Melina remained silent. One of the reasons she chose the Tarnished was that they were as pure as white paper—ignorant and easy to manipulate, which reduced many risks. 'Unfortunately, I happen to be an exception.'
The swordsman, who had ventured deep into this land not long ago, smiled quietly. He turned around and asked casually, without leaving a trace,
"What is the Radahn Festival?"
Melina was unwilling to intervene in combat, but providing intelligence was no problem. She replied immediately, "It is a grand event held at Redmane Castle in Caelid, hosted by General Radahn. It seems to be the first time it's been held in ten years." "I heard people say Radahn was heavily wounded in the final battle?" "Radahn is indeed still recovering, but his injuries weren't too severe.
I heard he gave a speech not long ago. He'll likely regain his fighting strength in a few years. At that time, the Tarnished will face a powerful enemy; perhaps only then will the Elden Lord be decided." Melina answered carefully, pausing briefly at the end. "Why do you ask? Let's get this straight: if you're thinking of taking him on, you'd better dismiss that thought as soon as possible."
Why did these words sound so familiar? Throne felt as though everyone was warning him not to touch Radahn. He glanced at the noticeboard again, his eyes revealing a sense of satisfaction and composure. "Radahn is fine? That's truly wonderful." The remark seemed nonsensical, yet that look in his eyes sparked boundless curiosity.
It was a look of composure and satisfaction, as if he shared a past with the famous Starscourge General. Theoretically, this was impossible, so even a block of wood would be curious. "What do you mean 'wonderful'? Do you know Radahn?" The swordsman strode away without paying her any mind, continuing to check the notices. His hand, hidden beneath his cloak, quietly clenched into a fist.
Radahn remained sane; this proved his sacrifice hadn't been in vain, and its impact was enough to subvert the timeline! Catching a glimpse of the increasingly annoyed Melina from the corner of his eye, he chuckled inwardly.
Melina had nothing to do with being 'cunning' or 'highly strategic.' In just two days, Throne had discovered that beneath the girl's wooden, silent exterior, she was actually as simple as a blank sheet of paper. He had found a way to deal with this girl. You're a heartless repeater, right? Then I'll constantly pique your curiosity.
I'll eventually make you unable to resist asking questions; let's see if you can still act all profound then. 'But why am I going out of my way to do this? Wouldn't it be better if we just kept things professional and finished this journey?'
Throne pondered for a moment, then peeked at the huffy Melina. He suddenly had an answer:
Because it's fun. This blood-soaked path was cruel and boring.
Having to bring a block of wood along would be far too painful. As someone who could always find amusement no matter how busy he was, he preferred having a vivid, living person by his side for mutual support. There was nothing wrong with Melina's stance, of course. A deal was a contract. She couldn't stray too far from Throne, and this restriction was the cornerstone of trust.
The initial motivation for this idea was Throne's mischievous streak, but if he thought deeper, Melina's identity was even more significant. After all—
Throne looked silently toward the distant church. She was someone who could be linked to Queen Marika the Eternal.
Soft sunlight filtered through the branches, leaving dappled spots on Throne's shoulders. He was leaning comfortably in a lounge chair, sipping a specially made fruit tea. Before him was a small square table, and around him was the sound of whispering voices. It looked like a crude open-air tea shop, but fortunately, the patrons were elegant and well-behaved.
The Tarnished were a fractured lot. Some came from noble lineages, their manners too refined for the crude company of men who wolfed down meat and guzzled wine straight from the bowl. Those types haunted taverns, drowning in drink and brawls, sneering at the pretensions of their better-born kin.
Throne had considered joining the fray for the thrill of it, but with Melina at his side and his own reputation to consider, he opted for a quiet tea room instead. The fragrance of his cup mingled with the chaos of the square outside. He nodded slightly to a young man in ornate attire who looked vaguely familiar. Differentiated services indeed, he thought.
He lowered his mask and cradled the cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.
It made sense, really. Not every Tarnished reveled in wading through blood and viscera. Some had no desire to claim the throne at all. Others lacked the skill for combat. Without the guidance of a Finger Maiden, what were they supposed to do? Scrape by running small businesses, maybe. It was a side effect of the Tarnished's hurried recall, nothing surprising.
If most Tarnished had Finger Maidens, those without combat skills would become easy prey. But now, with so many choosing laziness over ambition, wasn't it safer to blend in? Exploring caves and hunting monsters was a sure way to get yourself killed. Throne glanced at Melina sitting beside him.
She was sipping water delicately, her mission etched into every careful movement. She caught his gaze, coughed lightly, and set the cup down. "Is this really the best use of your time?" Even her tone sounded exasperated.
Most Tarnished would be out slaughtering and seizing Runes the moment they secured a Finger Maiden. Not Throne. Here he was, sipping tea like he had all the time in the world. "What's the rush? Aren't I scheming against Godrick as we speak?" He shook his head. Godrick was his target now, and taking down a demigod required meticulous planning—and the aid of other Tarnished.
The trap was set; he just needed to let things simmer a bit longer. The past decade hadn't been kind. Aside from a brief respite at Caria Manor and Raya Lucaria Academy, most of his time had been spent on the run or hunted. Now that the score was settled, why rush into more trouble?
Melina stared at him, doubt flickering in her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll honor our deal. You never set a deadline." Throne reached into his spirit-calling ring and pulled out a magic book, making sure Melina saw. "Wait, where did you get that ring?" He'd done it on purpose. Sooner or later, she'd find out.
The ring on his index finger caught the sunlight, its gleam sharp enough to make Melina's pupils narrow. She wasn't one for curiosity, but Throne had a way of drawing it out of her. "Does the origin of this ring matter?" "Of course. At the very least, it shouldn't be in your hands." Her voice was solemn. She couldn't recall much, but this—this she remembered.
She had noticed the ring before but hadn't taken it to heart. Now, she was certain. This was one of the Goddess's treasures, the spirit-calling ring. It had vanished long ago, rumored to have been stolen by a demigod. "I found it in a catacomb," Throne began, spinning his tale. "It was on the hand of a charred corpse…"
Time, place, characters—all crystal clear. Throne laid it out as it happened: the exploration, the bloody battle, the narrow escape. Melina stood frozen, processing his words. He watched her chew on the details, piecing together the narrative in her head. His lips curled into a smirk. I've fooled Ranni. You're nothing.
He settled into his seat and cracked open Sellen's notes. The calm surroundings weren't for rest—they were fuel. Every second counted toward building his strength. Pages flipped under his fingers, his eyes scanning lines of dense, arcane data. A passing Tarnished glanced over, recoiling as if he'd glimpsed forbidden scripture. Knowledge like this couldn't be bought with Runes.
Throne had trained under two master sorcerers. Even so, he struggled. Sellen had encrypted the critical sections. Anyone else picking up this book would find it useless. His eyes locked onto a phrase: Using the body as a staff.
He froze.
Traditional magic theory funneled mental power through a staff into glintstone, completing the cycle. Sellen's idea? Carve the staff's intricate channels into the body itself. It's like Moon Magic Circuits, but artificial. Or maybe Magic Crests?
For a moment, he hesitated. Tampering with his body was dangerous. A single mistake, and the magic would have nowhere to go. He'd explode. But doubt vanished as quickly as it came. Throne trusted Sellen's research. He kept flipping.
A diagram of the human body filled the page, patterns so dense they made him dizzy. It started at the arm, spreading outward. Only the left arm was fully detailed. Did she leave it unfinished? The endgame's engraving the whole body, turning it into one massive staff.
The scale of the project hit him.
More circuits meant greater amplification—and greater complexity. A blank space marked the heart on the anatomical chart, reserved for primeval glintstone. The complete design would use it as the core, with circuits branching across the body to form a colossal magic cycle.
No staff in The Lands Between was as large as a human body. Early stages could use ordinary glintstone, though. The better the quality, the greater the amplification. Throne pressed his palm against the page, closed his eyes, and let the theory sink in. A satisfied smile crept across his face. Genius.
"If this system is completed, paired with primeval glintstone—infinite magic, high amplification—a human body could rival a demigod." This research was monumental, on par with Thopss' Barrier. It could found an entire school of thought.
Still, in its current state, the modification fell short for a sorcerer. Single-arm amplification paled next to a standard staff. Why go through the trouble when you could just wield one? High-end glintstone was pricey, too.
"But it's very useful for me, and it's more than enough for now." Throne thrived on ambushes and sneak attacks. A left-arm experiment suited him perfectly. If it failed, he'd just be a one-armed swordsman. He opened his eyes, catching Melina's gaze.
She couldn't read minds, but she didn't look away. "Something's wrong."
"What's wrong?" Throne closed the book, puzzled.
"What you just said is wrong. If you found it, how do you know it's called the spirit-calling ring?" Her expression was serious, edged with anger, like she hated being lied to.
Oops. He'd slipped up.
Throne realized he hadn't been careful. His eyes flicked around, and a plan formed. "Spirit-calling ring? Didn't you tell me that?"
"When did I say that?"
"Just now. Your exact words were: 'Where did you get that spirit-calling ring?'" He looked completely innocent.
A flash of doubt crossed Melina's face, but she shook her head firmly. "Nonsense. It just happened. I couldn't have remembered it wrong."
"Think about it. The Tarnished only woke up ten years ago. I just woke up too. I don't even have a Finger Maiden. No one's delivering treasures to my door." "Even if I took it from a corpse, could the dead tell me what it's called? Or how to use it?" True.
The spirit-calling ring had been missing for ages. Even demigods hadn't seen it, let alone linked it to a Tarnished. Could she really have said it? Melina's usually blank face wrinkled, suddenly vivid.
Throne chuckled inwardly. He was a genius.
No one messed with heads better than him. As long as she kept talking, she'd change. The cold, rational Primeval Sorcerers grew emotional. The majestic Princess of the Moon was constantly shamed. And now, Melina.
She gave up on the topic. "But you have secrets. You're not an ordinary Tarnished."
"Nonsense. Would you make a deal with an ordinary Tarnished?" Throne spread his hands.
True. Torrent hadn't been interested in any of the others. Seeing her dazed look, Throne wanted to laugh. He put the book away and stood.
"Stop thinking about it. You don't seem like an ordinary Finger Maiden either. Everyone has secrets. As long as they don't interfere with the deal, it's fine." "Fine, I agree." Melina nodded, telling herself not to be too curious. "Can I add a condition?" "Go ahead." "I want to leave your side. Only appear when you call me." She pulled her hood. "Being around you… I feel unaccustomed."
Damn. Was he that annoying? Throne snorted, displeased. But Melina's presence was minimal. Aside from her anger when receiving the Frenzied Flame, she mostly repeated Marika's proverbs.
The past two days, she'd said more to him than to all the other Tarnished combined.
"Sorry, I don't agree." "Why?" She frowned. "The other Tarnished know about you. If you disappear, how do I explain it? Besides, how do I know you won't be monitoring me?"
"I won't." "Who knows? I hate being monitored." Throne gave a sinister smile, touching the spectral steed whistle. "If you don't agree, let's terminate the deal. Of course, I won't refund the deposit."
"You…" "Me what? Everything I've said is to ensure the deal goes smoothly."
The polished version with improved pacing, sharper dialogue, and stronger imagery while preserving all original content:
"I don't need a Finger Maiden." His voice cut like gravel underfoot. "You won't lift a finger to help me. Prove your worth or get out." Runes clattered against stone as he tossed them down. The echo of his boots faded down the corridor.
Melina stood frozen. Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms. The man was impossible—all edges and no patience. Yet he wasn't wrong. A deal required mutual benefit. She gnawed her lower lip until copper bloomed on her tongue.
Value. The word burned in her skull.
Direct assistance? Too dangerous. Secrets? Her own memories were shattered fragments. A hollow laugh escaped her. Without Torrent's gift, she brought nothing to the table.
Boots scuffed stone behind her. "Finally understanding your position?" His voice dripped mockery. "No one pushes you, you'll never move."
Throne watched her stiffen from the doorway. He'd walked battlefields that would break lesser Tarnished, traded blows with demigods who thought themselves gods. This? A child's bargaining.
How could Throne let her take the lead? In any case, Torrent's loyalty had proven far more useful than this brooding wraith. A weapon? She couldn't even hold herself together. "Decide now." He turned, cloak snapping. "Follow or consider our deal terminated. We've wasted enough daylight."