Outside the Royal Capital, Leyndell — among the ruined battlefield remains — Arthur found a relatively clean, level patch of ground and activated a Site of Grace.
Melina's translucent form emerged from the golden light.
She lifted her gaze toward the towering Erdtree, then turned to Arthur and spoke softly:
"Thank you. You have finally brought me here.
I was born beneath the roots of the Erdtree, and there… my mother bestowed upon me my purpose."
Her voice grew quiet.
"But as you can see, my body has long been burned away. Only this spirit remains.
That is why I seek a reason to continue existing.
Perhaps returning to the place of my birth will grant me an answer."
Then she added:
"Oh — Queen Marika left behind a message here.
Would you like me to recite it?"
Arthur exhaled silently.
He knew Melina's true purpose all too well.
She was Marika's contingency plan — created to guide the Tarnished through the Erdtree's sealing thorns, and to prevent them from straying into the Frenzied Flame.
That was why, in the Frenzied Flame ending, Melina vowed to grant the Tarnished Destined Death.
As for how Marika "created" Melina?
Arthur had long suspected it involved the Gloam-Eyed Queen.
After all, the lore already allowed Marika and Radagon's self-cest, and Mohg's deranged obsession with Miquella.
One more "Marika × Gloam-Eyed Queen" scenario wouldn't even be surprising.
Seeing Arthur silent too long, Melina asked gently:
"Do you not wish to hear it?"
He blinked out of his thoughts.
"No — I want to. Please, go ahead."
Melina nodded.
"I shall repeat Queen Marika's words exactly:
'O demigods, my sweet children.
You may become anything — a monarch,
or even a god.
But if you become neither…
you shall be abandoned.
And made into sacrifices.'"
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
So — even when she shattered the Elden Ring, Marika already foresaw what would follow.
A victor must emerge from the Shattering.
If none did, the demigods would be discarded…
…and the banished Tarnished would return from outside the Lands Between to serve as her second gambit — to claim the demigods as offerings and reach the Elden Ring.
What Marika could never have predicted was someone like Arthur.
Instead of restoring the Ring… he had devoured the power of every demigod in his path.
With him here, repairing the Elden Ring was already impossible.
Melina finished softly:
"That is all.
I hope you reach the capital soon."
Her form dissolved immediately, retreating to hide once more.
Arthur shook his head.
Still the same wooden Melina — obsessed with her mission, indifferent to all else.
Only matters tied to Marika ever stirred her.
He rose from the grace and continued forward.
Not far down the road, he spotted a nobleman — clothes immaculate, posture refined.
Arthur froze.
After the Shattering, the Lands Between had become nearly empty — either corpses or madmen remained.
People capable of normal conversation were rarities.
And this noble didn't attack him on sight?
Arthur stepped forward to greet him—
The noble's feet lit up with ancient Erdtree runes.
A flash of gold.
When the light faded—
The noble had transformed into an Omenkiller.
Arthur blinked.
…Excuse me?
A boss he killed two years ago had just respawned in front of him?
Or were there… multiple Omenkillers?
The last one was Margit — was this one supposed to be "Marl-zahar"?
The Omenkiller didn't attack.
Instead, in the same chanting tone as before, it intoned:
"Tarnished…
I have found you…
Thou who art misled…
by the flame of ambition…"
Arthur rolled his eyes.
Same line as last time.
Did they all share the same script?
Unless…
Unless they were all the same person.
A spark lit in Arthur's mind.
He reached into his System inventory and retrieved a fragment wrapped in dead roots — Margit's Shackle.
Without waiting for the Omenkiller to finish its lecture, he slammed it to the ground and channeled mana into it.
Golden restraints erupted beneath the creature.
The Omenkiller collapsed instantly, pinned like a bug beneath a boot.
Arthur blinked.
"…It really works?"
He'd taken this from Patches long ago, thinking it useless now that Margit was dead.
Who knew it worked on this one too?
Which meant his guess was right.
These Omenkillers were not individuals.
They were manifestations of the same person.
The only question was—
who?
Arthur already knew.
Morgott.
The Omen King.
Morgott, born cursed, cast into the sewers of Leyndell —
yet crowned the capital's ruler.
How?
By hiding his true form.
By cultivating Omen forces in secret.
By sending avatar bodies — "Omenkillers" — to the battlefield in his place.
Which meant Margit's Shackle was, truly:
Morgott's Shackle.
And if Morgott had one…
then Mohg probably had one too.
But Mohg was dead, so what would Arthur do with it?
Build him a memorial?
The Omenkiller began to struggle free.
Arthur calmly used the Shackle again and pinned it down a second time.
He crouched beside it.
"I already killed the Omenkiller once.
Now another appears — meaning these bodies aren't unique.
They're one man's avatars.
Am I right… Morgott?"
The creature had not expected him to figure it out.
It didn't deny it.
It simply resumed its sermon:
"Impressive…
that one blinded by the foolish flame of ambition
could perceive my identity.
With such wisdom, why must you—"
Arthur didn't let him finish.
He drew Ranni's Dark Moon Greatsword — and smacked it across the face.
With each hit, he said:
"Who are you calling foolish?"
"And who's blinded by ambition?"
"Can you—"
"Say ANYTHING—"
"OTHER than this damn chanting!?"
After several heavy blows, the Omenkiller's vision blurred.
Finally it wheezed:
"Tarnished!
Why such humiliation!?
Know you not—
a warrior may be slain, but not insulted—!"
Same monotonous tone.
Arthur had had enough.
He drove the Dark Moon blade straight into its throat.
The Omenkiller choked, more furious at the insult than the death.
"You… despicable Tarnished…
I shall await you…
in the capital…"
Arthur snorted.
"Yeah, yeah.
Get in line."
Leyndell was huge — exploring it would take months.
And beneath it, the labyrinthine sewers would take even longer.
After a brief rest, Arthur continued.
He slew the Draconic Tree Sentinel guarding the gate and climbed onto the city walls.
Funny how history worked:
Twice the Monarchs' Alliance assaulted Leyndell — twice they failed spectacularly.
The first: ruined by Mohg's sabotage.
The second: ruined by infighting.
Now, Leyndell's forces were so thin that Arthur practically strolled inside.
He took an elevator up the Eastern Wall — part of it broken.
Not by the Alliance.
But by a dragon.
Gransax, the ancient red-lightning dragon, had struck Leyndell long ago, breaching its walls.
It was slain —
its colossal corpse embedded into the capital's structure.
Arthur stepped onto the broken ledge and looked up.
He froze.
A colossal dragon corpse — spanning nearly half the capital — loomed above him, its enormous body forming part of the wall itself.
"…Marika, what were you thinking?" Arthur muttered.
Leaving a corpse like this untouched —
the scales, the claws, the eyes, the heart —
any one of them could be priceless.
He extended his spiritual sense.
Nothing.
No lightning.
No remnant power.
Just a supersized version of the dragons he had killed before.
No wonder Marika didn't bother.
But to a collector like Arthur?
This was like placing a hundred adorable kittens in front of a cat lover — irresistible.
He was moments away from rushing up to harvest it—
When Melina's voice reached his mind.
She urged him to continue lighting the graces within the capital.
Arthur sighed.
"Alright, alright… giant dragon corpse later. Duty first."
With one last lingering look at Gransax's titanic remains, Arthur pressed deeper into Leyndell.
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