"Where is he?" A group of Tarnished looked around, but they couldn't see a single shadow. "I don't know, perhaps it was just my imagination. Why do I still feel a hint of mockery?" Gideon Ofnir shook his head. He didn't have time to dwell on it, so he hurriedly waved his hand. "Continue on, the battlefield is just ahead."
The group continued forward, and before long, they saw tree stumps covering the ground, hacked bare. Gideon Ofnir's heart skipped a beat. Damn, we're too late. He even rushed ahead of the Round Table Assassin, stepped over a severed stream, and froze in his tracks. The heavy rain had just passed, and with the sun beating down, a thin mist still lingered over the ground.
Not far away, a small corpse leaned against a tree stump. The several appendages hanging limp beside it belonged to none other than Godrick. Vargram also walked over to his side. Upon seeing this scene, the hot-tempered Tarnished let out a low roar: "Godrick is dead?!" "What, Godrick is dead?!" More Tarnished gathered around, and after seeing the corpse, they were all stunned.
They found this reality hard to accept. They had run all the way from Leyndell to Limgrave, taken so many risks, and devised so many plans, only to reach the final step and find their most crucial target already dead. Hadn't they done all this for nothing? The group looked at each other, feeling like clowns. They had gone through so much trouble, only to end up as cleaners for a corpse?
"Who did this? Why did they get here before us?" Sleepy Arrow walked quickly to the front. "I don't know, but we have all been played. From the very beginning, someone has been pulling the strings behind the scenes." Gideon Ofnir reacted, sighing softly: "The nobles of Limgrave, the Tarnished—all of them have been used by him. Vargram, go check the combat traces. Was it only one person?"
Vargram the Raging Wolf nodded and went off. Examining combat traces was simple; the remnants of a duel could confirm it. No matter how many skills Throne had used, the impact area would not change. Before long, he walked back. "It was indeed one person." Gideon Ofnir took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress the bulging veins on his forehead. This result was even more disheartening.
"Since someone was able to solo Godrick, who could this be..." Gideon Ofnir coldly interrupted: "No! He couldn't kill him—or rather, he couldn't kill Godrick at full strength. We were merely the blade in his hand." Borrowing a knife to kill! A collective gasp rose from the surroundings. Upon hearing this analysis, the group of Tarnished heroes felt nothing but anger and dejection.
That's right, without the help of the Tarnished, how could Godrick's subordinates have been so severely depleted? Without the night raid by the Roundtable Hold, how would he have been forced to flee alone? Terrifying. This invisible suppression of intellect was even more frightening than tangible blades.
"From the moment the Tarnished of Limgrave held their ground at Fort Haight, everything fell into his grasp. Heh, that fortress wasn't just bait for Godrick; even I was calculated into his plans." Gideon Ofnir suddenly laughed, his laughter sounding somewhat demented. "I wanted the great rune too badly, and I never expected someone to be plotting in the shadows.
I'm afraid the 'Bloody Finger' who killed Oleg was also him, pushing me hard toward the abyss." "I'll go find Vyke immediately!" Vargram couldn't hold back. Having so many Tarnished heroes played like monkeys—he couldn't swallow this insult no matter what. "It's useless. An opponent of this caliber wouldn't reveal their identity.
Istvan and Vyke won't be able to answer anything, but it's worth asking. At least I'll be prepared next time." Sir Gideon Ofnir suddenly felt weary. The plan he had racked his brains to devise had ended up like this. The Tarnished were also dejected, their self-esteem suffering a huge blow.
The assassin on perimeter duty growled low, a warning. "Who's there?" Gideon Ofnir's head snapped up, wild joy flickering across his face. Could this fool be so arrogant as to think they could wipe us all out?
The group turned. A massive shadow emerged from the woods, and their blades froze mid-air. A knight stood rigid, clad in dark red armor etched with tree patterns, an oval Great Horn shield in hand. He moved slowly, but his presence crushed the air like a mountain peak. Sir Gideon's pupils narrowed.
He raised a hand to stop the others from attacking, then placed his right hand over his chest and bowed deeply. "Greetings, Lord Crucible Knight." Torrent's hooves pounded the muddy road. With this Spirit Steed for long-distance travel, few in The Lands Between could keep pace—certainly not the Tarnished slogging through the mire.
Once they were safely away, Throne slumped into a deep sleep on horseback, his body leaning heavily against Melina's chest, soft snores escaping him. Exhaustion had finally claimed him. After guzzling so many flasks of crimson tears, the divine medicine's effects were waning.
Otherwise, if some Tarnished carried a hundred flasks and played the tank, wouldn't they just bulldoze The Lands Between? Torrent didn't need guidance, weaving effortlessly through the dense woods. Melina gripped the reins, staring at the man resting against her. She wanted to shove him off but couldn't bring herself to do it.
Single-handedly killing Godrick, pacifying Limgrave, and manipulating the Roundtable heroes—it was a feat bards would sing about for centuries. Melina wasn't drawn to him because of his heroics. What mattered most was how much he knew.
She couldn't tell which of Throne's words were true and which were lies, but one thing was undeniable:
This man would bring infinite variables to The Lands Between. He swallowed a great rune whole. What kind of monster was he? Could he be something more terrifying than the Frenzied Flame? Yet he didn't seem evil.
It'll be fine, right?
Melina's thoughts wandered. She'd traveled with Throne long enough to know a little about him. He was free-spirited, prone to slacking off, yet ruthless when it mattered. Clever, scheming, but he never turned that cunning against his companions.
Take Torrent, for instance. The Spirit Steed wouldn't die, but Throne hadn't treated it as a mere meat shield. That alone proved he wasn't without principles. "So, what exactly are you?" Melina studied Throne's youthful face.
Fragmented memories whispered that in Leyndell's golden age, beneath the Erdtree's glory, that face might've been the noble girls' heartthrob or a beloved bard. But the sword at his waist shattered the illusion. Youth and maturity, boldness and cunning, silence and madness—he was a walking contradiction.
Anyway, the more Melina thought about it, the more confused she became, finally settling on the words of a certain Tarnished. "At the very least, we are still companions." Her eyes softened with anticipation. She'd witnessed an epic, and she yearned to see what surprises this man would bring next.
She gently reached out, wanting to brush away the wet bangs on the man's forehead. Just at this moment, Throne suddenly opened his eyes. His clear blue eyes instantly met Melina's, and then they became puzzled. Having just disengaged from battle, Throne was very alert and woke up almost immediately after taking a nap, but he didn't give Melina much chance to appreciate the sleeping beauty.
"You're awake." Melina immediately looked away and lowered her hand. "Yeah, now is not the time for sleeping." Throne straightened up, the residual warmth of the touch still lingering on the back of his head. He looked toward the woods in front, his expression becoming very strange. Melina the blockhead's look just now was so strange, could it be...
The man gasped, a thought surfacing that couldn't possibly be true. An iron tree blooming??
After the rain, a rainbow hung in the mountains and forests. Of course, this was not a good time for telling little stories after the rain. Torrent ran for dozens of miles in one breath, going straight from Fort Haight in the southeast corner to the south bank of Agheel Lake in the hinterland. Even if the Tarnished were bored to death, they couldn't possibly chase them here.
Limgrave was huge, with villages scattered everywhere. Throne put away his long sword and put on a white travel robe; even if the Tarnished chased after him, it wouldn't matter. You're catching 'Raging Wolf' Isshin Ashina, what does that have to do with me, a passing Tarnished? Besides, the Roundtable Hold didn't have any time to waste. Sir Gideon Ofnir was persistent but also smart.
The most urgent priority now was to completely sweep away the defeated army and spread the victory of the Limgrave campaign to The Lands Between. As for where the great rune went, they should go back and find the Two Fingers. Even camping out at the Divine Tower would be better than running around like headless flies.
Scattered along the lakeshore were a large number of architectural fragments, each one massive, like small buildings, and the exquisite patterns carved on them made one curious about where they came from. Throne was hiding inside one of the fragments. His wet hair had long since been dried by the sun. Through the cracks, he could still see the defeated soldiers fleeing in disarray outside.
They were in rags, their armor incomplete, walking like walking dead, not knowing where to assemble. "Godrick is done for. No, the old order of all of Limgrave has collapsed because of it." Melina rolled her eyes, thinking to herself that Godrick was already dead, so what was there to be "done for," but the second half of the sentence was thought-provoking.
That night, it wasn't just Godrick who died; most of the Limgrave nobility had fallen. Who knew how many ancient families had ended their lineage? The feudal order created by King Godfrey was visibly falling apart. Originally, this situation would have attracted foreign enemies, but Liurnia, which bordered Limgrave, had no power to occupy this place, and Caelid had no intention of expanding.
"Presumably, before long, this place will be full of bandits and marauding armies." "You're overthinking it. Those Tarnished will drag them out one by one and kill them. When it comes to squad combat, no one is a match for the Tarnished." Throne glanced at her, thinking to himself that this woman was quite kind-hearted. "Will the Tarnished occupy Limgrave?" "Obviously. Opportunity knocks but once.
Since Sir Gideon Ofnir has suffered a loss, he will definitely do his best to cut his losses. As good as Leyndell is, it's still Morgott's territory, the place where the old order is most stubborn." Throne elevated from tactics to strategy, watching Melina's half-understanding expression, and quietly clenched his fist. The wheels of history had been forcibly changed by him.
The battle wouldn't have begun without him. If Godrick hadn't fallen, Limgrave would've lingered in its half-dead state forever. Now, with Godrick and most of the nobles gone, the power vacuum begged to be filled. He knew Sir Gideon Ofnir saw the opportunity too.
The Roundtable Hold had lost the great rune but gained a long-desired foothold. Whether victory or defeat lay ahead remained unclear. "Do the Tarnished even know how to govern?" Melina's voice carried doubt. "Don't underestimate Sir Gideon Ofnir. Publicly or privately, he'll do whatever it takes. You can't have kings without subjects. And I've handed him this opportunity."
Melina rolled her eyes, imagining how the Roundtable Hold might "thank" him. Still, she couldn't deny the truth in his words. The current Roundtable Hold resembled an adventurers' guild. Beyond its alliance with the Erdtree officialdom and control over Finger Maiden assignments, it offered little appeal.
Not every Tarnished craved power. Some wanted money, influence, or simple comfort. The Roundtable Held clutched a hefty prize. "No matter how skilled the Finger Maidens are, they're still tools of the Two Fingers. Many Tarnished know their limits. They lack the courage to seize the throne but have no shortage of greed for the spoils."
Throne smirked, then shifted the conversation. "I'm curious to see what the Tarnished with a base will accomplish." Melina eyed him, skeptical. "But there are too few Tarnished." "The nobility is small too, yet they rule the masses.
They followed King Godfrey to conquer the world, earning glory and wealth. Why can't the Tarnished?" Throne tilted his chin upward, pride threading his words. "Are kings and nobles born to rule?" Melina paused. She couldn't argue. The Tarnished had the Greater Will's endorsement. Who dared call them unworthy?
Back then, the Golden nobility ruled territories and trained armies. Why couldn't others? Perhaps the Tarnished could forge an army in their own way. It didn't matter who a soldier served. Melina glimpsed a new force emerging. The Tarnished Legion wouldn't be exclusively Tarnished.
"If that happens, they'll clash with the nobility to the death." "The conflict's inevitable. If a Tarnished becomes Elden Lord, do you think they'll spare the nobles who scorned them?" "What good does that do you?" Melina's gaze turned sharp. "Don't look at me like I'm some Great Demon King.
I'm no god. I can't control everything or leave no room for the other side." Throne shrugged, then sighed. "It does me no good, but it benefits the people of The Lands Between." Melina laughed humorlessly. How could expanding the war be beneficial? "Think deeper, idiot.
Only when the Tarnished step onto the stage can the balance be shattered. Before the Lands Between collapses entirely, this chaos can be ended." Scolded, Melina pouted but pondered his words. She retreated into her wooden stillness, head bowed in thought. Idiot. Throne muttered the word again.
The speed of competing for the throne was too slow, and that deadly dementia spread with every passing moment. If he wasn't mistaken, that old schemer Sir Gideon Ofnir planned to drag things out until the world crumbled. If the Tarnished grew stronger, it would force the Roundtable Hold to act. This was another open conspiracy, one that wouldn't unravel anytime soon.
Throne laughed. He shrugged off his outer robe, revealing corded muscle beneath. The wound across his stomach gaped—severed flesh still raw, no flask of crimson tears left to drink. This cripples me. One wrong move and my guts spill. His frown deepened as he assessed the damage.
Eyes closed, he felt power simmering in his veins. The great rune was digesting. Before, his strength had stagnated without bloodshed. Now? A storm of energy churned inside him. How far could he grow? How long to consume it all? No answers—only hunger.
No time to ponder other uses. He barked at Melina, still lost in thought:
"Figured it out yet? Get over here and patch me up." Hoslow's "thank you" gift included Perfumer's unguent. Rare for Tarnished, but not worthless. Melina lifted her head.
She hadn't decided. But the lattice of scars across Throne's back made her feet move. The bowl-shaped ruin loomed low. She bent, snatched the pouch, scooped milky slickness onto her fingers. The moment she smeared it on, Throne hissed.
"Gentler, damn it." Did she sharpen her nails for this?
Why was her hand so heavy? "You didn't say that when you were implanting the glintstone earlier."
"That was necessary. I don't enjoy pain." Throne's jaw clenched. "Tell me—what did I do to piss you off?"