"…The falling leaves carry tidings:
Beyond the fog lies our homeland—the Lands Between. There, the great Elden Ring has been shattered.
The Eternal Queen, Marika, has vanished.
On the Night of the Black Knives, Godwyn the Golden was the first to fall.
Marika's offspring—the demigods—claimed the fragments of the Elden Ring. Yet the power corrupted them. They descended into madness and ignited the Shattering.
And when that war, bereft of a true king, finally came to its end—
The Greater Will cast them aside.
Oh, Tarnished—
Dead who yet cannot die.
The Grace we lost long ago now calls out once more.
That lost Grace has returned to the nameless Tarnished.
Cross the sea of fog. Journey to the Lands Between. Stand before the Elden Ring—
And become the Elden Lord."
The ancient, solemn chant echoed in his ears yet again.
He had long since lost count of how many times he had heard it.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
As expected, the same abandoned chapel greeted his gaze.
"I'm back."
He studied the familiar surroundings, a trace of emotion in his voice.
Nothing had changed. It was as ruined and desolate as ever.
Behind him stood a weather-worn statue of some forgotten figure. Rotten wooden pews lay scattered across the stone floor. Yellowed weeds swayed gently in the draft. A red carpet trimmed in gold, dulled beneath layers of dust, stretched toward the great doors at the far end of the hall.
Near those doors, a woman's corpse slumped against the wall.
The blood beneath her had not yet dried, slowly spreading across the stone.
If his memory served him correctly, she was meant to be his Finger Maiden—the one destined to guide him. Unfortunately, someone had already "looted her equipment," leaving behind only a glowing white message:
"Even if the guidance is broken, please become the Elden Lord."
Her final words.
Starting the journey with a dead wife—what kind of tragic opening was that?
Even the boldest author wouldn't dare write something so cruel.
For the record, this place was called the Chapel of Anticipation—his starting point. The beginning of everything.
But this time, unlike before, he did not immediately push open the doors.
Instead, he turned around, returned to the statue, and lay flat on the cold stone floor, staring up at the tattered ceiling.
Then he went back to sleep.
Whatever needed doing could wait until after a nap.
—
Until a voice sounded inside his mind.
He bolted upright like a patient rising from a deathbed.
[Would you like to join the Chat Group?]
[Yes / No]
"…What the hell? A Chat Group? What was that again?"
He stared at the translucent panel before him and slowly sat down on the stone steps.
Though much of his past had grown hazy, the phrase "Chat Group" stirred faint fragments of memory.
Others called him the Tarnished—one who had lost the golden blessing in his eyes and been exiled from the Lands Between.
But he knew the truth.
He had not originally belonged to this world.
Just like in those stories—he had been a transmigrator.
He hadn't been hit by a truck. He hadn't fallen into a toilet. He hadn't choked to death during dinner. There had been no warning whatsoever.
He had simply gone to sleep.
And when he opened his eyes, he awoke in this broken chapel.
Reawakened by the guidance of the Erdtree as a Tarnished.
His purpose?
To slay and seize the Great Runes from the demigods and Empyreans who held the shattered fragments of the Elden Ring. Then journey to the heart of the Erdtree and reforge the Elden Ring.
The world was mad, broken by the Shattering. Demigods ruled their territories with ruthless ambition.
Yet in the beginning, he had not felt despair.
Even without the cheat system every transmigrator seemed to possess—
He simply couldn't die.
Every death returned him to a Site of Grace, restored to full strength.
If someone compiled his deaths into a book, it would read like an encyclopedia of fatal experiences.
It would easily surpass One Hundred Ways to Die.
So what if he couldn't die?
Then he would fight.
If he couldn't kill an enemy once, he would try twice. If twice wasn't enough, then ten times. A hundred times. However many it took.
Eventually, they would fall.
Besides, he had Melina—his first wife—who helped him grow stronger and increase his abilities.
The first battles against the demigods had been hellish, death piled upon death until even fear dulled into numbness.
But after that, the road grew easier.
He grew stronger.
Stronger still.
Until he could crush the demigods with ease and ascend as the new Elden Lord.
That was when the true problem began.
How could he rewrite the ending where Melina sacrificed herself to burn the Erdtree?
In every single cycle, the thorns of the Erdtree blocked the path forward. Melina would journey to the Mountaintops of the Giants and offer herself to the Flame of Ruin within the Forge of the Giants.
She would burn.
And thus began another loop.
First cycle: he became Elden Lord. Melina burned.
Second cycle: he used the Rune of the Death-Prince repaired by Fia to mend the Elden Ring. Melina burned.
Third cycle: he joined hands with Ranni and enacted a wandering-star plan across the cosmos.
Melina still burned.
Again.
Again.
Again.
So many times he lost count.
It felt as though Melina had been born solely to become kindling.
Eventually, he stopped thinking.
He waited for the world to end.
Then it reset.
Over and over.
A total of 666 cycles.
Ah—no.
Including this one, 667.
Why did he remember so clearly?
Because in his inventory were 666 copies of the Deathbed Dress. It had become his personal checkpoint souvenir from Leyndell, Royal Capital.
There were also 500 pairs of Deathbed Smallclothes.
Yes—the very ones worn by Fia.
Ahem.
Over those endless cycles, most of his memories from his original world had eroded away.
Even his name was gone.
And so was his original wish.
At first, he merely hoped Melina would live.
Then it became something else.
Melina must live.
At any cost.
In the previous cycle, however, a possibility had appeared.
A madman calling himself Shabriri, hiding in the Mountaintops of the Giants, told him there was a way to spare Melina.
Descend beneath Leyndell.
Meet the Three Fingers.
Accept the brand of the Frenzied Flame.
Then climb the Forge of the Giants and cast himself into the flame as kindling.
Burn the Erdtree himself.
Rewrite destiny.
According to the Finger Reader at the Roundtable Hold, it was theoretically possible.
But wasn't that the same thing?
Thrown into a furnace and burned alive.
That was why, in this new cycle, he had chosen to lie down and sleep first.
How could he decide whether to become kindling without a proper nap?
He was a Tarnished, not some ash-born undead desperate to throw himself into fire.
And something about the plan felt wrong.
Dangerous.
Then came this new possibility—
The Chat Group.
From what he vaguely remembered, it was a universal cheat that gathered powerhouses and transmigrators from different worlds.
Had he finally found his organization?
Or perhaps he could recruit someone from another world to serve as kindling instead—burn the Erdtree, then seize the throne afterward?
Not a bad idea.
Still…
This Chat Group gave him a bad feeling.
"Forget it. I'd rather become kindling myself."
He decisively selected "No."
With his mind.
The interface had no physical substance—his fingers passed straight through it.
Unfortunately, the Chat Group seemed unwilling to let him go.
[Congratulations. You have successfully joined the Chat Group. Please choose a name.]
???
He slowly typed several question marks in his mind.
"What do you mean successfully joined? I pressed No. Is this forced enrollment?"
"And what's with this cheap-looking interface? If you're going to be a Chat Group, at least make it look premium."
His complaints echoed through the ruined chapel.
But the excitement faded quickly.
So what if he joined?
After a moment's thought, he entered:
"Trying to Save My Wife Tarnished."
He couldn't remember his real name anyway.
Might as well use something honest.
The interface dissolved.
Then a new chat window popped up before him—cheap-looking, reminiscent of early instant messaging software.
[System Notice: Welcome new member 'Trying to Save My Wife Tarnished' to the Chat Group.]