Tarnished Who Wants to Save His Wife: "…Where it came from is hard to explain. All I know is that after I spent one night sleeping over in your world and came back, this thing started following me."
The King of Heroes: "..."
Chika Fujiwara: "@The King of Heroes Gil, what's wrong? Is something off?"
The King of Heroes: "No… if my judgment isn't wrong, that is the Primordial Mother, Tiamat. I just don't know why she's become so small."
Chika Fujiwara: "Huh?!?!!"
Chika couldn't believe it. She hurriedly stared at the photo again.
Chika Fujiwara: "That can't be right, Gil! Yesterday when you went live, I was watching! That Tiamat didn't look like this—she was way more terrifying!"
Northern Northern North: "Agreed.jpg"
The King of Heroes: "Fools! What you saw was Tiamat after her Saint Graph was reconstructed! Tiamat's true divine form should look exactly like the little beast in the Tarnished's hands!"
Chika Fujiwara: "Ah…"
Now she genuinely didn't know how to respond.
She simply couldn't accept that something this cute could be the Mother of Creation.
It wasn't scientific.
It wasn't even "fantasy" anymore.
And yet—this was reality.
Chika Fujiwara: "Th-then what about the Tarnished's world?! What's he supposed to do?!"
The King of Heroes: "Calm down. The Tarnished will handle it. If it comes to that, I'll return the weapon he gifted me…"
Truth be told, the reason Uruk had defeated Tiamat so smoothly this time was largely because of the weapons the Tarnished had provided.
According to the First Hassan—the Grand Assassin—that black sword carried death.
It was that blade that forced the concept of death onto Tiamat. Combined with the spear, the god-slaying greatsword, and the efforts of three Grand Servants…
It became "easy."
Tarnished Who Wants to Save His Wife: "No need. Keep them. I've still got hundreds of black swords here, and the god-slaying greatsword and Serpent-Hunter are the same. Besides, it was a fair trade. No need to return anything."
The group relaxed at those words.
Only Gilgamesh's expression turned… strange.
Why did it suddenly feel like he'd been the one who lost out?
…No matter. It was only Marduk's axe, after all.
Forever Seventeen: "So it seems, Tarnished, you truly have talent for charming women. We ladies ought to be careful, hmm? (smile)"
Tarnished Who Wants to Save His Wife: "…Yukari Yakumo. One day I will catch you and toss you into the giant cauldron to burn as a Lord of Cinder."
Forever Seventeen: "My, is that the knife at last? I'll be waiting for that day, you know. Heehee."
She'd never forgotten that "Lord of Cinder" business.
Seeing the truth now, she finally felt relieved—thankfully, her sharp intuition had spared her that awful fate.
Fuming, the Tarnished closed the chat window. He pinched Tiamat by her horn and lifted her right up in front of his face.
"So you're not just some random little thing… You're actually the Primordial Mother, Tiamat."
"Aaaaa…"
Dangling with her tiny limbs limp in the air, Tiamat made another meaningless sound.
He didn't care. Instead, he decided she needed a new name.
"Since you're in the Lands Between now, you can't keep being called Tiamat. I'll give you a new name. Hmm… what should it be?"
"Aaaa?"
Tiamat stared at him with sparkling eyes, not understanding why she had to be renamed, but still strangely expectant.
"You like yelling 'aaa' so much… then I'll call you Ao-chan."
After great effort, he arrived at this masterpiece.
"Yep. I'm a genius. Right, Ao-chan?"
He declared it without caring whether she agreed.
This name was way better than some "Fou," wasn't it?!
As expected of him.
Tiamat: ᗜ‸ᗜ
Tiamat had grievances.
But Tiamat said nothing.
He didn't notice her expression at all. He tossed her back onto his shoulder and continued onward.
Soon, he arrived at the river basin outside the cave leading to the Village of the Albinaurics.
Rot clung to the air—sour, nauseating, and thick enough to gag on.
It was almost on par with the sewers beneath Leyndell.
And yet, even in a place this filthy, life persisted—
Giant crabs, the size of hills, lurked in the stagnant water.
He lit the lantern at his waist, swallowed the wave of disgust, and guided Torrent around the crabs as they entered the massive cave.
Inside the pitch-black cavern, he followed the path carved along the hillside.
Along the way, there were only scattered coffins and piles of bones.
Even the trees were hung with Albinauric corpses—swaying in the wind like grotesque chimes.
Like criminals strung up on streetlamps.
It was hard to believe humans could commit such a crime—to slaughter an entire village down to the last.
And the reason?
Because Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing wanted information about the Haligtree—wanted the Haligtree Secret Medallion to pry into it.
Yes, Albinaurics were artificial beings—byproducts of the Eternal City's plan to create a lord.
But this…
This was still too brutal.
Then again, as a Tarnished, he'd long since grown numb to scenes like this. He didn't even bother looking closely. He passed beneath the hanging bodies and reached the space under a bridge.
And there—
He saw Nepheli Loux again.
"…Ah. It's you. Long time no see…"
She looked exhausted. Her voice carried deep frustration. She'd tossed her lantern aside, as if trying to avoid seeing the carnage.
She lifted her head, glanced at him in the dim light, then looked back out at the ruined village.
"…What do you think of this? Of what was done here?"
"I don't have an opinion. You should know this kind of thing happens all the time in the Lands Between."
After so many cycles, he was immune to massacres. No matter how horrific, they no longer shook him.
It wasn't just this village.
Countless settlements had been wiped clean, corpses piled into heaps and burned in quiet bonfires.
If he had to name a place that still "lived," it might be Dominula, Windmill Village on the Altus Plateau—
And the people there were insane, swinging blades at anything that moved.
No wonder they'd survived.
"…Is that so? When I was small… I saw the same scene."
Her gaze drifted into memory—calm, but threaded with a heavy bitterness.
"The weak crushed. Plundered. Slaughtered… A living hell."
Those images were nightmares etched into her mind, scars that never faded.
"…But I'm not that helpless child anymore. It may be late… but I can still repay an arrow for an arrow."
Her voice hardened.
"Those who inflicted this… will learn what it means to face a warrior."
She rose slowly, gripping her great axe. Her hands trembled—but her eyes became steady.
Then she turned to him.
"Will you help me?"
"Of course."
A faint smile touched the Tarnished's face.
Her words were strange—but he'd heard them countless times. He understood.
In a world like this, after so much tragedy, people stopped speaking neatly.
Even so, his respect for Nepheli Loux—the warrior—never changed.
Sadly, he already knew her ending.
Gideon would abandon her.
And he couldn't truly change that fate.
All he could do… was kill Gideon.
With Nepheli leading, they reached a slaughter site—
A butcher's yard made from the village's dead.
Even from afar, the stench was overwhelming.
Corpses were stacked like small mountains. Dried blood stained the mud a deep, dark red. In the center, a makeshift altar burned like a crematory, devouring bodies in roaring flame.
And at the far end—
A figure stood with his back to them, staring off into the distance.
In the firelight, the twisted horns on his head were unmistakable.
An Omen.
But not just any Omen—
An Omenkiller.
One of Gideon's executioners, sent here to finish the job.
There was also a Perfumer lurking near the place where the village elder hid.
Perfumer—meant to research methods to cure Omen.
And now? Reduced to a butcher.
A healer picking up a blade and marching to slaughter.
What a miserable joke.
"…I'm going."
Nepheli fixed her eyes on the Omenkiller, then charged—axe raised.
A storm-wreathed strike crashed down with savage force.
—THUD!
Wind howled, whipping the altar flames.
Just like in his memories of past cycles, the Omenkiller dodged.
"So impatient…"
The Tarnished sighed and drew Rivers of Blood, walking forward one step at a time.
The Omenkiller twisted away from Nepheli's last swing—and saw him.
A raw, animal roar burst from its throat as it swung its cleaver straight at the Tarnished.
"…Boring."
He didn't even bother to block.
He shifted one step to the side.
The cleaver, heavy with wind pressure, slammed down where he'd been.
—SHNK!
He cut once, clean and effortless—driving the blade into the Omenkiller's chest.
Then he pulled upward.
A line of blood arced through the air like a cruel ribbon.
THUD.
The Omenkiller collapsed at his feet.
Not even three seconds had passed.
Nepheli froze, staring.
Now she finally understood why he hadn't needed help against Godrick.
A warrior like this… didn't need her.
And yet, something bitter rose in her chest—
A warrior's emptiness, the feeling of being useless.
"…Thank you, Tarnished."
That was all she left behind.
Then she turned and walked away.
He watched her go, saying nothing.
Still… there was one thing about Nepheli that never made sense to him.
Who was her mother?
Hoarah Loux didn't wield storm power.
And if her mother came from Stormveil, then why conquer the Storm Lord?
Even Nepheli couldn't answer.
She didn't know her parents.
And Hoarah Loux?
Unless it involved becoming Elden Lord—or being killed—he didn't think about anything else.
Even getting a sentence out of him was a luxury.
"…Whatever. Thinking about it won't save Melina."
He shook his head with a quiet laugh and threw the thought away.
Then he teased Ao-chan on his shoulder as he continued upward into the village.
He killed the Perfumer hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush.
Then he walked to a jar sitting at the far end.
—THUD!
He kicked it.
"Hey, old man. Stop hiding."
"Don't… stop… Please don't kill me… c-cough…"
The jar shimmered, its disguise collapsing into the form of an old man.
Like the other Albinaurics, his legs were useless—he could only crawl.
It was their curse. Without exception, every first-generation Albinauric was crippled in the legs.
Only the second generation could walk.
His name was Albus—the village elder.
And the last living Albinauric here.
"I… I don't know anything… I'm not hiding anything… Please… stop…"
"I'm not with the ones who attacked your village."
"…R-really?"
Albus lifted his head—then saw the bloodstains on the Tarnished and the katana still dripping red.
He inched backward.
Yeah. Sure. Like hell.
You literally just finished killing people.
It was over. He was dead.
"..."
The Tarnished watched the elder's face cycle through expressions and said nothing.
He'd seen this countless times.
For some reason, it always made him want to laugh.
But he needed the medallion piece, so he sighed and explained anyway.
"If I wanted you dead, do you really think you'd still be breathing?"
He crouched down, planted Rivers of Blood into the ground, and smiled with a warmth that absolutely did not feel warm.
"Aaaa!"
Ao-chan tapped his cheek with a tiny hand, as if scolding him.
You're scaring him, you know.
"Tch. Don't start."
He poked her back with a finger.
Albus looked between them. Slowly, he realized the Tarnished might actually be telling the truth.
So he asked carefully, voice trembling:
"M-my lord… You truly aren't with them?"
"Mm."
"…Th-thank the heavens… Thank the heavens…"
Like a prayer, Albus bowed repeatedly toward the direction of the Haligtree, as if thanking Miquella for mercy.
"..."
He'd witnessed this scene countless times.
And every time, he still wanted to say it:
Shouldn't you be thanking me?
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