Chapter 749: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [31] Today, A New King of Ymir Rises

"How did things end up like this?!"

"I knew from the very beginning we shouldn’t have trusted Lazarus’s grandson!"

"The only ones to blame are the Heads of Sancta Vedelia—another pathetic decision from them!"

"Central Vedelia won’t stay silent after what’s happening here!"

The voices echoed sharply through the hollow interior of the Holy Tree of Eden. The place that should have been filled with soft music and gentle blessings for the engagement between Cyril and Celeste was now throbbing with tension thick enough to choke on.

The bodies of the invaders—those fools who dared to bring bloodshed into the most sacred place on the continent—had already been disposed of, their presence erased. But the stains they left behind were not so easily removed. Blood had been spilled inside the Holy Tree, a crime considered almost sacrilegious. Even the faint metallic scent lingering in the air was enough to make every noble present bristle with outrage.

And naturally, when something went wrong, the nobles of Sancta Vedelia and Central Vedelia did what they did best: blame each other.

Their relationship had never been warm to begin with. If anything, it was a barely contained cold war—made even worse after the Utopian War, when Utopia’s forces reached the very doorstep of Central Vedelia. Central Vedelia’s nobles insisted that the Heads of Sancta Vedelia had ’allowed’ it to happen, and that accusation had only widened the rift.

Now, with this new disaster unfolding during an engagement ceremony proposed mostly by Alector and the other Heads... well, the political fire was practically begging to ignite.

"What a disaster," Albert muttered, exhaling through his nose. He glanced at Claudia with a tired expression. "Whatever remaining trust we had in the Heads of Sancta Vedelia is gone."

"Lord Albert..."

"Most of those Heads didn’t even bother to show up for this ceremony," Albert continued sharply. "Don’t you find that the least bit suspicious, Lady Claudia?"

"Lord Albert, the union ceremony was unexpectedly pushed forward," Claudia reminded him. "And now it’s been interrupted... they might simply be elsewhere dealing with their own crisis."

That was the polite explanation—the official one.

The truth? Everyone in the room knew how people like Tanya, Alea, and Reiner behaved.

They hated Central Vedelia with a passion and avoided talking to their council members—especially Albert—whenever possible. Showing up late just to avoid them was perfectly in character.

"Maybe," Albert said, though his voice suggested he didn’t believe it for a second. "Regardless, once we get through this incident, there will need to be a very serious discussion."

"Let’s just hope the boy is taken care of," Claudia replied.

Neither of them doubted Cyril would be handled. With the Tree now protected once more, Albert wasn’t particularly bothered by whatever chaos was happening outside. As long as Cyril was dealt with and the Holy Tree remained unharmed, the rest could burn for all he cared.

And really, with Melfina and Alector both outside, who wouldn’t feel confident? The two were more than capable of dealing with a single rogue boy.

"Lord Albert! Someone is approaching!" A guard called out.

"It’s the Prophetess!"

"Let her in," Albert said immediately.

The crowd fell silent the moment the entrance parted.

Celeste stepped inside.

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

Her pristine white ceremonial gown was splattered with red, stained by blood that hadn’t been there moments ago. Her steps were a bit unsteady too.

She wasn’t alone.

A young boy walked beside her, and in Celeste’s arms...Alvara lay unconscious.

Celeste’s gaze flicked for just a moment toward the far end of the hall, where her father and brother were still being treated. Only after confirming they were in stable hands did she gently lower Alvara into one of the carved wooden chairs along the inner roots of the Holy Tree.

Up close, Alvara’s condition felt... off.

Not just unconscious—far too still, like someone who had been pushed into an unnaturally deep sleep. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion. It was controlled. Celeste realized immediately that Kendel must have done something more—another spell layered atop the first, ensuring his sister wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

The memory of Kendel’s expression resurfaced. In the Utopian War, she had crossed blades with him, defeated him, and seen firsthand the kind of hatred he held for everything outside his own bloodline. But the look he wore today... that wasn’t the face of a man who saw the world as beneath him.

It was the face of a brother.

Celeste hadn’t expected that.

"She is Alvara Teraquin," Celeste said, lifting her voice just enough to carry through the uneasy crowd. "Treat her immediately. Preferably elves—don’t touch her more than necessary...or rather don’t touch her."

Her tone was controlled, but the warning was clear.

Alvara despised being touched, particularly by other races. If a human tried to lay a hand on her—even to help—she might genuinely wake up and kill them out of pure instinctive revulsion.

Several nobles flinched at the reminder. After an awkward, hesitant silence, a few elves finally stepped forward, clearly uncomfortable but knowing the alternative was worse. If Tanya Teraquin learned her daughter had been left untreated, the consequences would be brutal...

Albert approached quietly, his posture softening in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner.

"It’s a relief to see you alive, Prophetess," he said with a warm smile.

Celeste acknowledged him with a single nod. She turned immediately, intending to head back out—but Albert reached out, stopping her with an outstretched arm.

"Where are you going, Prophetess?"

"To help take down Cyril," she answered.

Albert blinked, then let out a baffled chuckle. "You must be joking. There’s no need for you to put yourself at risk. Our people will take care of him. You don’t need to worry."

"I’m not joking," Celeste said. "He’s become unusually strong. And we need to cancel the spell he cast over Central Vedelia."

She moved to step past him, but several knights immediately shifted into her path, blocking the way.

Albert’s voice turned solemn. "I can’t allow you to leave, Prophetess. You’re very likely a target for the enemy. Losing you would be catastrophic."

Celeste’s reply was ice-cold.

"My grandmother is dead."

The statement struck the room like a lightning bolt.

Claudia, listening from the side, gasped in shock.

Celeste slowly turned her head, fixing Albert with her pale, unblinking white eyes. "I will not sit here and hide like a coward because of my title. If that’s what you expect from a Prophetess, then find another one. Now move."

The knights blocking her way stiffened—then stepped aside immediately, swallowing hard.

Albert watched her walk away, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Such spirit... for the new Prophetess."

He turned to share the remark with Claudia—only to realize she had disappeared as well.

***

Just outside the Tree of Eden, the air had been shaking for several long minutes—booming shockwaves of mana, Prana colliding, blades scraping, gusts of force slamming against ancient roots. The fighting was loud enough to make even the high branches tremble.

But slowly... the noise faded.

Only ragged breathing remained.

"Ah... ah..." Percy staggered back, chest heaving violently. His face was ghost-pale, sweat dripping down from his jaw as he stared down Rodolf and Cylien.

Rodolf and Cylien weren’t doing much better.

Rodolf especially looked like his body was about to give out—his limbs trembling, his breathing uneven—but the two of them had still managed to corner Percy this far.

Percy’s bloodshot gaze flicked between them.

He had definitely underestimated Cylien. She was Aerinwyn’s younger sister after all... and she fought like it.

"It’s over. Give up, Percy!" Rodolf shouted, glaring hard enough to burn a hole through him.

Percy didn’t reply at first—he just kept breathing, kept forcing air into his lungs as he stared them down.

"Cyril’s going to get his ass kicked," Rodolf continued. "What are you even planning after that?"

Percy’s teeth tightened until it trembled. "You don’t understand. How could you? You spend most of your time fooling around, Rodolf!" He snapped. "Sancta Vedelia is collapsing from the inside. Something needs to change!"

With no more hesitation, he lunged straight at Rodolf.

Rodolf tried to brace himself—but he felt a piercing pain shoot through his abdomen, slowing his reaction for a split second.

Which was all Percy needed.

Cylien flashed forward, sword raised in a sharp arc. Her blade intercepted Percy’s strike, steel clashing with crackling Prana.

"Agh—!" Cylien’s face twisted as the sheer force behind Percy’s blow tore through her guard. The wave of Prana slammed into her like a battering ram, and after a few moments of resisting, her body was hurled backward.

"You bastard!!" Rodolf roared, rage igniting through his exhaustion.

He kicked at Percy with everything he had left—so fast it whistled through the air.

Percy raised his arm to block, but the moment Rodolf’s heel connected—

-CRACK!

Pain exploded through his arm as Rodolf’s kick blew straight through his layer of Prana.

-BAM!!

"Ughh—!" Percy flew back, slamming into the ground. But he forced his battered body to roll, pushing off the dirt and rising again—

Only to be engulfed by a fierce blast of wind.

Cylien’s wind.

-BOOOOM!!

The gust tore him off his feet and sent him spiraling through the air, wind slicing deep gashes across his skin. He barely had time to tilt his head before—

-BAM!

Rodolf’s fist connected squarely with his cheek.

Percy’s vision burst white. His ears rang. The world spun wildly as his body crashed into the ground. His strength was bleeding out of him now, leaking into the soil.

He planted trembling hands against the earth, trying—failing—to lift himself.

Blood splattered from his lips as he coughed.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw Rodolf collapse to his knees, completely spent.

"Rodolf!" Cylien rushed to catch him, worry written all over her face.

Rodolf lifted a hand weakly, signaling he was fine, and glared at Percy.

"You’re spouting crap about the future," he rasped, wiping the blood from his mouth, "instead of actually living in the present, Percy."

Percy glared right back, though his vision was still swimming.

"Sancta Vedelia will only collapse if we let it collapse," Rodolf said sharply. "If you were that worried about it, then you should’ve looked for real solutions—not start a dumbass rebellion with Cyril of all people!"

He spat blood onto the ground.

"It’s to prevent that collapse that I—"

"Bullshit."

Rodolf cut him off instantly. "You tried to kill Jefer and Roda because of that pathetic excuse?"

"I didn’t want to!!" Percy shouted back, voice cracking. His fist slammed into the dirt, the earth trembling under the force. "I—I didn’t want... I just wanted to protect everyone..."

"Look around you," Cylien said. "Look at the destruction you’ve caused, Percy. Even from here we can hear people screaming. Is that how you protect Sancta Vedelia? By tearing it apart?"

Percy froze.

Silence stretched uncomfortably between them before he spoke again, voice hollow.

"It’s too late. Cyril... he almost finished it."

"Nothing is too late," Rodolf said, forcing himself upright despite his shaking legs. "We can still stop it. And it’s not too late for you either."

Percy let out an empty laugh. "Ahaha... I tried to kill Jefer and—"

"Yeah, and you’re gonna pay for that," Rodolf snapped, limping toward him with a glare.

Percy looked up.

He knew—right now—he could still kill both Rodolf and Cylien. Even in his current state, he had enough strength left to end them.

So why wasn’t he moving?

Why didn’t he want to?

Hadn’t he already chosen Cyril’s side? Hadn’t he already decided to help build a ’new’ Sancta Vedelia?

So why, at the very moment everything was supposed to happen...why did regret suddenly claw at him?

He should have erased all his doubts already then why now...

"How pathetic," Percy muttered, disgust twisting in his voice.

"Yeah, you are," Rodolf agreed bluntly, before extending a hand. "So you’re gonna apologize to everyone, and then your ass is getting thrown in jail."

Percy growled—but then his pupils shrank.

A warning exploded through his instincts.

"...!"

Without thinking, he shoved Rodolf with all his strength. Rodolf, exhausted and off-balanced, toppled backward instantly.

-SPURT!!

Rodolf hit the ground hard and winced, ready to curse Percy out—until he saw it.

Percy wasn’t standing anymore.

He was skewered.

Three long, razor-sharp knives—no, swords—had pierced clean through Percy’s back and out his chest. The blades were embedded precisely where Rodolf’s body had been a second earlier.

Rodolf’s rage instantly evaporated, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread.

"Oh~ what a heroic gesture."

A casual, mocking voice cut through the silence.

Rodolf and Cylien snapped their heads toward the source.

There—perched casually atop a white rectangular box—was a figure cloaked in a dark robe, face hidden beneath deep shadows. Even though they couldn’t see his expression, the malice radiating from him made their skin crawl.

Cylien froze; her breath caught.

Her legs trembled uncontrollably.

It was the first time she had ever felt fear like this.

"Percy!!" Rodolf broke from his shock and sprinted forward. He slid to Percy’s side just as Percy coughed violently, blood pooling beneath him.

Percy was barely conscious—his breaths shallow, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"Rodolf!!" Cylien shouted suddenly.

Rodolf looked up—

And saw it.

Something long, dark, and impossibly fast darted straight toward him—aimed to kill.

But before it reached him it was deflected away.

A small figure stood in front of him.

"G–Grandmother...?" Rodolf whispered, stunned.

"I am far too young for this crap," Beatrice muttered, eyes narrowed dangerously at the shadowed figure.

"Don’t move."

The voice came from behind Rodolf.

He turned to see Namys kneeling beside Percy, hands glowing with healing light and face grave with focus.

Beatrice raised her sword toward the mysterious figure. Her aura sharpened, lowering her stance.

"Who are you?" She asked.

She didn’t delude herself—she couldn’t win against him.

The pressure rolling off him was very lear.

A Demigod.

And not a low-ranked one.

The figure chuckled softly.

"My manners," he said, placing a hand over his chest in exaggerated politeness. A wicked smirk curled beneath his mask. "My name is Jack Rengel. A pleasure."

"Jack Rengel...?" Beatrice narrowed her eyes.

That name sounded... vaguely familiar to her.

Where had she heard it?

"Are you with Cyril?" She asked.

"Not at all," Jack replied with a dismissive chuckle. "I’m simply here as a spectator."

"A spectator?" Beatrice repeated in disbelief.

"Of course." Jack’s tone was amused. "I wouldn’t miss such a beautifully chaotic day."

Beatrice’s gaze dropped to the white rectangular box he crouched upon.

She stiffened.

She didn’t trust herself to protect Rodolf, Cylien, or Percy if he decided to attack again.

Jack tilted his head, reading her like an open book.

"I would’ve loved to see his reaction," Jack muttered, eyes sliding toward Rodolf, "when he saw one of his old comrades dead. It seems no one will be accompanying him to death then.

Rodolf’s face twisted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jack didn’t answer.

Instead, both he—and the white box—rose smoothly into the air.

Then drifted away, disappearing into the distance.

"You bastard!!" Rodolf shouted, taking a step forward—

Only for Beatrice to grab him by the collar.

"You idiot. Do you want to die?" She snapped.

"But—who the hell was that?!" Rodolf growled.

"I don’t know..." Beatrice said quietly, her expression deeply troubled.

But one thing was certain.

That man was trouble—something far worse and far darker than anything she’d ever encountered.

Meanwhile, Jack soaring through the sky beneath the crimson dome smirked wider, looking down at the white box he was standing on.

"Today, a new King of Ymir rises."