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John groaned into his blood-slicked hands, dragging them down his face in sheer, soul-deep embarrassment as Marika cackled mercilessly above him. Her golden laughter danced across the sky like wind through leaves, radiant and cruel all at once.
Eventually, the Goddess calmed, wiping away a single tear of amusement with her knuckle. "Thou may unbury thy face now," she said, her voice still bubbling with mirth. "And while thou art at it… Look yonder. Yon beast yet clings to life."
John peeked through his fingers, brow furrowed, and turned his head slowly. Sure enough, Agheel still lay broken but not dead. The dragon's vast, scorched body twitched atop the ruined tower. It wheezed, gargled, and clawed feebly at the rubble, one wing crumpled and the other limp. A grotesque symphony of rattling breath and death spasms echoed through the silent lake.
He sighed and shook his head, trying to ignore the residual heat in his cheeks. "H-How the hell is he still alive?"
Marika, to her credit, didn't press his earlier outburst.
"Dragons, even lesser ones, are blessed with incredible resilience." She explained coolly. "Their immortal hearts refuse to stop beating until thoroughly shattered. This one's core may have been missed… Or only grazed. A cruel mercy, that its body endures its suffering."
John coughed into his hand and rolled his shoulders, then reached into his inventory. A flash of steel shimmered into view as he unsheathed his Uchigatana, the familiar hiss of metal calming his nerves.
"No use letting him suffer longer…" He muttered, stepping forward with fluid intent.
He approached the barely-conscious Agheel and, without hesitation, rammed the katana straight into its eye. A wet shlurp and a burst of crimson followed. The dragon jerked once, twice, and then went still.
Its great body began to shimmer and crackle.
In a swirl of faint embers and spectral ash, Agheel dissolved into ivory dust.
[GREAT ENEMY DEFEATED]
[Item Acquired: Flying Dragon Agheel's Heart]
[Runes Acquired: 20,000]
"Tch… For a dragon, that guy gave next to no runes. What a wimp, must be not fully grown or something…" John commented, clicking his tongue as he retrieved his katana, flicking the blood off with a practiced flourish before sheathing it cleanly.
This time, instead of storing it in his inventory, he fastened the sheath to the back of his greaves. The blade was light enough not to hinder movement and might come in handy sooner than later.
As the wind picked up, carrying the ash of the fallen dragon like scattered snowflakes, John watched them drift upward with a pensive look. "Y'know… I never thought about it before, but… why is it that only big enemies like dragons turn into that white dust when I kill them?"
Marika hovered closer, arms crossed in her usual elegant posture. "Helios designed it so," she said, tone casual. "He called it a 'Quality of Life' function. The system automatically condenses the corpses of larger foes and extracts what might be useful to thee: Runes, trophies, hearts… It even compresses the extracted hearts to make them easier to consume. Makes thy journey less tedious."
John blinked. The name stung, if only lightly. Helios. The Outer God masquerading as a streamer. The bastard that baited him into this world with false promises and two faced lies… and yet, he couldn't say he hated the guy.
Not entirely.
He liked this world more than his own. The thrill, the power, the people. But Helios was still a smug prick, and John could practically feel him watching right now, probably laughing his divine ass off.
"Doth thou wisheth for it to be disabled?" Marika asked casually, golden eyes studying him.
John shook his head, letting out a half-hearted chuckle. "Nah… It's actually kind of nice. Leave it on."
She hummed in acknowledgment, then raised a brow and gestured subtly behind him. "Then prepare thyself, mine Champion. The others arrive… and if thou keepeth talking to me aloud, Blaidd shall think thou a madman. Well… More of a madman than thou art already."
John grunted and turned around just in time to greet the approaching figures.
He grinned wide.
It would've been a warm sight… if he didn't look like a walking nightmare.
His jagged, obsidian armor was soaked in blood, the fresh remains of a dragon's eye still glistening down one side. His hair, black streaked with white, was now a sticky crimson mess. And his draconic, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed like molten azure-gold, glowing in the half-light of the lake.
He looked like he had just clawed his way out of hell and painted himself with its inhabitants along the way.
John raised his hand high, his demented grin stretching ear to ear. Blood, ichor, and bits of dragon gore clung to every inch of him like war paint, and his sharp draconic eyes gleamed with manic joy.
"Oh hey guys!" He called out cheerfully, waving at his companions with a level of energy that felt both deranged and deeply casual. "I killed the dragon!"
The gathered villagers all recoiled in horror.
The adults gasped and stared in wide-eyed terror, several of them pulling their children close. Some mothers shielded their kids' eyes as though the mere sight of the blood-drenched Tarnished might curse them.
Not that it helped much, half the kids peeked through fingers anyway, staring at him with awe and stars in their eyes.
Melina stared blankly at him. Her expression was somewhere between exasperation and unimpressed disbelief, eyes slowly scanning the dragon-gore-caked armor and crimson-streaked hair.
"…We noticed." She commented dryly. "Lose any limbs this time?"
"Pfft…" John chuckled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Why do I get the feeling you wanted me to?"
Her unimpressed stare tightened ever so slightly. In that moment, she was the spitting image of her mother, regal disappointment incarnate.
Millicent trotted her steed closer, dismounting with a sly grin. She leaned toward John, cupping a hand to whisper just loud enough for him to hear.
"She was grumbling the whole time while healing the villagers." Millicent murmured mischievously. "Had that angry little pout of hers the whole way through. I think she's mad at you~."
John let out a bark of laughter, doubling over slightly. Oh, he had a funny feeling he knew exactly what this was about.
A tiny, tsundere streak.
He'd noticed signs before, the way her voice got a little sharper when he teased her, the rare but telling glares, the way she'd unconsciously hover nearby even when she claimed to want space. It was subtle. But it was there.
And he wasn't about to press it.
Not yet.
She was probably new to this sort of emotion, he could tell. Probably never even thought about love before or even had time for it, probably on account of her amnesia. And now here she was, tied spiritually to someone like him. A chaotic, blood-soaked idiot with a soft spot for danger and Demigoddesses.
He wasn't going to scare her off by being too forward. No, he could wait. Just a few more days, just until he was sure she was comfortable, until he was sure she would be ready for a real relationship.
Until then… Teasing it is.
He turned his head, smirking at Melina. "You're awfully cute when you're mad, you know that?"
Melina's jaw tightened. "And you're awfully alive for someone who's begging for a flame bolt to the face."
"Oooh~ She's so mad~!" Millicent giggled beside him, hand behind her back like a schoolgirl watching a soap opera.
He and Millicent broke into laughter while Melina just turned away with a huff, arms crossed and her hair whipping behind her.
That was when Blaidd approached, dragging John's massive greatsword across his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His furred brows raised with wry amusement, his royal greatsword still gleaming faintly in the sunlight.
"I'm glad you're safe," he said, holding the blade out toward him. "But didn't you promise me a certain Bloodhound Knight?"
John's laughter faded into a grin as he reached out and accepted the greatsword with a nod.
"I believe I did, friend." He hefted the weapon, storing it back in his inventory. "And I believe I've made you wait long enough."
He straightened, voice full of purpose. "Let's go get you Darriwil."
Blaidd's grin widened into something wolvish, his teeth flashing. "Let's."
Just then, a warm light enveloped John. A familiar hum buzzed in his bones, the air shimmering gold. He turned and spotted a Site of Grace flickering to life behind him. Its calming warmth washed over his bloodied form.
The dragon guts and gore on his armor began to dissolve. His wounds closed. His energy surged back into him.
He blinked in surprise, then turned his head slightly, already sensing her.
Floating mid-air on her cloud of Grace, Marika gave him a sly wink and a knowing smirk, lounging like a smug goddess. Which, of course, she was.
He stifled a chuckle, running a gauntleted hand through his now-clean hair.
"Guess I'll take the win…" He muttered, feeling far more human again now that he wasn't coated in monster entrails.
With a breath of fresh air in his lungs, he stepped forward, heading toward the gathered villagers. Many of them were still whispering, their eyes flicking between him and the dragon corpse he had left in the ruins behind.
Some were scared, others were awestruck. A few looked like they might fall to their knees and worship him, something he very much would like they didn't.
John approached the middle-aged man from before, the one who had spoken up during the chaos, now standing a little straighter, his injuries long since faded thanks to Melina's golden healing. John assumed he was the village elder, or at the very least, the closest thing to one that hadn't been roasted.
"Yo, Old Man." He called out casually, raising a hand in greeting. "Not sure what your plan is for the future, given how crispy your former town is now, but I think I've got a temporary solution."
The old man's attention snapped to him immediately, blinking in mild confusion. Still, he stepped forward with newfound ease, his pain long gone. "I, uhh… Despite everything you've done for us, I suppose I would be remiss to refuse your kind offer, sir…?"
"Johnathan." The Tarnished replied with calm certainty, pointing toward the eastern horizon. The name rolled off his tongue with more weight now. Not the one he lived his entire former life with, maybe, but it was his now.
And it was sure as hell less embarrassing than going around and unironically introducing himself as 'John Elden Ring'.
Even he didn't think he was shameless enough for that one, yet.
"Head east. Toward Mistwood." The Tarnished Warrior continued, prompting the old man to raise a brow as he listened carefully. "There's a town there. Thriving, surprisingly well-maintained. It's big enough to take in people like yours. Bring everyone who's still breathing and anything you can salvage. When you arrive, tell them I sent you."
He gave the man a small, crooked smile. "The man in charge owes me a favour or two, you see."
The elder's eyes widened in stunned reverence. "O-Oh! I've heard whispers… Mistwood joined under Lord Godrick's banner not too long ago. You mean to say… you hold sway over the Demigod who rules these lands?"
Millicent nearly choked trying to hold back a laugh, her shoulders bouncing as her hand rose to cover her face.
Melina, standing nearby, just sighed and looked away. She knew her companion would very likely take advantage of the misunderstanding, but she quite honestly didn't care enough to correct him anymore.
John just smirked with his usual cocky charm and nodded. "Something like that."
The elder bowed his head with gratitude, already beginning to shout instructions to the survivors as John turned away. His voice rang with confidence, bolstered by belief in the blood-soaked warrior who had just slain a dragon before their very eyes.
John motioned for the others to mount up. One by one, the party climbed onto their steeds, with Blaidd opting to jog alongside as always.
As Torrent began to trot away from the ruined lake, Marika's voice came drifting into his mind, smooth and smug.
"Well handled," she said. "That was... surprisingly competent of thee. I had fully expected to remind thee to aid the village before thy departure, but it seems I was not needed."
John gave a quiet chuckle under his breath, sitting up straighter in his saddle.
"Come now, my Goddess~!" He cooed in that sing-song tone of his. "I'm gonna be the Elden Lord someday, right? That means your people… are my people. And your responsibilities?"
He grinned. "They're mine too. That's the burden I carry as your future Lord and Consort… and your current Champion."
Marika blinked.
There was a long pause of stunned silence.
And then… She burst into laughter.
She was amused, astonished and ultimately, begrudgingly impressed.
"To assert thyself as my future consort… with such boldness..." She said between laughs. "And yet… thou sayest it with conviction. Such confidence, such arrogance. I daresay it flattereth me more than it should."
She reclined on her floating cloud of grace with a languid stretch, leaning to one side. Her golden locks billowed behind her, the curve of her form accentuated unconsciously by the position. Her sly smile remained.
"I suppose it is so, mine Champion. Well done~"
John just grinned to himself, that draconic glint in his eyes flaring a little brighter.
One step closer.
The hoofbeats of Torrent and the other steeds echoed hollowly as the party rode away from Agheel Lake, leaving the smoldering ruins and dragon-stained waters behind. The midday sun shimmered through a shifting haze as they turned from the main southern road and veered right, off the well-traveled path and onto a forgotten dirt trail winding up a gentle, wooded incline.
The forest here was sparse but haunting, with trees bending ever so slightly over the winding path like old watchers. Shafts of golden light pierced through the mist, and the gentle rustling of leaves was the only sound aside from the rhythm of hooves.
After several minutes of steady riding, the trees thinned, and the path opened up into a clearing where an unnatural, circular platform of smooth, polished stone jutted from the earth like a forgotten relic.
At its center sat a dark, swirling seal ringed in glowing runes. Pale blue mist coiled above it like a whisper made visible. Floating stone monoliths hovered gently around the edges, chained to nothing, defying the laws of reality. The air around it pulsed with arcane tension.
An Evergaol.
John pulled lightly on Torrent's reins, bringing him to a slow stop. His voice rang out clear across the clearing. "We're here. That's the bastard, the Bloodhound Knight Darriwil. He's trapped inside."
Blaidd's eyes widened slightly as he came to a halt beside him, staring at the glowing seal. "Didn't expect to find him here… but I suppose it makes sense. He had more than just me after his head."
He scoffed under his breath, the corner of his lip twitching. "So this is what Seluvis meant when he said he 'put the mutt in his cage' in Limgrave… Smug bastard always did have a flair for the dramatic despite being a pragmatist."
Millicent leaned forward on her horse, her one arm gripping the saddle as her eyes widened. "What is that…?"
"It's a prison, of sorts." Melina replied smoothly, her tone gentle. "It is an Evergaol. A magical construct used to bind dangerous foes, usually sealed with an Imp statue and a Stonesword Key. Very few escape."
John turned toward Blaidd with a smirk. "I don't suppose you have a Stonesword Key on you to open this thing?"
He did have one himself, but better to save it. You never knew when they'd come in short supply.
Blaidd grunted and reached into a satchel on his belt.
"Aye. Ranni insisted I always carry one. 'Just in case', she said." He chuckled. "Looks like she was right."
John's smirk widened at the mention of his 'wife' but he said nothing more. He simply watched as the Half-Wolf strode up to the Imp statue beside the Evergaol, jammed the key into place, and twisted.
With a low click, the statue's eyes glowed ominously, and the seal began to pulse with deep violet-blue energy. The inner circle shimmered, flared, then split open like a yawning maw.
From the depths of the rift, a figure leapt into the clearing.
Darriwil landed in a low crouch, one clawed gauntlet digging into the earth, his massive blood-red curved blade dragging behind him like a predator's fang. His armor was jagged, segmented like a beast's hide, and stained black by countless battles.
His helm bore a curved, canine-like visor, it was something between a wolf and a rabid hound. His breath was ragged, beastlike. His crimson eyes flared beneath his helm as he scanned the group in front of him.
Blaidd growled, readying his Royal Greatsword, but John had beat him to it.
A blast of frost erupted from the Tarnished's maw, a wide cone of freezing magic that surged toward Darriwil with bone-chilling force. The knight barely had time to react. The frost coated his blade, his armor, his very breath in an instant.
He staggered back, roaring in defiance, but the frostbite overtook him.
And then he froze.
Completely.
Darriwil stood hunched over, arms locked in place, an icy sculpture of himself mid-motion. His form glistened with layers of rime and his breath, if he still had any, was no longer visible.
Blaidd stared, jaw slightly ajar.
John wiped the last trails of frost from his lips, smirking as he pulled out his Cerulean Flask and downed it in heavy gulps. A rush of mana surged through his body as his magical reserves replenished. He offered the remaining flask to Melina with a nod. "You've been running low, yeah?"
She took it with a small nod, wordlessly thankful, her breath still slightly labored from the earlier healing.
John turned back to Blaidd and grinned. "There you go. Bloodhound Knight: Served up chilled. You can keep him if you want. Or just lop off his mutt head from here. Dealer's choice."
There was a long silence.
Then Blaidd barked out a laugh, clutching his side. "You mad bastard… I doubted you. That was my mistake."
Still chuckling, the Half-Wolf strode up to the frozen knight and rested his blade casually on his shoulder. He glanced back at John.
"Well then, this is farewell. For now." His tone was calm, but sincere. "I owe you one. I'll pass on a good word to Lady Ranni. And when you see her again… You can tell her I approved."
John's smirk turned smug. "Music to my ears~"
The Tarnished Warrior then stretched his back, sighed, then looked toward the horizon.
"Alright, ladies…" He said with a grin, clapping his hands together. "Time waits for no Tarnished. The Weeping Peninsula awaits!"
John's boots crunched against the gravel as he approached Torrent, the spectral steed stamping impatiently. Melina walked a step behind him, her eyes thoughtful. Behind them, Millicent stood still, watching as Blaidd hauled the frozen body of Darriwil in one arm. A moment later, a soft aurora of azure magic erupted around him.
And he was gone.
Both Millicent and John froze. Her eyes widened. "What was that?!"
"A teleportation spell?" John muttered, blinking. "Since when could Blaidd do that?!"
Marika's voice chuckled in his mind, dry and amused. "Thou art easily impressed, mine Champion. I told thee once before, such spells art rudimentary in these lands. My daughter's Shadow using one is hardly surprising."
Melina chimed in aloud with a small smile, "Most likely a sigil-linked recall spell. Common among certain sorcerers. If Ranni crafted it for him, then it was tailored just for situations like this."
Millicent's eyes sparkled. "I want to learn how to do that too…"
John laughed, climbing onto Torrent's saddle. "You and me both, sister!"
They rode on, retracing their route back through the forest trail. John considered just leaping off the cliff and using Torrent's air-jump to land on the lower road… but a glance at Millicent's regular horse, struggling just to keep pace as is, quickly changed his mind.
Instead, they curved around and followed the path toward a narrow valley flanked by twin hills. At the end of the pass stood the long, weathered stone structure that John recognized instantly:
The Bridge of Sacrifice.
Its name was no joke. Godrick had fortified the bridge like a damn fortress. Towering ramparts had been raised on either side, with wooden barricades stacked behind iron pikes. Watchtowers loomed high above, ballistae stationed atop them like waiting death-dealers. Dozens of soldiers manned the perimeter, their armor bearing the tarnished gold of House Godrick's banner.
As they approached, a lookout spotted them from above, and sounded the horn.
BWOOM!
The echo rolled through the hills, and almost instantly, the soldiers snapped to readiness. Shields clanked into place. Blades were drawn. A small battalion marched forward from the far side of the bridge, intercepting them before they reached the central span.
John yanked Torrent to a halt, his expression already souring.
The lead soldier, a man clad in heavier armor with a frilled cloak at his shoulders, stepped forward and raised a hand. "Halt! By order of Lord Godrick the Golden, no one is permitted to pass. The Weeping Peninsula is under quarantine. Turn back."
"Quarantine?" Melina asked as she leaned slightly around John's shoulder, her tone sharp with curiosity. "For what reason?"
The knight tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his expression grim. "The Misbegotten and Demihumans in the region have gone mad, hostile, uncontrolled. Castle Morne is rumored to have fallen… and there's talk of Frenzied Madness infecting a village deeper in the peninsula."
At that, Melina's brow furrowed in concern. John, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow.
Frenzied Madness?
He glanced sideways, genuinely surprised that these soldiers even knew about it.
Millicent, however, blinked in confusion. "Frenzied… what?"
John coughed and stepped forward on Torrent. "Look, I get it. Shitty situation. Real serious. But we're going through. End of story."
The soldier's expression darkened. "I said-!"
"I heard you." John interrupted, his tone dropping low and sharp. "But I don't give a rat's ass what orders Godrick gave you. We're crossing this bridge. The only thing you get to decide is if we have to kill our way through."
He summoned his Greatsword in a flash of light, resting it lazily on one shoulder. Flames danced from the corners of his maw, a low growl rolling from deep in his throat.
"So tell me," he said coldly, "is Godrick worth dying for?"
The soldiers hesitated.
The knight looked back at his men, then slowly exhaled. He stepped aside with a solemn nod. "May Queen Marika grant mercy to our souls…"
John smirked. "I wouldn't worry too much about that."
He felt Marika's amusement echo inside his mind, a soft breath of laughter escaping her nose.
The three riders passed through the barricade slowly, tension hanging in the air like a noose. The soldiers stood stiff, some glancing away, others watching the Tarnished with narrowed eyes. None made a move to stop them.
"That mention of the Frenzied Madness… if it's true, that's extremely troubling." Melina leaned forward in her saddle, whispering to John in hopes that the other being inhabiting his head would listen. "Mother, do you… Do you know anything about this?"
Marika's voice answered through John's link, dryly amused but laced with intrigue. "Oh? A Madness outbreak, thou sayest? Dost 'I' know aught of it? Well, if 'tis real… then it must be dealt with. And swiftly. The Misbegotten and Demihumans going feral as well? A curious alignment…"
John nodded, stifling a small laugh at Marika's dry jabs at his white lie to Melina. "Yeah, she does. Marika guided me here to…"
His voice trailed off mid sentence when his eyes caught sight of something that made his immortal heart skip a beat.
There, down the road into the peninsula proper… He saw her.
It was a young, blindfolded woman with blonde hair, sitting calmly atop a rock near a broken-down cart in the middle of the road. The corpses of several soldiers and Misbegotten lay around her, their blood soaking into the cracked dirt. Her head tilted slightly, as though listening to the wind.
But she wasn't alone.
Two Misbegotten, hulking, hunched beasts with rusted blades, stood above her, snarling with their stolen weapons raised.
John was off Torrent before anyone could blink.
He ran.
His draconic heart thundered in his chest as he ran faster than he ever had before.
Because he knew, he knew, exactly who she was.
And he knew of the horrifying fate her soul, and many others', would be damned to if he were to let her die.
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Author's Note:
Stones please.
For those who recognised who showed up in the end, remember, it's not a game anymore, NPCs won't just sit there frozen in time till our protagonist comes to them~
In other news, I finished Unlimited Blade Works and are close to completing Heaven's Feel in the Fate/Stay Night Visual Novel.
There's a lot to say, but I'll keep it to two things.
Fuck Sakura and Archer might be the Goat, ask me anything in the comments lol
…
Next Chapter Title: A Fate of Tragedy and Madness.
…
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