"Yes, you deceived me," Melina said decisively. "Impossible, I have always been honest and trustworthy." "Then why did you claim to be a Tarnished and trick Torrent into your hands?" Throne looked bewildered, turned his head, and said, "When did I ever say I was a Tarnished? Besides, you were the one who came to me voluntarily, weren't you?"
This woman had actually learned how to shift the blame; he never expected Torrent to take a liking to him. Melina immediately fell silent, as if Throne really hadn't deceived her, and everything was just her own imagination and wishful thinking. "Then tell me, what is my mission?"
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, so she simply asked the question she cared about most, even applying the medicine much more gently as a result. This was a gesture of goodwill, but unfortunately, the person in question didn't appreciate it at all. "Knowing too much won't do you any good. I will tell you when the time is right."
Throne was genuinely afraid that this stubborn blockhead would get energized and drag him off to burn the Erdtree. "You!" The pressure suddenly increased, causing him to wince in pain. But since he needed her help, Throne held it in, thinking that one day he would settle the score with Melina and make her realize who was boss. Time slipped away amidst his gasps.
The sunlight filtering through the gaps faded, and Throne began to feel drowsy. After plotting against so many people and fighting such an intense battle, he had only managed a short nap, and he really couldn't take it anymore. However, no sooner had he closed his eyes than he and the hand resting on his back both jolted. "Someone is here."
Throne looked toward the gap and added, his brows tightly furrowed, "And they are strong!" Someone was approaching. He made no effort to suppress his aura, releasing it instead as if to make a show of force. Then, Throne heard the excited looting sounds of the defeated soldiers, followed by the sound of multiple bodies being sliced apart in an instant. Squelch, squelch.
Flesh was cleaved by heavy weapons, and bodies severed into pieces fell to the ground. That person was approaching, unstoppable. Was it the Roundtable Hold? How could they have tracked him down? Throne was initially incredulous, but gradually, he accepted the fact. Damn it, I underestimated the enemy. Sir Gideon Ofnir is even harder to deal with than I imagined.
Throne could tolerate his own mistakes; he wasn't a prophet, and all his schemes were based on intelligence. But Melina pressed down on the hand he had reached toward his ring. "You are wounded, and we don't know how many enemies there are. I will lure them away." It was a concise statement, but Throne was stunned. He hadn't expected her to step up at this moment. "Are you sure?" "Sure.
Don't overthink it; I just think this is the most efficient way. Once I lead them away, I will spirit back." Melina drew the dagger from behind her waist and vanished in a breath. Throne didn't stop her, nor did he have time to be moved. Rationally speaking, it was the right decision. But Melina being so proactive made him feel a bit strange, especially considering her earlier gaze.
Did she finally fully accept me, or has the iron tree bloomed? Thoughts aside, he couldn't let Melina take the risk alone. Since the Tarnished could track them here, they could surely capture her; that spirit form wasn't invincible. "Kill a few first, then run." The swordsman who had been lazy just moments ago widened his eyes, grabbed his katana, and scrambled out through the gap.
The sun had set, the moon had not yet risen, and the air was thick with the scent of blood. Throne drew his sword and looked around, quickly pinpointing the direction of the intruder. "Why did you run out??" Melina was anxious and, furthermore, couldn't understand. She had finally made up her mind, and this bastard didn't appreciate it. "We are companions; we should live and die together.
"I hate owing favors to women." "Do you think you look cool like this?" "Always have." The girl stared, utterly speechless. This man defied understanding. One moment cold and rational, the next like a child throwing a tantrum. She shook her head. No time for this. Melina shifted into battle stance.
Throne's brow furrowed. Something felt off. No signs of an ambush, no hidden foes. Whoever approached carried violence in their stride, but no one was foolish enough to think they could take him alone. Even if they were stronger, he could always run. Wait. That aura. Familiar.
His expression shifted—confusion, then wild recognition. He grabbed Melina mid-leap, her momentum like a coiled spring. "Hold on. Not an enemy." Her hand was soft, slender, but Throne ignored it, his gaze locked on the night sky, fanaticism burning in his eyes. Melina froze, confused but trusting, letting him pull her to a halt.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The rhythm of iron boots echoed through the dark. First, the blade—a greatsword dripping with blood. Then, the face—sharp, feral. "A werewolf? He knows a werewolf?" Melina's eyes widened slowly.
Moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating the figure. Blaidd, tall and broad, stood there, bits of flesh clinging to his fur. The scene crystallized—a bare-chested man gripping a girl's hand, his face alight with ecstasy. The werewolf paused, studying the man—black hair, blue eyes, youthful features, katana in hand. Recognition dawned.
"I found you." Blaidd exhaled, relief flooding his voice. Yet he didn't rush forward, didn't embrace. His gaze flickered between the man and the girl, back and forth, as if piecing together a puzzle. His snout curled, fangs glinting pale and sharp. Violent killing intent surged, laced with bitterness.
"Throne. What are you doing?"
The moonlight spilled over scattered limbs, casting the three in stark relief. Silence stretched, heavy and cruel, the scene frozen like a macabre painting. No joyous reunion here—only tension thick enough to choke on.
Throne's mind raced. Blaidd's brain must've rotted in their time apart. Ten years, and instead of a howling embrace, he got this? Before he could react, a voice hissed in his ear. "Let me go." He glanced down. Melina's earlobes flushed crimson as she struggled.
Shit.
Throne's pupils narrowed. He wasn't stupid. The source of the killing intent clicked into place. He released her hand calmly, without panic. Melina sprang back, her face hidden behind her bangs. Neither man spared her a glance, their focus locked on each other.
"Ahem. Ten years, Blaidd. Seeing you lifts the weight from my heart—"
Bang!
A cold glint sliced through the night, frost trailing in its wake. Throne hit the ground, then looked up sharply. "What the hell was that?"
The werewolf leaned forward, grinning with all the warmth of a predator. "Expressing my killing intent."
"The Princess sent me to find you ages ago, but I guess you don't need to return to Caria anymore." His words prickled like thorns. If Throne had fur, it would've bristled. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He'd trekked across half the Lands Between, risked his neck, and here Blaidd was, cozying up to some woman. Ranni sent someone after him? Seriously?
Throne froze. Surprise first, then a flicker of warmth, and finally, cold sweat. He kept his cool, darting sideways with a Bloodhound's Step. "Blaidd, let me explain." The werewolf hauled his greatsword onto his shoulder, grinning like a predator. "Explain? Sure. After I beat you senseless. You can tell the Princess yourself."
Moonlight bathed the ruins as they clashed, blades flashing—greatsword against katana. Melina, who'd been poised to intervene, froze mid-step. She watched, stone-faced, as Blaidd dismantled Throne in mere moments. A gash across his arm, another on his thigh—Throne was already on the back foot. Then she caught his frantic eye twitch. The meaning was clear: Help me, dammit!
Melina tilted her head, considering. Then, mimicking Throne's usual smirk, she spread her hands in mock innocence. A grin. Throne's stomach dropped. She wasn't helping. Worse, she'd learned his tricks. Black-bellied? She was a damn fox.
Blaidd's foot slammed down, frost swirling around it like a blizzard. Throne reacted instinctively—Hoarfrost Stomp met Storm Stomp. The two forces collided, ice and wind cancelling each other out. But Blaidd wasn't done. He lunged through the icy shrapnel, claws outstretched, aiming straight for Throne's face. Starlight Movement.
Throne vanished. Blaidd's claws closed on empty air. He scanned the area, spotting Throne perched atop a crumbling wall. The bastard smirked—then disappeared again. Fast, Melina thought, eyes widening. She couldn't even track him. This speed… it rivaled Godrick's. Yet she stayed put. Blaidd was holding back. Of all the lunatics, Throne had to cross paths with this one.
Throne was sweating bullets. If it had been Ranni herself, she'd have hurled a Dark Moon at his head by now. He leapt back, shouting, "Wait! I only just woke up! I killed Godrick, for fuck's sake!"
Blaidd paused mid-swing, greatsword hovering. "You killed Godrick?"
"The Demon of the Battlefield. Yeah, that's me."
"You've been tailing me this whole time?" Throne's face burned. He coughed. "Right. I woke up two weeks ago. Haven't had time to contact the Princess."
"Two weeks?" Blaidd's eyes narrowed. Limgrave's recent chaos flashed through his mind. He knew Throne. Killing Godrick? That wasn't a spur-of-the-moment act. "So it was you. And her?" "I couldn't have done it alone." Throne exhaled. At least Blaidd could reason. "A helper." Blaidd frowned.
He was about to demand an explanation for the earlier scene when Throne pointed to the wound on his stomach. Freshly dressed, white ointment gleaming. "Got a bit carried back there."
Throne rolled his eyes. What did Blaidd care if he had a thing with Melina? What did any of this have to do with Ranni?
What was this whole act of standing up for Ranni about? "How long did the Princess tell you to search for me?"
"What order? I just happened to bump into you."
"But you said—"
"Shut up! You want another round?!" Blaidd roared.
Throne clamped his mouth shut. He knew the type—tsundere to the core. Push too hard, and Blaidd might just lose it entirely.
Silence hung between them. Swords slid into scabbards in unison. They closed the distance, strides matching. Throne's hand shot up. Bam—his fist met Blaidd's, locked tight. Annoyance flickered across Throne's face, then vanished as something large and furry engulfed him. A crushing bear hug squeezed the air from his lungs. "Welcome back, brother!" Blaidd's voice rumbled against his ear. No questions followed. None were needed.
Throne froze, then something in him shifted. Like a wandering duckweed catching on a root, he felt himself settle. Ten years. A thousand miles. Even The Lands Between had changed, yet here they stood, unchanged. After a heartbeat, he wrapped his arms around Blaidd's broad, furred back. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "I'm back."
The bonfire roared to life, its warmth pushing back the night's chill. Distant lake waters shimmered with its glow. Melina crouched by the flames, poking at the wood with a stick. Her gaze flicked to the two men, now deep into their boasting, spitting into the fire for emphasis.
A blood-streaked wineskin passed between them. She didn't ask where they'd scavenged it. The way they drank—cup after cup—spoke volumes. So, he's from Caria, she thought.
Introductions were done. The werewolf's origins were no longer a mystery. Caria. The word echoed in her mind, stirring unease. She'd been wrong. So wrong. I thought he was some ancient deity.
Wait. Caria? How does Caria connect to him?
Her head throbbed. Fragmented memories blurred her thoughts. A man who could consume a Great Rune, tied to Caria? Was this some twisted application of Primeval Sorcery? "She looks troubled," Blaidd said, catching her furrowed brow. "Haven't you told her the past?"
Throne shook the wineskin, laughter bubbling up. "I told her, but she thinks I'm spinning tales. Didn't believe a word until after Godrick fell."