CHAPTER 657: [BLOOD MOON WAR] [2] THREE HOODS

Four hundred years had passed since the end of the First Great Holy War and the founding of the Kingdom of Celeste by its legendary King, King Dorian Celesta. Yet despite centuries of advancement and fleeting peace, the world remained in a relentless cycle of conflict—one war ending just as another began in some distant land, like clockwork powered by blood and ambition.

Some of these wars were petty, local feuds between minor lords and squabbling territories. Others shifted the balance of entire continents. But none had shaken the foundations of the world quite like the Second Great Holy War—until now.

That war had concluded seventy years ago in a tragic and defining moment: the mutual death of Princess Lisandra Arvatra of the Arvatra Empire and Prince Alphonse Celesta of the Celesta Kingdom. Two rising stars—heirs to empires, symbols of strength and unity—had slain each other on the battlefield. Their deaths brought the war to a screeching halt. No victor, no celebration. Just a silent agreement, born not out of diplomacy, but out of devastation. The kingdoms licked their wounds, signed the truce, and vowed never to let such chaos rise again.

But history couldn’t be this peaceful.

Seventy years of uneasy peace passed like a fleeting breath before a new threat emerged—this time in one of the world’s most sacred places: Sancta Vedelia.

The cause?

The return of an ancient horror.

The Vampire Witch.

There had been others before her, of course—minor terrors, swiftly dispatched by the royal armies of the Kingdoms of Sancta Vedelia. But the one who revealed herself nine years ago was different. She was no passing shadow, no mere nightmare to be forgotten by sunrise.

She declared war against the entire Sancta Vedelia region.

She invoked a long-lost and forbidden spell—the Blood Moon Spell. Under its ghastly light, she began her campaign of domination. The Kingdoms of Valachia, Ravenia, Zestella and the Moonfang territories fell in rapid succession, one after another, their people enthralled and bound to her will. Her power grew with each conquest, feeding on blood and fear.

The remaining kingdoms tried to resist, but they were overmatched—crushed beneath the heel of the Vampire Witch’s growing legions. Her soldiers moved with inhuman ferocity, her generals wielded power that defied the natural order. Resistance was not only futile—it was suicidal.

And yet, they fought.

Because at the heart of Sancta Vedelia stood something worth dying for: the Holy Tree of Eden.

The resistance knew the truth—the Vampire Witch sought control over the Tree, one of the Treasures left by Eden. But even with her power she couldn’t claim it... not without two keys: the Prophetess, and the Guardian.

That was where it all began.

The war erupted because the resistance refused to surrender them. For nine grueling years, the kingdoms bled, desperately clinging to hope, fighting in the shadows of a war they could not afford to lose.

Hundreds of thousands had died.

But no help came.

Not from Edenis Raphiel. Not from any kingdom beyond the borders of Sancta Vedelia.

They all stayed away...out of fear.

They knew what the Blood Moon could do. To set foot in Sancta Vedelia now was to gamble with fate, to risk falling under the Vampire Witch’s curse. Minds bent, wills broken—entire armies could be turned against themselves in a heartbeat. So they watched from afar, hoping—praying—that somehow, the people of Sancta Vedelia would find a way to kill the Vampire Witch.

Before the Holy Tree fell.

Before all hope died with it.

For what felt like an eternity, not a single ship had dared cross the blood-hued waters surrounding Sancta Vedelia. Even from the distant coasts of neighboring kingdoms, its ominous presence was impossible to ignore. Crimson clouds clung to the heavens above it like a festering wound in the sky, swirling slowly around the land.

The Moon above, always strange when viewed from afar, had turned into a far more sinister shade of red when seen from here — a deep, saturated hue like fresh blood spilled on white marble.

The Holy Tree of Eden still stood somewhere in the heart of Sancta Vedelia but even that was no longer enough to draw aid from outside. The other kingdoms had their own fires to extinguish. The Blood Moon Spell cast by the Witch didn’t stop at borders. Its effects bled outward, infecting lands far beyond Sancta Vedelia’s cursed soil.

And yet, against all logic and instinct, a small, weather-worn boat had just docked at one of the last remaining free harbors — the port of the Teraquin Kingdom. It was one of the rare fragments of land still untouched by the grasp of the Witch’s forces.

Three figures stepped out onto the ancient docks, their boots thudding softly against the old wood worn smooth by salt and time.

"...Now I understand why no one wants to set foot here," murmured the first, a man in his mid-twenties. A faint glint of silver shimmered from beneath the shadow of his hood as he scanned the horizon. His eyes barely peeked through, but his wariness was clear.

"It smells like blood," the voice behind him — soft, feminine, rang disturbingly calm. The second hooded figure stepped forward, a few strands of platinum-blonde hair slipping free from under her hood, refusing to stay hidden no matter how she tried.

The third figure snorted in exasperation and pulled her hood down without hesitation. "Then why the hell are we here in the first place?" She asked, her tone caught between irritation and disbelief.

She was a striking woman — perhaps in her mid-twenties, like the others — with night-blue hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. Her most captivating feature, though, was her eyes: one shimmered an intense red, the other gleamed silver. Heterochromatic, sharp, and slightly narrowed as she took the sight around.

"Lisandra, your hood," the blonde woman muttered, furrowing her brow with clear disapproval.

Lisandra shrugged nonchalantly. "No one’s going to recognize us, Sylvia. Come on. It’s been seventy years. These people haven’t seen the outside world in years — they’ve been cut off for so long they probably think we’re a myth."

"True enough," the man said with a quiet chuckle, finally lowering his own hood. The salty breeze tugged at his silvery hair. Decades ago, he had been Amael Falkrona — Head of the prestigious Falkrona House, and one of the central figures in the Second Great Holy War.

Presumed dead.

With a sigh and a small shake of her head, Sylvia gave in and lowered her own hood as well. She was every bit as beautiful as Lisandra. Her heterochromatic eyes gleamed silver and sapphire-blue beneath her long lashes.

"I have been kept quiet so far, but I’m going to say it now," Sylvia said, her gaze fixed on the man leading them. "Didn’t you once say we shouldn’t get involved in wars anymore?"

He didn’t respond immediately. His attention was elsewhere — watching the people of Teraquin with a distant, unreadable expression. Locals passed by with tight smiles and sunken eyes. Some tried to act as though life continued, keeping routines alive for the sake of their children — children who played halfheartedly in the dusty streets. But even from a glance, it was clear: this was a city surviving under the weight of constant fear.

The Witch’s Knights could strike at any moment. And everyone here knew it.

"Amael," Sylvia called him.

He turned to them at last. "From this point forward, while we’re in Sancta Vedelia... I want you both to call me Samael."

Lisandra blinked. "S–Samael? Seriously?"

"Why?" Sylvia asked, narrowing her eyes.

Amael gave them a small smile.

"It might get confusing otherwise."

***

When I finally caught up to Alicia, I found her waiting right where I had landed. She stood still, arms folded across her chest. Her outfit was sharp and clean—white long-sleeved blouse tucked into a neat black skirt, with boots laced tightly up to her calves. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, probably for practicality more than style.

Still, I had to ask.

"Don’t you think wearing a skirt in this kind of situation is a bit... impractical?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

Alicia turned slowly, her eyes flickering over my clothes—hoodie, joggers, and boots. She blinked, puzzled.

"What are these clothes?" She asked.

I looked down at myself and shrugged. "Comfort."

She didn’t respond. Just turned around and started walking without a word, her boots crunching softly on the uneven sandy ground.

"You know where you’re going?" I called after her.

"No."

"Then where exactly are you walking to?"

"I don’t know," she replied bluntly. "But I’m not just going to stand here and do nothing."

Fair enough. Wandering aimlessly was at least better than staying frozen. We had to move, had to do something. I didn’t even know if we were still in Sancta Vedelia—but if not, I had to get back there. I had things to do, people to see. People who... mattered.

Even if Cleenah was gone.

The last two years had been... a whirlwind. So much loss, so much madness. Somewhere along the way, I think I started going numb to it all. I don’t know whether that scares me or not. Maybe it should. The pain’s still there, buried beneath layers of scar tissue. I feel it in the quiet moments—the hollowness, like something important was scooped out of me and never filled back in.

Before that silence could devour me whole, I turned to Alicia again.

"You have any idea why Cain wanted you?" I asked, forcing a change in topic.

She gave a quiet shake of her head. "No."

I tilted my head. "Maybe he’s in love with you. Since Elizabeth was with me, maybe he switched gears. Classic villain move. What do you think?"

"I don’t know," she said.

"Percy’s gonna be pissed, that’s for sure. Cain looked quite starved when he stared at you. ’I want her to be the mother of my children’," I added, imitating his voice at the end.

"H–He never said that!" Alicia spun around, a flush of red creeping up her neck.

"You sure?"

"Is everything a game to you, Senior?" Alicia asked. Her voice had lost its usual edge—it was quieter now, almost broken. "Beth... She died. And you act like you’ve already turned the page."

I stopped walking, hands stuffed in my hoodie pockets.

"Turned the page, huh..."

I looked up at the sky for a moment, exhaled through my nose.

"It’s been around seven years since I lost my real parents. And my sister." I gave a dry chuckle. "I haven’t even found the corner of that page to turn yet."

Alicia frowned, confused.

"I don’t turn the page," I said, walking up beside her. My voice dropped lower, more serious. "I just... stack the grief, one page on top of the other. And then I keep walking. That’s all I know how to do."

She looked at me, really looked at me this time.

"I don’t have the luxury of falling apart," I added, clenching my fists inside the fabric of my pockets. "But if I’m being honest... I don’t know how much longer I can keep it together either."

Alicia looked up at me, her crimson eyes shimmering — not because of the story I’d just told, but because her thoughts were still tangled in memories of Elizabeth. For Alicia, Elizabeth wasn’t just some powerful vampire princess— she had been like an older sister.

"Don’t cry," I said.

"I–I’m not crying..." She muttered, immediately averting her gaze. Her voice wavered just enough to betray the truth.

I smirked a little. "Need another hug from your dear Senior?"

Her head snapped back toward me, and she tried to shoot me a glare. It might’ve worked better if her cheeks weren’t already tinted a soft red. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head, remembering the way she’d broken down against my chest not too long ago. A moment of vulnerability neither of us had addressed since.

Flustered and annoyed — mostly at herself — she spun on her heel and started walking away, silent.

I smiled and followed after her, keeping a two-step distance behind. My smile faded slightly though as I glanced around.

Seriously... what was this place?

The landscape around us was unfamiliar, barren in a way that almost felt unreal. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the far horizon like it was hiding something. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were dropped right in the middle of some kind of dreamscape. Or nightmare.

A desert? Maybe. But there was no sandstorm, no dunes — just dry, cracked earth stretching endlessly in every direction under a merciless sky. Not a single tree. Just the sun, blazing above like it was trying to set the whole world on fire accompanied by the Moon as bright.

I just hoped we weren’t stuck in some endless wasteland...