Chapter 741: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [23] Sephira And Adrian Under Spells

This was worse than I thought.

No—it was far worse than I could’ve imagined.

My gaze hardened as I stood on the edge of Central Vedelia, staring at the city thrown onto destruction and chaos.

In the game, this city never looked like this. Sure, it had been chaotic, blood-soaked even, but this—this was something else entirely.

Because right now, the Blood Moon Spell was active.

I lifted my eyes toward the sky. The moon hung low, swollen and red, bleeding its light across the rooftops. It pulsed faintly, as if breathing with the city itself.

Even though it looked weaker—unstable, almost like a failed imitation—it was definitely the same forbidden blood art.

The Blood Moon Spell.

Elizabeth’s ultimate creation... or curse, depending on who you asked.

The one she had cast during the beginning of the Blood Moon War hadn’t been perfect either. She was already old then, her mana waning, her mind too far gone. To perfect it—to seize full control over Sancta Vedelia—she had needed a new body. That’s why she sought Amaya.

Thankfully, I’d stopped her before she could unleash the spell’s true potential back then.

But today... today felt just as bad, if not worse.

Screams tore through the air. People clawed at one another in the streets below, their eyes glassy, their minds slipping away as the spell twisted their souls. Friends, lovers, families—turning on each other without reason.

Cyril.

That bastard actually did it.

But somehow, I knew... the worst part hadn’t even begun yet.

I looked up again. Above the city stretched a red dome of energy, rippling like liquid fire. Within it, a massive crimson magic circle spun lazily, absorbing power, slowly tightening its hold over everything below.

If I didn’t stop it soon, Central Vedelia would descend into complete ruin.

My gaze shifted toward the far distance—the Holy Tree of Eden stood there, faintly glowing through the haze.

That’s where he’d be.

That’s where I needed to go.

"Cyril..." I muttered darkly. "You’re not leaving this place alive."

With a surge of mana, I kicked off the ground and began sprinting. The wind whipped past me as rubble and shattered glass crunched beneath my boots. But barely a minute into my run, every instinct in my body screamed danger.

Something shot out from the ground—sharp, gnarled, and fast.

I leapt back just in time as a cluster of roots tore through the cobblestone, slashing where I’d stood.

My eyes narrowed, scanning the dust and shadows.

And then I froze.

"...What?" I breathed, eyes widening.

Standing before me was Sephira.

But something was horribly wrong.

Her skin was pale, almost colorless, and her eyes—glowed an eerie, blood-red. Her expression was empty, her lips trembling as if caught between rage and grief.

"The Blood Moon Spell...?" I muttered under my breath. "No way."

She wasn’t that weak-willed. Sephira had always been emotionally fragile, sure—but mentally? She should’ve been able to resist this. And this wasn’t even the perfected version of the spell.

"Sephira!" I called out. "What are you doing?"

For a second, something flickered in her eyes—recognition, maybe?

But then she raised her arm, and the ground around me erupted.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of roots burst upward, twisting and snapping toward me like serpents.

I clenched my teeth and raised my hand. "Anathemas Fire."

In a burst of purple light, a flaming purple sword materialized in my grip. The heat rippled through the air, warping the crimson haze.

I swung it in wide arcs, slicing through the roots, purple fire burning wherever my blade touched. But they kept coming—more and more—writhing from the earth, thrashing against the air, desperate to ensnare me.

"Fuck this!" I snarled, dodging another barrage. "I don’t have time for this!"

"Sephira!" I shouted again.

Something was off. The way she moved—it wasn’t like someone being controlled. It felt... conflicted. Like she was fighting herself.

"Where’s Sirius?!" I asked. "He should be with you!"

The mention of his name hit her. For the first time, she hesitated.

Her eyes widened—and a single tear rolled down her pale cheek.

"Si... Sirius..." She whispered.

"What happened to him?"

But she didn’t answer. Instead, more tears welled up, and her expression twisted in anguish as she raised her hands again.

The roots around me surged even faster, sharper—filled with her grief.

Don’t tell me... Cyril did something to both of them?

***

On the eastern side of the Holy Tree of Eden, the world looked like a different kind of nightmare.

If one wandered there, they might think they’d stepped into a city swallowed by a flood. Water surged through the streets in violent torrents, crashing against stone walls and carrying away everything that wasn’t bolted down.

The sound of rushing water drowned out the screams.

Those unlucky enough to be caught in the current vanished beneath it—crushed, dragged, and devoured by the flood’s sheer force. The few who managed to survive clung desperately to fragments of roofs, lampposts, or anything sturdy enough to hold on to, whispering half-formed prayers that the nightmare would end.

And above it all, standing atop a rooftop half-submerged in the chaos, was the culprit himself—Adrian Dolphis.

He looked like a ghostly figure in the storm—soaked head to toe, his reddish brown hair plastered to his face. Water swirled at his feet, rising and falling like a living creature. Behind him loomed the faint shape of a demonic woman made entirely of dark greenish water, her form translucent but radiating malice. Her presence bent the flood around Adrian like a throne of liquid death.

The only reason the flood had calmed even slightly was because someone had finally stepped up to stop him.

Across the street, standing atop another crumbling rooftop, John glared at Adrian from under the pouring rain. His expression was cold.

In his hand, he held the sword of his House—a family heirloom gifted to him by his father Jarett Tarmias before he’d departed for Sancta Vedelia. Flames rippled along its edge, glowing bright crimson even under the blood-colored sky. The fiery blade sizzled and steamed as raindrops struck it.

John’s entire focus was locked on Adrian... or at least, it should have been.

But every so often, his gaze drifted downward—to the streets below, swallowed by water. The idea of falling into that flood, of being dragged under, made his chest tighten. He’d never learned to swim. Even the thought of being submerged made his body instinctively recoil.

That heartbeat of hesitation was all Adrian needed.

Water surged up around John, twisting into spiraling whips that lashed toward him with lethal precision.

"Shit—!"

John swung his flaming sword in wide arcs, each slash cutting through the watery tendrils. Steam burst around him as fire met water, but there were too many—coming faster, thicker. He burned through a dozen before one of them wrapped around his leg.

"Damn it!"

Before he could sever it, the whip tightened and hurled him backward like a ragdoll.

-BOOM!

He smashed through a half-collapsed house, wood and stone exploding around him. The impact rattled his bones, and he rolled across the flooded floor, coughing up water that had splashed into his mouth. The whole place was filling up—fast.

John clenched his jaw, raised his sword, and slashed upward.

-BOOOM!

The ceiling gave way, and he vaulted through the opening, landing back on a rooftop just as another surge of water crashed below. His soaked whitish red hair clung to his forehead, but his eyes burned red.

"Enough of this," he growled, pointing his sword at Adrian.

A vast, dark red circle ignited above Adrian, humming with cursed energy. From within it, monstrous crimson hands erupted, clawing at the air before plunging downward. They struck the demonic woman of water shielding Adrian, their touch corrupting her form.

Wherever the hands made contact, the green water darkened, turning the color of dried blood.

Adrian leapt aside, narrowly avoiding the grasping curse—but John was already on him.

He shot forward like a blazing arrow, his fist wreathed in Ruah.

"Wake the fuck up!!"

-BAM!

His punch landed square on Adrian’s face. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the rooftop. Adrian’s head snapped to the side, blood and water mixing as he was hurled backward, crashing through a distant wall before his body disappeared into the flooded street below with a massive splash.

John breathed sharply, landing on a more stable section of roof.

"Finally," he muttered. "Dry ground."

But his relief didn’t last.

The water below began to boil.

"What the—?"

Bubbles erupted violently across the surface, and the faint outline of a new mana circle spread across the flooded streets—larger, darker, more intricate than before. Lines of mana glowed beneath the water, spreading outward until they surrounded the very building John was standing on.

His eyes widened.

"Wait—no—!"

The ground trembled.

Then, with a deafening roar, massive pillars of water shot up from every direction, encircling the entire building like a cage. They twisted and climbed high into the red-stained sky, merging into a torrential vortex. The air was filled with mist and rain as the droplets shimmered faintly in the crimson light.

(<Don’t you find it funny that you got yourself a girlfriend using water, when you’re so terrified of drowning, Jonathan?>)

John’s eye twitched. "Shut up, Hecate," he growled, clearly annoyed.

(<Oh, come on, don’t be so touchy.>

"It’s not like Amelia’s going to drown me or anything!" He shot back.

Hecate chuckled, her laughter dripping with amusement.

The truth was—John didn’t fear water because of some irrational superstition. His hatred for it ran deeper, etched into his memory from a time he wished he could forget. On Earth, his parents used to find it funny—’refreshing’, even—to dunk his head into a basin full of water whenever he ’needed discipline’. They’d call it cleansing. He called it cruelty.

Every time the water had filled his nose, his mouth, his lungs—he’d learned a new meaning of helplessness.

And even now, years later, that feeling still clawed at the back of his mind every time he stood near deep water.

He told himself he’d gotten over it. That he was fine.

But the tremor in his grip said otherwise.

(<You better not take that next attack, John. It’s almost touching, seeing you fight this hard for your brother-in-law—but don’t throw your life away for it.>)

"I know what I’m doing," John muttered under his breath, forcing his focus back to the battle.

He tightened his grip on his sword. Dark crimson veins began to creep across his skin, pulsing faintly with cursed light as a deep red aura surged out of his body.

But the ground beneath him trembled in response. Cracks split across the rooftop at his feet. "Oh, hell..."

The building started to give way, crumbling as the water pressure rose from below. All around him, rooftops buckled and shattered like fragile glass. He didn’t have time to think.

Without hesitation, John bent his knees and launched himself forward—straight toward Adrian.

Jets of water exploded from every direction, spiraling around him like coiling serpents. He swung his sword in sweeping arcs, cutting through them one after another, steam bursting into the air with each impact.

"Out of my way!" He shouted.

But Adrian was prepared. The flooded street below rippled—and then a monstrous gaping mouth of water formed right in front of John, large enough to swallow him whole.

John gritted his teeth, channeled his mana into his weapon until it burned like molten steel, and swung with everything he had.

-BOOOOOOM!

A huge explosion of steam and pressure shook the entire block. The blast blinded him for a moment, the air thick with vapor. But he didn’t need sight to sense the surge of killing intent rushing toward him.

Adrian was there.

John barely managed to raise his arm before—

-CRACK!

A solid punch slammed into his forearm, sending pain shooting up to his shoulder. "Ugh—!" He grunted, his body thrown off balance. The next second, the rooftop vanished beneath him.

He was falling—straight toward the flood below.

"Fuck—!"

Before he could react, something coiled tightly around his ankle. Instead of plunging into the water, he was yanked sideways—hard—his body dragged through the air and flung onto another rooftop that was still miraculously standing.

He hit the surface and rolled, coughing. His sword clattered beside him.

"What the hell—?" He blinked up, breathless.

And then his eyes widened.

"A–Amelia?"

Standing before him was Amelia with a stern expression.

"Don’t you have something to tell me?" She asked, arms crossed.

John blinked, confused. "What are you even doing here?" He scrambled to his feet.

She sighed, glancing toward the horizon. "I’m not stupid, John. I knew you were planning to sneak off alone yesterday—but..." Her eyes shifted toward Adrian, who stood in the distance, water swirling protectively around him. Her tone softened, trembling slightly. "I didn’t expect to see my brother here. Or... maybe I should have. Father and Mother said he’d vanished from his bed. But what happened to him?"

John’s expression darkened. "I don’t know. He’s being controlled—by someone, or something."

Amelia fell silent for a moment before she spoke.

"I’ll take care of him."

John frowned. "What? No way—"

She turned to him, meeting his gaze. "He’s my brother, John. I know how to deal with him—and I also know you’re terrible with water."

"W–What?! Who told you that?!"

Amelia’s lips curved into a teasing grin. "You’re my boyfriend, remember? I’d have to be blind not to notice."

John groaned in response.

"Relax," she said, giving his shoulder a gentle push. "Trust me. You have bigger things to handle right now, don’t you?"

He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the distant horizon—the Holy Tree of Eden. She was right. There wasn’t time to argue.

"...Fine," he said finally. His tone softened. "Be careful."

She smiled faintly. "Always."

As John took off, sprinting into the distance, Amelia turned back toward her brother. Her gentle expression hardened, and mana began to swirl faintly around her palms.

"Now then, brother..." she mumbled. "Let’s see how much of you is still in there."

***

Precious minutes slipped away as I fought against Sephira.

And honestly... I was starting to wonder if she’d always been this strong.

I’d rarely seen her fight seriously, but watching her now—seeing how her mana pulsed through the roots and how naturally she commanded them—I couldn’t help but be surprised.

If she didn’t have that inferiority complex toward Alvara, she might have already reached her true potential. She could’ve been one of the strongest among the Teraquin.

Well then she wasn’t a Heroine of the Second Game for nothing.

But that wasn’t the issue right now.

I didn’t want to hurt her—she was a good person, and a Teraquin like Alvara—but I didn’t have a choice.

At least she wasn’t under the control of the Blood Moon Spell. That much I could tell. It meant there was still hope to bring her back.

A cluster of thick vines lashed toward me, slicing through the air like whips. I swung my purple-blazing sword, flames roaring as I burned them to ash.

The scent of scorched wood filled the air as I rushed forward, closing the gap between us.

Sephira stomped on the ground, and a massive wall of tangled roots erupted upward, blocking my path.

"Persistent," I muttered. My sword hummed in my grip as I swung—one clean, fiery arc—and the wall exploded into charred fragments.

I barely had time to register movement behind me.

I tilted my head just in time—a vine grazed my cheek, leaving a stinging cut and a warm trickle of blood.

"Not bad," I muttered, wiping the blood away.

I stomped down hard and shot forward like a bullet. Sephira swung her sword again, summoning another barrage of vines, but I was already faster.

My left hand blazed with purple fire as I punched through her wooden defenses, the flames devouring the roots instantly.

Her eyes widened when I burst through the smoke, catching her wrist mid-motion. In the next instant, I twisted, pulled her down, and pinned her to the ground, my knees pressing against her waist as I trapped both her wrists above her head.

"That’s enough," I said as I looked down at her.

Her eyes were wide, trembling—not with rage, but with confusion, pain.

If only Alicia were here—she could’ve probably undone whatever Blood Art was clouding Sephira’s mind. Elizabeth could’ve too, faster and easily... but waking her up right now would be a disaster for many reasons.

I was still thinking about it when something slithered against my wrists.

"What—?" I glanced down. Vines. Two of them, coiling tight.

"When did she—?"

Before I could react, the ground beneath me erupted. The vines yanked me backward with brutal force, dragging me across the dirt. I skidded several meters before slamming against something solid.

I blinked, dazed, and looked up—straight into a pair of cold, golden eyes.

"Alvara...?"

She looked down at me, quite irritated.

"What exactly were you doing, my love?" She asked, her tone calm—but dangerously sharp.

"What was I doing? I was trying to save her," I said quickly.

"By straddling her like some kind of beast?" She asked sweetly, tilting her head. The smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes.

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

"It’s not what it looked like," I started, raising a hand in surrender. "I can do that to you instead if you want—ugh!"

Her heel slammed into my stomach before I could finish the sentence. I let out a grunt, curling slightly in pain.

Right. I should’ve known better than to joke with a prideful racist High Elf princess—especially one as jealous and territorial as Alvara.

"Alright, alright..." I groaned, getting back on my feet, brushing off the dust. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She twirled the lace handle of her umbrella with that unbothered grace of hers. "The better question is—what are you doing here, my love? You should have been banished from every other domain except my kingdom."

"Cyril is responsible for this mess," I said simply. "I’m here to stop him."

"Cyril..." She repeated, tapping her chin with a thoughtful expression. "I always knew that man had a superiority complex, but this? This is just embarrassing."

Of course, leave it to Alvara to sound insulted on Cyril’s behalf. I could almost see why he’d been so busy seducing strong women but never dared touch Alvara—she was too much for anyone to handle.

"Ugh!" I grunted as she stomped on my foot without warning.

"You were thinking something rude," she said.

I gave a strained smile. "You know me too well."

Before I could say more, I felt movement behind us—Sephira’s vines, surging again. But before I could react, Alvara’s golden vines unfurled from her hand, slicing through Sephira’s attack with elegant precision. The two forces clashed for an instant before Alvara’s mana completely overpowered the other’s.

"I’ll take care of her," Alvara said calmly. "You should be leaving, my love. Let me guess—you’re off to save Celeste, like some shining hero? It’s almost... embarrassing."

I grimaced. "You’re not entirely wrong."

Still, my gaze flicked toward Sephira, who stood trembling amidst the roots.

I was a bit worried leaving her to Alvara’s care...

"Don’t kill her, alright?"

Alvara’s eyes darkened. "...What?"

"I–I mean she is still a Teraquin you know and Bryelles appreciates her..." I corrected it immediately using Bryelle’s name.

"You’re truly despicable, my love," she sighed, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

I smiled faintly, turning to leave. But before I could, her hand caught my arm.

I turned back.

Her expression had shifted slightly—her golden eyes flickered, uncertain.

"Alvara?"

She looked at me, her voice a bit lower. "I don’t know. I just... felt something strange. A sensation I can’t quite explain."

I reached up, brushing my fingers lightly against her cheek. "It’ll be fine," I said. "We’ll figure it out later."

She held my gaze for a long moment.

Then, reluctantly, she released my arm.

I gave her a faint smile before leaving her.