Mitranis leaped just before receiving the overwhelming impact of Bernahl's weapon. There was no caution: the combat would not be heard. The warrior had isolated the place: now he was an invader. A predator, and Mitranis the prey.
Rolling on the ground, Mitranis quickly grabbed Bernahl's Zweihander. There was little point in fighting with his dagger, at least at the start. He blocked Bernahl's first attack. He leaped again, only to dissipate a force that was unmatched compared to what the man had shown during the day while training Hestia.
"Put that damned dagger away… In the shadows," the warrior said sternly. "Stop playing with the trinkets the Black Knives gave you."
"And you keep insisting on that," Mitranis retorted, spitting on the ground. "Stop talking about her, please. I don't remember that person, no matter how much you think you know who she is."
Mitranis approached with the colossal sword. He launched a massive attack, one of those that the Redmane Knights displayed. That Lion's Claw Leap, but now it seemed like a double leap. Something that would tear apart any other enemy. But this was no ordinary enemy. Bernahl smiled as he blocked Mitranis's attack, then pushed him back, swinging his mace.
"What's your idea of playing around with the Tarnished and that mage who reeks of death?" Bernahl pressed, with as much force in his words as in his blows. "Are you aware that you alone would be enough to defeat Godrick?"
"But I've already committed to working with these people. I want to see where this leads."
"To hell: that's where it leads, Mitranis," Bernahl's power resonated in his words and in a blow that the boy barely managed to block.
"Why do you insist that no one should reach the Golden Tree?" Mitranis asked, now using another technique, Giant Hunt.
"Because that's the will of the damned Golden Order, of the Fingers… Of the Greater Will," the man replied, now attacking in earnest.
Bernahl made the ground tremble with a single strike of his mace. A great red wave covered the floor and spread instantly. There was lava and… a strange magic. Something Mitranis recognized, something he couldn't let touch him. A magic that drained vitality. Just like the power of the recusants and their master, the Lord of Blasphemy.
"I have no interest in honoring any of that nonsense, Bernahl," Mitranis retorted, using a vertical slash with all his strength. "The dagger changed when I fought Radahn. I can't explain why."
Bernahl paused his weapon for a moment. He rested it on his shoulder and looked at Mitranis.
"You should've started with that, idiot."
"Yeah, I know… But it's not easy to talk about it with Hestia and Meli…" Mitranis stopped himself too late.
"I see… I understand why that Tarnished is so important," Bernahl shifted his stance. "I understand why you don't want to discuss this with someone who has a close connection to the Goddess Marika."
"That's right… She told me that Destined Death was released from the dagger. But that wasn't supposed to happen. Even Alecto told me that wouldn't happen, since this dagger wasn't supposed to unleash that power."
Bernahl fell into thought. There were many possibilities. Radahn? Well, that was something Mitranis had mentioned after training. Hestia and he had met shortly after that confrontation. But… of course, there was a connection with the Starscourge.
"Have you been able to use that power again, Mitranis?" the warrior's tone shifted to slight concern.
"Somewhat… But not with the intensity of that time."
"I see."
Then, all signs of Bernahl's battle lust vanished, as if nothing had happened. That was no longer on his mind. Now, something worse occupied his thoughts.
"You'll go defeat Godrick, then; and quickly," the warrior said, as if it were an order. "I imagine you'll then go after Rennala, the Queen of the Full Moon. But before that… you'll go see her daughter. That witch must know something about all this. It's just a detour."
"Can you explain your train of thought clearly, Bernahl? I'm not in your head," Mitranis complained, already familiar with the man. "Besides, if you're referring to Ranni, shouldn't she be dead?"
"It's as simple as this: it might not be a good idea to go and kill Radahn without first questioning how catastrophic the consequences of that could be. And we must add to that the person who is patiently sitting, waiting for it to happen. Because a Tarnished like Hestia is convinced that Grace will protect her and that it's the right path."
Mitranis could only think at first, "Here comes Bernahl, calculating every possibility, step, action, consequence…" but something in the recusant's demeanor left room for a strange curiosity on the boy's part. Perhaps it was worth listening to his superior. And it would indeed turn out to be so.
It was time to leave, but Hestia didn't find Mitranis in the cabin. She rubbed one eye and wondered about Melina. She hadn't been able to talk to her, as the last two days had been spent with more people besides Mitranis. No one else could see the maiden.
Even so, Hestia heard a gentle voice speaking into her ear from behind:
"You'll need to be more than attentive, Hestia," Melina said, her voice barely audible. "I sense that the atmosphere, the currents, are strange in Stormveil. You'll need to follow Mitranis. He has better reflexes."
"I can have them too…" the redhead murmured, without looking back.
"Not yet. But you'll follow him and learn, dear," was the maiden's response. "Now… Take my hand from behind. We're close to the lost Grace. I'll strengthen you."
Hestia hesitantly reached her hand slightly backward. She felt the warmth of an ethereal hand holding hers. Her vitality increased, though not so much her sense of mastery over magic. That was undoubtedly Hestia's strength. She had trained for so long in her homeland for that. Now, however, she needed endurance, resolve, strength, vitality. That's what Melina offered her, based on all the essence of the runes Hestia had acquired in the meantime.
After that, she stood up. There was no goodbye from either of them. That silence was a promise that it would happen. When fighting someone powerful, a Tarnished could despair at the power gap, and upon dying, their grace would fade.
In some cases, the mere terror of facing a Demigod, a bearer of one of the Elden Ring's fragments, could already cause their grace to vanish. But Hestia, whether due to youth or true strength of will, would not allow that. Nor would she allow herself to be defeated by Godrick, her current target.
It was time to leave, as Rogier and Mitranis made clear. Without hesitation, Hestia took her weapons and prepared to depart. As she crossed the threshold, she looked back into the cabin one last time. There, she saw Bernahl for the last time. A warm smile spread across his face, almost a comforting gesture. Then, it turned to one of seriousness.
"Are you willing to continue, even if the Golden Order is nothing more than ruins and uncertain rumors?" the warrior asked.
"Even if that's the case, I will. I don't know if it's out of faith, but it is for a purpose. One that comes before me," she replied, conviction in her gaze.
"Go, then, Hestia," Bernahl said. "Oh, and tell that idiot Mitranis not to do anything stupid, please. Goodbye."
The redhead then left the cabin for good and followed her companions. Suddenly, she wanted to ask Bernahl something: Why had he said that about Mitranis, if it didn't seem like they knew each other from before? But it was too late. Bernahl had already disappeared.
Soon, the three were riding their steeds. They galloped quickly, dodging mercenaries, wandering nobles, wolves, and even a couple of trolls. They were on the main road that would lead to the Castle.
They passed a desolate shack to the right of the path. Mitranis, with his sharpened senses, heard a groan. It was a faint sob, but it carried the utmost desperation. So, he veered off the path.
"What's going on now, Mitranis?" Rogier asked, somewhat annoyed. "Don't tell me you want to stop at another shack. You're a bit too comfortable. We won't always sleep under a roof."
Mitranis didn't respond. He rode closer to the shack and dismounted almost in a leap. He entered the shack and was out of sight. Hestia, rolling her eyes, dismounted Torrent and followed him.
Upon entering the shack, Hestia saw what—or rather, who—had caught Mitranis's attention. It was a woman with fair skin, a frail body, dressed in beige-like clothing. A velvety red hood stood out, covering her. It wasn't easy to see her face, as she was hunched over. She didn't seem comfortable near Mitranis, or so it appeared.
Then, when Hestia heard the woman speak, her expression changed. She was utterly surprised to hear that voice. And so, the redhead spoke.
"Roderika, is that you?" Hestia asked impulsively.
"Huh?" the woman replied, now looking at the other woman. "You're… Hestia. The Tarnished sent by the Carian heirs."
The blonde woman stood up quickly and uncovered her face. She immediately approached Hestia at a brisk pace to embrace her out of sheer impulse. It was clear she would cling to someone she knew. But it also seemed she was escaping the recusant's presence. He remained silent, as did Rogier. They let Hestia handle this still-unknown woman.
"I didn't expect to find you… I wasn't afraid you'd been defeated," Roderika's voice was halting due to tears and terror, "but I didn't expect to live to find you. I shouldn't have gone to Stormveil without looking for you first, Hestia."
"What do you mean, Roderika?" Hestia asked, gently pushing the other woman back to meet her gaze. "I assume you went to face Godrick and escaped. Is there something else I should know?"
Roderika avoided Hestia's gaze. She knelt again, and after sobbing a little, she looked up. Though it wasn't necessary, as Hestia knelt to join her.
"I came to the Lands Between with an army," the blonde woman began to recount. "We followed the instructions we were given. A man with a white mask gave us directions to reach this Castle. But he never warned us about…"
"That wretch Varré," Mitranis said, cutting off the suspense Roderika had left. "Of course he'd send you to fight Godrick without telling you about the horrors of his grafting techniques."
It was inevitable for Roderika to shudder at hearing the word "grafting" again. It was one thing to hear about the abomination of the technique, which was simply taking severed limbs from other creatures to attach them to a new host; but it was another to see how Roderika's companions—loyal soldiers, friends—were turned into mere spare parts for those spider-like creatures, full of human appendages. Beings that struck with legs and walked with arms, in more than one case.
"Horrors…" was all the woman could now say, hiding her face again.
Hestia approached and hugged her to comfort this acquaintance from beyond the Lands Between. She tried to let her find refuge in her chest, to offer support and warmth, if that was possible. Roderika buried herself in Hestia's chest as much as the chainmail she wore allowed.
"My… my friends," Roderika tried to say, her voice choked. "They crossed the sea for me; they fought for me. And they were turned into mere pieces of flesh for that spider. They used their arms, their legs, their heads. And… they were turned into chrysalises."
While the young people talked, Rogier watched them with an odd passivity. It wasn't that he didn't care about Roderika's pain, but that's how the Lands Between were, after all. A withered world, blending the supposed immortality granted by Marika with that orchestra of agony, horror, and despair.
"You all go on, kids," Rogier said, now serious. "I'll tell this girl how to get to the Roundtable Hold."
Hestia looked at the sorcerer. The determination on his face was clear. But it was also for something simple: they had to do this quickly. They had to reach the Castle, make their way to Godrick, and defeat him swiftly. All so that he, meanwhile, could fulfill what he had planned. Because Rogier wasn't exactly going to learn about Godrick at all. His purpose was different.
"That sounds good, Rogier," Mitranis said, letting out a sigh. "Just be quick. We need your help. There's likely a sizable guard protecting the castle after Roderika and her companions came."
The sorcerer nodded and knelt to gently take Roderika from Hestia's arms. The Tarnished agreed, but Roderika didn't want to let go. Then, Hestia took the blonde girl by the shoulders and sought her gaze.
"You'll be safe at the Roundtable Hold, Roderika. Rogier is trustworthy. You can trust him, me, and… Mitranis."
Roderika nodded, giving her companion a beautiful smile despite the tears streaming from her eyes. She took a deep breath. There was something she had to say.
"Please, Hestia… Rogier, Mitranis," the woman began, her voice trembling, "tell those chrysalises, my friends and companions… that I love them. I'll always love them, every single one of them. That… I'll join them soon—"
A voice interrupted Roderika.
It was Mitranis. His tone was stern. His gaze fell on Roderika's, who couldn't avoid it. Though she had done so the whole time, now it was as if an unstoppable force compelled her to observe every detail of the young man. And his serious, upright, relentless gaze was terrifying, deeply so. But it also seemed like a strange kind of support.
"If you want to die, as you say," Mitranis said, approaching and kneeling as well, "just stay on your knees and bow your head. I'll be quick. But if you stop for a moment to think about them and their sacrifice, you'll understand that living is the only way to prove your love for them. You'll decide what your feelings dictate."
"Live…" Roderika's murmur was only audible to Hestia.
"You're a piece of garbage, Mitranis," Hestia said, shielding Roderika.
"I'm heading out," Mitranis declared as his only reply.
Suddenly, Roderika's voice grew stronger. It was a call to Mitranis. Just a "wait" that sounded impulsive and sharp, with that beautiful voice, now less choked by tears and despair.
Mitranis stopped, then. He looked directly at the woman. He saw a hint of resolve in her. There was something he detected in Roderika, something that made her look at the recusant differently, but she wasn't saying it. Perhaps now she would reveal it.
"How do you manage to act so upright, Mitranis?" the woman questioned, her expression no longer terrified but defiant. "How can you claim to be so righteous when everything around you is filled with despised, murdered, and humiliated presences because of you? There's a line behind you. And it's only of people you've trampled. If you could see them… Even then, would you show this same righteousness?"
Everyone fell silent. Hestia didn't quite understand what her friend was talking about. Rogier just watched. He seemed to understand something. Meanwhile, Mitranis didn't move a muscle. He understood. He understood every damn word. Roderika had hit him as hard as Radahn had days ago.
"I can't do anything else, Roderika," the young man replied, staring at her fixedly. "That line is more than welcome. I'll live with it. If I act differently or stop killing for mere work without purpose, that doesn't change reality: my corpse belongs to them. And they'll decide what to do with it. Make no mistake."
With his response finished, Mitranis left the shack. Hestia stood up, furious with the young man. She looked at Roderika one last time, who was now being lifted by Rogier. The blonde caressed the redhead's cheek and smiled.
"Go with him, Hestia," Roderika said, trying to smile. "Go and do what you have to do. And when we meet again, I'll help you give that jerk a beating."
Hestia let out a soft laugh, then left.
He deserved a beating, indeed. That disrespectful guy who acted "stoic" when he couldn't have a more amoral life. That's what Hestia thought of Mitranis now as she caught up to him, walking.
However, it was hard to understand someone who felt almost grateful for having such a certainty: a kind of voluntary and assured condemnation. Knowing clearly that he would pay, that he would do so, and that it would be under the principles of his victims, not his own or those of an intermediary, judge, or ruler. Only the victims would be the masters of Mitranis's fate.
Righteousness? No. There is no righteousness. That was the message, Hestia supposed. There is no righteousness in anyone who knows their purpose involves killing others. The only righteousness is in accepting that such a path will only lead to pain, condemnation, and oblivion. But as long as it's clear, and one acts with conviction, that path might be righteous. And that, perhaps, was enough for Hestia.