The hunting party probably got turned back the moment they neared Stormveil. Those Tarnished? Too many scattered skills, no trust, zero heavy weapons. Sieging a city like the Haligtree Army? Impossible. Taking out Godrick? Assassination's the only way, but Tarnished stick out like a sore thumb.
Do they honestly think Stormveil's thousands of soldiers are blind? Godrick's been recruiting Tarnished lately, making killing him a pipe dream—until now. With Godrick's reputation in the gutter, his Tarnished recruits will desert en masse. He'll be stuck in that castle, hiding like a rat.
Sooner or later, Stormveil's supplies will dry up. He'll have to come out to clear the lines. The moment he leaves that fortress, the Roundtable Hold gets their shot. Throne stared at the campfire's flicker, piecing it together. Something felt off. Godrick was being played, and Throne could see three reasons why.
First, this whole mess gave the Roundtable Hold a perfect excuse to unite Limgrave's Tarnished against Godrick. A force like that? No knightly charge could sweep it aside. Second, knowing Godrick, the man's stubborn to a fault, brimming with pride. He'd never stomach the sight of Tarnished—the ones he despises—rising against him.
Third, the tension between Tarnished and nobility's boiling over. The nobles, once masters, are now just loot drops for the rising Tarnished. Pride like that doesn't go down easy. They need a king to rally behind, and Godrick, with his inflated ego, would gladly hoist that banner. War's coming. Throne exhaled, weary.
The Lands Between? Hell on earth. Every faction clawing at each other, all chasing the Greater Will's bait. Cannon fodder killing cannon fodder. What's the point? Throne couldn't shake the thought, but it wasn't something he could change. He missed Ranni. At least she offered perspective.
Still, the coming war worked in his favor. Let them tear each other apart. He'd use them all. A cold smile tugged at his lips before he smoothed it away, hearing footsteps. Vyke approached, looking drained. The interrogation was done, the loot divided, but there was still work to be done.
Being a hero? Not for the faint of heart. Vyke glanced at the swordsman by the fire, calm and detached, like he was just passing through. But Vyke knew better. Without Throne, he'd be dead—his secrets buried with him. No chance to be a hero.
The young man stepped forward, offering a crisp salute. "Lord Isshin, you're the true hero. Why hand the glory to me?"
Throne's gaze flicked over, emotionless. "You don't want to be 'The Dauntless'? The one they'll sing about?"
Vyke hesitated, then squared his shoulders. "I do. But a hero earns it. Not by stealing credit."
Ambition. Throne could respect that.
The corners of Throne's mouth curled up. He wouldn't tell the truth, of course. After a pause, he spun his usual lies. "The credit was yours from the start. I just handled the small stuff. You took the risks."
Vyke froze, then blurted out, "But you killed all the enemies. You orchestrated everything."
Throne shook his head. "I only offered suggestions. You're the one who risked your life to expose the conspiracy." He raised a hand to cut off the young man's protest. "Without you, this plot wouldn't have been uncovered. Without you, the Tarnished wouldn't have believed it.
As for those enemies—"
"Crushing a few ants isn't worth mentioning." His tone was dismissive, almost bored. Vyke stared, thrown off by the casual arrogance. It made it sound like he'd done something monumental—like the risks he'd taken mattered more than they did. Without him, Lord Isshin would still be blind to Godrick's schemes. True deception wasn't just about lies; it was about making someone doubt their own truths.
The realization hit Vyke like a thunderclap. He was important. The mental block crumbled, and he stopped resisting the praise. "But I couldn't have done it without your help!"
Throne waved him off again, his gaze drifting away. "Don't overthink it. I'm Tarnished too. This was survival." He added, "You've got things to do. Don't waste time here."
"Right. I'm heading to Mistwood to meet the Roundtable rep. I'll rally everyone to resist the tyranny, and—" Vyke's words tumbled out eager and fast until Throne raised a hand, silencing him. The older man tossed another log onto the fire, not bothering to look up.
"A hero needs to be resourceful and decisive. Do what you think is right. You don't need my approval."
His voice carried certainty, trust. Vyke inhaled deeply, the words settling into his chest. He took two steps back and snapped into a knight's salute. "Your wisdom won't be forgotten."
Throne wasn't just his savior now; he'd become a mentor, guiding him onto the path of a hero.
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance. Alone by the fire, Throne pulled down his mask and let out a low laugh. Playing the wise master felt surprisingly good. No—compared to these Tarnished, he was the master. Disappearing after the deed was done, leaving no trace of his involvement—that mystery was its own kind of defense.
With Vyke's endorsement, the Roundtable Hold would likely overlook him. There were so many Tarnished returning, and his persona hailed from the Land of Reeds, isolated and obscure. Trying to dig into his identity would be like climbing to the heavens. I'm officially one of them now. Mistwood's worth checking out.
When the fighting begins, I'll find my opening to deal with Godrick.*
Throne wasn't rushing. Strength-wise, Godrick outmatched him for now. The priority was building power—twofold. Killing enemies and studying the magic tome Sellen had left behind.
He straightened, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. The Tarnished at the station were deep in sleep. Silence draped the night, broken only by the faint rise of mist. Clop, clop, clop. Throne's ears pricked at the distant sound of hooves.
He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing at the large shadow emerging from the fog. Cavalry? No, there was no murderous intent. The swordsman's muscles tensed, ready to draw his blade in an instant. But he didn't. The horse moved slowly, unhurried, with no sign of charging.
After a short while, it finally pierced through the mist, revealing itself and its rider. A horned warhorse, a cloaked figure perched atop it… Throne's grip tightened on his blade, his pupils narrowing. How is it her?
Moonlight pierced through the mist, providing a bit of hazy light. The silver-gray mixed with the flickering campfire, revealing a somewhat mysterious color. With bloodstains not yet dry, a person and a horse suddenly appeared before the swordsman, appearing incredibly abrupt. But the newcomer was not afraid of him, just standing quietly not far away. Crackle.
The firewood made a soft burning sound. The two sides looked at each other for a moment, and the majestic warhorse suddenly transformed into azure particles and dissipated. This situation was very eerie. In any case, Throne seemed startled. He sat upright, as motionless as a statue, his mind full of question marks. How is it her??
The slender figure landed softly on the ground, reaching out a pair of fair hands to remove the hood, revealing a perfect face. A small mouth, a high bridge of the nose, and short coffee-colored hair. Her amber eyes were clear and tranquil, though unfortunately her left eye was closed, with a tattoo resembling the Three Fingers upon it. "Greetings, traveler from beyond the fog. My name is Melina.
I wish to discuss a deal with you." Her voice was somewhat low and slightly raspy, giving a sense of calm. Throne opened his mouth slightly, clearly very'surprised'. Isn't this Melina, the Wooden Melina? How did she find her way to me? He couldn't figure out the situation for a moment. Melina was equivalent to a Fire Keeper, just with a lower presence.
He remembered that teasing her had become a daily routine, since she was as stiff as wood. Aside from emotionlessly repeating Marika's proverbs, she almost never appeared before the Tarnished. Putting aside those irrelevant thoughts, Throne was indeed very surprised. This mysterious maiden should have gone to find the Tarnished protagonist, right?
Oh, that one hasn't returned yet, but she still shouldn't have found her way to me. He immediately entered a brainstorm, analyzing the reasons from the information he knew. 'Could it be that I've become a double? Otherwise, why would I wake up in the Fringefolk Heros Grave, where everything begins? If it's a coincidence, how do I explain Melina?
Then the question is, who placed me in the Fringefolk Heros Grave? Is there something wrong with the Dragon Heritage itself?'
Throne's thoughts went deeper and deeper. This involved the core question of how he had traveled from Ashina to The Lands Between. The appearance of this person brought all the questions he had been trying to avoid to the surface. What is wrong with this person?
Melina slightly raised her slender eyebrows. Whether you agree or refuse, you should at least give an answer. She looked at the swordsman before her, seeing his clear blue eyes and his somewhat youthful face, which didn't look like an executioner at all, making one wonder if they had found the wrong person.
After waiting for several seconds, until much of the mysterious atmosphere had dissipated, Melina had to repeat herself to the unresponsive swordsman:
"I wish to discuss a deal with you. You have no Finger Maiden, and I can take on their duties, turning Runes into your strength. As long as you seek the elden ring, this will surely be of help."
The help would be immense, so much so that no Tarnished without a Finger Maiden could possibly refuse. But Throne still stared at her quietly, having forcibly suppressed the thoughts in his mind. Where did she come from, why did she come? These questions were too deep, with no real answers.
Returning to Melina herself, Throne thought to himself that he already had something similar to this 'cheat,' and was constantly digging through his memory for information about her. Say something. Melina was starting to lose her composure, wondering if this person was mute. Just as she was unsure how to continue the conversation, Throne finally spoke. "What kind of deal?"
For reasons she couldn't quite name, Melina felt a strange relief. Her voice remained calm, steady. "Take me to the foot of the Erdtree." Throne raised his hand abruptly, gesturing southward. "Turn left up ahead. Mistwood lies there. You'll find a representative of the Roundtable Hold. They can take you straight to Leyndell—right to the base of the Erdtree."
Ah.
This response was… tricky. It wasn't that he lacked interest; he was enthusiastically offering a solution. Had he not heard her? Melina frowned. If he wasn't mute, then his ears must be faulty. She raised her voice, sharpening her tone.
"I don't want contact with them." "Why?" "I don't know."
Melina lifted her hand, revealing the ring on her index finger. "This child didn't choose them." Throne was asking questions he already knew the answers to. He understood her mission better than she did—better than anyone should. To burn the Erdtree. A sin on par with shattering the Elden Ring. Theories about Melina's identity swirled endlessly, but one thing was certain: her actions defied the Golden Order. They could never see the light.
She couldn't exactly march up to the Tarnished of the Roundtable Hold and declare, "Help me burn the Erdtree." Throne paused, then ventured cautiously, "What do you intend to do at the foot of the Erdtree?"
"I can't say now. I don't remember the specifics." Melina shook her head gently, her expression open. She didn't seem to be hiding anything.
Her memory was clearly muddled. Only when she reached the Erdtree would the next step reveal itself. Throne fell silent, sifting through the fragments of knowledge in his mind. This woman… she wasn't so bad. She carried a mission shrouded in darkness, yet she didn't interfere with the Tarnished's goals—so long as he didn't embrace the Lord of Frenzied Flame.
Her combat prowess was formidable, easily at the level of a hero.
"Why me?"
"Your methods are… decisive. Unbound by trivialities." Melina gestured with the ring. "And this child took a liking to you."
Are you saying I'm unscrupulous?
Fair point. With her mission, if she crossed paths with a Tarnished devoted to the Golden Order, it would spark immediate conflict.
"So you've been watching me." Throne's smile held a faint edge.
"My apologies. It was necessary." Melina's voice carried genuine regret. She wouldn't entrust this journey to just anyone.
Throne nodded, accepting her apology. A weight lifted from his chest. Melina wasn't a threat. She didn't meddle in her companions' affairs, and her allegiance didn't lie with the Erdtree.
"Fine. Let's discuss this deal." Throne extended his hand abruptly.
"What's this for?"
"Benefits. Why would I take you to the foot of the Erdtree without compensation?"
The cold swordsman transformed into a mercenary businessman in an instant. The shift was so swift it left Melina momentarily speechless.
"We're companions on the same path. To become Elden Lord, you must go to the Erdtree."
"Who said I wanted to be Elden Lord?"
Melina blinked, unfazed. Her tone remained calm. "I myself am the benefit."
"No need. I don't plan to gain power through a maiden." Throne shook his head, leaving the rest unspoken. A wooden block like you wouldn't even warm the bed. What kind of benefit is that?
Melina hesitated, then produced the Spectral Steed Whistle.
She'd planned to hand it over either way, but his brashness rubbed her wrong. "This child is Torrent. Treat it well—it's one of a kind." "No problem." Throne didn't let her finish. He snatched the ring, slid it onto his middle finger, and matched it with the spirit-calling ring. A Spirit Steed that couldn't die and could double jump? Too good to pass up.
Melina also saw the spirit-calling ring and felt it looked familiar, but Throne cut her off before she could speak. "You can spiritualize, right?" "Yes. I'm not human. And about this deal…"