Lucian unrolled the old parchment and carefully read it again.
The handwriting was faint, blurred by time. Clearly, the stone box had not fully shielded its contents from the long years of decay.
Still, the words were legible enough:
[ To the unknown one who may come after me:
If you are reading this note I casually left behind, then fate has bound us, however briefly. Of course, it is far more likely that both this note and the map will remain forever buried beneath the land.
When Bernahl suggested that we hide something beneath the stele to aid those who might come later, I told him such a thing would be too difficult to find. Besides, under the grace of the Erdtree, what need would future generations have for help?
We are not only reconciled with the Ancient Dragons, but our war with the Academy and the Storm King goes ever more smoothly. Surely, it will soon be over. Then an era of abundance, blessed by the Erdtree, will dawn.
Yet Bernahl has always been a man of knightly romanticism. He insisted that knights, no matter the age, would always think alike.
This note is our wager. If someone finds it, he wins.
Ha, enough meaningless talk.
If you truly have uncovered this message, I advise you to consider carefully whether you wish to explore this land. I leave behind the map I drew during my survey of this region—may it be of use.
Know this: the northern reaches of Caelid are wilderness absolute. Beyond the Divine Tower and the Bestial Sanctum, there are no other structures. Even the lesser dragons shun this place, preferring Caelid's richer grounds.
If not for the presence of Greyoll, the Elder Dragon, I too would never have come.
Should you come with the same purpose of meeting her, be warned: it is no simple matter. Only with Lansseax as our escort were we granted audience with Greyoll. Yet even with an Ancient Dragon at my side, I did not accomplish my mission.
Take heed: Greyoll is a mountain to be revered. Conduct yourself with utmost respect.
As for me, I go now to join our king, Godfrey, and his host in Limgrave, as ordered.
If you should see this letter and map, you may seek me in the army. I offer no special favor—but to meet a friend is among life's rare joys.
May fortune guide you, O unknown one who may come after me. May the light of the Elden Ring ever shine upon us both.
—Knight of the Roundtable, Vyke ]
The letter ended there.
It looked like a simple note, scribbled in passing. Yet to Lucian, it brimmed with meaning.
Melina, reading over his shoulder, caught the name.
"Vyke…" she murmured. "And he calls himself a Knight of the Roundtable. This must be that Vyke—one of the founders of the Roundtable Hold."
Lucian nodded.
"Yes. The one chosen by the Ancient Dragons, the Tarnished who came closest to Elden Lord—the so-called Lord Elect, Vyke. This letter must have been written before the Tarnished were stripped of grace and banished from the Lands Between."
Even then, Vyke was likely already one of Godfrey's most renowned champions, a hero in all but name. But unlike the generals, he seemed more a free knight than a commander of troops.
Lucian sifted through the hints buried in the words.
The timing was clear. This was written after the end of the great war with the Ancient Dragons, when the Erdtree's forces still fought the Academy and the Storm King.
It was an age when Godfrey had not yet been exiled, when the dragons were allies of Leyndell.
Lansseax had already taken human form in the capital, serving as priestess, teaching knights the faith of Dragon Lightning. Vyke, it seemed, was her favored knight of all.
So strong was he that he was entrusted with missions concerning Greyoll herself. Yet even with such aid, he had failed.
Why had Greyoll refused him? Perhaps he had sought alliance, or some ancient bargain—but she had declined. His words warned of reverence, and Lucian suspected he had suffered some chastening in that audience.
Back then, there were no lesser dragons in the Dragonbarrow. They came later, fleeing Caelid's rot and gathering around Greyoll, as Lucian well knew.
As for Godfrey's army, Vyke's letter said they were in Limgrave, though perhaps already pressing into Caelid. And soon after, all were stripped of grace and driven out.
But one line caught Lucian's mind: Vyke already styled himself Knight of the Roundtable Hold.
That meant the Roundtable Hold had been founded long before the exile. In fact, in Leyndell itself.
Its earliest members?
Gideon the All-Knowing
Vyke
Bernahl
Vargram the Raging Wolf
Errant Sorcerer Wilhelm
Crepus, Chief Confessor
the Mad Tongue Alberich, and others
When the first Tarnished returned, they gathered again at the Roundtable, joining the Shattering War.
Bernahl's Devourer's Scepter, shaped like the Serpent-God who devoured all, was proof enough of his bond with Rykard—whom he must have already befriended in those years.
It was likely during that period that Vyke and Bernahl earned the title Lord Elect. Only in a time of no gods and no lords could such a name be uttered without treason.
Yet they also discovered the Impenetrable Thorns of the Erdtree, the divine barrier that rejected all claimants.
Bernahl's consort, a maiden, offered herself to kindle the fire, but failed. From that failure, he turned toward Rykard's Volcano Manor, betraying the Greater Will and the Golden Order.
Vyke, too, sought another path. Perhaps swayed by a whisperer's lies, he accepted the Frenzied Flame.
Because of them, the Roundtable itself withdrew from Leyndell. With so many of its strongest gone, it dwindled into the hollow refuge Lucian knew.
Gideon, though… who knew how long he had been plotting in silence, growing ever more patient.
Lucian read the letter again and again, but no further secrets revealed themselves.
Still, for a scrap of parchment buried for centuries, it was a treasure. A glimpse into that lost age.
He folded it away carefully into his pouch.
Melina, meanwhile, took the faded map of the Dragonbarrow and began to copy its contours onto their own chart.
Though many later landmarks were absent, the terrain itself remained unchanged. For Lucian, it was enough.
With a map in hand, their next journeys would not stumble so blindly as before.
While Melina worked, Lucian studied the land.
"Next stop, the Isolated Merchant's Shack," he decided. "Might be worth seeing what that merchant has tucked away."
He also remembered that at night, the Bell Bearing Hunter often appeared there. In the game, it had been notorious—the most fearsome foe in all Caelid. Its towering stats and relentless poise had crushed countless players.
Until, of course, players discovered the laser-firing Caelid Golems, who stole the crown as "toughest."
Still, Lucian chuckled. The Bell Bearing Hunter remained, in his eyes, the true bane of beginners. Tough, cruel, and miserly in its drops.
He put the thought aside. Once Melina finished, they set out.
Torrent carried him swiftly along a narrow road, climbing the slope.
Along the way, Lucian spotted flocks of sheep grazing on grass faintly tainted by scarlet rot.
To his surprise, several Monstrous Dogs prowled nearby. Yet instead of preying on the sheep, they herded them, steering the flock away from wandering.
Lucian raised a brow. These were not wild beasts. They had been tamed—trained as shepherd dogs.
When he passed, the dogs lifted their heads, eyes wary and watchful. But they did not attack.
The skill required to domesticate such violent creatures impressed him. Normally, dogs, being pack-hunters, only grew more dangerous in numbers. These "Giant Dogs" were infamous for their bloodlust—even one could tear apart a man. Yet here were four or five, disciplined, obedient.
At last, Lucian reached the Isolated Merchant's ramshackle hut. Outside, on a chair, the merchant himself lounged, quite unlike the weary wandering traders of his kind.
Seeing Lucian, the man waved him closer.
"Well, now, that's rare. I can go years without seeing a soul here. Since we've met, care to look at my wares? I'm still a merchant, after all."
Lucian nodded. That was why he'd come.
"Let's see what you have. Perhaps something worth my coin."
The merchant chuckled, rising to lead him inside.
Though outwardly shabby, the hut was neatly kept within. A bed, some shelves—furniture newer than the building itself, though worn by use.
On one rack, a gleam caught Lucian's eye: a complete Cleanrot Knight Set, armor and helm, polished and carefully arranged. Beside it hung the knightly weapons—a sword, spear, and scythe, each in pristine condition.
The merchant followed his gaze and smiled.
"Those? Not for sale. Took me years to gather that set. A collector's prize."
Indeed, the armor had been meticulously preserved, unlike the other battered gear piled below.
Lucian offered a polite nod. "Well-kept," he remarked, before moving on.
His eyes landed next on a strange relic: withered, blood-stained fingers laid on a piece of parchment.
"Those?" he asked. "What are they?"
The merchant's smile sharpened.
"Ah… you've found something rare indeed. Bloody Fingers."
He picked one up. It was blackened, bloated with rot, crudely severed.
"These are not common trinkets," the merchant explained. "They are weapons meant to be used against your kind—the Tarnished."
Lucian frowned. "How so?"
"You know how Tarnished leave signs—messages scratched with chalk, golden summons? Bloody Fingers were devised to corrupt that very system. Touch a message or summon sign with one of these, and it points you to the Tarnished who left it."
Lucian stiffened. "But… then you'd have no way of knowing if the target is your enemy or not."
"Correct." The merchant's grin widened. "It is indiscriminate. Most who use such things aren't seeking vengeance. They simply crave slaughter. The Bloody fingers are their invitation."
Lucian thought of Nerijus, and the twisted glee of the Bloody Finger hunters. Yes—this fit them well.
Still, the idea sparked another thought.
"If one were to use it on a message left by an ally…" he murmured, "…wouldn't that act as a way to locate them?"
The merchant only laughed softly, eyes glinting with secrets.