As his vision blurred, the world twisted—and in the blink of an eye, he was back in Stormhill, right beside that same shabby hut.
"Mr. Tarnished? You're back?"
The moment she saw him, Little Red Riding Hood Roderika sprang to her feet and hurried out into the gale.
"Yeah. I'm back."
A faint smile touched his face as he looked at the pitiful, lovable girl.
After that night—after he listened and gently talked her through it—Roderika seemed to have climbed out of her grief. She was brighter now, if only a little.
At the very least, since meeting her in this cycle, this was the first time he'd seen her smile.
Even if it vanished in an instant.
But then she said something that made his eyes widen.
"Um… Mr. Tarnished, I-I have a request. I hope you can help me…"
"It's fine. Say it."
"…I want to follow you. I want to see Godrick killed."
Roderika lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes filled with a strange, unwavering resolve.
"Even though I can't do anything right now… I-I'll work hard. I swear I will."
Mr. Tarnished: ???
The wind was fierce and her voice was small, but he heard every word clearly.
What was this?
Just yesterday she'd been terrified of Godrick—so afraid she couldn't even bring herself to approach Stormveil Castle.
Where did that gloomy little sister go?
More importantly—
In hundreds of cycles, she had never reacted like this.
Never once.
And aside from entrusting him with Jellyfish back then, and later asking him to check on Hewg, this was the first time she'd made any other request at all.
It was equal parts shocking and unbelievable.
But after a moment's thought, he realized it might not be a bad thing.
Maybe in this cycle…
Melina's fate really could change.
He considered it briefly, then nodded.
"Alright. I'll take you."
He whistled for the companion who had been with him the longest—
Torrent.
"Get on."
"Thank you, Mr. Tarnished."
Roderika gave a small, careful bow, took his hand, and with a burst of courage swung herself up onto the saddle behind him.
Come to think of it, this was the first time Torrent had carried anyone other than him and Melina.
Torrent didn't throw a fit—just let out a few irritated neighs, as if voicing a complaint.
"Alright, alright. Don't be mad. I'll give you extra Rowa Raisins later, okay?"
He patted Torrent's mane as he spoke.
The moment Torrent heard "Rowa Raisins," the steed practically ignited.
He surged toward the Gatefront Ruins at a speed he'd never reached before—at least twice as fast as usual.
Rowa Raisins were made from dried red Rowa Fruit, and they were one of Torrent's favorite treats.
Whenever Torrent was unhappy, feeding him a bit made him cheerful instantly.
His horse was that easy to please.
As for Roderika's safety—
Worst case, he would just ring a bell a few more times.
With the wind blasting against them, they raced along the cracked stone road. He ignored the patrolling soldiers entirely.
The scenery blurred past at terrifying speed. The shouts of the soldiers whipped through the air, and Roderika screamed nonstop.
"Mr. Tarnished!"
"It's fine! Relax!"
He kept reassuring her, but the way she clung to him only tightened.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
The moment they rounded a corner, a clear horn call sounded. Soldiers surged in from every direction.
Fixed ballistae at the gate locked onto them. Burning bolts streaked past, grazing the air beside him again and again.
"Mr. Tarnished!!"
"It's fine, it's fine. Trust me."
While he soothed the girl who was on the verge of tears, he guided Torrent with practiced ease—leaping over flames, weaving past soldiers…
Or rather, leaping directly over their heads.
He knew this route too well.
He knew what those soldiers would do next, what they'd shout, where their weapons would swing.
He dodged the ballista fire, slipped past spear thrusts by a hair's breadth, and finally—successfully—broke into the dark passage that led to the great bridge before Stormveil's main gate.
The ride was as thrilling as it was horrifying.
Inside the dim corridor, Roderika sat beside the Grace that burned like a small campfire, her mind teetering on the edge of numbness.
She couldn't see the guidance of Grace.
But the warmth that rose from it still soothed her trembling heart, little by little.
"So?" he asked, glancing at her with a teasing edge. "Do you still want to come inside Stormveil? The road ahead will be even more dangerous."
His gaze followed the light of Grace to the stone wall ahead, as if he could see through it—see that grafted coward hiding within Stormveil's depths.
Then he turned back to Roderika, who was still shaking, and lightly provoked her again.
"…Yes. I want to go."
Even after regaining her senses, Roderika still nodded.
For her, this was the one obsession she could not abandon.
She had to avenge her fallen companions.
"Fine. Suit yourself."
He shrugged, unconcerned, and stood.
"Mr. Tarnished?"
Roderika assumed they were moving on. She braced herself against the wall and tried to rise, but he pressed her gently back down.
"Rest here for now. Once the fighting starts, I won't be able to protect you properly."
"Then… please… please come back safely."
She knew something about the presence on that bridge ahead.
A monster who called himself Margit, the Fell Omen.
A terrifying foe.
In response, he only smiled faintly—then took out the Spirit Calling Bell and rang it a few times.
Chime—
Chime—
The clear sound echoed through the long passage. Wrapped in pale mist, two figures appeared.
"Therolina. Diche. You two stay and protect her."
"Leave it to me, Master."
Therolina nodded as well.
With the two spirit ashes and Roderika watching him, he walked slowly toward the end of the corridor and stopped.
He stared at the bridge leading to the main gate, unmoving.
Countless broken halberds and spears were planted along both sides. Even the gate ahead, like a stone maw, was battered and half-ruined—as though it had endured a truly brutal war.
In truth, it had.
But those weapons weren't remnants of two armies clashing.
As far as he knew, every single one of them had once belonged to Tarnished.
And the reason was simple—
The guardian of this bridge, mockingly nicknamed "Omen Teacher"—
Margit, the Fell Omen.
This teacher had given him more "lessons" than anyone else.
He could say, without exaggeration, that the smoothness of his later journey was built on Margit's instruction.
The number of times he had died to Margit…
Might have exceeded all his deaths across every other cycle combined.
If he hadn't been able to see Grace—if he hadn't been able to resurrect—
He would've become just another corpse among the countless dead.
As the thought surfaced, the corner of his mouth lifted.
He ignored the golden summon sign glowing nearby.
Instead, he raised the Erdtree Seal high.
"Incantation—Lord's Divine Fortification…"
Skipping class?
Not today.
Today, he was going to face Omen Teacher head-on—and beat him into the ground.