Hestia and Mitranis rode as swiftly as their steeds allowed. Beyond the golden glint, new sounds pierced the air: the clash of swords, heavy impacts as if a massive creature leaped and crashed to the ground with its full weight.
Upon reaching the scene, Mitranis leapt from Calliope's back, tethering her to a tree shrouded in vines and underbrush. This would shield the horse from the chaos unfolding a hundred meters away. Ready, he sprinted to catch up with Hestia.
At last, Mitranis glimpsed the turmoil within the misty forest. A large group of Those Who Live in Death swarmed the area. Some were remnants of ancient foot soldiers, while others were knights clad in ostentatious helms, wielding greatswords and massive shields emblazoned with an unfamiliar sun emblem, unknown to any in the Lands Between.
The undead continued to rise from a small, dilapidated graveyard, its tombstones broken or barely clinging to the earth. Beyond them, Hestia and Mitranis saw an enormous, grotesque tuber with writhing branches and roots that moved unnaturally.
They also spotted two warriors, their backs to the newcomers, battling the undead. The golden glint stemmed from one warrior's sword, which glowed with intense holy radiance before unleashing a powerful wave of sacred magic that struck the undead with devastating force. The rumbling now made sense.
The companion of the holy warrior wore light garb, a tattered cloak, and a mustard-hued sorcerer's hat. This swordsman was swift, wielding a rapier with masterful fencing technique. He weakened the enemies, allowing the warrior in gold-and-silver armor with a red cape to finish them with his radiant strikes.
"Pick up the pace, D!" the fencer shouted. "We're surrounded, and they keep coming!"
"Shut it, Rogier!" the knight retorted, his holy-imbued sword decapitating a skeletal knight.
Suddenly, an undead rose beside Rogier, thrusting a short sword toward his flank. A holy-imbued arrow struck it, banishing the creature with the Golden Order's favored exorcising element. Rogier glanced back, grinning as his eyes met Hestia's and Mitranis', the latter holding his shortbow.
"Reinforcements! What a joy!" Rogier exclaimed, his face alight.
Hestia rushed forward, casting Glintstone sorceries to slow the undead. Mitranis finished them with his holy-imbued arrows. With Rogier and D now bolstered, they quelled Those Who Live in Death in mere minutes. As the battle ceased, the armored knight sheathed his sword, while Rogier collapsed onto the grass, sighing with exhaustion.
"Oh!" Rogier gasped, sprawled out. "I've never seen so many of Those Who Live in Death crawl out of nowhere. I'd expect this at Summonwater's ruins, but not this pitiful graveyard."
"And yet you insist these abominations aren't a threat," D said, turning to approach Hestia and Mitranis. "I'm grateful for your aid, dear friends. I am D, dedicated to eradicating Those Who Live in Death. My friend Rogier and I sensed something amiss here. This is worse than we expected."
"You mean that Deathroot over there, don't you?" Mitranis said, staring at the grotesque tuber.
"Indeed," Rogier replied, sitting up and eyeing the group. "These roots sprout where Those Who Live in Death dwell, especially near Tibia Mariners. Heard of them?"
"Not closely, but I've seen the one in the ruins nearby," Mitranis said, stepping closer. "We're talking about those who guided the dead before Marika sealed the Rune of Destined Death."
"So you've done your homework," Rogier said with a faint laugh. "Well studied."
"Stop your nonsense," D snapped, crouching to inspect the Deathroot. "This isn't normal, Rogier. The root's hue… is it blue? Black? This is strange."
"It must be…" Rogier trailed off mid-sentence. "I don't know… We need the Roundtable Hold. He might know something."
The warriors' cryptic exchange was unsettling. The dark, sludge-like veins coursing through the Deathroot were more than disturbing.
"So you're from the Roundtable Hold!" Hestia exclaimed, stepping forward. "Please, take me there!"
"Alright, lass," D replied. "I'm D. This eccentric—putting it mildly—is Rogier."
"I'm Hestia. That guy's Mitranis," she said, gesturing.
"Hey!" Mitranis protested, approaching. "I'm not just 'that guy.' I saved your skin."
"That's irrelevant now. We need to go with them."
"Hmm…" D eyed Mitranis warily.
He looked strong, seasoned. D could recognize such a warrior. Yet Mitranis wasn't a Tarnished—no golden glint shone in his eyes, unlike Hestia's. But such matters could be discussed at the Roundtable Hold.
"Well, shall we?" Rogier said, grinning. "I'm starving."
"You and your trivialities," D muttered. "Let's get out of here."
A blinding light enveloped Mitranis and Hestia—overwhelming, sudden, but brief. In an instant, they stood in a grand hall. It was unmistakable: the Roundtable Hold. At its center, a table bore various weapons plunged into its surface, above which floated a massive Golden Grace.
Hestia noticed they weren't alone. A monk-like figure with bandaged eyes stood nearby, a yoke-like collar around his neck, as if bound to forced labor. Another figure wore ornate silver armor with red accents on the shoulder guards.
The most striking presence was a man in lightweight silver armor, wielding an extravagant staff. His face was hidden by a peculiar helm, its crown-like crest matching his armor's hue.
"That's Gideon," Rogier said, approaching the man. "How's it going, old man?"
"Don't call me old," Gideon replied, his voice raspy, deep, and solemn. "I am Gideon Ofnir."
"The know-it-all," Rogier teased.
"The All-Knowing, you fool," D said, clearly irritated.
"Titles are trivial, D," Gideon said. "Now… you're a Tarnished, girl."
"Yes," Hestia replied quickly, a touch shy. "I'm Hestia, from Echoaid."
"Then you wield sorceries, useful for your quest to claim the Elden Ring," Gideon said gravely. "But why bring a Recusant here? Do you wish us all slain?"
Silence blanketed the hall. Everyone, even those tending to their own affairs, turned to Mitranis, tensing for battle. Hestia was torn—she'd begun to trust him, yet his title posed an undeniable threat.
"If he were an active Recusant, he'd have gutted us already," Rogier interjected. "He'd have carved me up back there. D might've held him off long enough to warn you."
"I don't dispute that," Gideon said, fixing his gaze on Mitranis. "This Recusant is… honorable. Not surprising, given he's his protégé."
"Uh… so you know him," Mitranis said, stating the obvious.
"Of course I do," Gideon replied. "He was one of us once. Now, my question: why have you forsaken your faction, Mitranis, the Recusant? Or rather… son of the Black Knives?"
Silence gripped the hall again. Hestia had heard of their infamy—the women who slew Godwyn, Marika's firstborn, on that fateful Night of the Black Knives.
"This is delightful," Rogier said, breaking the tension. "We fought a frenzied Deathroot today, and now we meet the boy trained by those cursed assassins. Best day in a while."
"You're an idiot, Rogier," D said harshly. "This is nothing less than the root of all evil."