CHAPTER 711: [BLOOD MOON WAR] [52] BLOOD MOON WAR

The plains of Valachia stretched endlessly beyond the capital—rolling fields once soaked with blood, scarred by centuries of war. Long ago, during the Warring Era of Sancta Vedelia, every race had fought tooth and nail over the Holy Tree of Eden, refusing to share its blessings. Back then, the land had been a field painted in fire and steel.

Though those brutal days had quieted with time, the peace had never truly taken root. And now, three days ago, the cycle began again.

A new war erupted, one just as savage as the battles of old.

The Resistance of Sancta Vedelia, made up of every race except the Vampires, now clashed against the armies of the Vampire Witch, Selene Amaya Tepes, and the Regent King Rucain.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate.

Circles of mana flared across the blackened sky, each glowing like beacons of destruction. Above them, the red moon loomed, staining the land in its crimson glow. Explosions shook the ground. Rivers of blood cut through the trampled fields. Screams, roars, and death cries tangled into one endless chorus of war.

-BOOOOM!

Shockwaves tore through the night as the battle dragged on.

The Resistance leaders each commanded their own fronts, struggling to push back the tide. Opposing them stood two of the Witch’s Blood Lords—Daleliah and Sandor.

For three days the Regent King and the Witch herself remained absent. Yet their forces pressed ever harder, bolstered by the cursed strength of the Blood of the Witch. Even without their masters, the vampire horde was relentless.

Still, the Resistance fought on. They had no other choice. Bound by a single purpose, they stood united—to free Sancta Vedelia from the Witch’s grasp, to shatter the curse of the Blood Moon once and for all.

"Still no signs of Rucain or the Witch?!" Ernest roared over the din, his blade cleaving through a thrall before he yelled the question at his men.

"No, Your Highness! Reports say they remain within Valachia—watching, waiting!"

Ernest’s teeth clenched. He clicked his tongue in frustration. He had hoped to end this swiftly by striking down the leaders themselves, but their absence made it impossible. Were they mocking him by staying out of reach? Or perhaps they believed their pawns alone were enough to crush the Resistance.

If that was the case, then he would force their hands. He would drag them out onto the battlefield himself.

His gaze snapped toward Daleliah, who stood at the rear lines, watching the carnage unfold with chilling detachment. She didn’t even need to move—her mere presence steadied the vampire horde.

But before Ernest could issue an order, a blur of black leapt toward the Blood Lord.

Gruna Moonfang.

The wolfkin’s tail lashed behind her, her body cutting through the air with feral speed. "Stop watching like you’re not part of this!" She bellowed, her hand glowing with raw prana as she swung it straight at Daleliah.

-BAM!

The strike detonated like thunder, a shockwave of prana tearing through the Witch’s soldiers, hurling them back in broken heaps.

Yet Daleliah did not flinch.

She simply raised her hand—and caught Gruna’s wrist in an iron grip.

Then she released her blood sending a powerful pressure, Gruna’s hair rose up and immediately used her bestial form and slipped away from Daleliah’s grasp and kicked her.

Daleliah barely had time to register the wolfkin’s assault before another threat bore down on her. She raised her arm to shield herself, sliding back across the churned earth. Her sharp crimson eyes widened as a amber glow suddenly cut through the haze of smoke and dust.

Ernest.

He charged, bathed in a brilliant amber radiance, his entire form blazing with mana. In his hands gleamed a sword of pure amber light, humming as it arced down toward her.

-BOOOOM!!!

The impact shook the plain violently. The ground beneath Daleliah fractured, spiderweb cracks spreading out from her feet. She raised a brow, her body straining against the force, but she refused to fall.

With a snarl, she unleashed her blood. Crimson blood erupted from her body, writhing like serpents before solidifying into a deadly spear, its tip thirsting for flesh. She lunged—

But Ernest vaulted into the air before she could strike.

Her eyes snapped upward, only for another assault to catch her off guard.

A roaring wave of water surged from the side, crashing into her with brutal force.

-BAM!

Daleliah was ripped from her footing, dragged along by the torrent. The icy pressure wrapped around her like chains, dragging her limbs down. She groaned, forcing her body through the weight of it, and her gaze darted toward its source.

A man stepped into view through the spray—Cedric Dolphis. His long spear spiralled with liquid currents that coiled around its shaft like living water.

"If we kill her," Cedric called over the roar of battle, his eyes locked on Ernest above, "they’ll have no choice but to come out!"

Daleliah’s lips curled in contempt. Her mana flared as she forced herself free from the torrent, her body snapping upward in a blood-soaked blur. She vaulted into the air, the crimson spear in her grasp gleaming murderously as she hurtled straight toward Cedric’s throat.

But then—

A chill colder than death itself seized the battlefield.

Crackling frost spread outward in a single instant, racing across the ground, even the falling droplets of Cedric’s water wave. In the blink of an eye, everything froze into glittering crystal.

Daleliah’s instincts screamed. Her spear faltered for just a moment. She hadn’t felt danger like this since the war began.

Her crimson eyes flicked to the source.

A lone woman stood amidst the frozen plain. Her white hair shimmered under the red moonlight, her aura biting as fiercely as a winter gale.

Cleara.

"Where are the Witch and Rucain?" Cleara asked calmly.

Daleliah narrowed her eyes. Instead of answering, she asked coldly, "Where is that white-haired man?"

Cleara’s expression hardened instantly. She knew exactly who Daleliah meant.

"Why do you want him?" She asked, her grip on the ice-forged sword tightening.

Daleliah gave no reply. She lunged instead, her blood spear sweeping down with killing intent.

Steel met frost. Cleara’s ice-forged sword caught the strike easily, her stance firm.

Daleliah’s brow furrowed. This woman... she wasn’t like the others. There was something about her presence, something unnatural, as though she didn’t quite belong among the Resistance’s leaders.

"Who are you?" Daleliah asked warily.

Cleara did not answer.

Instead, she advanced.

Their weapons clashed in a violent blur, each collision sending shockwaves that cracked the ground and ripped through the battlefield. Sparks of crimson blood and glittering shards of ice exploded with every strike.

-BOOOOM!!

"Since when is she this strong?!" Gruna blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief.

Viessa only laughed as she joined them. "You’ve just never seen her fight before, Gruna!"

Maybe Viessa was right, but still—Gruna couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Cleara, the quiet one, the girl who always stayed in the background, was fighting like this. Her mind struggled to accept what her eyes were showing her.

Now that she thought about it, she realized how little he actually knew about her. Whispers said she was the granddaughter of the Prophetess, though no one had ever confirmed it. For years she had kept herself hidden in the shadows, letting the war play out without stepping too far forward. But now—this year, the tenth year since the conflict began—things had shifted. With the Resistance clashing harder than ever against the dreaded Vampire Witch, Cleara had stepped into the light, and her strength... it was something else entirely.

"Just what is little Khione doing right now?"

Far above the battlefield, beyond mortal perception, Anuket floated unseen. A small smile tugged at her lips as she observed the battle below.

Everything was unfolding as she expected. She wanted to witness the conclusion of this war with her own eyes, though deep down she already believed the Dolphis bloodline would endure. Nihil would never allow the important lineages which made Sancta Vedelia to simply vanish. He was more than just the Guardian of Eden—he was a warden of the timeline itself, protector of the balance in this fragile world.

It was by his command that Khione had been tasked to watch over these events. He had been crystal clear: observe, but do not intervene. Do not bend the flow of fate.

And yet...

Anukhet tilted her head slightly and cast a sly glance at the goddess beside her. "Would you consider that intervention, Athena?" She asked softly.

Athena’s eyes never left the battlefield below, her features grim as she watched the mortals tear into one another. Her fingers tightened around the shaft of her gleaming lance until her knuckles whitened.

"Why is it that mortals are always fighting?" She sighed, the words tinged with weariness.

Anukhet chuckled lightly. "It can’t be helped, Thena. They were created in our image, after all."

Athena’s lips pressed into a thin line. "We had our violent past too, yes. But we learned from it. Violence among us eventually gave way to wisdom. Down there..." Her gaze sharpened on the carnage. "...violence only begets more violence."

Anhuket’s smile softened. "In that case, perhaps you should place the blame on Merithra. She was the one who split a fragment of herself and sent it into Sancta Vedelia."

Athena shook her head. "Merithra had no ill intentions. The fault lies with mortals. Their pride and cruelty shaped the Vampire Witch. Centuries of hatred and rejection twisted her into what she is now."

For once, Anhuket had no retort. She released a slow sigh, her eyes drifting back down to the spectacle of blood and fire below. "I can’t deny that truth."

The gods stood in silence for a moment, watching the tide of the battle sway and churn. Finally, Anukhet spoke again hopefully.

"Let us pray, then, that Lord Nihil’s hand has arranged things so this war ends in victory for Sancta Vedelia... and not for that Witch."

***

Meanwhile, in the royal castle of Vanadias...

Edward still lay motionless upon his bed, his chest rising and falling faintly with the shallow rhythm of a man lost in deep unconsciousness. T

Then, without warning, the air above him twisted. Darkness stirred in the void like ink spilled across water, swirling and thickening until it folded into itself. From that abyss stepped a figure—a woman, cloaked in a gown woven from shadows themselves, its fabric flowing like liquid night.

She said nothing.

Her hair, long and silken, spilled down to her waist, blacker than the void she had emerged from. Her skin, pale and cold, carried the perfection of something not entirely mortal. A beauty so sharp it seemed divine, yet so chilling it froze the air around her.

Her eyes were the most haunting of all—pupils of pure pitch, depthless, as if they absorbed every shred of light. They reflected nothing, only darkness. Yet for the briefest instant, a flicker stirred within them—a spark, a glimmer of something unspoken—before it vanished, swallowed whole.

"..."

The woman lingered, standing at Edward’s bedside, her silent gaze fixed upon him. She neither moved nor breathed, as though time itself had halted around her.

Then, slowly, her figure began to fracture. A thin crack spread across her body, delicate like a fissure in glass. More followed, spiderwebbing through her form until, with a soundless shatter, she broke apart like a mirror collapsing inward.

In an instant, she was gone. The chamber was once more empty, save for the unconscious Edward—unaware of the shadow that had just watched over him.