Exposed?
Her reconnaissance mission had instantly turned into a potential confrontation. Even Frieren felt a jolt of tension, though thankfully her quick reaction had prevented immediate detection.
The Omen high on the tower possessed keen perception – not just innate talent, but sharp battlefield instincts honed through experience. His refined skills were not to be underestimated. It must be Margit, the Fell Omen. He certainly lives up to the legends.
His magical presence was formidable, ranking among the strongest opponents she had encountered thus far. While others like Bernahl and Gurranq concealed their true power to varying degrees, making a full assessment difficult, she could tell this Margit was fully prepared, radiating readiness for battle.
But why is he guarding the gate for Godrick? Was it the influence of the Golden Lineage, or was this demigod simply that dedicated to his duty?
This was becoming tricky. Ahead lay the formidable defenses manned by Leyndell's elites, Margit scanned vigilantly from above, and more troops were massing in the tunnel behind her. Meanwhile, the duration of her Hidden Body spell was rapidly dwindling.
With her skill, Frieren could likely reapply the spell stealthily, but fooling a top-tier demigod's senses indefinitely was improbable.
Forget it. Indecision wasn't an elven trait. Since exposure was likely inevitable, she might as well check the player messages first – gathering that intel was the primary goal of this scouting mission anyway.
The silver-haired girl cautiously peeked out from behind the boulder. Through her 'player's perspective,' she saw countless bloodstains littering the ground ahead – remnants of countless failed attempts, the varied death poses indicating slaughter by the Fell Omen. How many 'players' had met their bitter end here? Fortunately, they had also left behind helpful messages:
[Tried running straight for the obvious landmark at the start, got wrecked lmao]
[Same here, feels bad man]
[Professor Margit, please teach me how to roll properly]
[Rolling is all about timing, but these delayed attacks... You think he's gonna swing, so you wait, then he holds back. You think he's holding back, then BAM it's fast! AAAAAHHH!]
[Took me 21 tries, finally beat him with a sliver of health left. Pure luck, otherwise it would've been more.]
[Seriously recommend finding an item called 'Margit's Shackle' if you're stuck. Buy it from Patches' shop in Murkwater Cave. Can briefly stun him.]
[Yeah, the Shackle is useful later too. No spoilers, but just buy it, makes things easier down the line.]
Patches? An old acquaintance? The name sparked recognition; Frieren recalled encountering characters with that name in several 'games.' Though likely just a coincidence, it felt oddly familiar. Annoying, perhaps, but often useful. Like that other fellow who screamed "RO—BER—T!" as he plummeted to his defeat. She still didn't fully grasp the reasons behind these strange inter-world connections, but even an elf with a refined sense of humor couldn't help but be amused. It created a curious sense of linkage between different realities, prompting a knowing smile.
"It seems you're tied to an important side quest this time around, Patches," Frieren mused. She recalled seeing the marker for Murkwater Cave near Lake Agheel but hadn't had time to investigate when the army passed through. She hadn't expected to find a familiar name associated with it.
However, the immediate priority was finding Margit's weaknesses. Combining the player messages revealed several key insights:
[Watch out, big sword rain possible after his wide sweeps]
[Beware the magic hammer, hits hard, got stun-locked on wake-up]
[Recommend mages kite him]
[Attack patterns aren't numerous but the fast/slow mix-ups are brutal. Never seen timing like this, still adapting, one more try...]
[On NG+ going to the Capital, I actually find Professor Margit kind of nostalgic now, reminds me of the Stormveil fight. His cred keeps rising, you are the real Tree Sentinel!]
[Cherish this moment, folks. Time to send Margit packing. Going in, shield poke build!]
[He drops a Talisman Pouch btw]
[Think you can go to Roundtable Hold after this? Not sure exactly when it unlocks. Whatever, gonna clear Stormveil today, wish me luck!]
Frieren deduced Margit was likely an unavoidable or highly rewarding 'boss' character. Besides, she always aimed for full completion anyway.
She meticulously reviewed the 'player' death replays, analyzing Margit's attack patterns until she had a solid grasp of his moveset. Reverse-engineering his tactics was straightforward enough. She was now fully prepared.
To fight, or not to fight?
Watching the ghostly images of countless 'players' relentlessly challenging the Fell Omen inevitably stirred her own warrior spirit. Sneaking back only to risk exposure halfway seemed pointless. Better to face him head-on. The invisibility spell was fading anyway; her presence would soon be revealed regardless. Might as well make a scene.
Let me carve a path forward for the Southern Army.
The Hidden Body spell dissolved.
Appearing out of thin air, the silver-haired girl clad in mage robes reinforced with silver armor materialized in the very center of the fortified approach. Until that moment, there had been no trace of her presence. Frieren immediately unleashed her imposing aura without reservation. The surrounding Godrick soldiers were thrown into chaos; some scrambled backwards, others turned and fled, hiding at a distance, afraid to meet her gaze.
They hadn't remotely expected an enemy to penetrate so deep into their defenses; cold sweat beaded on their foreheads. Once the initial panic subsided slightly, they realized the silver-haired girl was calmly adjusting her hair, tapping her armor as if checking its condition, and even taking out her Wondrous Physick flask for inspection. She was completely alone.
"Don't panic! She's only one person!" someone shouted.
"Tarnished Frieren! How dare you come to Stormveil Castle! You're dead! We'll take your head!"
Instantly, she was surrounded. Spears formed a dense forest, shields locked into an impenetrable wall. Ballistae swiveled into position, taking aim. Soldiers formed ranks three deep, blocking every possible escape route, leaving absolutely no opening. The castle's warning bells began to clang. Facing the enemy commander, they naturally afforded her the 'proper respect' – archers on the walls above also drew their bows, sighting down on the lone figure. It was an inescapable deathtrap.
Simultaneously, word reached the forces back at Stormgate. Their commander had charged in alone? Just that morning, Frieren had seemed languid and drowsier than anyone, yet now, without a word, she had driven deep into enemy territory, ignoring all obstacles, reaching the very gates of Stormveil by herself? This was... incredibly inspiring!
"Begin the assault now! We'll push through the tunnel and rendezvous with the commander!" someone roared.
"The Soul of Cinder guides us to victory!"
Southern Army morale soared as they began their advance, charging towards Stormhill. Their timing was opportune; the bulk of the defenders at the approach tunnel were currently focused entirely on Frieren.
The risk of being attacked from the rear seemed negligible compared to the potential reward of eliminating the enemy commander. This opportunity had to be seized. Therefore, Godrick's soldiers made a calculated decision: ignore the advancing Southern Army for now and concentrate all forces on surrounding and destroying Frieren. If they succeeded, the war could end instantly. Everyone understood that without Frieren's leadership, the rebel army would surely crumble.
Fwoosh!
Another powerful, opposing aura surged forth – unmistakably that of the Fell Omen atop the high tower, gazing down imperiously at the silver-haired girl below. The clash of their auras momentarily overpowered the howling wind, creating a palpable pressure that made onlookers gasp for breath.
"Foul Tarnished," the voice boomed from above. "In search of the Elden Ring. Emboldened by the flame of ambition."
Before the words finished echoing, he leaped. Margit plummeted to the ground, landing with enough force to crater the stone beneath him and send nearby soldiers sprawling. The sheer pressure was immense.
"Someone must extinguish thy flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!" With a final declaration, he slammed his staff onto the ground, unleashing a shockwave.
He glanced left and right, gesturing for the soldiers to give them space.
Frieren looked up at the towering figure, her voice clear and strong despite the situation. "I have heard of you, Margit. The great hero who twice defended the Royal Capital, Leyndell. You, more than anyone, have striven tirelessly for the continuation of the Golden Dynasty."
"I am pleased you recognize my deeds," Margit replied, his voice resonating. "Praise from an adversary is the highest affirmation. It is a pity your journey ends here."
"'Lose'?" Frieren countered. "Those who speak lightly of victory often fall to arrogance. You do not strike me as such a person. Yet, people often boast most loudly about the things they find most difficult. Have you truly envisioned defeating me?"
"In the realm of magic," Margit retorted coolly, "what cannot be imagined, cannot be achieved."
While undeniably an element of psychological warfare, the sheer, overwhelming power radiating from the silver-haired girl was undeniable. Powerful.
That was Margit's first impression of Frieren. At the very least, his projected form felt immense pressure. Her wellspring of magic seemed bottomless, genuinely demigod-level. How could such a Tarnished have been summoned to the Lands Between? To rise with such lightning speed... truly formidable, even admirable.
Yet, he wasn't without a chance. The silver-haired girl's power felt... discordant, out of sync with this world. Its true potential would surely be hampered here.
"It is you who fails to realize how disparate your power is," Margit sneered. "A chaotic jumble. I wager I needn't exert myself much before you simply implode. Care to test that theory?"
"Bring it on."
"Then victory shall belong to the Golden Dynasty!" Margit declared, gripping his staff like a great hammer as wind howled around it.
Simultaneously, Frieren cast her buffs – Golden Vow and Oath of Vengeance flared around her. With her right hand, she touched her staff to the Uchigatana in her left, imbuing it with Scholar's Armament. Preparations complete.
Their energies locked onto each other. The instant their gazes met, both figures vanished—
BOOM!
Margit struck first, slamming his staff down, carving another crater in the ground – but his target wasn't there. He'd missed. Undeterred, the staff swept instantly from the downward slam into a horizontal arc, unleashing a wave of energy aimed squarely at the silver-haired girl as she completed a backstep. This brief initial exchange showcased their incredible speed; both immediately understood the other possessed high mobility. Limiting that movement would be key.
"Not bad timing," Frieren commented, leaping gracefully to evade as her staff unleashed dozens of Glintstone Pebbles, peppering the area to block his advance. Just then, however, massive bolts like hurled spears shot from a blind spot – projectiles powerful enough to fell a Flying Dragon.
In that split second, she flicked her Uchigatana—deflecting the bolts without interrupting the stream of Pebbles harassing the charging Margit. But he, coordinating perfectly with the unseen archers, seized the opening created by the volley!
He lunged, dipping low and thrusting the pointed end of his staff straight at her abdomen. Frieren reacted instantly, blocking with the hilt of her katana, but her smaller frame couldn't fully absorb the force. She was sent flying backward, crashing into a pile of sandbags. Immediately, another volley of heavy bolts rained down on her position. Her lighter weight, a disadvantage against the sheer momentum of the spear-like projectiles, had created an opening. Seeing this, Godrick's soldiers cheered wildly as relentless arrow volleys from the castle walls added to the barrage.
The entire frontal firepower of Stormveil Castle was now concentrated on a single individual – a truly 'special' reception.
Swish, swish, swish!
Arrow volleys saturated the air, attempting to pin her down, many fired by the skilled Night's Cavalry. They were masters of various arms and adept at coordinating with Margit to create overwhelming pincer attacks. Leyndell's strength wasn't solely reliant on its demigods; those who focused only on the figureheads were easily deceived. Its true power lay in the synergy of its elite forces, working as one to crush their foes.
Voom!
Suddenly, a surge of condensed magic rose from the dust cloud where Frieren had landed. It was strangely potent – formless energy effortlessly warding off the incoming projectiles. These were attacks from elite Night's Cavalry; how were they being intercepted with such precision? It defied belief. Then, spectral blades materialized in the air—striking down the incoming arrows. It was the Glintblade Phalanx spell, employed with such finesse that it could intercept even heavy bolts, showcasing the caster's exceptional talent and buying her a crucial moment to recover.
As the dust settled, Frieren stood firm. A few arrows protruded from her flowing armor, and a shallow cut marked her cheek, making her look slightly disheveled, but her expression remained utterly calm, as if assessing a situation that didn't personally involve her.
"Sorceress Sellen taught me to use the impact force of Glintblade Phalanx offensively," she mused aloud, "but using it for interception works quite well too." More intriguing to her than the minor injuries was the application of the spell. Even now, incoming bolts struck the orbiting spectral blades, streaks of light crisscrossing as they guarded the silver-haired figure – a far more flexible defense than a simple barrier. While barrier spells certainly existed in this reality, they didn't quite suit her style. Adapting glintstone sorceries for defense felt more natural.
"Tarnished," Margit called out, "do you find my methods despicable now?"
"Not at all," Frieren replied evenly. "This is war. Ganging up on an opponent or facing overwhelming odds is commonplace in chaotic battle."
"Allow me to share some bad news, then. During the defense of Leyndell, I coordinated with my knights to suppress Starscourge Radahn himself. Even he was forced to retreat."
"That's good news," Frieren stated simply.
"Oh?" Margit sounded intrigued.
"To face the same trial as arguably the strongest of the demigods is an honor, Margit," Frieren declared. "And let me tell you this: the one standing before you now is also a battle mage."
As the words left her lips, Frieren quickly unstrapped the armor plating from her arms, allowing for greater freedom of movement. This signaled a shift: her actions would no longer be limited to the measured casting of spells or simple parries. In an instant, her entire demeanor changed, her aura flaring intensely, like a sudden conflagration.
The next moment, the soldiers aiming their bows lost sight of their target.
More accurately, the Tarnished and the Fell Omen were now engaged in furious close-quarters combat, their movements blindingly fast, leaving no apparent openings. In the blink of an eye, they had carved a path of destruction down the main approach to the gate. The sharp clang of steel meeting steel rang out repeatedly, sparks flew, and shockwaves of raw magic erupted outwards, obliterating supply crates and scattering debris. The main thoroughfare became a landscape of craters. Some nearby soldiers were thrown off their feet by the concussive force. The deafening, earth-shattering din forced the ordinary soldiers to pull back.
Carian Slicer!
Farron Flashsword!
Frieren's staff seamlessly transitioned between conjuring light-blades of varying lengths and intensities. In an instant, Margit found himself struggling to keep up, frequently misjudging the timing of his blocks, allowing arcs of blood to spray from fresh wounds. Delayed attacks, eh? How do you like my mix-up of long and short blades?
Having gained the upper hand, Frieren completely abandoned ranged and mid-range tactics, pressing her advantage in close quarters. Her 'game,' unlike that of typical players, didn't conveniently provide a dedicated 'boss room' for a fair one-on-one duel. She had to remain constantly vigilant for sneak attacks from the surrounding Night's Cavalry and Godrick Soldiers. Taking damage wasn't the main concern; getting staggered and having her combat rhythm completely disrupted was the real danger.
Margit knew his projected form alone wouldn't be enough to defeat this opponent. He needed the coordinated support of his soldiers. There was no time to waste; they had to act quickly. Otherwise, the defensive line in the tunnel wouldn't hold, and the rebels would soon be at the castle walls proper.
Fortunately for Margit, Frieren's pure swordsmanship seemed less effective against his own unorthodox style. As an Omen, he possessed unexpected techniques.
Tail whip!
Suddenly, a thick, powerful tail lashed out from beneath his sackcloth robes, slamming towards Frieren. Her reflexes were instant, blocking with her katana, but sharp spines on the tail pierced through her shoulder pauldron, drawing blood. In that instant, Margit used the momentum to create distance, effectively pinning Frieren momentarily with his tail, finally creating an opening for his ranged support.
The difference in their builds combined with the unexpected attack left Frieren's blade momentarily caught. Though she released her grip the next instant, it was too late.
Volley fire—
The timing was impeccable, perfectly synchronized with the Night's Cavalry. Enough arrows to turn the target into a pincushion filled the air.
Only Margit, among those present, could clearly perceive what happened next. Frieren instantly swapped her left-hand weapon to a curved greatsword. Then, dropping into a low stance, she executed a series of uncanny, swift steps, effortlessly weaving through the arrow storm. Her movements were fluid and incredibly fast; simply staying low allowed her to evade the majority of the projectiles. After the burst of evasive movement, she even had the energy to immediately resume her pursuit of Margit, closing the distance again.
"Those are Bloodhound Knight techniques," Margit recognized, "but faster."
In the hands of a true powerhouse, even familiar moves could undergo a qualitative transformation. Just now, the silver-haired girl had not only dodged the arrow storm but used the brief lull to close the distance again, instantly catching up to him. The other soldiers hadn't even processed why their volley had completely missed. They were utterly baffled. How could a mere Tarnished wield such a diverse arsenal of weapons and techniques with such proficiency, as if she had practiced them for ages? How was that possible?
Clang!
Margit's staff blocked the upward thrust of the Bloodhound's Fang. But the next instant, Frieren followed up with a swift Carian Slicer. Blue magical energy slashed across his chest, drawing crimson blood. For a being of Margit's stature, the wound wasn't critical, but he continued to back away, trying to create space and an opportunity.
He never anticipated the sudden appearance of a massive, long Golden Halberd in her hands. The classic weapon of the Tree Sentinels materialized, its superior reach instantly nullifying Margit's attempts to disengage. He couldn't escape her attack range, and the archers hesitated, afraid of hitting him. Is this the pinnacle of martial prowess? Despite having no advantage in size, weaponry, or numbers, she was forcefully suppressing the Fell Omen. It was masterful, almost supernatural. And then, the situation grew even worse for Margit:
Golden Vow activated!
The weapon's inherent skill flared simultaneously. A radiant, imposing halo of light surrounded the silver-haired girl, bolstering her power, making her seem utterly unstoppable. An enemy of the Erdtree, openly using its blessed power to refresh her buffs, achieving peak condition.
"You will not wield that weapon, Tarnished!" Margit snarled, enraged.
"Don't get distracted. You should be focusing on your opponent, Margit," Frieren retorted coolly.
The infuriated Fell Omen roared, conjuring a massive golden hammer that crashed down with devastating force. But Frieren, anticipating this, had already swapped the halberd for the Erdtree Greatshield, reinforcing it further with the Scholar's Shield sorcery. She firmly blocked the blow.
Blocked! And more than that – a perfect parry! The immense Fell Omen froze, momentarily stunned. The opening was fleeting, unnoticed by the onlookers, but for Frieren, it was enough.
She instantly capitalized, bashing Margit with the shield. The consecutive defensive counters shattered his poise, creating a moment of critical imbalance. The next instant, the silver-haired girl vaulted off the shield, leaping high into the air. Her previous weapons vanished, replaced by a single, legendary artifact held in both hands. Its form was grotesque, a fusion of countless blades grafted together, radiating immense, raw power.
The Grafted Blade Greatsword.
Activating its skill, Oath of Vengeance, Frieren's stats and poise surged. Then, from the apex of her leap, she brought the colossal blade down with all her might, her shadow engulfing Margit below.
He saw it coming, reacted, but his body, still recovering from the parry's aftershock, was just half a beat too slow. A hair's breadth difference, yet worlds apart in consequence.
"Make way, Guardian of the Golden Tree."
With a sickening crunch, the critical hit landed squarely on Margit's chest. A geyser of blood erupted!
____________
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