Chapter 735: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [17] The Day Before The End

"John!"

Amelia’s voice rang out, snapping John out of his thoughts. He blinked, glancing around the bustling streets of the capital of Ravenia.

They had just finished lunch, and the group was supposed to spend the rest of the afternoon sightseeing. The teachers had given them a few rules—don’t wander too far, stay within the group’s perimeter, don’t cause trouble—but everyone knew it was just formal talk. It was the last trip of the academic year, after all. No one, not even the strict professors, had the heart to enforce discipline when they were standing in the heart of the capital during the Blood Moon Festival.

"What?" John muttered, not bothering to turn around. His gaze swept across the streets—vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, red festival banners fluttering in the warm breeze. It should have been peaceful. But something felt... off.

There were too many knights.

Everywhere he looked, armored figures patrolled the roads, keeping a close watch on the crowd. Sure, it was festival week, but even then, the presence of so many guards wasn’t normal. Their movements were sharp, their faces too serious, as if expecting trouble at any moment.

’Is it just my imagination?’

He frowned. No, it wasn’t. Not at this stage of things—not with what he knew. Coincidences didn’t exist anymore on this last day.

Amelia stepped up beside him, following his line of sight. "What are you looking at? Don’t tell me you’re searching for Amael like Celes?" She whispered.

John didn’t answer. He didn’t have to—because a few meters ahead, Celeste was walking in silence, her eyes scanning the crowd. Her usual bright hopeful energy was gone, replaced by a faint, lost look.

Alicia had told her Amael would be here. But he wasn’t.

Or maybe... he was, and just didn’t care to show himself.

That thought stung her more than she wanted to admit. She could still remember the look in his eyes during the battle against Behemoth—that unguarded emotion that couldn’t have been faked. So why now? Why the cold absence?

Maybe he’d found out about her engagement to Cyril. Maybe he thought she’d accepted it.

But she had fought it. She’d tried, argued, pleaded—and it was all useless. As the Prophetess, her destiny wasn’t hers to decide. And yet, a small, foolish part of her still hoped that if Amael had been there, she might have found the strength to defy everything.

Now, that hope just felt like a knife twisting inside her.

She sighed quietly, lowering her gaze. "Why..." She whispered, her voice trembling, her pale blue and white eyes glimmering faintly with the moisture of unshed tears.

"Princess."

Celeste’s head snapped up, her breath catching as she recognized the voice.

"A–August?" She gasped.

The old commander stood before her, flanked by members of the Zestella Royal Guard.

"Lord Zestella has summoned you," August said, bowing slightly. "We’re to escort you immediately to Central Vedelia. Preparations for the wedding must begin."

"...!" Celeste froze, her body turning rigid.

"W–Wait! Isn’t the ceremony scheduled for tomorrow night?" Amelia blurted out, stepping forward in alarm. "She’s still technically in class until tonight!"

August’s expression didn’t change.

"I’m afraid the wedding has been moved up. It will take place tomorrow morning."

Celeste’s lips parted, but no sound came out. The world around her—the laughter, the banners, the music—all seemed to fade into a blur.

Tomorrow morning.

Less than a day. That was all the time left before her life would be bound forever to Cyril’s.

August stood before her, his expression twisted in quiet pain. To others, he was a veteran commander of the Zestella Royal Guard, a man of discipline and steel. But to Celeste, he was something far more personal—the man who had raised her, guided her since childhood, treated her like the granddaughter he never had. And now he was being forced to deliver her to a fate he despised.

He knew Cyril. Everyone did. The charming noble with the perfect smile and cruelty hidden beneath it. He was the type of man who saw people as pawns—tools to reach his goals He looked too much like Lazarus. He was so someone who didn’t deserve Celeste, whose kindness could melt the coldest heart.

But what could August do? The decision had already been made by Lord Zestella, and all the Heads of the Great Houses had agreed. It wasn’t a wedding—it was a transaction. A way to bury the scandal surrounding Lazarus Raven, now held in prison, and to restore the noble image of the Sancta Vedelia.

Celeste was simply... a sacrifice.

"I–I’ll come too, then!" Amelia suddenly said, her voice trembling with hesitation before firming up.

August turned to her, a weary sigh escaping him. "Princess Amelia, I’m afraid I can’t take someone of your status along without authorization. It would cause... complications."

He was being polite, but his meaning was clear—if Reiner Dolphis finds out, I’m finished. The Princess of Dolphis didn’t just ’tag along’. There were procedures, guards, formal requests—and none of that could happen in the middle of class.

Amelia knew that too. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She hated how powerless she felt, watching Celeste being led away like that.

"It’s fine, Amelia," Celeste said softly, turning to her with a small, gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"No, wait a minute!" Amelia spun toward John, grabbing his arm. "John, you’ve been in contact with Amael, haven’t you? Tell him to come! Now!"

John blinked at her, silent for a few seconds before replying quietly, "He won’t come right now. He’s... occupied."

"Occupied?!" Amelia’s voice cracked with disbelief. "Occupied with what?! Doesn’t he love Celeste? She’s—she’s about to get married, for crying out loud!"

Her words trembled as tears welled in her eyes.

"Amelia," Celeste called again. "That’s enough."

"But—"

"Thank you," Celeste interrupted gently, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Amelia in a warm, almost sisterly hug.

Amelia bit her lip, hugging her tightly back. "I–I’ll definitely be there tomorrow! And if Cyril tries anything, I swear I’ll kick him myself!"

Celeste smiled faintly. "I know you will."

When they pulled apart, Celeste’s expression softened. She glanced once toward John, her eyes glimmering faintly. "Tell him... I didn’t abandon him. That he—" Her voice broke for a moment, a single tear slipping down her cheek before she brushed it away — "He’s the one who abandoned it first."

Without another word, she turned and followed August toward the waiting car.

John stood there silently, watching her go. Amelia glared at him as expected.

He grimaced. "What do you want me to do? Maybe he just doesn’t want to see her."

Amelia’s eyes widened. "I can’t believe Celes fell for someone like that!"

"He’s got his own problems," John replied.

That caught her off guard. "Huh? I thought you’d agree with me."

John didn’t answer. He pulled out his phone, typing quickly—a short message to Amael, informing him that Celeste had just left for Central Vedelia. No emotion, no judgment. Just facts.

Beside him, Amelia crossed her arms. "Fine. But we’re going to that wedding. Together." She grabbed his arm again, this time more gently.

"Yeah..." John replied vaguely, though his mind was already elsewhere.

He had no intention of going with her. He’d leave alone—ahead of the others. By the time Amelia got there, he’d already be in Central Vedelia.

’Earth is likely already there.’

John thought, narrowing his red eyes.

***

A few meters behind John, seated with the poise of someone who seemed to own the entire kingdom, sat Alvara. Her slender legs were elegantly crossed, her umbrella tilted just enough to shield her from the pestering gazes on her. The golden hue of her eyes had darkened slightly for a moment.

"Your Highness."

The voice came from beside her—a tall elven man kneeling in quiet respect. He wore the armor of Tanya Teraquin’s personal guard, one of the loyal few Alvara had chosen to accompany her here.

"Hm." Alvara’s reply was little more than a hum, her gaze never leaving the horizon.

The elf bowed his head slightly. "We’ve confirmed that Lady Sephira has departed for Central Vedelia. She travels with Sirius Raven."

Alvara tilted her umbrella back slightly letting out a slight contemptuous scoff. "What a troublesome girl."

"As expected, then? "Do you suspect she may have been involved in Prince Kendel’s release?"

"No," Alvara replied. "Someone helped him escape. No matter how many traitors we cleanse, a few always find a way to crawl out through the gutters."

The elf hesitated. "Then... what are your orders, Your Highness?"

"Prepare a car," Alvara said, standing gracefully. "We’re going to Central Vedelia."

The guard bowed deeply. "At once."

***

It was late afternoon, but I was still finding myself in the hidden room inside Lazarus’s quarters. Victor and I had torn through every shelf, every ledger, looking for the one thing that might make this make sense. Nothing had turned up.

"Amael!" Victor slammed his palm against the table, making a stack of papers jump. "Do you hear me?!"

"Huh?" I looked up.

"What are you even looking for? We don’t have time for this!" He said with an anguished expression. "If Cyril’s going to continue what Lazarus started, everyone’s in danger. We have to warn the Houses. We have to stop him."

I let out a breath that felt too small for what needed saying. "What would we even say? ’Cyril’s going to cast the Blood Moon Spell—please stop him’?" I forced a bitter laugh. "We tell them that less than a day before his wedding to Celeste? Do you think they’ll believe us, or just lock us away so we can’t ruin their theater?"

Victor’s face went quiet. He understood then what I meant.

"Then what do we do?" he asked. "We have to stop him before he casts it—"

"No." The word left me like a stone. "We won’t get to him in time. By the time we make it to Central Vedelia, it’ll already be done. He probably left this morning to set it all up."

I really underestimated that bastard.

Victor’s hand tightened on the edge of a book. "I— I have to go. Selene—I have to find Selene." He turned toward the door and then hesitated, glancing back. "Amael. Celeste’s in danger too. What exactly are you looking for?" Frustration colored his tone as he watched me rifling through another stack of brittle pages and hand-copied annals.

"I’ll join you there. Go," I told him.

The door burst open then. Rodolf stumbled in, chest heaving. "You guys are here!"

"Rodolf?" Victor grabbed his shoulders before he could close the distance. "You found her? You found Roda, right?!"

Rodolf swatted Victor’s hands away with a grunt. "Yeah. I found her. She’s still alive. Stop pawing at me." He shot me a glance. "But there’s more. It was Percy’s doing."

Of course...

"Percy?" Victor was in disbelief. "Why would he— Roda, she’s his sister."

"He’s been with Cyril all along," I said.

Victor’s shock was quick and ugly; Rodolf’s teeth clenched until I could see the muscles move. "I’m going to beat the shit out of him," he said, and there was no joke in it.

"You’re coming with us to Central Vedelia?" Victor asked.

"Hell yeah. That bastard’s there now." Rodolf spat the word.

"I’m going too. Cyril has Selene." Victor said.

"Nyr? What the hell?" Rodolf snapped at me then when he saw me reading. "It’s not time to read papers! Tomorrow is the end of this Game! We have to stop whatever’s coming!" He shoved a sheaf of parchment at me as if to make me stand up.

I didn’t answer. My hands moved of their own accord, flipping pages, skimming headings. Nothing made sense. Nothing, not a fucking useful thing there. Only things to make things fucking worse!!

Victor shoved toward the door outside. "Come on! Rodolf’s right—we leave now. Amael said he’d join us later."

Rodolf grunted, then fell in step beside him.

Once the footsteps receded, the room collapsed inward. Silence pressed down; the only sound was the rustle of loose paper in my ears. I dropped my forehead to the desk and clutched the edge so hard that my knuckles white-knuckled.

The wood groaned, then cracked.

A clean split spidered along the grain. Parchments scattered. I straightened and hit the table again, harder this time.

"Damn it..."

Not this spell again.

Was there really no way?

***

Late Evening at Central Vedelia...

The corridors of Central Vedelia’s underground prison were a labyrinth of stone and silence. Only one set of footsteps echoed through the dark halls.

Cyril Raven walked calmly.

He stopped before a single, reinforced cell. Without hesitation, he raised his hand, letting a whisper of crimson mana seep from his fingertips before he swung his hand destroying the door along the reinforced circles.

Cyril stepped inside.

The room was small, damp, and nearly swallowed by shadow. Against the far wall, bound by enchanted chains that glimmered faintly with sealing runes, was a man.

Lazarus Raven.

A faint smirk appeared on lips seeing his grandson there.

"You took your time, Cyril," Lazarus said.

"I apologize, Grandfather," Cyril said. "Infiltrating this place—even with the Blood Arts you taught me—wasn’t easy. But there was no better time than tonight."

Lazarus chuckled. "The wedding with the Prophetess... how poetic. None of them have any idea what’s truly coming, do they?"

Cyril’s lips curved. "No. And the only one who might have suspected has already been silenced."

"Good," Lazarus said. "Elizabeth’s death and Alicia’s disappearance were inconvenient, but nothing that can derail the ritual. We have what we need."

"Indeed, Grandfather."

Lazarus nodded, satisfaction flickering faintly in his crimson eyes. "Then hurry. Free me. We leave this place unseen."

"No one will notice," Cyril said with a faint laugh. "They’re all under my spell."

Lazarus frowned. "You used the Witch’s blood for that?"

Cyril only smiled. "Don’t worry, Grandfather," he said softly, raising his glowing hand toward the chains. "There’s still enough left for what comes next."

"Cyril... what are you—"

-SPURT!!

The question cut off with a wet sound.

Cyril’s hand shot forward, piercing clean through his grandfather’s chest. Blood splattered across his face, warm and thick. Lazarus gasped, staring down at the crimson-covered arm that now impaled him.

"C—Cyril—!" His voice broke as Cyril twisted his wrist, his fingers tightening around a still-beating heart.

"Thank you for everything, Grandfather," Cyril whispered, crimson eyes gleaming with a manic light. "But you’re too old to keep playing this game."

With one sharp pull, he ripped the heart free.

Lazarus’s scream echoed once—short, hoarse, cut off midway as the color drained from his skin. Cyril closed his eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath as he absorbed the blood—demigod blood, rich and intoxicating, flooding through his veins like liquid fire. Perfectly fitting him being blood related.

It was power. Pure, unrestrained power.

When he opened his eyes again, they glowed brighter, the slits within them strongly pulsating.

Before him, Lazarus Raven was now nothing more than a withered husk, a skeleton in broken chains.

Cyril looked down at what remained of him, then crouched. On the floor near the corpse lay a single ring with a red gem embedded in it. Cyril picked it up and slid it onto his finger. It fit perfectly.

"Now."

He turned.

"Time to awaken the Witch."