I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 661: [Blood Moon War] [6] Five Hundred Years In The Past

The Capital City of Valachia.

An untouchable fortress.

Its walls, carved from obsidian stone and etched with ancient wards, stood proud under the haunting glow of the Blood Moon. Crimson-armored Vampire Knights, sworn to the service of the Witch, patrolled every street and gate

Within the city, life continued with eerie tranquility. The citizens went about their business peacefully, as though nothing was amiss. But beneath that stillness lingered a strange emptiness—an air of something missing. The people didn’t speak of it, but they felt it.

Above, the Blood Moon bathed the city in a surreal, crimson radiance. The light shimmered off rooftops and spires, creating a dazzling aurora that danced like ghost-fire in the sky. It was beautiful—terrifyingly so.

Yet, even that surreal glow paled in comparison to the sight beyond the royal palace: a lone crimson tower that scraped the heavens.

This was no ordinary structure. It pulsed with mana—dozens upon dozens of mana circles layered atop one another, forming a sublime lattice of power/ Anyone who looked closely would see the circles humming faintly, like a heartbeat made of light.

This was the Tower of the Witch.

It wasn’t part of the royal palace. No—this tower stood separate, sacred, sovereign. It was where she lived. The Witch. The true face of the empire Valachia was building across Sancta Vedelia. While others busied themselves with diplomacy, conquest, and governance, she remained secluded.

Meanwhile, in the royal castle, the throne room sat cloaked in silence.

A man lounged on the ornate throne, draped in flowing royal garments trimmed with dark velvet. His long white hair was slicked back neatly, accentuating his sharp features. Crimson-red eyes glowed beneath a delicate gold crown, his expression calm and unreadable. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, though one could never be sure with beings like him.

He smiled faintly, as though enjoying a private joke.

The silence was broken as the great doors creaked open.

A woman of great beauty appeared. Her long black hair cascaded down her back like silk ink.. She wore an elegant crimson armor dress, forged to blend strength with allure. A helmet nestled under one arm, though it did little to conceal the crimson markings beneath her eyes.

Her crimson eyes locked on the man upon the throne, instantly turning cold.

”Regent King,” she said, placing a hand over her chest in formal salute.

The man turned his gaze slowly toward her. ”Daleliah. What brings you here?”

”One of our commanders stationed in the village of Sanor, in Zestella, has been killed.”

The Regent King arched an eyebrow, though he didn’t seem overly concerned. He rested his cheek against his clenched fist, looking vaguely interested. ”Hm. That’s... unexpected. Did one of those self-proclaimed Heroes show up in Zestella?”

”No,” Daleliah replied. ”It wasn’t one of them. We’re still gathering information. The captured villagers are en route. They might know more.”

”Good,” the Regent said, as disinterested as before. ”Still... Zestella should already be under our complete control. This delay is disappointing.”

”It is now,” Daleliah responded, a subtle edge in her voice. ”Sanar was the last village on the border. We’ve taken it, along with the rest.”

”Then the next target must be Dolphis,” Rucain said. ”It’s not acceptable that a kingdom so close to our borders is still clinging to Human rule.”

”We’ve already taken control of half of Dolphis,” Daleliah replied.

Rucain’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly. ”That’s not enough. Those vermin have resisted for far too long.”

”The strongest resistance lies in Central Vedelia and the Olphean Kingdom. But if we can seize control of the two Elven realms to the south, we’ll have them completely encircled.”

Rucain waved a dismissive hand. ”I’m not interested in playing chess with Elves. I don’t care about strategy or surrounding them. I want them erased.”

Daleliah’s expression darkened. She took a step forward, her armor clinking softly with the motion. Her eyes, already cold, turned glacial.

”And what does the Witch think of this?” She asked.

Rucain raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. ”Hm? I thought you already knew.”

”I follow only the Witch,” Daleliah said, her crimson gaze sharpening. ”I serve her, and her alone. You may wear the crown, Rucain, but don’t forget what your title really means—you are merely the Regent King.”