Chapter 733: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [15] Missing Students

Percy stood among the splintered timbers and smoking rubble on the outskirts of Ravenia, the ruins of a small street still steaming in the chill of pre-dawn. A violent shockwave had split the night here, followed by an explosion that rattled windows and set foxfire flickering across the toppled carts. Because this quarter lay a little way from the capital’s heart, most people would treat it like another drunken brawl gone wrong: a noise, a rumor, and then everything would be folded into the day’s other small disasters.

Percy however knew what had happened obviously.

A half-dozen Ravenian knights moved through the wreckage. They had been searching all night, combing through shattered masonry and overturned soil. Percy’s patience, however, had limits. Morning was coming; the city would wake; and still—no bodies.

"It’s...odd," he told himself.

"That Blood Art was stronger than I expected," Cyril said, appearing at his shoulder with a dry chuckle. He looked at the ruined street with a delighted expression. "If you’re still hunting, they were probably reduced to smithereens by now. Nothing useful left to find."

"No." Percy’s reply was quiet, as he lowered his gaze until his jaw tightened. "My uncle wouldn’t leave things to chance. He would have done everything to protect Roda."

Cyril laughed—short, edged. "That was the plan, wasn’t it? Use Roda as bait and blow him apart. Have you forgotten? Or are you—surprisingly—worried about your little sister?"

Percy said nothing. Killing Jefer was one kind of problem. Roda was another. She was his closest family member. He trusted Jefer enough to think Roda would definitely survive the blast.

"Don’t fuss," Cyril continued. "Even if they survive, they won’t get far. I’ve posted guards at every major road out of the city, and men are posted near the center. If anyone shows themselves, they’ll be picked up before they can warn the staff in center capital." He flicked a boot against a charred beam as if it were a trivial inconvenience.

And truly, Cyril’s concern for the living—or the dead—had conditions. Even if Jefer lived, the Blood Art would have wounded him badly enough to blunt his usefulness. Cyril’s plans did not require Jefer to be whole. He just wanted that man who had been suspicious about it him all this time to not interfere at the worst time and it was done.

"You don’t care about family, do you?" Percy asked.

Cyril’s grin was a slit of amusement. "After everything I’ve done to get here, you ask me that now?"

"I am not like you, Cyril. I fight for my House, not for myself." Percy replied.

"I know." Cyril chuckled. "That’s precisely why I entrusted my dear sister’s future to you. Sancta Vedelia needs men like you—obedient. You’ll matter in the future, Percy—if you haven’t broken." The crimson of Cyril’s eyes pinched into vertical slits; the look was meant to warn him. "Tell me—have you lost your will? Are you going to disappoint me like Adrian did?"

"No." Percy shook his head once. "I’ve come too far to turn back now."

"Good." Cyril smiled. "Then stop lingering. Get yourself to Central Vedelia. There’s work to finish."

Percy hesitated. "What will you do?"

Cyril started to walk away without looking back. "Finish the preparations," he said with a smirk.

***

The sixth day of the Blood Moon Festival began under a sky still tinted by the festival’s crimson hue. In the royal castle by now the dining hall once again was full—clattering cutlery, soft chatter, and the warm scent of fresh bread and tea. Everything looked perfectly ordinary, and yet John couldn’t shake the strange feeling that crept beneath the surface.

The air itself felt... wrong.

He glanced around. The Knights of Ravenia stood in their usual positions, silent and vigilant. Nothing seemed out of place, but that only made the unease stronger.

Why does it feel like something’s about to happen?

"Hey," Victor called, dropping into the seat across from John and Amelia. "Have you guys seen Selene?"

Amelia looked up mid-bite. "Hm? No," she said, glancing at John, who simply shook his head. "Shouldn’t she be with you, though? You two are practically glued together," she added teasingly.

"Yeah, well..." Victor scratched his neck awkwardly. "She probably doesn’t feel well or something. But now that I think of it, I haven’t seen Roda either."

The name made Rodolf, seated nearby, raise his head sharply. His wolfish ears twitched. "She better come back soon, Victor," he said.

"I didn’t do anything man!" Victor snapped, throwing up his hands. "She wasn’t even with my group!"

"Why don’t you focus on eating instead," Cylien sighed, reaching over to pinch one of Rodolf’s furry ears.

Rodolf groaned but obeyed, his ears drooping in defeat. The sight made Amelia giggle. "He’s like a big puppy sometimes," she said under her breath.

For a few minutes, the table was filled with the usual festival energy with, students gossiping, and maids hurrying to refill cups. Yet John’s mind wasn’t on the food. His gaze wandered, searching the crowded hall.

"By the way," he said finally, "That guy is still nowhere to be seen?"

Amelia tilted her head. "Who?"

"Cain. You know, the one who used to be always hanging around Elizabeth."

The timing of Cain’s disappearance had already been strange, happening right after Amael and Alicia vanished. Stranger still, nobody seemed to care—or even notice.

"Cain?" Amelia repeated, brows furrowing.

John almost choked on his toast. Even Amelia didn’t remember him?

It was started to become sad even for him.

"Who’s Cain?" Victor asked with a grin, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulder. "Another one of your mysterious friends?"

"Cain Redgrave," John said, frowning now. "You seriously don’t remember him?"

The Redgrave family was one of Valachia’s old noble houses—there was no way they’d forget someone from a family that powerful.

"Redgrave?" Amelia mused. "That’s one of the influential Houses in Valachia, yeah? But I don’t think I’ve met any of them. Maybe he’s a third-year?"

John froze. Their faces were blank, completely sincere. It wasn’t just memory loss—it was like the man had never existed.

Before he could press further, Amelia’s attention drifted. "Oh look, there’s Alvara," she said suddenly. "About to bully someone again, I bet."

John followed her gaze.

Alvara strode through the dining hall with her trademark grace, twirling her new umbrella lazily. But instead of her usual icy scowl, she wore a smile—a soft, amused curve of her lips. She picked an empty table, sat down elegantly, and crossed her legs while the maids rushed to serve her, trembling as they worked.

One would wonder why so many maids were around only for herself.

"Wow," Amelia whispered. "She didn’t throw the cup this time. Maybe she’s in a good mood?"

"You’re exaggerating," Victor muttered.

"No, seriously," Amelia said. "She looks... different today."

John didn’t answer. He knew exactly why Alvara was in such a good mood, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain. His eyes drifted across the table—toward Celeste.

She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her expression dulled. Her eyes looked lost.

Tomorrow, she would marry Cyril.

By this night, she might already be gone from Ravenia entirely.

Amelia noticed too. Her smile vanished; she reached across the table to gently squeeze Celeste’s hand. Bitterness flickered in her eyes as she silently cursed Amael, wondering what he could possibly be doing to leave Celeste like this.

She couldn’t glare at him—so she glared at John instead.

John grumbled under his breath and turned his gaze away. He didn’t know what Amael was truly planning—no one ever did—but if he had to guess, the guy probably just didn’t want to give Celeste false hope.

The truth was... Amael might be able to disrupt Cyril’s wedding somehow. He was reckless enough, strong enough, and unpredictable enough to do something insane like that though chances were even more in his side because Cyril was clearly planning something wrong. But marriage? Marrying Celeste? That was another matter entirely. Even John, who wasn’t the most politically savvy person around, understood how impossible that sounded.

Most of the heads of Sancta Vedelia despised Amael. They didn’t just distrust him—they hated him. To them, he was a reminder of their loss in the Utopian War. There was no way they’d ever allow their Prophetess—the symbol of their purity—to end up in the arms of the man who had humiliated them, and worse, had grown into a figure deeply tied with Utopia, their enemy.

John could picture the chaos too clearly. In the worst case, if Amael tried to drag Celeste away by force, the result wouldn’t just be scandal—it would ignite an all-out war. And Celesta might be dragged into it indirectly.

With that thought, John’s eyes wandered across the room and settled on Priscilla Tepes, sitting a few tables away. She had an unusually tense look on her face as she spoke with Brian Moonfang. Their conversation looked serious—worried, even.

As for Harvey Indi Zestella, Celeste’s father, he had already left for Central Vedelia to finalize preparations for his daughter’s wedding ceremony.

"That’s a lot of absences," Priscilla said, frowning slightly as she looked over a list. "Don’t you think it’s strange, Brian?"

She wasn’t wrong.

Selene. Earth. Percy. Roda. Sirius. Sephira.

All missing.

When the morning call went out, their rooms were empty.

"They probably stayed out late," Brian said after a pause, trying to sound unconcerned, though his twitching ears betrayed him. "Sirius and Sephira have been spending time together lately. Wouldn’t surprise me if they slipped away somewhere, even if it’s against the rules during the Festival."

"Percy and Roda are siblings," he continued, "so maybe something happened there. As for Selene... after Elizabeth’s death, she’s been... distant. Withdrawn, you should know that, Priscilla. Maybe she’s with Earth—he might be trying to comfort her. They’re step-siblings, after all."

Priscilla still looked unconvinced. Her eyes darted toward the grand windows. "It worries me," she said.

"I’ll send a few people to look for them," Brian said. "But for now, let’s keep a closer eye on everyone. If they show up, we’ll tell them to stay together today—no wandering off alone."

Priscilla nodded slowly. For a brief, fleeting instant, a name surfaced in her thoughts—Jefer.

Could he be involved somehow?

She quickly dismissed it, shaking her head.

She might be overthinking.

***

I walked through the streets of Ravenia’s Capital, the chill of morning air brushing against my face. Despite the early hour, the city was already alive—vendors shouting, wagons creaking, laughter echoing down narrow stone alleys. The Blood Moon Festival gave everything a restless kind of energy, even in the quieter outskirts.

My hood was drawn low, hiding most of my face. Out here, away from the central districts, I didn’t stand out much—just another traveler, another face lost in the crowd.

I’d heard an explosion the night before. At first, I’d brushed it off as some reckless drunk or a misfired spell. But the more I tried to convince myself it was nothing, the heavier the unease grew. Something wasn’t right. So, I decided to check it out myself.

As I approached the district where the sound had come from, the air began to shift.

And then—

"This..." I froze mid-step, my eyes widening. That sensation.

I started to move faster, nearly breaking into a run, but stopped short when I caught sight of several Ravenian Knights patrolling the area. Their formation was tight, alert. Some stood watch on corners; others were searching the debris with a lot of focus.

That alone was suspicious. But then... I smelled it.

A faint, metallic sweetness beneath the scent of burnt stone and dust.

Blood.

Not just any blood.

Her blood.

The blood of Elizabeth—not the one from this era, but the original, the blood of the Vampire Witch herself.

It was impossible to mistake. That scent was carved into my memory by now.

But I could tell one thing for certain—Elizabeth wasn’t here.

No matter how strong that scent was, it didn’t belong to her in person. She was still under the spell of Sloth, buried in that deep, dreamlike coma unless someone had forcibly awakened her... and while that wasn’t impossible, it was unlikely. She could break through Sloth’s influence if she wanted to at the slightest perturbation, but there was no sign of her presence. Which left only one explanation—her blood had been used here.

The noble vampires treated the Vampire Witch like a curse that refused to die. But despite their hatred, they all knew the truth: her blood was priceless. Dangerous. Sacred. To some, it was like an impossibly rare, ancient wine—pure, intoxicating, and devastatingly potent. In the wrong hands, however, it wasn’t refinement they’d create—it was destruction. Just like this.

And I knew one man who still possessed that blood.

Duncan Tepes.

He had injected it into the belly of his pregnant daughter-in-law years ago—a reckless, cruel experiment that should’ve been impossible to survive.

So... why now? Why here?

My mind flicked back to the events I remembered from the Game. In that timeline, Lazarus Raven had tried to harness the Vampire Witch’s blood for his own purpose. He failed miserably—and ended up rotting in prison for it. Or did he actually die? I couldn’t remember exactly.

But here Lazarus wasn’t free. Which meant this couldn’t be his doing.

Then who?

Cyril.

It had to be Cyril.

I narrowed my eyes and took a few steps closer toward the cordoned-off ruins.

"Hey! This is a restricted area!" One of the knights barked, moving to block my path.

I slipped my hand into my cloak and drew out a small pendant that hung around my neck—its crest glimmering faintly.

The Olphean Emblem.

"I need to check something," I said, raising it so he could see.

The knight’s face paled. "Wait—this is... the Olphean Emblem! Who are you—?"

I didn’t answer. I simply walked past him, my boots crunching against debris.

"Stop! You can’t go in there!" Another shouted, reaching for me.

I sidestepped him easily, momentum carrying me up the slanted wall of a half-collapsed building. I leapt onto its fractured roof and crouched, looking down over the ruins from above.

The air was heavy here—thick with blood, ash, and faint traces of mana.

I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the one I needed.

Rodolf.

The guy had a nose like no other. His memory for scent was uncanny—if anyone could identify who was involved here, it’d be him. He should’ve been enjoying the festival now, probably halfway through breakfast or tagging along on the class day trip. But I knew how to get his attention.

My thumbs flew across the screen.

[Spotted Roda with Victor entering an inn. Alone.]

I hit send.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I slipped the phone back into my pocket. That’d get him moving.

But then—

A chill.

It rolled down my spine like a hand made of ice. I froze, glancing over my shoulder. Nothing. The street below was still, the knights unaware.

What was that?

And then, inside me, Nemes laughed softly.

{The end drew nigh.}

"What?"

{The true vessel of Samael shall anon be borne.}

I grimaced. "So you are scheming behind my back again. Two years together, and you’re still not capable of being even slightly honest with me."

Nemes only smiled wider, her voice tinged with cruel amusement.

{I want my Eveningstar.}

"Plenty of stars above. Take your pick—one, two, whatever," I said, barely looking up.

Nemes stayed silent before I heard her whisper, sending chills through my brain.

{The Aithra shall be Samael’s own.}

Aithra again...

I clenched my teeth and looked out over the ruins one last time. Whatever Nemes meant, whatever was coming tomorrow—it wasn’t going to be good.

And the fact she was suddenly talkative again after all this silence?

Yeah. That didn’t reassure me one bit.