I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 724: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [6] Amael’s Parting Words To Freyja

On the second day of the Blood Moon Festival, while Sancta Vedelia and the two vampire kingdoms roared with wild celebrations and crimson-lit nights, Utopia remained... calm. Detached.

There was no grand festivity here—at least nothing that could compare to the chaos and revelry spreading through the vampire lands.

The Blood Elves did mark the day, though in a far quieter way. A few minor ceremonies, a faint glimmer of red lanterns, a whisper of old stories under the moonlight. Yet their hearts weren’t in it. Even now, above all else, the Blood Elves still worshipped Freyja, their divine mother, despite the taint of vampire blood running through their veins.

On the other hand, the Dark Elves and High Elves couldn’t have cared less. Some even detested the festival entirely. After all, the Blood Moon Festival was a celebration of the vampires’ origin—a race said to have been created by Merithra, a goddess who was famed for her cruelty.

It was no secret that many Blood Elves despised that truth. Though their lineage bore traces of vampiric blood, they still saw themselves as Elves above all—proud, graceful, and eternally bound to Freyja’s light.

Eight centuries had passed since Utopia was officially founded, and over time, it had transformed into a secular haven—a realm devoted entirely to the Goddess Freyja. The Utopians saw themselves as the true worshippers, the ones who had preserved her faith in its purest form.

There was, however, a stark difference between the Elves of Utopia and those of Sancta Vedelia.

While the Elves of Sancta Vedelia still revered Freyja, their devotion was divided—they also worshipped Eden, perhaps even more fervently. In Utopia, though, Freyja reigned alone. To them, she was not just the Goddess; she was the Goddess—their one and only divine figure.

This separation of faith wasn’t something that happened overnight. Centuries ago, when the Holy Tree of Eden was used by the Humans, they took it as a sign. They believed Eden himself had rejected and abandoned them. So they turned away from him entirely, casting all their faith upon Freyja instead.

It was almost ironic—Freyja, who despised Eden with all her being, now ruled over a nation that had forsaken him just as she once did. The poetic justice of it all amused her to no end.

Inside the gleaming citadel of Elyen Kiora, Freyja reclined upon her throne—a magnificent seat of silver roots and radiant crystals, carved to resemble the boughs of an eternal tree. The Goddess was stunning as ever, her golden hair cascading down beautifully framing her breathtaking face.

The past month had been brutal for Utopia. The Utopian War had ended in defeat, leaving scars across both land and spirit. Countless lives were lost, and the outer isles suffered heavily under the assaults of Sancta Vedelia’s fleets. The rebuilding had begun, but progress was slow and weary.

The battle between Amael and Durathiel had caused catastrophic damage—tearing through the heart of the capital itself. Even after Durathiel’s death, his followers had refused to yield, dragging the chaos out longer than anyone wanted. Sancta Vedelian knights took advantage of the turmoil, launching strikes against the already fractured capital.

But Freyja was not one to wallow in loss.

If Utopia had to be rebuilt, then it would be rebuilt her way. Not in the cold, rigid image Durathiel had envisioned, but in something that reflected her own tastes—graceful, radiant, and divine.

So as her architects and craftsmen reshaped the city, Freyja continued to oversee every detail of Elyen Kiora’s reconstruction though it didn’t need more but it was still not perfect in the eyes of the Goddess.

Freyja wasn’t one to lift stones or swing hammers. Her role in rebuilding Utopia was simply to command—to give orders that others would follow without question. That left her with an abundance of free time, and unfortunately, idleness was one of the few things a Goddess couldn’t endure gracefully.

Now, as she lounged upon her ornate throne, her chin resting lazily against her knuckles, she found herself drowning in silence. The grand hall was still, save for the faint hum of the crystalline lamps and the whisper of distant waves beyond Elyen Kiora’s marble cliffs.