I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 713: [Blood Moon War] [54] Ernest VS Daleliah

The battle raged on across the endless plains of Valachia, a storm of steel, screams, and blood that refused to die down. By the sixth day, it had escalated beyond anything that could be called a strategy or formation. Every carefully laid plan had long since been abandoned. What remained was pure chaos—an all-out war where survival and conviction were the only rules left standing.

The knights of the Resistance had fought without pause, their bodies pushed far beyond exhaustion. Six days of unrelenting combat had stripped them down to sheer willpower, but that alone was enough to keep them moving. Every swing of their swords carried the desperate weight of families waiting back home, of kingdoms that would fall into shadow if they faltered here.

In contrast, the witch’s army fought like creatures possessed. Their eyes burned with unnatural crimson glow, their bodies surged with strength that no human should have carried after such endless slaughter. The reason was plain and terrifying—the Witch herself was here, and her presence was like poison in the air. Under the glow of the cursed Blood Moon, her army seemed tireless, unbreakable.

”What a monster... this is never ending,” Ernest muttered, voice hoarse. His face was half-hidden beneath a crust of dirt, sweat, and blood that streaked down from a cut above his brow. His armor, once polished gold, was battered and smeared with blood.

Beside him stood Cedric Dolphis, his chest heaving as he dragged his blade through the soil for balance, and Gruna Moonfang, her fanged jaw clenched despite the gashes that marred her arms. The three of them stood together, a wall against the storm, facing down Daleliah herself.

She wasn’t just another foe. Daleliah was a Demigod—an existence far beyond the ninth Ascension. Against her, their blades should have meant nothing. Against her, ordinary mortals should have broken like glass. Yet the three of them had endured, and more than endured—they had fought back, landing blows that left her body marked.

Blood ran down Daleliah’s right arm, and a dark bruise marred the pale skin of her face. Her breath came slower now, though her expression remained cold, detached—as if their efforts irritated her more than they endangered her. She hadn’t expected this much resistance.

She could kill them, of course she could. But every time she tried to drive her blade through one of their hearts, the other two were there to intercept—one defending, the other striking. They moved like a single organism, three warriors bound by trust.

And then there was the woman in the back.

Viessa.

Daleliah’s crimson eyes flicked toward her, and a rare sliver of frustration crept into her calm. That woman was the true thorn. While the three knights bled themselves dry against her, Viessa’s hands glowed with ceaseless light. Every wound closed. Every broken bone was set anew. Every time Daleliah thought she had them cornered, Viessa’s magic dragged them back from the edge of death. It was maddening—like trying to empty an ocean with a cracked bucket.

But then Daleliah’s gaze drifted.

Cleara.

That woman had been her most dangerous opponent over the past few days, pressing her harder than the others combined. But now... Cleara had retreated, taking on a more defensive stance, throwing her strength into shielding the Resistance instead of dueling Daleliah head-on.

Why?

Daleliah wondered.

Why pull back now? A trick? Or was there a deeper reason?

It didn’t matter. Relief flickered beneath her icy composure. Whatever the reason, Cleara’s absence from the front meant opportunity. A window to act.

If she wanted to break this stalemate, she had to kill one of them. Just one. Once the chain was broken, the rest would crumble.

Her eyes sharpened, glowing faintly beneath the black sky. And she knew exactly who to start with.

Viessa.

The healer. The lifeline.

Daleliah’s crimson gaze locked on her, and in that instant Ernest felt it. A shiver down his spine, his instinct screaming at him. His eyes widened as he turned back toward their salvation in the rear line.

”Viessa! Watch out!” He roared.

Daleliah appeared in front of Viessa in a blur, her crimson eyes burning with killing intent. Viessa barely had time to flinch before the earth itself responded—vines erupted from the ground, twisting upward in a desperate shield.

Daleliah stopped short, lips curling coldly. With a flick of her wrist, her blade swung. She swung with inhuman speed, each strike a blur of steel as the vines were shredded one after another, green tendrils falling apart like paper before a storm. Her sword cut straight through, reaching for Viessa’s heart.

”Your opponent isn’t here!” Ernest roared, his voice cracking across the battlefield. He charged in, his greatsword burning with amber light as he brought it down with enough force to shake the ground.

Daleliah’s gaze snapped sideways. Without hesitation, she raised her left hand and traced a circle in the air. A barrier of glowing crimson mana flared into existence, catching Ernest’s strike with a thunderous noise. Sparks and waves of amber and crimson energy rippled out violently.

Yet even as she deflected him, her eyes were still locked on Viessa. Her grip on her blade tightened. Blood seeped down its length, then burst outward in a violent surge.

-BOOOOOM!

The vines exploded in a storm of green and splinters, ripped apart in an instant. Viessa stood exposed. Daleliah lunged, her sword flashing forward dangerously.

But before the killing blow could land, water burst from the ground in a roaring torrent, slamming between them like a raging river. The spray caught the red glow of the moon, sparkling like shards of glass.

Cedric stood there, his blade raised, smirking through his exhaustion. ”Not so fast.”

”You’re done for!” Gruna snarled right after in rage. She launched forward at blistering speed, her claws glowing with prana, cutting arcs of silver light through the air.

But then—

A crimson blur tore across the battlefield. It slammed into her side with crushing force, sending Gruna spinning helplessly through the sky.

”Gruna!” Cedric shouted, eyes widening. His focus snapped toward the shadow. He slashed immediately, his water-wreathed sword cleaving the air.

The crimson shape slipped past easily.

”What?!” Cedric barely had time to gasp before the shadow drove itself into his stomach.

-BAM!

The impact rippled through his body. Only the last-second activation of a protective Ruah layer saved his life. Even so, pain exploded through him, and he felt something give way in his ribs before he was hurled backward, crashing into the blood-soaked earth.

”Who the hell is that?!” Ernest shouted, leaping back, sweat and grime streaking his face.

”There!” Viessa cried, pointing as the shadow unraveled.

From the swirling crimson mist stepped a figure—tall, skeletal in build, with wild black hair that hung around a gaunt face. His eyes glowed like blood-red coals, hungry and cruel.

”Sandor,” Daleliah called, stepping back from Cedric’s wall of water now broken. ”You took your time.”

The man bowed his head slightly, his eerie gaze never leaving Ernest and Viessa. ”My apologies, Lady Daleliah.”

”It’s him...” Viessa whispered. ”The other Blood Lord.”

Cedric groaned, forcing himself up despite the agony in his chest, while Gruna staggered back to her feet, clutching her side. Viessa immediately dropped to her knees, glowing hands already moving to treat their wounds.

Ernest clenched his teeth. His sword trembled in his grip as he whispered, ”Damn it...”

Daleliah’s cold voice cut through the chaos. ”Kill the green-haired woman, Sandor.”

At once, the Blood Lord dissolved back into shadow.

”Gruna! Can you sense him?!” Ernest shouted, spinning as the battlefield darkened around them.

”No!” She snarled. ”Everything reeks of blood—and his shadows choke my nose!”

”Then watch over Viessa!” Ernest said, planting his foot hard into the soil. He turned back toward Daleliah, eyes narrowing.

”Wait, Ernest! What are you doing?!” Cedric asked in panic, clenching his stomach still being treated.

But Ernest didn’t answer. He only tightened his grip on his sword until his knuckles whitened. His eyes shut for a heartbeat, lips moving in a prayer-like whisper.

”Lend me your strength, Athena.”

The response was quick.

Amber light exploded outward, bursting from his core in a blinding wave. His entire body became a beacon, runes of golden flame etching themselves across his arms, chest, and face. Marks blazed to life beneath his eyes, lines of divine fire burning with the blessing of a goddess.

The battlefield trembled under the sudden surge.

Ernest opened his eyes again—glowing amber like the sun itself.

Ernest took a single step forward—and in that instant, he was gone.

Daleliah’s eyes widened as her vision caught a streak of amber tearing through the air, moving faster than before. Ernest had always been strong, but this... this was different. His presence was heavier, sharper, as if the very air recoiled at his movement. He was stronger. Far stronger than before.

Reacting on instinct, Daleliah snapped her blade up and swung.

-BOOOOM!!

The clash detonated with such force that the shockwave of mana ripped outward in every direction, flattening armored knights like they were nothing more than brittle stalks of wheat. Within a twenty-meter radius, men were thrown aside, groaning, coughing, their armor ringing as they slammed against stone and soil.

Red and amber light collided violently, searing the battlefield in blinding flashes.

Daleliah narrowed her crimson eyes, staring across the collision point at Ernest. Her arm trembled under the weight of his blow, and for the first time, she felt the sharp sting of pressure pushing her back. Her lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl.

”Ernest Olphean,” she spat, voice tinged with grudging admiration. ”As expected, the Olphean house is different from the rest, isn’t it?”

Blood burst from her body in a savage torrent, swirling into a storm around her. It hissed and writhed, almost alive, forming a violent red shroud.

”It was always said that Merithra and Athena despised each other,” she continued, her mana crackling stronger. ”Our powers... they are natural enemies.”

Ernest’s jaw clenched, his amber aura flaring brighter, scorching the air with each pulse. ”Athena is the Goddess of Wisdom. She teaches peace, harmony, the balance of minds.” He pushed back against Daleliah’s surge, his blade trembling. ”And what about Merithra? What has she ever taught you—other than bloodlust?”

Daleliah’s expression turned colder. ”Merithra doesn’t teach. She gives. We were born from her blood. But you? Your house, your entire lineage—your so-called ’blessing’—it’s nothing but borrowed light. You are not her children. You are nothing but tools.”

Her free hand shot out like a viper’s strike, aimed straight at Ernest’s face. The air itself screamed under the force—until her wrist stopped dead, frozen mid-swing.

Ice coiled around her arm, climbing up her flesh like a serpent of frost. Daleliah’s gaze snapped sideways. There stood Cleara.

Ernest seized the opportunity. With a roar, he drove his sword forward. The blade met armor, bit deep, and cleaved across Daleliah’s chest.

She staggered, blood bursting from her lips as she clutched her chest. ”Ugh!” The wound was savage, flesh torn and armor rent. Yet before their eyes, the gash knit itself together, blood hissing as it sealed.

Her regeneration was obscene. But then, what else could one expect? She was not merely a Vampire, nor merely a Demigod. She carried unique Blood within her—the Vampire Witch’s inheritance. Pain to her was an inconvenience.

But Ernest was not slowing down. His body burned brighter, the amber glow consuming him. Mana thickened around him until the very air quivered.

Daleliah’s eyes narrowed. A warning instinct rippled through her body, cold and sharp. Danger. Whatever he was preparing—it could seriously injure her or maybe tak her down.

And then—

The world froze.

It wasn’t just the air. It wasn’t just the battlefield. It was everything. Breath stopped. Blood congealed in veins. Every living thing felt their very essence seize in terror, as though an invisible hand had reached inside and clenched it tight.

Ernest’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and then—his sword shattered in his hands. The amber glow surrounding him blinked out like a snuffed flame.

-BOOOOOOM!!

The shock threw him backward, blood spraying from his lips.

”Ernest!!” Viessa screamed, sprinting toward his crumpled form.

Cedric and Gruna, locked in combat with Sandor, felt their instincts shriek. Their blood ran ice-cold, a suffocating aura crushing down on them. Even Sandor for some reason abandoned his attack in an instant, vanishing in a crimson blur. He reappeared at Daleliah’s side and dropped to one knee beside her.

Daleliah followed, her arrogance stripped away in the face of what stood above them.

The battlefield was silent. No clang of blades. No cries of the wounded. Only a heavy, collective silence, as though the world itself bowed its head in fear.

Every eye turned upward.

She was there.

Floating in the night sky, framed by the blood-red moon.

Her hair spilled in waves of purplish-black silk, long enough to brush her waist. Her eyes glowed a deep, merciless crimson, burning like eternal embers. Her beauty was divine, too perfect, too untouchable—yet laced with a terror that strangled the heart.

A figure beyond mortal comprehension.

A figure who had haunted Sancta Vedelia for a decade, her shadow alone enough to still children’s cries and silence even the bravest of men. A figure even the Kings of Edenis Raphiel had refused to confront, unwilling to risk being ensnared by her will.

The nightmare of a generation.

The one the world called sometimes Merithra’s true reincarnation.

Selene Amaya Tepes.

The Vampire Witch.