expression darkened. He raised his gaze toward the sky, eyes narrowing. "That... wasn’t an ordinary attack," he muttered.

And then, a voice echoed through the air.

"Even back then, you were always a thorn in my side... Alector Raonpherys."

The sound alone froze Victor where he stood.

He stepped in front of Alector, sword raised, scanning the sky. Dust and embers floated lazily around a dark silhouette descending through the air.

As the haze thinned, the figure became clear—a man.

He floated above them, grey hair swept back by the cold wind. His eyes glowed with two distinct colors: one burning amber, the other deep onyx. His presence alone distorted the mana in the air, making Victor’s skin prickle.

Victor tightened his grip on his sword. "Who are you...?" He asked, though his voice betrayed a faint tremor.

Every instinct screamed at him—this man isn’t normal.

No, he was something worse.

And yet... there was something hauntingly familiar about that presence, something that he couldn’t place.

The man smiled faintly, as if reading his thoughts.

"...!" Victor flinched at the man’s gaze.

Whatever or whoever this was, Victor knew one thing with absolute certainty.

He was dangerous.

Extremely dangerous.

"Let’s see, Victor..." Leon Grimlock’s voice was a low growl, his lips curling into a smirk. "I trust this time, you’ll make it worth my while. The last timeline was... disappointing."