Ten years of life and death, and meeting again, he had not changed, while Throne was no longer the young brother with potential he once was; unknowingly, he had become an existence equal to his own.
"Do you know why I made that promise just now?"
"Because I am strong enough?"
"Correct. This strength is enough to make me take you seriously, and only then do you have the qualifications to discuss other matters. And those two favors, I must repay them, after all—" Radahn extended a thick finger, pointing at Throne, then tapped himself. Listening to the sounds of battle cries and the clashing of blades, watching sharp edges sweep through, and heads rolling to the ground.
"Both you and I are heroes!"
A hero must be a person of strength, but a person of strength is not necessarily a hero. Radahn had met many powerful people, but very few whom he would call a hero. In truth, his contact with Throne had not been much, and they could hardly be said to have a close personal friendship. But for a hero, recognizing another hero only requires a few small things.
Ten years ago, he appeared in the face of injustice, doing what could not be done. Ten years later, he fought knowing the enemy was strong, and did not lose heart even when certain to fail. These two short sentences were enough to be praised, and Throne accepted them readily.
It had nothing to do with being thick-skinned; it was simply that every word was carved out by him from a mountain of corpses and dug out from a sea of blood. After drinking a cup of wine, the two did not discuss official business or the future, merely chatting like old friends, occasionally commenting on the battle. The enemy had already collapsed; the battlefield was no longer intense.
Instead, the scene, which resembled a hunt, made one feel at ease. With wine cups clinking, watching one enemy after another being surrounded and slaughtered was truly a joy. Cling. As their helmets collided, the two gradually noticed some issues.
"Tsk, not a single person surrendered."
Radahn stared for a long time without seeing a single live captive.
"Flying dragons cannot communicate, insects have no brains, and Bloody Fingers are desperate outlaws. It is very hard to find a breakthrough with them."
Throne had expected this, so he hadn't stepped in to help.
"Tell me, even if they went to such great lengths to take my life, aren't they afraid of retaliation later?"
"That tree."
Throne pointed into the distance, his expression serious.
"It has long been strong on the outside but weak on the inside, and with Caelid beyond its reach, what would they use to retaliate?"
Radahn tilted his head and thought for a moment, revealing a bitter smile.
"That is true, though you had a hand in it, didn't you?"
Throne did not hide it, humbly lifting his chin.
"Just a meager contribution."
"Hahahaha, you've learned to play dumb, too. Come, let's have a drink." Radahn laughed aloud, their helmets collided, and he downed it all in one gulp. Melina, standing solemnly to the side, rolled her eyes. She really didn't know what to say about these two; despite their opposing positions, they could still sit together and chat happily. Was this the legendary 'frenemy' relationship?
One was a Golden Lord, and the other was a rebel leader; heaven knows how the two could drink together. She was just thinking the phrase 'Radahn is Radahn, and General Radahn is General Radahn' when she suddenly felt Radahn looking at her, causing her to instinctively tense her muscles. The demigod carefully sized Melina up and said with deep meaning, "This girl is not simple."
Throne also turned his head and said with a smile, "Mm, indeed not simple. Melina might be a bit dense, but she is very reliable."
What do you mean 'dense'? Is that how you praise someone? Melina's chest heaved rapidly. If not for the immense pressure Radahn was exerting on her, she would have already rushed up to teach someone a lesson. Radahn saw all these small actions.
A knowing smile curled his lips. The woman intrigued him—though it was strange. Someone of her stature shouldn't indulge in such petty emotions.
"You did this?"
"Call it training. I prefer traveling with people, not machines. Even if machines are more efficient."
"Hahaha. That's why you're even more naive than me—always meddling where you don't belong."
Radahn's laughter carried an edge of envy. At his rank, control was an illusion. That earlier promise had been his sole concession.
"Be careful. Don't push certain things too far."
"Like what?"
Throne frowned.
Radahn set his helmet down. A single finger rose as his voice dropped.
"I recognize that sword. You've got nerve, kid—snagging Ranni's favor."
Throne's pupils shrank. He should've stashed the Dark Moon Greatsword. Too late now. Guilt prickled his neck. Should he call this man 'brother-in-law'?
"Relax. Hero gets the girl—fine. But stay loyal. Years apart don't change this: I'm still Ranni's brother."
Radahn's smile vanished. The wine cup trembled in his grip, his eyes dull with exhaustion. Maybe it was the drink, but once he started on his sister, the floodgates opened.
"I know her. Obsessed with appearances, allergic to honesty. That 'dignified strength' act? Pure armor. Without Father's mess, she'd never carry such weight. People like her—they break quietly."
"You get that, don't you? With her temper—don't bulldoze, don't wound her pride. But play dumb and betray her? I'll hunt you."
Throne's smile turned brittle. This was worse than fighting Godfrey. The Ashina Style taught killing, not courtship. And Ranni? Maximum-difficulty tsundere. Melina and the others were no simpler. Those harem novel protagonists had it easy—women just glued themselves on.
"Got any advice, Your Excellency?"
"None! Figure it out, damn you!"
Radahn's cheeks puffed like an angry bellows. If his ties to Ranni weren't already strained, he'd have introduced Throne to the Radahn family's fist-based diplomacy.
Throne scratched his head. Yeah, bad move asking the brother-in-law for romance tips.
Radahn slumped into his seat, helmet rattling in his hands. Shadows deepened across his face.
"Ranni's got more potential than me. Her path's harder too. Having you there… eases my mind a fraction."
"You know her plans?"
Throne blinked.
"Idiot. You think that mindset sprouted overnight?"
Radahn's raised palm cut off Throne's next words.
"Save your breath. She walks her road, I walk mine. Asking me to join her madness? Impossible."
The message was clear. For men of honor, some lines outrank blood or friendship.
"Don't waste hope on Rykard either. He's less accommodating than me. Childhood bonds mean nothing—we grew into different fates."
"Everyone has burdens on their shoulders."
Radahn pointed at the soldiers cheering in the mud.
"As General Radahn, I can't side with Caria. Same for Rykard as Praetor. He's got his own schemes. Ranni's vision? Admirable. But you lot aren't ready."
"That why you sealed the stars?"
Throne's voice darkened.
"Partly. Won't deny it."
If you can't even break out of this small pond that is The Lands Between, what freedom can you hope for? The Greater Will is more terrifying than you imagine."
Radahn was very serious, which also explained some of the questions Throne hadn't been able to figure out. Power is the very reason to become a king. Radahn's ideal was actually very simple—nothing more than retracing the path of a hero. He was more like an examiner, questioning the monsters and demons inside and outside The Lands Between who wanted to cause trouble. If you can't even beat me, yet you want The Lands Between, are you qualified!? The two locked eyes. Only Melina, standing to the side, frowned slightly, thinking that Throne's persuasion had failed. How could a figure like Radahn change his mind because of a mere favor?
"Whether I am qualified or not, we shall see when the time comes." Throne laughed instead, which made him more relaxed.
"But you need to get better quickly; defeating a sick man is no great feat."
"Hahaha, you kid are getting a bit cocky. You can't beat me right now!"
"But that might not be the case in the future."
"Damn, your speed of getting stronger is truly monstrous. I have a premonition that I might capsize in the gutter."
Radahn's face stiffened, and he wiped his hair.
"Rest assured, I will try my best to recover, and then we shall have a grand battle."
Throne thought to himself that they both had more insidious methods, but they couldn't use them between friends.
"Then let's both work hard. After this drink, I'm going north to finish off Greyoll. Will you stop me?"
What he was about to do couldn't be hidden from Radahn. This had nothing to do with friendship; it was a collision between Caria's plans and the General Radahn. Any normal person could guess that Caria wanted to seize more trump cards.
"You should be asking if you need my help."
Seeing Throne stunned, Radahn explained with a smile, "The Limgrave business was your doing, too, right? I don't want to be like Malenia, risking the annihilation of my entire army to go on an expedition."
"Truly, nothing can be hidden from you. As expected of General Radahn."
Getting along as equals doesn't rely on favors, on empty talk, or on expecting others to be honorable—it relies on power. With a foundation of power, other things can take effect; otherwise, it would be good enough if Radahn were even willing to keep secrets.
"No need for help. The Radahn Festival is your doing; how can it go on without the host?"
"Fine, I'll listen to you."
Radahn knew what he wanted to do, but some things he could acknowledge, while the Redmane below could not. Better to just play dumb. The wine barrel was bottomed out. Looking at the last helmet-cup of wine raised, Radahn hesitated for a moment before saying, "Let me give you a few pieces of advice."
"Go ahead."
"First, her problem is very difficult to handle. Be prepared in advance. You aren't naive enough to think that after doing so many things, He doesn't have some contingency plan, right?"
Throne wanted to say that Marika was already hanging on the tree, so what kind of contingency plan could she have, but he swallowed the words. Radahn was right; that kind of chess player must have a plan—a plan that the Tarnished hadn't used. Melina was a key link in the entire plan, and the direction of the entire The Lands Between had been changed by him; it was hard to say.
"I understand."
"Second, beware of Black Blade Maliketh. He is purer than any of us, and he has no baggage to protect. If he discovers a problem, he will only use all his strength to kill you."
Throne nodded again. This was a sword hanging over his head, and one of the reasons he was making his fortune quietly.
"Third, don't underestimate the Two Fingers. They control the allocation of the Erdtree's power. The power of Leyndell was theirs to wield—as long as they remained within its walls.
"The Erdtree's accumulated strength over the centuries dwarfs anything you or I could fathom."
Thorne's voice turned grave.
Radahn didn't explain how that power manifested, but the implications were clear. To forge the Roundtable Hold—to carve out a realm untouched by the world's laws—required authority beyond mortal comprehension. And Morgott, who'd cast out both the Tarnished and the Two Fingers? His strength defied reason.
"Rules only matter when you hold all the cards."
Any army, pressed against the wall by overwhelming force, would shatter its own principles. Alliance wasn't just possible—it was inevitable. Thorne couldn't argue. Dignity, restraint, order—those were luxuries for the victorious.
"Appreciate the wisdom."
Their cups clinked. Thorne raised his to his lips—
"Come to Redmane Castle when you're finished."
Radahn's voice cut in.
"No payment necessary. Gold and glory never moved me."
"Bullshit. You joined the festival—you'll see it through. Never met a warrior like you. Call it a personal favor."
"You're not planning to ambush me, are you?"
Suspicion flickered, but Thorne shrugged.
"Fine."
He drained the cup in one swallow. The helmet nearly slipped from his grip like a tipped bowl—he caught it, shoving it back onto his head as wine dripped down his face.
"Leaving now."
"Go. Before I reconsider."
Radahn waved him off, then barked, "You—Melina. Wait."
She turned, confusion twisting briefly through her disgust before ice reclaimed her expression.
"Advice: Chase what you want. Not the duties others shackle to you."
Melina stared. What was this mad general rambling about?
"Why tell me this?"
"Because I won't watch a hero gutter out."
Radahn jabbed a finger toward Thorne's retreating back, his face harder than steel.
"Madness and heroism share a razor's edge. If he snaps—"
"—nothing in these lands could stop him."
Mud sucked at Melina's boots as she descended the slope. Head bowed, silence thick. The more she turned Radahn's words over, the less sense they made. The air felt heavy, stifling.
Did the whole world understand her purpose better than she did? Why keep hurling riddles at her? Follow your desires, ignore the mission—what did that even mean? Hadn't the mission always been everything?
Her thoughts stuttered.
A terrifying realization struck:
She'd strayed. Lately, the mission hadn't even crossed her mind.
The deal was simple—Thorne escorts her to the Erdtree, then they part ways. Yet here she was, nowhere near Leyndell's walls. Just drifting through Limgrave, Liurnia, Caelid. The Academy reclaimed. The Rot Kindred crushed. Deathbed Companions. Nox. Chaos.
So I... what exactly am I doing? She had helped out to speed things along, to complete the mission faster—but somewhere in the chaos, she'd become a glorified errand girl. Every step took her further from the Erdtree. She'd forgotten the mission.
Questions swarmed her skull. She lunged forward, seizing Thorne's cloak.
"What now?"
"I'll analyze Radahn's words for you later."
"Fine. No—wait."
Melina's teeth clenched. Her face twisted with disgust.
"Everything I've done lately has nothing to do with our deal. I'm just cleaning up your mess. What do Kindred of Rot and flying dragons have to do with me?"
Damn. She caught on.
Throne's expression froze. He hadn't expected her to piece it together—but he always had a backup plan.
"You don't swallow a meal whole. Why the rush?"
"I'm not rushing. I just realized I've been played."
Her voice sharpened.
"Caelid? That was never my problem."
The most serious part was that she had actually forgotten the mission. Not that she could admit it—they'd never let her live it down.