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."

Rucain’s smile widened. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from the throne and reappeared beside her.

"Regent King," he said softly, "appointed by the Witch herself."

He reached out, lifting her chin with a single pale finger.

"The Witch desires the destruction of Sancta Vedelia," he whispered. "She dreams of ruling over its ruins—a world reborn in peace and obedience. Tell me, Daleliah... do you have what it takes to make her vision reality?"

Daleliah met his gaze. "I do."

"Good." Rucain released her and stepped back, his smile now tinged with satisfaction. "Then bring me the head of one of their leaders. I’d send you personally, but you’re too valuable here. Any of the Blood Lords will do—they’ve been lounging long enough."

Daleliah said nothing at first, her eyes fixed ahead, but just as Rucain turned away, her voice broke the silence.

"I want to see her."

He paused. She didn’t need to clarify who she meant.

Rucain glanced over his shoulder, chuckling.

"You can."

Daleliah left the throne room without another word: The cold stone echoed beneath her armored steps, and though no one dared speak to her, every guard and servant she passed bowed low with respect. Even the civilians glimpsing her from the outer corridors averted their eyes, pressing hands to their chests in reverence.

She wasn’t just a commander.

She was Daleliah—the First Blood Lord, the leader of the Witch’s chosen children, forged from her blood and will. A demigod in all but name. The conqueror of kingdoms. The right hand of the Witch herself.

The tower loomed behind the palace like a silent sentinel, cloaked in dark mana spells and radiating a power that made lesser beings tremble. It was a place few dared to approach and fewer still were allowed to enter.

Daleliah walked straight toward it.

As she ascended the steps, the sounds of the outside world faded. Her heavy boots struck against the stone stairs, each step echoing in the silence. The tower was quiet—eerily so—but to Daleliah, it felt like home. Sacred. The further up she climbed, the more the air thickened with mana, the very walls pulsing faintly as if the tower itself were alive.

For Daleliah, this tower—and the woman within it—was everything.

Fifteen years ago, she’d been nothing. A broken child. A victim. Pain had been her only companion—until the Witch found her. Until Selene gave her not just power, but meaning. A new existence. She had wiped away every scar, every scream, every trace of that pitiful girl.

Selene made her whole.

At the very top, Daleliah came to a towering crimson door, its surface covered in countless mana circles that shimmered like veins of light. Without hesitation, she placed her helmet back onto her head and raised a hand. The circles flared in response—then receded, the spells vanishing silently one by one. A final safeguard. No one but the Witch’s blood could pass.

Once the last circles faded, she knocked once, and then slowly pushed the doors open.

The room beyond was quiet and grand—more a sanctum than a chamber. The walls were painted in deep shades of red, like wine-stained velvet. Ornate furnishings, gilded and ancient, stood perfectly arranged: elegant armchairs, polished tables, and shelves of books. A single chandelier hung from above, casting a warm, flickering glow over everything.

Daleliah stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her.

Her eyes swept the room until they landed on a worn armchair beside the tall arched window. There, half-shrouded in shadow, sat a frail woman—skin pale and weathered, her hair a mix of brown and white like wilted flowers in snow. Her face was lined with age, but her presence was definitely there.

She gazed out the window, her crimson eyes fixed on the Blood Moon. Her expression was unreadable and cold.

She looked like any other elderly woman—but Daleliah knew she wasn’t.

The Witch was never ordinary.

Daleliah dropped to one knee without hesitation. "Princess Selene," she said.

The Witch did not turn to look at her. Her gaze remained locked on the moon outside, unmoved, unblinking.

Daleliah rose slowly and approached, until she stood beside the withered throne of the woman who had saved her. Reaching out carefully, she took Selene’s fragile hand.

"Do you—"

"Is this week’s ritual prepared?" Selene asked abruptly.

"Yes," Daleliah replied without pause. "A hundred souls have been chosen. High Humans, Elves, and Werewolves—only the finest specimens. Their blood will—"

"Then..." Selene’s hand drifted upward, brushing Daleliah’s cheek with a touch so faint it felt like a breeze.

Daleliah nodded at once. "I will carry it out."

With that, she stood and turned to leave, saying nothing more.

Once the door closed behind her, silence returned.

Selene sat still, her eyes never leaving the Blood Moon. Her skin might have looked fragile, her form nearing collapse—but her eyes... her eyes burned.

Not with warmth.

But with coldness and emptiness. The crimson glow within them shone darker than any vampire’s, deeper than blood itself.

She parted her lips whispering something inaudible before she closed her eyes.

***

"I think I know where we are, Alicia," I mumbled, tightening my grip on the reins.

We had ridden through the night without rest. Sleep had been a luxury we couldn’t afford. But now, as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the air shifted.

This place... felt familiar.

"Where?" Alicia asked from behind me.

I scanned the rolling hills and scattered trees, the silhouettes of buildings rising beyond a gentle slope. "The Teraquin Kingdom," I said slowly. "I’m sure of it. I was here once with Alvara... right after the war."

It looked different now. Smaller somehow. Less grand. But the layout, the scent of the forest, the distant chime of temple bells—all of it tugged at something buried deep in my memory.

My eyes landed on a structure just up ahead.

A temple.

Of white marble, tall and graceful.

"The Temple of Freyja," I breathed, slowing our horse.

When I visited with Alvara, the temple had been a ruin. Its pillars cracked, its roof half-collapsed, vines choking what remained. But now... now it looked pristine. Untouched by time. As if it had just been built.

We rode slowly through the town’s outskirts, catching curious glances from passersby. This was the Kingdom of Elves, after all. Our presence—especially mine—should’ve drawn more attention. But to my surprise, the streets weren’t filled with just Elves. Humans and even a few Werewolves mingled freely with them. They laughed together, bartered in the market, shared bread and stories.

It was strange. And... hopeful.

Perhaps it was the war. The resistance against the Vampire Witch must’ve forced their hands—and their hearts—to unite. Enemies becoming allies. Maybe even friends.

Thankfully, Alicia kept her face covered, her hood drawn low. We had learned from our past mistakes. The last thing we needed was another public scene.

"You came here with Senior Alvara...?" Alicia asked softly.

She tried to sound casual, but I heard the disbelief in her voice.

It made sense.

The idea of Alvara—racist Alvara—traveling with a half-human like me probably shattered every expectation Alicia had of her. Especially considering Alvara’s status.

"Yeah," I said, nodding.

Truthfully, the visit hadn’t been about sightseeing. Alvara had a plan. She wanted to re-establish her image—reignite her people’s worship of her after Kendel’s fall. Public appearances, pilgrimages, temple visits... the usual political theatre.

Not that she needed any of it. If anything, the people adored her even more after the war.

I remembered walking beside her through the temple square, how the crowd cheered, how they threw petals at her feet. I had no role there. I was unnecessary. But she insisted I come along. Said she didn’t trust me alone with Bryelle. A flimsy excuse.

She could’ve just said, "I want you with me. I want them to see you at my side."

But of course, Alvara would have never said that aloud back then.

Still... she looked adorable trying to hide it. So I let it slide.

Now, though—staring at that perfect, untouched temple—I was sure.

"We really are five hundred years in the past..." I whispered, bringing the horse to a stop.

Alicia blinked behind me. "Were you still doubting, Seni—Amae—um... Edward?"

That’s a lot of attempts, Alicia.

"Doubt keeps you alive in a world this rotten," I said, swinging off the horse with a soft thud as my boots met the cracked cobblestones. It was smarter to travel on foot—less attention that way.

Alicia dismounted right after me. She tugged the edge of her hood lower over her face, trying to disappear beneath its shadow. I took the reins and guided the horse alongside us as we started walking, its hooves clacking softly against the worn street.

"So... how exactly are we supposed to get back to the future?" Alicia asked, concerned.

I glanced down at the bracelet on my wrist—the one Viessa had given me. "The crystal brought us here. If we can find another like it, maybe we can go back."

"And where do you expect to find one?" She asked, narrowing her eyes beneath her hood.

"Viessa gave it to me," I said slowly. "And if she’s who I think she is... then she should exist in this time too."

Alicia tilted her head. "Wait, who exactly is Viessa?"

"Viessa Teraquin," I said, voice dropping. "A princess. One of the Heroes who fought against the Vampire Witch during the Blood Moon War."

"Viessa Teraquin..."

I nodded. "Yeah, that one. If I’m right, the Viessa here is younger, maybe not even a Hero yet. Which means... she has no clue who I am."

"So," she continued, eyeing me, "is she another one of your women, Senior?"

"What? No, she isn’t," I grimaced. "Why—are you jealous or something?"

Alicia shot me a deadpan look. "Why would I be?"

"I don’t know. Maybe you’ve developed feelings for your handsome, heroic Senior who’s saved your life more times than he can count."

"You really do think the world revolves around you, don’t you?"

"I wish it didn’t," I said with a sigh. "But there’s a borderline stalker Goddess living in my soul, so... forgive me for not being totally humble."

"You’re arrogant."

"I prefer the term ’charmingly self-aware,’" I replied.

But I froze mid-step, my words dying in my throat.

Up ahead, the sound of hooves echoed down the main road—dozens of them. A group of armored horsemen turned the corner, their banners fluttering in the wind.

I grabbed Alicia by the arm and ducked into a narrow alley, pressing ourselves against the cold stone wall immediately.