The Tarnished had arrived. The clanging alarm bells grated on the ears. The heavy wood-cutting machine ground to a halt, leaving a trail of destruction stretching over a dozen meters. The burly man gasped for air, his legs trembling with exhaustion. He spotted Melina standing motionless in the distance and bared a cruel grin. "Fool, there's a saying: do not pursue a desperate foe!"
"Well said." The words were cold, indifferent. The man looked up, his pupils narrowing as he saw clearly. The swordsman hovered above him, stepping on air five or six meters high. There was no time for questions. No explanations. The swordsman landed silently behind the Tarnished.
The cold longsword slipped through a gap in the armor, precise as a butcher's blade. "Another saying: cut the weeds and dig up the roots."
Ding, ding, ding... The alarm bells echoed through Fort Haight. Knights poured out of the barracks, helmets in hand. No one was foolish. After the main force had left to intercept at Summonwater Village, the fortress remained on high alert. The two hundred men left behind slept in their armor, blades never far from reach.
A middle-aged man in silver plate armor stepped onto the ramparts. His armor gleamed like a mirror, his cloak threaded with gold, a work of art. "What's happening?" The gray-haired man leaned out, spreading his hands. A guard handed him a telescope. "Lord Count, the Tarnished have appeared." "What?"
Count Haight frowned, scanning the horizon. No army of Tarnished in sight. "Where are they?" "By the woods, but it seems they're fighting among themselves." The knight's voice was thick with confusion. Count Haight turned his gaze toward the forest's edge. A bald patch of land, broken trees, and scattered corpses.
His eyes locked on the lone figure still standing. A swordsman in black, light chainmail draped with a cloak. He knelt, rifling through the corpses as if looting the battlefield. What is this? We haven't even lifted a finger, and the Tarnished are already killing each other? The Count's brow furrowed.
He was about to order his men to tighten defenses when the swordsman began walking straight toward the fortress. Swish, swish... Dozens of bows and crossbows snapped into position.
Sending soldiers out to fight the Tarnished would be suicide, like throwing meat to a tiger. But behind these walls, with arrows raining down, even a hundred Tarnished couldn't breach the defenses. The swordsman stopped just outside arrow range. The air was thick with tension. Arrowheads glinted coldly on the walls.
The swordsman stood exposed, his long blade dripping blood. Slowly, he raised his left hand. A blood-soaked letter hung between his fingers. Throne ignored the bows and crossbows, his voice ringing out. "I am Isshin Ashina, here to seek an audience with Lord Count Haight!" Isshin Ashina? Who is that? The Count's confusion deepened.
The name marked him as one of those strange Tarnished. The Count stepped forward, leaning out for a better look. Knights hurried to surround him with shields. "My Lord, be careful!" "Get back! Do you think he can fly up here and kill me?" Count Haight's courage flared as he peered over the wall. Throne narrowed his eyes. It's him.
His memory served him well. He'd seen this man at Stormveil's victory banquet and recognized him instantly. The Lands Between teemed with schemers; body doubles could complicate things. He'd memorized the man's face, height, and aura down to the smallest detail.
"Lord Count," he began, his voice steady, "I have a deal to propose. Are you interested?"
"Get to the point."
"Here's the Tarnished's battle plan. The group I just killed? They were the vanguard for their attack on Fort Haight." Throne's tone was icy, but his words sent a ripple of unease through the men on the ramparts. It was their worst fear realized.
The Count's face darkened. Nobles studied military strategy; he'd always worried the fortress's defenses were vulnerable. Now it seemed his fears were justified. If Throne had been lying, he'd have dismissed him outright. But the corpses near the woods spoke for themselves.
"Why betray your own kind?" The Count's voice dripped with disdain.
Throne showed no remorse. "Survival depends on profit, my lord. It's a matter of whether your price is enough to buy my loyalty."
A knight stepped forward, his voice sharp with indignation. "These vile Tarnished—shouldn't we lure him inside and kill him? This goes against our values."
The Count waved him off. "The enemy of my enemy is my ally. Morality has no place here."
After a moment's pause, the Count made his decision. "Open the gate. Bring him to me."
The gears groaned as the gate creaked open. Throne walked slowly toward Fort Haight, dozens of bows and crossbows trained on him. His expression betrayed nothing; the display didn't faze him. But as he stepped through the gateway, he cast a faint smile toward the woods.
Melina clenched her fists. Madness—that was the only word for it. A fortress bristling with two hundred armed guards, and he walked in alone. This wasn't boldness; it was something else entirely. She hesitated, then dissolved into particles, vanishing into the air.
'She's following,' Throne thought.
Though he couldn't see her, he was certain. He'd proven his value; Melina wouldn't let him go so easily. Only when she took the initiative would they truly become allies.
Inside the fortress, guards disarmed him under close watch. They took his longsword and searched him thoroughly, even checking inside his boots. In The Lands Between, close-quarters combat existed, but fists were no match for armor and shields. Throne stood motionless, letting them strip him of every weapon.
A tall knight, likely the commander, stepped forward and studied him intently. "Why have you come to Fort Haight?"
Throne leaned in, his voice low. "Because we've collaborated before. Baron Carvalho of Boca Village? I took him out."
The knight froze.
Throne's lips curved into a faint smile. The wine he'd drunk back then hadn't gone to waste.
The messenger knew the details well. His doubts evaporated. Disdain didn't matter—usefulness did. Their past collaboration eased his mind. "Follow me." "Good." Throne moved forward without a word, his eyes flicking to the fortifications, sizing up the garrison's strength.
Knights led the way. Soldiers trailed behind. Sandwiched between them, he felt no tension. He climbed the spiral staircase, passed through a corridor lined with murals, and entered a grand hall. At the far end stood a silver high-backed chair. Count Haight sat there, calm and composed. Beside him stood a blonde youth, his face twisted with disdain, as though gripped by some moral fixation.
Heavily armored knights and halberd-wielding soldiers stood scattered around the hall, subtly encircling Throne, exuding an air of impenetrable security. "I'm pleased you've chosen to stand with justice," Count Haight said, his voice dignified, hands resting on the armrests.
"No need for formalities. We've worked together before. Show me the item." Throne reached into his cloak and pulled out the bloodstained letter. He handed it to the knight guarding him, who delivered it to the Count. Haight took it, broke the seal, and read it carefully.
His expression darkened. Finally, he slammed the armrest. "A cunning plan: feigned attacks, surprise raids, delaying tactics to force change. Nera, look at this—does it hold water?" The tall knight who'd questioned Throne earlier stepped forward, took the letter, and nodded solemnly.
"It's a solid strategy. Hard to believe the Tarnished came up with it."
The plan unfolded in three phases: a feint at Summonwater Village, a surprise assault on Fort Haight, then holding the line to boost morale while elite units harried Godrick's supply routes. Finally, they'd wait for reinforcements from Leyndell. It wasn't revolutionary, but it fit the Tarnished perfectly, even accounting for political nuances.
"Don't underestimate them. Sir Gideon Ofnir left a lasting impression on me. If this drags on, the Roundtable Hold will act, no matter how slow they are. And Morgott won't tolerate this. He'll send reinforcements." The Count nodded, impressed. "The strategist behind this is shrewd. They understand the forces at play in The Lands Between."
Throne smirked. Bullshit. You don't even realize who crafted this. "My Lord, are you satisfied?"
"Satisfied, but that doesn't mean I trust it. I need confirmation." The Count's smile was sly, like an old fox. "You're overly cautious." "Caution is a virtue." The Count's grin widened, but a knock at the door interrupted them. A dusty messenger burst in. "What's happened?" "The Tarnished—they've appeared near Summonwater Village. They've blocked the southern road!"
The Count froze. He hadn't expected the Tarnished to move so fast. He was just about to recall some troops. He shot to his feet. "How many? Are they attacking?" "Around three hundred. They're just blockading the perimeter." Three hundred? As Mistwood's neighbor, he knew roughly how many Tarnished gathered there annually.
once the crusade order was issued, the numbers would swell. It was true. The Count turned to Throne, his gaze hardening. The swordsman's mocking stare irked him, but as a noble, he knew value trumped pride. "What do you want?" "Get me out of Limgrave. And one hundred thousand Runes."
The price was steep, but that was expected. The Count refused to pay. Killing the man outright wasn't an option—it would ruin his reputation and unsettle his men. Who'd follow a lord who slaughtered his own? If the man died in battle, though, the debt would vanish. The Count's eyes narrowed. He said nothing.
He snatched a quill, scratched out a message, sealed it with wax, and thrust it into his son's hand. "Kenneth, take this plan and my letter to Lord Godrick. Victory is ours."
"Yes, Father. Stay safe."
The young man didn't linger. His icy gaze swept over Throne before he marched off with his squad.
The Count's face hardened as his son left. "I'll pay 110,000. Stay and help defend the city. When it's done, I'll send you to Caelid."
Throne shook his head. "Don't jest, Lord Count. Intelligence is one thing, but the Tarnished of Mistwood are my kin. We've bled together. You're asking me to turn on my own."
The room fell silent. Everyone stared, baffled. Hadn't he just slaughtered Tarnished moments ago? Then Throne raised his left hand. "You'll have to pay more."
The night was moonless, the sky a void. Torches flickered along the walls, casting feeble light. A cold sea wind whipped over the ramparts, making the flames dance. Throne stood alone on the tower, empty-handed.
Ahead, the forest loomed like a shadow. Behind him, the base of the wall and the tower teemed with soldiers. The plan was clear: a Tarnished assault team would storm the fortress. Their leader? Either 'Old Knight' Istvan or 'The Dauntless' Vyke.
Whoever came, their death at Fort Haight would shatter the Tarnished's fragile morale. After that, it'd be a hunt. If all went well, the Haight family would claim the glory and prestige. Maybe they'd even annex the Brant family, who held Summonwater Village.
Once a great house of Limgrave, the Brants had fallen into chaos after their patriarch was assassinated by a 'Banished Knight' a decade ago. No one suspected the culprit stood above them now, gazing into the night.
"You're truly despicable."
The voice drifted on the sea breeze. He didn't need to look—Melina was watching from the shadows.
"Is that a compliment?"
… The girl was speechless instantly; there was no way to judge the thickness of this man's skin.